AllFreeNovel
Share Us
B’Lynn spun around and bolted for the hallway, pushing past Valerie Comb, knocking her sideways. She was beyond thinking rationally now, running in blind panic like an animal. Her surroundings took on a macabre, distorted funhouse quality. The faces of the people she passed twisted in shock. Her legs felt like rubber, her arms as heavy as lead. Her lungs were on fire.
She pulled up in front of the desk sergeant’s counter. Two uniformed deputies in the area behind him turned to stare at her.
“Help me!” B’Lynn sobbed, pounding her fists on the counter. “Why won’t anyone help me?! Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”
—
The cry stopped Annie in her tracks. She was only cutting through the squad room to go to the HR office because she had an insurance question. A question she could have gotten answered over the phone, but it was a beautiful morning, and she was happy to walk over to the main building from the Pizza Hut, as they called the small separate building that housed the detective division. Maybe Katy in HR would be ready for a coffee and they could catch up.
The sound of anguish seemed too big to have come from the small, dark-haired woman. Hooker, the desk sergeant, three times her size in all directions, stood flat-footed, his little pig eyes as wide as they would go.
“I’ll help you, ma’am,” Annie said, rushing forward as the womandoubled over, sobbing. Annie caught hold of her shoulder and sank to the floor with her. “Are you ill? Do you need medical attention?”
“She’s out of her mind!” Valerie Comb exclaimed. “She was demanding to see the sheriff. She nearly knocked me flat!”
Annie ignored the secretary. “Do you need an ambulance, ma’am?”
“No. No,” the woman said, shaking her head, struggling visibly to pull herself together. She wiped the tears from her cheeks with trembling hands and drew in a shaky breath. “I’m fine.”
“ ‘Fine’ seems like a stretch,” Annie said. “Do you have an emergency? Should I be sending deputies somewhere?”
“I wish I knew.”
“I’m Detective Broussard,” Annie said. “Let’s go sit down and you can tell me what’s going on. Can you stand up, ma’am?”
The woman nodded and pushed to her feet on shaky legs. Annie rose with her, steadying her.
She must have been around fifty or so, Annie thought, petite, birdlike, with delicate features. Deep worry lines bracketed her mouth and creased her brow.
“What’s your name, ma’am?”
“B’Lynn,” she said softly. “B’Lynn Fontenot.”
Annie glanced back at Valerie Comb’s sour face. “Valerie, could you please bring us some coffee? Thank you so much.”
Without waiting for a response, she led the way to the interview room across the hall. B’Lynn Fontenot took the seat on the far side of the small table and wrapped her black quilted jacket around herself as if she were freezing. She swept a hand back over her shoulder-length hair self-consciously, as if to smooth away the tangles and wipe away the gray streaks.
She looked rough, like she hadn’t slept, or maybe she drank or had a drug habit. Maybe she was panicking because she needed a fix. Maybe she was shivering because she was going into withdrawal. But if B’Lynn Fontenot was a drug-seeking addict, then she would have gone to the ER, not to the sheriff’s office.
“Can you spell your name for me, ma’am?” Annie asked as she took her seat and settled in with the yellow legal pad and pen that had been left there.
“Fontenot. F-O-N-T-E-N-O-T. Beverly Lynn. B-E-V-E-R-L-Y L-Y-N-N. I go by B’Lynn.”
“I don’t mean any offense, Ms. Fontenot, but I have to ask: Are you under the influence of any alcohol or narcotics right now?”
The woman’s laughter was sudden and slightly hysterical. “Oh, my God! I wish! I wish I was on drugs and this was all some kind of bad trip! Wouldn’t that be nice? Or maybe this is all just a bad dream, and I’ll wake up, and everything will be…different,” she said, her voice trailing off. “I wish…
“I’m sure I seem like a lunatic,” she said. “I’m sorry. I just…I’m just at the end of my rope,” she said, her voice tightening and trembling, tears rising again in her eyes, “and I don’t know what else to do.”
“It’s all right,” Annie assured her. “What is it you need our help with?”
“My son is missing. My son is missing, and no one seems to care but me.”
Oh, God, not another case with a kid, Annie thought, anxiety tightening like a fist in her chest. She wasn’t sure she could take another. The last one had nearly done her in, literally and emotionally.
“How old is your son?”
“He’s twenty-seven.”
