In Search of the Dove Read Free Page B

elders. That had been part of her southern upbringing. But her mother and father had also had a way of snapping their minds shut to what they couldn’t understand. Their lack of insight and support had caused a crisis in her own adolescent years. Could that be relevant to Aubrey’s case?
    “Was taking drugs a way for Aubrey to rebel against their authority?” Dr. Frederickson asked.
    She raised a hand to her temple and stroked for a moment, the gesture partially hiding her eyes. “My parents were pretty old when they had us.” She paused for a moment, suddenly immersed in all the old pain. “They died when Aubrey was twelve and I was seventeen. He went to live with our aunt, Edna Ballin, who ended up adopting him. I was already in college in the East and decided to stay there. But I’ve always felt guilty about not coming back here to take care of my brother.” She didn’t want to tell him the whole story of why she’d been compelled to put so much distance between herself and New Orleans.
    Dr. Frederickson heard the distress in her voice. “It must have been a pretty rough time for both of you.”
    “It was.” Let him make his own assumptions about why.
    “But you were only a kid yourself,” the psychiatrist reminded her gently. “You were hardly capable of shouldering the responsibility for a twelve-year-old. If your aunt adopted him, she must have cared strongly about him. Did he have a good home with her?”
    “Yes. She was a wonderful person. She doted on him, and she wanted a relative to carry on the Ballin name. Except for a small legacy to me, Aubrey was her only heir. Most of the money is still in trust until he’s twenty-five.”
    “So he was in good hands, and you don’t have to feel guilty.”
    They talked for a while longer about Aubrey’s background. Though a measure of Jessica’s equanimity returned, there was still no way to come up with an explanation for what had happened to her brother.
    “It just doesn’t make sense,” she concluded.
    “Maybe he got in with the wrong crowd,” Dr. Frederickson suggested. “Did you know any of his friends?”
    “No. I haven’t been back here in a long time.”
    “Are you planning to stay on for a while?”
    “I want to be here for Aubrey now that he needs me.”
    The doctor cleared his throat. “Miss Duval, you may find this upsetting, but I think it would be better if you didn’t visit your brother—at least for a while.”
    “Why not?”
    “In his present state, seeing you seems to disturb him.”
    Jessica knitted her fingers together. “I see.”
    “Again, don’t put the blame on yourself. Apparently, he just can’t cope with you right now.” The doctor looked down at his notes for a moment. “I wish I could be more encouraging about your brother. If I only knew what psychotoxin he’d been taking, that might help us proceed with treatment.” He paused and shrugged. “But we haven’t a clue.”
    “Maybe I can find out for you.”
    “Probing into the New Orleans drug culture could be dangerous. I wouldn’t advise it.”
    “I’ll keep that in mind.”
    * * *
    M ICHAEL R OME FLOPPED onto the grass under a century-old live oak tree and tossed his used chemistry book and red knapsack down beside him. They were part of his new cover. Before heading for the university, he’d reluctantly exchanged his snakeskin boots for a pair of scuffed Adidas, well-worn jeans, and a blue Jackson Square T-shirt that showed off the corded muscles of his upper arms. He wasn’t about to submit to a Mohawk, but he’d used mousse to give his hair a chic, messy look. Though he was a bit old for an undergraduate, there was nothing much he could do about that except play it cool.
    Leaning back against a gnarled root, he looked out over the well-groomed Chartres University grounds. From his vantage point, he could see groups of students enjoying the fine September weather.
    Over the past few days, he’d spent hours getting to know the school—much