Maybe Next Time

By Shirley Marlow

It was June, another year of record breaking heat throughout the south when FBI agent, Dr. CC Cannon, returned to her home in New Orleans. For the past three years she had worked at the Federal Bureau of Investigation in Washington, D. C. Her grandmother had called; her parents had died in an automobile accident. She needed to come home. Shortly after her arrival someone began sending CC notes and a mysterious caller was leaving her telephone messages suggesting it was murder. She kept them a secret. She was mystified, who would want the New Orleans Police Chief and his socialite wife dead and why? Was it an accident or was it murder? Her friend and past employer, Special Agent Tom Pierce was instrumental in getting her reassigned to the New Orleans Bureau. She was determined to find the truth about her parents death, but quickly discovered it would not be easy.
Special Agent Marco Moretti is in New Orleans, on loan from the Miami Bureau. He is chasing after his long time nemesis Russian mobster, Ivan Milkovich. Word has it he has been seen in New Orleans. To Moretti, even Milkovich has finally reached the bottom of the proverbial pit; trafficking and selling young, kidnapped Russian girls into slavery and prostitution in the U.S.
Will the death of Cannons parents and the actions of Ivan Milkovich be connected? The two team up with other agents from the New Orleans Bureau to search for the truth, but will their personal desires for each other hamper them in the investigation?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 6, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465363633

Shirley Marlow

Shirley Marlow is retired, living in Dothan, Alabama, and is the author of Maybe Next Time and Misguided Justice. Final Encounter is the last book of her trilogy.

Book preview

Copyright © 2011 by Shirley Marlow.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2011917891

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4653-6362-6

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4653-6361-9

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4653-6363-3

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without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 1

Caressa Celine Cannon, better known as CC Cannon, slowly opened her eyes as the 747 Delta airplane she was riding in touched down on the black asphalt runway and came to a screeching stop. New Orleans. Home again, but for the wrong reason. She looked down at her watch; had it only been five hours since she received that dreadful telephone call? She could still hear her grandmother’s tearful voice echoing in her head.

CC, dear, I have some terrible news. It was hard for her to talk; she was trying to hold back the sobs. You must come home. Your parents were killed in an automobile accident tonight. She didn’t hear much after that.

She must be dreaming; she had to be; she talked to her mom earlier today. She sounded so excited about attending the policeman’s annual summer ball. The benefits this year would be given to the Rebuilding New Orleans Fund. Since Hurricane Katrina, she had worked long hours on this project. She and Daddy could not be dead; they just couldn’t. What would she do without them? Now it was only her and Nana, and even she was getting on in age.

Inside the terminal, she stood by the luggage conveyor belt, waiting for her bag. She watched the people as they rushed about, some arriving and some departing. They were young and old, parents with small children, men and women in military uniforms, men and women in business attire, all waiting or hurrying to their next destination. All of them were different, she thought, but they had one thing in common—they were travelers. Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, she spotted her bag as it shot out of the luggage chute, making its way down and around in her direction. She picked it up and rolled it outside. Standing on the sidewalk, she wondered whether any of those people had gotten a death notice like her; she sure hoped not. A voice suddenly snapped her back to the present. Cab, ma’am, do you need a cab?

She could not recall what it was her Nana had said when they talked earlier tonight. Oh yes, she remembered now. She said she would send Sanders to pick her up at the airport.

What did I say to her? She was finding it difficult to concentrate. Oh Lord, thought CC, I must snap out of this fog. I am a grown, responsible woman, a doctor and an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I never fall apart like this. She tried to clear her mind; finally, she remembered what she had said. She did not know her arrival time and would just take a cab.

Ma’am, do you need a cab? came the voice again.

Turning, she saw the person who spoke, a tall young African-American male with a wide grin that covered most of his face. She answered, Yes, yes, I do, and thank you for being so patient. The driver took her bag and put it in the trunk of the car then opened the back door for her. She gave the driver her grandmother’s address, she slipped into the backseat, and they drove away. She yawned, glanced out the window, and noticed the sun was beginning to rise over the horizon. She was sleepy and tired. Her eyes were still burning from crying. When was the last time I had a good night’s sleep? she thought. CC made a mental note to call her boss, George Williams, back home in Washington DC and tell him the news. She tried to reach him before leaving town, but he was unavailable. Some meeting perhaps It seemed George was always in a meeting lately, so she left him a short message on his phone. She wasn’t sure when she would be back at work since she had no details. She would have to let him know later. George would understand.

