“Guy, this is Andy. Is Natalie there? No . . . don’t get her. Just give her a message for me. Tell her they’ve found no evidence of disease in that body she was workin’ on when she cut herself, but I want her to get a gamma globulin shot anyway.” Then, remembering that Grandma O had given Jack Doe mouth-to-mouth during her CPR attempts, he called the restaurant and advised her to get the shot, as well.
Having done all he could in that quarter, he hung up and loosened his belt a notch.
ON THE WAY TO her car, Kit was about to cross Tulane Avenue when she heard a voice call her name. Looking in that direction, she saw, behind a green Chrysler stopped for the light, a familiar red sports car with the top down. The driver beckoned her.
Somewhat less reluctantly than she acted, she walked back to the car.
“I’ve been meaning to call you,” Nick Lawson said, tilting his sunglasses onto the top of his head.
Lawson was a crime reporter for the Times-Picayune. For some reason, he considered himself a real ladies’ man. But in Kit’s opinion, any guy who wore his hair in a ponytail and regularly risked his life engaging in dangerous sports had a lot of growing up to do. She pointed at his sunglasses. “Doesn’t that get oil from your hair on the lenses?”
“Yeah, but it’s worth it for the look,” Lawson said, grinning. “I thought the last time we spoke, you were gonna let me know when you were ready for our date.”
Kit feigned a puzzled look. “Has there been a cold spell in hell that hasn’t made the papers?”
“You didn’t mean that.”
Kit arched one eyebrow. “No?”
“You’re just trying to make me yearn for the unattainable.” “That’s partly right.”
“I thought so.”
“The unattainable part.”
The light changed and the car in front of Lawson’s sped away. Exercising his obligation as a native New Orleanian, the driver behind Lawson immediately leaned on his horn.
“Even the highest apple in the tree eventually falls to earth,” Lawson said, pulling away.
She was about to fire a retort at his back but realized it would only encourage him. Everything seemed to encourage him. Harboring a tiny smile she wouldn’t even let herself see, she walked back to the crossing and waited for the light to change.
4
Kit usually saw Teddy LaBiche only on weekends, when he’d drive to New Orleans Saturday morning and go back early Monday. Sometimes Kit found that arrangement entirely acceptable. At other times, she wanted him around more frequently. His trip to Europe had meant two weekends without his company, so as she waited for his arrival this Saturday morning, she was fidgeting like a schoolgirl about to go on her first date.
Teddy had the trip down to an art form, always arriving between 7:00 A.M. and 7:05. She looked at her watch: 7:02. Suddenly, Lucky began to bark. Teddy had his own control for the gates and Lucky always heard them open.
Kit checked her hair in the antique Federal mirror by the door and stepped into the courtyard. When Teddy came out of the parking alcove, all she could see of him were his alligator boots and a couple of inches of denim. The rest was hidden behind a huge rectangular white box tied with a pink ribbon and a giant pink bow.
“What on earth is that?” Kit said.
Teddy shifted the big box to the side and peeked out from behind it.
At first, she wasn’t sure it was Teddy. Instead of his usual rakish straw hat, he was wearing a beret. And under his nose was a thin black mustache.
“Eh bien, ma chère . . .”
Meeting her where the little courtyard canal went under the brickwork, Teddy put the big box down, took Kit in his arms, and kissed her, his new mustache velvet against the skin above her lip. He broke the kiss and whispered in her ear. “I missed you.”
“Me, too,” Kit whispered.
At Teddy’s feet, Lucky clamored for attention, bouncing on his hind legs, his paws windmilling on Teddy’s jeans.
Teddy picked the little dog up and looked into his eyes. “Did you miss me, too, partner?”
In reply, Lucky licked his face. Surprisingly, Lucky’s tongue plucked off Teddy’s mustache.
“It’s a fake,” Kit exclaimed as Teddy waited for Lucky’s tongue to reappear. When it did, it was without the mustache.
“I think he swallowed it,” Teddy said.
“He’s eaten worse than that and it didn’t hurt him,” Kit replied. “Besides, I’m glad it’s gone. Can we get rid of the beret as easily?”
