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USA TODAY bestselling author Muffy Wilson
“Reverend Soto?” A female voice rattled over the other end of the line.
“This is Kay Long. I’m sorry to bother you, but I didn’t know who else to call.”
“Yes, Kay. How can I help?” I made sure to sound more awake than I was.
Kay prattled on, and I could hear the worry in her voice.
“It’s George. He’s gone off the wagon again. Down on Bourbon Street, and I can’t get him to come home. I’d go after him myself, but I can’t leave the twins, and I can’t put them in a stroller and go get him. Not down at the strip clubs.”
“True.” That wasn’t a practical solution. Mrs. Long had twins who were going on about six months old now. Her husband had been attending AA meetings at the church semi-regularly. He’d been trying.
Rain pinged steadily on the roof, and I really didn’t feel like getting out of bed and heading down to the French Quarter. “Don’t you think he’ll catch a cab when he’s ready to come home?”
“Maybe, but I’m afraid he’ll get locked up, like last time. And I can’t afford the bail money. Not with all these diapers and formula. Can you please help me?”
I held the phone out and sighed. “Want me to go looking for him?”
“I hate to ask, but yes. Unless you can think of another way to get him home without an incident.”
I couldn’t. “I’ll see what I can do. Do you recall the name of a few of his favorite places?”
“Maybe check the Booby Trap or the Leopard Lounge. George likes all those titty bars. I’m sorry Father. I can’t imagine that you’d know much about those type places.”
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