Looking out the car’s window, she was still devastated by the damage left behind from Hurricane Katrina. The people here were rebuilding, but the city had a long way to go. Her heart went out to all of them. During the twenty-five-minute drive from the airport to her grandmother’s house, she tried to think of all the things that would need to be done; however, only questions came to mind.

Why was Nana so insistent about wanting her to come to her house and not go to Mom and Dad’s? Why did Daddy lose control of the car? He was an excellent, no-nonsense driver. She remembered him saying when he started teaching her to drive at fifteen, CC, driving is a great responsibility and a privilege. No nonsense when you are behind the wheel of a car. He must have had a heart attack. Yes, that’s it. It’s gotta be. Nana had said there were no other vehicles involved. Why were they driving Dad’s police car and not the family car? She knew she would need answers to these and other questions, but her thoughts gradually turned to the weather.

The summers were always hot and humid in New Orleans, and it was only the middle of June. She wiped the small beads of perspiration. What would it be like by the end of August? She couldn’t remember. Several years had passed since she had spent a summer here. She sometimes wondered how she made it through those long, hot, steamy days and nights growing up, but truth be known CC loved New Orleans—everything about it. She loved the sights, sounds; and unlike most of her friends when they were young, she didn’t mind the smells that came with it. The city was filled with history and diversity. New Orleans, like many other southern cities, is also the city of spirits. Voodoo is still practiced, and like all cities, it has its dark side as well, but she didn’t want to concentrate on that. Her childhood memories brought back a time when she saw her mom and dad laughing, dressed in their evening clothes, getting ready for a night out. She was remembering how well they looked together, one always complementing the other. Everyone they came in contact with knew and could see how much they were in love. Now that they were gone, all she had were memories. Once again hot tears began to run down her cheeks. She quickly wiped them with the back of her hand as she realized the car was slowing. The cab came to a stop, and she noticed they were in front of her grandmother’s large white Greek-revival style antebellum home—Live Oaks Plantation. There were a few cars parked in the driveway, some she recognized, most she didn’t. Who could they belong to?

The front door opened, and Sanders—she suddenly wondered—what was his full name? She realized she had never heard anyone say. He was coming down the steps to help with her bag. He had been working for Nana as far back as she could remember.

Hello, Ms. CC, it’s good to see you. Welcome home. I sure am sorry about your mama and daddy. His head was slightly bowed. Here, let me get that bag for you. He bent down and picked it up.

Hello, Sanders, thank you. How are you, and how is Nana?

I’m fine, but you know her, Ms. CC. It’s sometimes hard to tell what she is thinking.

That’s true.

She could see the concern on his face; he was worried about her. He continued, I know she will be glad to see you. She just keeps saying, ‘I wish CC would hurry and get home.’ She watched as he walked around the side of the house, his head slightly bowed and his shoulders slumped.

She took a moment to glance up at the big house with its Doris columns across the deep sunlit porch, then she walked up the wide steps. She was thankful there wasn’t much damage from Hurricane Katrina. She had spent a lot of time here as a child, and she loved this monstrosity of a house, surrounded by its old live oak trees.

She paused at the top, glanced across the porch, and admired several large and small concrete pots filled with a variety of flowery blooms. A row of pots filled with lush green ferns hanging from the porch’s edge, were slightly swaying. She wasn’t sure how; she didn’t feel any breeze. White wicker rocking chairs and small tables were sitting idly about.

She tried to smooth some of the wrinkles out of her clothes and ran her fingers through her long auburn hair. I must look a mess, she thought. CC swallowed, took a deep breath, and walked slowly across the wide porch to the door, opened it, and walked inside.

To her amazement, she came face-to-face with her ex-husband, Ashton Atwell Worthington Jr. and a few steps behind him, her ex-father-in-law, Judge Ashton Atwell Worthington Sr. Like her mother’s family, the Worthingtons were descendants of many generations in New Orleans. They were well known and very influential. After the divorce, CC had changed her name back to Cannon. The judge never liked her while she was married to Ash Jr., and she did not want his name. For a moment, there was nothing but silence. They smiled, staring at each other. She knew the romantic love they once had died years ago, but nonetheless, she felt a lump in her throat. She was glad to see him. Over the years, they had remained good friends. She was the first to speak. Hello, Ash, Judge.