“I don’t know.” He looked at Lucky. “You feel like eating a beret, boy?”
Lucky cocked his head in doggy puzzlement.
“Maybe I’ll just stow it in my truck,” Teddy said, putting Lucky down.
“I’d like that.”
He went back into the alcove and came out the old Teddy, with something behind his back.
“The big box is for you,” he said, “but I didn’t forget Lucky.” Kneeling, he brought out a green alligator hand puppet and began grabbing Lucky’s nose with its pink-lined mouth. Always ready for a game, Lucky backed off a few inches and charged, clamping his teeth onto the alligator’s lips, or whatever alligators have in place of lips.
Abruptly, Teddy let out an alligator roar so realistic Lucky bolted into the nearby flower bed and cowered behind a clump of irises.
“Sorry,” Teddy said sheepishly. “I didn’t think it’d scare him like that.” He shucked the puppet from his hand and put it on the bricks.
“I hope you won’t react that way to your gift.”
“Let’s find out.”
Teddy helped her work the ribbon off and they laid the big box down and removed the lid. Inside was a stuffed white rabbit with extraordinarily long, drooping ears. It was wearing a tiara of fabric roses and a purple velvet dress trimmed in handmade lace and more fabric roses.
“What do you think?” Teddy asked, obviously concerned.
“I absolutely love it,” Kit said, lifting it out of the box. The rabbit was supported by a metal pole at its back that led under its dress to a circular metal platform with three short legs that allowed it to stand upright.
“It doesn’t really do anything,” Teddy said.
“Of course not—it’s for decoration.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you. It was a perfect choice.”
At their feet, Lucky had the alligator by the mouth, mercilessly whipping it on the bricks.
“I hope he’s not doing that to anything in the house,” Teddy said.
“Man, dat’s some big rabbit,” a voice said from the alcove.
It was Bubba Oustellette, Grandma O’s grandson. Bubba worked at the police department’s vehicle-impoundment station and also kept Broussard’s fleet of ’57 T-Birds running. But he was more than just a mechanic. He was Broussard’s friend, and Kit’s too. He’d come over this morning to fix the speedometer on Kit’s car.
Bubba was a minimalist when it came to clothing, agreeing with his grandmother that when you find something that works, you stick with it. In Bubba’s case, it was navy coveralls over a navy T-shirt, brown work shoes, and a green Tulane baseball cap—or at least it used to be. Whatever had motivated Teddy to buy a beret seemed to have affected Bubba, too. For he was now wearing brown coveralls over a brown T-shirt. And perched on his head was a purple Saint’s baseball cap.
After trading greetings with Kit in English, Bubba shook Teddy’s hand and they exchanged a few words in Cajun French.
“You look different today,” Kit said to Bubba.
Above his thick black beard, his face reddened and he hunched his shoulders. “Las’ week, Ah read an article in Cosmo dat said da biggest roadblock to personal growth was resistance to change. Dat got me to thinkin’. An’ it didn’t take long to see where Ah needed some growth. So . . . dis is it. It still feels kinda funny, but Ah ’spect Ah’ll get used to it.”
“How many pairs of brown coveralls did you buy?” Kit asked.
“Ten . . . an’ fifteen b
rown T-shirts. So Ah’m set for a while.” He looked at the gift box and then pointed at the rabbit. “I guess dat’s new?”
“Teddy gave it to me just now.”
Bubba walked over to the rabbit, which was a couple of inches taller than he was, and pointed at the side of its face. “You got a seam comin’ loose here.”
Teddy came around and looked for himself. “He’s right.” Teddy took his hat off and hit his thigh with it. “Nuts. I wanted this to be perfect. I’d take it back, except I bought it in Belgium.”
“Ah got some big upholstery needles at home,” Bubba said. “An’ Ah’m sure Ah could fin’ some thread to match. How about when Ah leave, Ah take da rabbit with me an’ fix it?”
Kit hesitated. She liked the rabbit so much, she didn’t want to let go of it, even for a little while.
“Ah won’t get any grease on it.”
