The Devil's Luck

by W E DeVore

  “Where are you going?” she asked. “I hate to drink alone, and my girlfriends are late. Why don’t you be a gentleman and buy me a drink.”

  Q could smell the gin on her breath from four feet away and she debated how aggressively she should intervene. It wasn’t the first time she’d witnessed her husband get picked up in front of her, and she knew how uncomfortable it made him, even though it really didn’t bother her at all. But seeing Ben’s distress, she tried to reach him. The three people standing between her and her husband, however, were adamant that Q had suddenly become invisible and ignored her polite attempts to pass between them. She felt a hand on the small of her back and she turned to find Sanger and Yvie standing behind her.

  Yvie nodded her head towards Ben’s companion who was now resting both hands on his chest and telling him about her impotent ex-husband. “Looks like my brother’s made a new friend.”

  “Definitely closing in on double A territory,” Q replied.

  “Double A?” Sanger asked.

  “Adrian Anderson. Dark Harm fangirl. She hit on Ben at the Cove one night and I wasn’t too nice when I told her back off. So, she spent the next week or so sending me some delightful messages on social media. It’s our pet name for the women who hit on Ben,” Q explained.

  “You going to rescue him?” Sanger asked.

  Q shoved him forward. “No, you are. I don’t need that kind of trouble.”

  Yvie folded her arms. “You’re kidding me, right? He’s just going to pour gas on that woman’s fire.”

  Sanger leaned down and kissed her shoulder. “I’d rather pour gas on yours, Yvie.”

  Yvie raised an eyebrow at Q. “You see what I mean.”

  “Both of you quit it, will you?” she replied. “Avi. We need Avi, Sanger.”

  Sanger’s late older brother, Avi, had been the polar opposite of his younger sibling. A flamboyant comedian with a collection of high heels that rivaled the four Bordelon sisters combined, Avi was everything Sanger was not: fun-loving, funny, and very, very gay.

  He smirked in amusement. “You’re serious?”

  Q glanced at the woman, whose hands were winding their way closer and closer to Ben’s belt buckle. Ben looked over at the three of them and mouthed, “Do something.”

  Sanger shrugged and blew Ben a kiss. “On it.”

  He closed the distance between himself and Ben, easily slipping through the group of people who apparently still couldn’t see or hear Q but could definitely see and hear Sanger just fine. He called out in a slightly more effeminate version of his voice, “Ben, my darling angel, our table’s ready. Stop flirting with that poor woman. It’s not polite to lead the other team on.”

  Ben turned in surprise. He caught Yvie and Q watching the scene with astonished smiles on their faces and he grabbed Sanger’s hand, pulling him closer. “There you are, naughty boy. Where have you been? I was getting lonely.”

  He leaned down and kissed Sanger’s cheek. “Miranda, darlin’, this is my husband, Aaron.”

  Miranda’s face fell. “Why is every attractive man in this city gay?”

  She abruptly turned and headed back to the bar. Ben let go of Sanger’s hand and asked, “Which one put you up to it?”

  “Who do you think?” Sanger replied. “Your wife. Come on. Our table really is ready.”

  As Yvie and Q joined them, Ben said, “Thank you. That was turning into a double A.”

  “More like a double D.” She winked at him. “I think I’m going to let Sanger take over rescuing duties. That was way easier than when I have to do it.”

  Ben’s hand slid down to her hips. “But not nearly as much fun.”

  She grinned up at him. “For you, maybe. But I just end up making another enemy.”

  They walked to their table and Sanger pulled his chair closer to Yvie’s, draping his arm across the back of it. She rested her hand on his thigh and he rested his lips on her bare shoulder.

  Q watched Sanger and an odd bittersweet feeling settled over her. She’d been the only woman in Sanger’s life for so long, she’d never considered what it would feel like when he finally looked at a woman the way he was looking at Yvonne Bordelon.

  Sanger caught her watching him and he gave her a questioning look. She winked at him and smiled. “Looks good on you, cowboy.”

  “What’s that, Clementine?” he asked.

  “Happiness.”

  Yvie sighed contentedly and Ben raised his glass to her. His sister had survived more than her fair share of failed relationships, and he’d been there to pick up most of the pieces. Being only eleven months apart, they’d shared a room until Ben was in third grade and though he loved all his sisters, his bond with his closest was stronger than with the others.

  As Q sipped her wine in the comfortable silence, she finally understood what Yvie had told her on the day Ben and she had returned from Grand Cayman and announced they’d eloped. Ben’s parents had thrown a huge impromptu party to celebrate their only son’s marriage and Yvie had pulled Q upstairs to the bedroom she’d shared with her brother when they were both children. She’d told her that no one in the world would ever understand her like her brother did. And the same was probably true for him. Then she’d said something that Q would never forget, “It’s been hard letting him go, to make room for you. But I had to; he wouldn’t start over. When you’re ready, I hope you can make some space for me. Beside you. Never between you.”