The judge only nodded. She could tell she was still not one of his favorite people. She didn’t mind. He did not like anyone he couldn’t control. Ash gave her a warm embrace and a kiss on the cheek then stepped back. Hello, CC, you’re looking good. I’m sorry about your mama and daddy. It’s a terrible thing. He glanced toward his father. The judge and I came by to see if we could be of any help to Ressa.

Thank you. I appreciate that.

She told us Doc Harrison stopped by earlier and checked on her. She seems to be holding up pretty well, but this has been hard on her. I know she will be glad to see you. He paused before asking. Are you going to be okay? She nodded her head. Ahh, okay, we were just leaving. Call me if I can do anything.

She nodded her head. Thanks for coming by, she replied. It was kind of you. She stepped aside to let them pass through the doorway.

As she walked into the front parlor, she heard voices and stopped. She noticed Ressa on the sofa. Sitting next to her, holding her hand, and talking to her was Fr. Patrick Ryan from the local parish. CC was glad to see him sitting there. He had been Ressa’s priest for several years; she liked and trusted him. Two ladies, probably Nana’s age, around seventy-five years or so, were sitting on a sofa nearby, talking quietly to each other. She knew they were her grandmother’s friends, but she could not recall their names. Two other ladies with food in their hands were headed toward the kitchen. Standing alone next to the fireplace, as if it was lit and he was warming himself, was Paul Mesadieu, New Orleans’ police commissioner. Every time she saw him, he looked as if he belonged in a GQ advertisement, and today was no exception. He was wearing a dark tailored Armani suit with a light blue silk shirt and matching tie. His dark skin made the colors even more vibrant. It was remarkable how he looked so cool and neat in this heat, thought CC. Once again, she was reminded of how unkempt she must look. She took another step, and just at that moment, Ressa saw her and started to get up, but CC motioned for her to stay seated. She walked over to the sofa and sat down next to her. They hugged each other tightly.

Oh, CC, I am so glad to see you, she whispered softly as she tried to hold back the tears that once again had surfaced in her eyes.

I know, Nana, I know, and I’m glad to see you. Her eyes filled with tears. It was difficult for her to talk. I am here now; everything is going to be okay.

Slowly, Ressa released her. She wiped her eyes with a dainty white lace handkerchief that she was clutching in her hand. She turned toward the people in the room and said, You all know my granddaughter, CC. She stood up as her grandmother was speaking.

The two ladies sitting on the sofa mumbled something she didn’t quite catch. Fr. Ryan walked over and took her hands in his. Bless you, my child; it’s good to see you. I am terribly sorry for your loss. I will be here to help you and your family get through this terrible tragedy. She stood there watching his mouth. She wasn’t sure of everything he was saying, something about her parents being in God’s hands now. She didn’t want them in God’s hands; she wanted them here. She needed them here. She hadn’t spent enough time with them yet. CC noticed he had stopped talking and was looking at her. She could only nod; words would not come out of her mouth. He slowly sat back down on the sofa where Ressa was still sitting.

Commissioner Mesadieu walked across the room to meet her. He took her hand and hugged her lightly. Hello, CC, good to see you. He had a warm smile on his face. How was your flight? he asked.

She nodded her head. It was okay.

I’m sorry about your mom and dad; they were good people. As you know, your daddy and I were close friends, and he was a good policeman. I am going to miss him; New Orleans is going to miss both of them. I don’t have to tell you they were pillars in this city. He cleared his throat. Please let me know if I can help in any way.

CC nodded her head again. A short time later, he left. After he was gone, she turned to face everyone in the room, and finding it difficult to speak, she did manage to say, Thank you all for coming. I really appreciate your kindness, but if you will excuse us now, I think Nana should get some rest. She led them to the door and held it open as they walked out into the bright, sunny June morning. She thanked each person as they passed by her. She went back and sat down next to Ressa, who had remained on the sofa. How are you really doing Nana? I heard Dr. Harrison stopped by. What did he say?