“Okay, do it,” Kit said.
“Dat was sure some excitement you had las’ week at da restaurant. You tell Teddy about dat?”
“I was just about to bring it up.” She then related all that had happened. Even though he’d apparently heard it from Grandma O or Broussard, Bubba listened as intently as Teddy.
“What kind of man goes around without any identification?” Teddy asked when she paused in her tale.
“Somebody up to no good,” Bubba suggested.
“He did have a tattoo that made Andy think he might have spent some time in jail.”
“See . . . what Ah tol’ you,” Bubba said.
“I thought my parents might know who he was, but they didn’t recognize the description I gave them over the phone. I had the feeling, though, they were holding something back.”
Teddy eyed her suspiciously. “This doesn’t sound like something you could walk away from. . . .”
“It isn’t. Andy found hemp and algae cells from different regions of the ocean caught in some grease on the man’s shoes, suggesting he’d recently been down on the docks.”
“And that’s where we’re going today,” Teddy said.
Kit turned to Bubba. “He’s such an intelligent man.”
“Ah jus’ hope you don’ fin’ somethin’ you don’ want,” Bubba said, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners in concern.
“Why do you say that?” Kit asked. Lucky had pulled one of the alligator’s eyes loose and Kit picked it up to keep him from eating it.
“Gramma O say she got a bad feelin’ from dat fella when she gave him mouth-to-mouth. An’ at night in a dream, she saw the groun’ covered with feathers, an’ dey was movin’ like somethin’ small was under ’em. An’ den it began to rain blood.”
Kit was aware that from time to time, Grandma O showed certain abilities difficult to explain. So she didn’t dismiss this as simply the ramblings of an old woman. But neither was she prepared to let it change her plans.
“Thanks for the warning. We’ll be careful.” She bent down and picked up the alligator’s other eye, then looked at Teddy. “Bubba’s here to work on my car.”
“You don’ min’ if Ah put da rabbit in da box and take both of ’em, do you?”
“Not at all. Let me help.”
Teddy and Kit laid the rabbit in the box and slipped the bow over the box to secure it.
“My truck’s out on da street,” Bubba said, pointing. “But don’t worry, Ah won’t put da rabbit in it ’til Ah’m ready to leave.”
“Bubba, would you like a cup of tea before you start on my car? I could put some cinnamon rolls in the microwave.”
He shook his head. “No thanks. Ah had eggs an’ boudin this mornin’ at home.”
“We’ll leave you to it, then. When you’re finished, shut the gates with the control that’s on the front seat of my car. Then just put the control in the mail drop.”
Bubba picked up the box and headed for the parking alcove.
Kit looked at Teddy. “You hungry?”
His eyes danced. “For you.”
“Shhh,” she whispered. “Bubba’ll hear you. I was referring to something to eat.”
“So was I.”
“Business first, LaBiche. Then we’ll see.”
“Okay . . . sure. I could use some food. Our usual place?”
“I don’t think so. There are two sets of docks for freighters, one upriver and one at the foot of Esplanade. I thought we’d work the near one first. And if we do that, there’s no point going way out on St. Charles for breakfast. So, why don’t we just have some of those cinnamon rolls?”
“Are they homemade?”
“Of course. I was up all night baking.”
“Ah, my little hausfrau . . . what a jewel you are. Cinnamon rolls, by all means.”
THE FRENCH QUARTER EXTENDS from Canal Street to Esplanade Avenue, two streets that couldn’t be more different. Where Canal is a typical bustling city thoroughfare lined with highrise hotels, department stores, fast-food joints, and electronic shops, Esplanade, just thirteen blocks away, is another state of mind in a different century. Esplanade is divided by a wide median planted along each edge with a row of twisted old oaks whose graceful curled limbs arch across each half of the street, their leafy fingers gently caressing the balconied sitting areas of the adjacent old houses. When the sun is out, as it was that day, its rays falling through the leaves make the pavement a dappled carpet.