  Over the two years, Yvie had become her favorite sister-in-law, and even though she’d rigorously complained about fixing it up, she was happy that the relationship between Yvie and Sanger seemed to be working out so well so far.

  Ben interrupted her musings and asked, “Aaron, how’s the case going? You going to get my wife arrested again?”

  Sanger laughed. “Nah. Clementine gave me some good advice. Now that federal agent is my very best friend.”

  “And Rex?” Q asked.

  “He’s taken over your position at the number one spot on her shit list,” Sanger replied. “Told her she needed a good lay and volunteered to do the honors.”

  Q let out a low whistle. “Is he still breathing?”

  “He made it out of the firefight more or less intact.” Sanger sipped his wine. “But Ackerman is going on the backburner. We picked up a nasty hit and run this afternoon. Same neighborhood, actual crime. Possible foul play is a lower priority than actual attempted homicide.”

  “You got a name you can share?” Ben asked. “I know almost everyone in that neighborhood.”

  Sanger flinched. “I’m sorry, brother. I didn’t think about that. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Genevieve Kirkhardt. She got hit crossing Tchoupitoulas around lunch time. She’s in ICU. But she’s probably not going to make it.”

  “Why is homicide investigating?” Q asked. “Seems like traffic crimes’ jurisdiction.”

  “Witnesses said it looked like it was intentional. The motherfucker didn’t even brake. You know her?” Sanger asked Ben.

  “Yes, I do. She runs the corner market by the Emporium. I see her almost every day.” Ben’s eyebrows stitched together, and his eyes found Q’s, worry further darkening his brow. “That’s two people in two months. Jesus.”

  Q cursed under her breath. “I thought you said Mike’s case didn’t even register on the danger scale, Sanger.”

  “What are you talking about, Clementine?” Sanger tilted his head and shook her off, his eyes flickering from Ben to Yvie.

  She leaned across the table and gestured for him to do the same. When his face was close to hers, she said in a heated whisper, “You don’t think it’s suspicious that the woman who sits all day every day at the window across the street from the Emporium just got herself run over?”

  Sanger stared her down. “Not a bit, Clementine. Drop it. Right now.”

  “I will not. You said you didn’t think Mike’s death was suspicious,” she said, holding her ground.

&n
bsp; “And you said you didn’t want to be my ride or die no more,” he replied calmly. “Trust me when I tell you that you made a good decision. Now drop it.”

  Q could feel Yvie and Ben watching the two of them in stunned silence.

  “But...” she started.

  Sanger held up his hand and said, “I said that’s enough, Clementine. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.” He exhaled slowly and sat back. “We’re supposed to be having a nice dinner. Let’s talk about someone else’s work, not mine. How are rehearsals going with Derek?”

  “Sanger...”

  “Yes, Clementine?” He looked hard at her until she backed down.

  “Nothing.” She blinked several times trying to find her bearings in unfamiliar territory. “Aaron, please be careful...”

  “I mean it. Not mine. My job is off limits for the rest of the night. Your turn. Tell us about rehearsals,” he said. “How’s my least favorite vampire?”

  Her stomach turned in response to the unease that was filling her, and she swallowed it back down before she finally answered, “Rehearsals start next week. I’m meeting with Derek tomorrow night. You know, vampires can’t come out until after dark.”

  Sanger’s posture relaxed, and he laughed at her joke. “You need me to whittle you a wooden stake?”

  “Tempting, but I’m thinking killing him with holy water would be much more ironic.” She managed a wry smile and reclined back against Ben.

  Yvie spoke up, “I don’t know why you hate him so much. I think he’s charming as hell.”

  “Watch it, Yvie,” Sanger scolded.

  “You jealous, baby?” she asked, biting her lip and grinning at him.

  “Nah. I can handle Derek Sharp,” he replied.

  “You think so, huh?” Yvie said in a low voice, moving closer to him.

  “I didn’t hear any complaints last night.” Sanger kissed her before she could answer one way or the other.

  Q blushed despite herself and turned to her menu, not wanting to intrude on anything that was going to happen after that statement. As they studied their menus, Ben leaned over to whisper in her ear. “What was that about, darlin’? I can see those gears turning the wrong way.”

  She struggled to find a way to explain that if Sanger was cutting her out of the case as firmly as he seemed to be doing, then he was in more danger than he was willing to admit, and Mike’s death was definitely not a suicide. She watched Sanger and Yvie, feeling the contented joy of new romance wafting from the other side of the table and realized that at this moment, it didn’t matter. In this moment, Sanger wanted to relax and just be, and she was going to let him.

  “Nothing,” she said. “I told him the other day I didn’t want to be his ride or die no more. Guess he’s holding me to it.”