Oh, I am going to be fine, my Cher’rie. It was an awful blow when I got the news. Paul Mesadieu came by and told me, you know. She patted CC on the hand. He is a good man, a good friend to your daddy. Ressa dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. Ben Harrison said I was doing fine. He gave me some pills to take if I thought I needed them. I told him I didn’t need any pills and I don’t plan on taking them. She was trying to put on a brave front for her granddaughter. She had a smile on her face, and CC knew it was for her sake. Ressa took her hand. It’s you I am worried about, my Cher’rie. You look so tired. You being alone, I hated to give you such terrible news over the telephone, but I did not know what else to do.

Nana, I’m fine, and you had no other choice but to tell me over the phone. She changed the subject. Tell me, do you know if Dad was having any trouble with his heart?

Ressa shook her head. I don’t believe so, dear. Why do you ask?

CC shrugged. Do you know where the bodies are now?

No, dear. I don’t really know anything, but I believe Paul did say they were taken to Bowcard’s Funeral Home.

Okay, said CC. I think I will get a hot bath and lie down for a couple of hours. I’m exhausted plus I have an excruciating headache. She paused long enough to rub her hand across the front of her forehead. After I do that, Nana, maybe I can concentrate better. I want to go downtown and try to get some answers to a lot of questions that are rolling around in my head. She looked at her grandmother. I think you should also try and rest. We have some busy days ahead of us.

All right, Cher’rie, if you think that is best. They walked slowly, arm in arm, down the wide hallway to Ressa’s bedroom, the old shiny mahogany floor creaking with each step they took. Passing by the door leading into the kitchen, CC caught a glimpse of Sanders and others at work. The aroma of fresh food being prepared filled her nostrils. Did it make her hungry? Yes. Could she eat? No. Her stomach was in knots; food was not the answer now. She did however want to stop in and say hello, but that would have to wait. Her priority was to get her grandmother to her room to rest. CC didn’t think she looked well at all. Maybe I should call Dr. Harrison, she thought as she helped her into bed.

CC waited by her bedside until she drifted off the sleep. And then, satisfied her color was looking better, she made her way back to the kitchen. Everyone was glad to see her and gave her their condolences. Even though they were the domestic servants, most of them had known her since birth. Her grandmother considered them family, and so did she. They loved CC, and she loved them.

Because she was tired, CC cut her visit short and walked upstairs to a bedroom where she had spent many wonderful days and nights as a child. She had great memories of this room. Sanders knew she would pick it; her bag was there waiting. She sat down on the edge of the bed, her eyes filled with tears. She grabbed a tissue from a box on the nightstand, walked over, and peered out the window. Glad to be alone with her thoughts, she knew she had to stay strong for her grandmother, but she was having serious doubts.

The hot bath in the large old white claw-footed tub was relaxing. CC closed her eyes as she put a warm cloth over them then gently laid her head back on the end of the tub. She wanted to go to sleep, but she had too much on her mind, too many things to do. First, she had to contact someone at the funeral home and make the arrangements. She wanted to see her parents. No, she needed to see them. She had to make sure. She needed to call Fr. Ryan to see when he and the church would be available. Calls had to be made, relatives needed to be notified. She had an aunt Grace, her daddy’s only sister, and her family. There were cousins, but she hadn’t seen or spoken to any of them in years. She wasn’t even sure if she knew how to reach them. She made a mental note to ask her aunt Grace to help her with that. George needed to be contacted. The list in her head went on and on.

While she was in the process of drying herself off from her bath, the phone stared to ring. Talking to someone now was the last thing she wanted to do, but she picked up the receiver. Hello.

CC, is that you? CC, darling, it’s David. I am so, so sorry about your parents. What can I do to help, love? Do you want me to come over? I cannot believe this is happening. My nerves are just shot. When did you get in?

A big smile crossed her face. Slow down, David, take a deep breath. Yes, it’s me. She was going through her clothes, trying to find something to wear. She was shivering. I got here a few hours ago. I was going to call you when I got a chance. How are you doing? she asked.

I’m a mess, that’s how I’m doing. I can’t believe it really happened.

I know, neither can I. She was finding it difficult to get dressed and hold on to the telephone. Listen, David, I have a lot of things I need to take care of today, so I don’t really have much time to talk right now.

He cut her off. I know, darling. That is why I called. You don’t need to be alone now, and I can help you. He was talking so fast she was having a hard time keeping up. I’m coming over. I insist, and I won’t take no for an answer. See you soon. Bye.