A breeze blowing from the river nudged dried oak leaves from the edges of the sidewalk and they crunched underfoot, mixing with soft purple petals drifting down from a wisteria climbing a nearby balcony support. Through an open window behind a faded green shutter, Kit heard the squeaky bedspring chatter of zebra finches. It was a glorious day, and with Teddy beside her, Kit found herself unable to maintain a somber frame of mind consistent with the business at hand.
A few yards ahead a man stepped from a doorway onto the sidewalk and came toward them. He was dressed in ordinary clothing—pale green twills and a green-and-white plaid shirt. In one hand, he was carrying a tux on a hanger; in the other, a large galvanized bucket. His features were concealed behind a heavy layer of white mime makeup.
As he passed, Teddy said, “Good morning.”
The fellow put his bucket down, tipped an imaginary hat, picked up his bucket, and continued on his way.
“Just your typical New Orleans pedestrian,” Teddy remarked. “By the way, what did this guy we’re investigating look like?”
Kit reached into the outside pocket of her bag and handed him the picture Broussard had given her.
“Boy,” Teddy said, glancing at it. “He looks awful.”
“He should. He was dead when it was taken.”
Teddy made a sour face and handed the picture back, holding it by the tip of his index finger and thumb. “You know, since it’s Saturday, a lot of people who would normally be down on the docks won’t be there.”
“Maybe those who are can help.”
A few minutes later, to the accompaniment of “Lady of Spain” being played on a riverboat calliope, they passed the imposing old orange-bricked U.S. Mint building, crossed N. Peters Street, and went through the Esplanade portal in the wall screening the riverfront.
The change was like jumping from a sauna into a snowbank. In front of them, up on a cement slab four feet above ground level and across five sets of train tracks, a huge corrugated-metal warehouse ran for at least a quarter of a mile along the river. The relatively short section to their right proudly sported a fresh coat of green paint. To their left, its poor yellow country cousin stretched downriver, dented and rusting, sadly waiting for the painter’s return. Over the warehouse roof, Kit and Teddy could see the superstructure of several freighters.
“Might as well begin here,” Kit said, leading the way across the tracks toward three eighteen-wheelers backed up to a loading dock in the green section.
None of the truck drivers recognized the man in the picture.
Kit and Teddy then went up a cement ramp and ducked into the warehouse through a door beside a sign that warne
d them against trespassing. In the gloomy interior, they were greeted by bales of cotton stacked fifteen feet high and the smell of exhaust fumes from forklifts that scurried here and there, making a disproportionate amount of noise for their size and drowning out the riverboat calliope.
None of the forklift operators wanted to shut off their machine, so Kit had to question them at the top of her lungs, getting for her trouble nothing but a slight headache.
“What now?” Teddy asked over the departing sound of the last forklift they’d stopped.
Just as it appeared on the outside, the inside of the warehouse was one long, continuous space. Seeing no activity in the shorter section toward Jackson Square, Kit motioned for Teddy to follow and she headed downriver, where a hundred yards away, she saw more forklifts.
For most of that distance, they passed between mountains of white plastic sacks that spilled a fine granular material from the occasional ruptured seam. Whatever it was, the sparrows nesting in hidden alcoves near the ceiling liked it very much and darted down for a quick peck or two before flashing back to safety. As Kit and Teddy neared their destination, the granular litter on the floor was replaced by corn.
The purpose of all the bustle that had drawn Kit in this direction was the stacking of sacks on wooden pallets, which were then forklifted out to the wharf, where through a huge doorway, the side of a massive freighter blocked all view of the river.
It took about ten minutes to canvass the forklift operators and the sweating men loading sacks onto the pallets. For all the good it did, they could have saved themselves the trouble.
Farther downriver, the warehouse angled to the right, so they couldn’t see if there was any point in going that way. Kit, therefore, headed instead for the dock, nearly getting run over by a forklift coming in for another load.
She knew the ship at dockside was big, but she still wasn’t prepared for the way it dwarfed its surroundings, its gray hull rising into the sky like a canyon wall. And it stretched along the wharf an astonishingly long way. Leaning over, she tried to see the river between the ship and the dock, but there was no space between them.
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