  “Finally.” While he loved Sanger like a brother, Ben had never been comfortable with him leaning on Q for her amateur investigation skills, having nearly lost his wife twice as a result.

  Yvie whispered something to Sanger and he laughed. The same emptiness that had passed through Q earlier returned and she struggled to fight it off.

  “You ok, darlin’?” Ben asked.

  She smiled and nodded towards her friend. “Of course, I’m better than ok. It’s nice seeing him like this. Yvie, too.” She changed the subject and asked, “You remember the first time we came here?”

  He raised his eyebrows and let his eyes wander down her body. “I remember what we did before we came here.”

  “You remember what you said to me?”

  Ben shook his head and replied, “No, I just remember you made plans to get yourself into trouble.”

  “Well, you should be glad I did. Because it started right here that night.” She pointed to the wide arched doorway between the restaurant and the busy bar beyond. “Just over there.”

  “What did?”

  “We were walking to our table and you whispered in my ear and told me that I was your girl now. That’s when it started. Then, that night at the Athenian, when you came and rescued me in that rainstorm, that was it.”

  “What was it?” He smiled at her sentimental reflections. Generally, Ben was one that enjoyed reminiscing about events in their relationship.

  “Me, falling in love with you.”

  “You never told me that,” he whispered, slightly overcome with the memory.

  “I’m telling you now,” she replied.

  He took her hand in his. “I love you.”

  “I know.” She grinned at him and said, “Sazeracs and turtle soup?”

  “You read my mind.”

  Chapter 9

  Keep Your Frenemies Close and

  Your Steak Knives Closer

  Q stared at her reflection in the mirror and quickly wiped off the small amount of lipstick she’d already applied twice. She didn’t know why she was nervous, it wasn’t like she hadn’t spent countless hours being annoyed by the man. But she was; she was nervous. In less than two months, she’d be expected to perform with one of the world’s biggest rock acts, in front of the largest audience she’d ever performed for. It was terrifying and exhilarating and her fractured psyche was pissing her off by attaching all those emotions to a dinner date with Derek Sharp.

  Ben had offered her the Audi so she wouldn’t be beholden to Derek for a ride home, but Derek had insisted on picking her up. The doorbell rang, and she quickly tussled her long curls and stepped into a pair of heels before walking downstairs.

  Opening the front door, she was greeted with a large bouquet of white roses mixed with matching orchids standing where a human face should have been.

  “An offering for the Archangel,” Derek’s disembodied voice came from behind the flowers.

  Q took them from him and inhaled their sweet aroma. “I’m curious, Cincinnati. What would you have done if my husband had answered the door?”

  He shrugged. “Changed my greeting to, ‘My apologies for implying to the nation’s newspaper of record that I wanted to fuck your wife.’”

  She giggled and turned to walk back into the house.

  “Am I invited in?” he called.

  “No,” she said. “I’m still not sure you’re not a member of the undead. I’d like to keep my threshold intact, thank you very much.”

  Derek took a dramatic step into the house and said, “Ta-dah! Your ancient tricks don’t work on me.”

  She shook her head and walked towards the kitchen with Derek in tow. He whistled when he saw the baby grand in the living room. “This looks like Stanley’s.”

  “That’s because it is Stanley’s,” she called from the kitchen.

  When her friend and mentor, Stanley Gerard, had passed away the previous year, he had left all his publishing rights to her grandmother’s charitable foundation and his baby grand to Q.

  She heard a lilting melody on the piano as she filled a vase with water and set the flowers inside. Standing at the counter, she tried to place its familiar progression. Failing, she walked back into the living room and leaned against the doorway, watching Derek play.

  “What is that?” she asked. “It sounds familiar.”

  He looked up and grinned. “I knew you were classically trained. You can’t fool me, angel. It’s Mozart. Or supposed to be anyway.”

  Recognition snapped in Q’s ears and she said, “You’re in the wrong key. It’s supposed to be in F-Major.”

  He turned back to the keys on the piano. “Fuck. Serves me right for trying to play from memory and impress you.”

  He moved his hands, trying the opening melody again, this time in the correct key, before abruptly playing ‘Shave and a Hair Cut’ as an ending and standing up. “God damn, I missed you, angel. Come on, I’m starved.”

  She glanced at his rail-thin body made thinner by the tight black jeans and loose, black, button-down shirt he wore. “Don’t you ever eat?”

  Derek offered her his arm. “I could ask you the same question, Q. You look like you’ve lost ten pounds since I saw you last.”

>   She didn’t want to tell him that his number was off by two or the reason why she’d lost fifteen pounds in three weeks, saying instead, “I had a bad stomach bug when I got back from tour. It did a number on me. Still trying to get a few pounds back.”

  He leaned closer. “Well, let’s go eat our weight in steak and see if we can’t get those delicious curves of yours back into working order.”

  She shoved him away and pushed him towards the front door. “And there it is.”

  “And there what is, angel?”