He hung up before she had a chance to respond. She was smiling. Same ole David. He’ll never change. She knew she could use some help and couldn’t think of another person she would rather have. They had been friends since grade school, and she adored him. No matter what, they were always there for each other. He was quirky and most of the time talked too much, but she would trust him with her life. He was the brother/sister she never had. His large family disapproved of his lifestyle, and there was constant friction between them. He had related to CC many stories about the abusive treatment he had received as a child. She wasn’t sure if he stayed in contact with any of them anymore. He never talked about them. Despite his personal life, he was doing well for himself in the business sector. He owned DaVid’s Interior Design and had probably decorated most of the upscale homes in New Orleans. He was her friend, and she loved him.

Before David’s arrival, CC had used the time to make her calls and to set up appointments. She also heard from George. He expressed his sympathies and assured her he would be coming down to be with her. She tried to object, but he would not take no for an answer. She realized she would be glad to see him; she was going to need all the strength she could find to get through the next few days.

Ressa was still napping when CC came downstairs. She left word with Sanders that she would be out for awhile. She heard David’s car when he drove up and went out to meet him. Before it fully stopped, he jumped out to hug her. Hey, CC. He was trying not to cry. It’s so good to see you. He wrapped his long arms around her. I have missed you so much.

Hey, David, right back at you, she could hardly breathe. She patted him on his back. You might want to ease up on your grip. She needed air.

Sorrrry. He let go so fast she almost fell, but he caught her. He quickly jumped back in the car to put it in gear. Both were laughing when the car sped down the long driveway and onto the main road.

CHAPTER 2

The small chapel at Saint Roch was overflowing with people of all ages. Others were gathered together outside. CC was overwhelmed as she glanced around at the multitude of people that had gathered. The mourners were dressed in a variety of colors, but mostly black. The attendance of the policemen dressed in their uniforms presented an awesome array of the love and respect they had for their fallen comrade and his wife. Family, friends, active and retired law enforcement personnel, and many of New Orleans government workers were also in attendance. It proved what she already knew—her parents would be missed but remembered by this community. Regardless of the large crowd, however, the memorial service was simple; and she felt her mom and dad would have approved.

A light summer rain began to fall as they made their way out of the cemetery, and dark, heavy clouds were beginning to form further south toward the coast. Streaks of lightning lit up the skies, and rumbling thunder could be heard in the distance. Ressa looked up, the sky above them was beginning to turn dark. We could be in for some bad weather, she said to CC as they walked arm in arm toward the black limousine that was waiting for them. It was parked on the small winding road at the edge of the row of headstones. These summer thunderstorms can come up pretty fast sometimes.

CC glanced up and noticed the dark sky. She agreed with her grandmother, and they began walking faster. By the time they arrived home, it was raining hard. The wind was causing havoc on everything that wasn’t fastened down, and the loud, rumbling thunder and zigzag lightning was close and getting worse.

At Ressa’s later, she could still hear the sounds of the summer storm raging outside. CC knew she had one more thing that needed to be done—she had to go to her parents’ home. She might as well go today and get it over with. She had put it off long enough. A great number of people had stopped by after the memorial service, and she knew Ressa would have plenty of company to keep her occupied for a few hours. I could probably return before anyone even misses me, she thought.

She went into her bedroom to change out of the clothes she was wearing. She hadn’t brought many clothes with her, but due to the weather, she decided on a pair of jeans and a dark green cashmere pullover sweater. These should do, she thought as she hurriedly put them on. She pulled her long auburn hair back with a green scarf, put on a pair of black Italian ankle boots, and slipped unnoticed out the back door, grabbing an umbrella as she went. She struggled to walk against the heavy rain and the forceful wind. It almost knocked her down several times. The umbrella was useless, but she continued on, determined to make it.

Katrina had completely destroyed the home where she grew up. Her parents had lost everything. Deciding afterward not to rebuild, they had bought an apartment downtown. This had surprised her, but they seemed happier than ever, and she was happy for them. She loved them so much, and now they were gone. Driving to their apartment, she was thinking back over the past and all the stories she had been told. At the ages of eighteen and twenty, her parents met at a masquerade ball during Mardi Gras week, and according to them, it was love at first sight. Celina, CC’s mother, was a descendant from one of the oldest, most affluent French-American families in