So is fresh food.
“Start by dicing the vegetables. Don’t chop or mince. And be careful with the knife.” His brow shot to the brim of his chef’s hat. “Cooking is a dicey business.”
I hacked into an onion, unsure how much longer I could hack his puns.
My phone buzzed, and I thought it might be Bradley. I didn’t dare look at the display for fear of being sliced and diced by Sara and Michele. They’d been eyeing me like they wanted to eat me, which was a possibility in a waste-cooking class.
Truth be told, I was hungry too, so much so that I almost regretted not eating Thomas’s peanut butter and potatoes.
My gaze strayed to some seasoned almonds.
“Lou, are those for us?” I pointed to the dish.
“Yeah, Chef Mel always brings snacks. The guy spoils us rotten.”
An apropos phrase considering our dumpster-dived grub. But if the snacks had come from outside the school, they were more than likely from a store. I popped one into my mouth as a tester. It was spicy and extra crunchy. “Wow. Those almonds are intense.”
“Oh, they’re not almonds.” Michele spoke like Cinderella. “They’re Creole cockroaches.”
My stomach reared like a devil’s horse, the only bug more horrifying than a cockroach. I stuck out my tongue and slapped it several times to knock off any remnants of shell or guts.
Chef Mel practically tee-heed. “My special spice mix tickled your tongue, eh?”
Sara snickered. “It was probably the little feet.”
I gagged and gave her a glare. Despite her cute Italian accent, the black belt was my bet for Lou’s saboteur. All I had to do was catch her in the act.
Chef Mel tapped a tablespoon on the counter to get our attention. “Next, chop the Andouille and sauté it with the vegetables over a low heat.”
I didn’t see the sausage, so I removed the lid from one of two covered bowls. It contained the red beans.
With…legs?
I leapt as high as a graveyard grasshopper. “Those aren’t beans, they’re June bugs!”
“All right, I confess.” Chef Mel held up his hands in surrender. “They’re out of season, so they were frozen.”
Bile crept up my esophagus. At least, I hoped it was bile. “What the hell is the rice? Maggots?”
His head bobbed up and down. “That’s a great idea for a future class.”
One I had no plan to attend.
I put the lid on the bowl, and my stomach growled, not because I was starving but because it was warning the bugs to keep out.
I leaned in to Lou. “He should’ve called this red bugs and rice. I mean, trash is one thing, but bugs are a whole other deal. And where does anyone get frozen June bugs, anyway?”
“He caught ‘em.” Lou placed a skillet on the gas stove. “In the spring they swarm the streetlights in front of the school all the way down to Belleville House, that retirement home.”
“I know the place.”
“Yeah, I redid their pipes last spring.” He pulled up his chef’s pants. “Completely clogged with calcium deposits. Put in all new PVC.”
I removed the Andouille from the second bowl and started chopping. “That must’ve been lucrative.”
“Nah, I barely recouped my costs.” He added oil to the skillet and turned on the burner. “They ran outta funds when they paid off a family after a wrongful death.”
My gut tingled, and I had to reassure myself that the cockroach couldn’t have survived my molars. “Do you know how the person died?”
“Not specifics, but you hear a lot working underneath floors.” Lou threw a handful of sausage into the pan. “And somebody’s grandpa had lost a lot of blood.”
I stopped chopping. “From an accident? Or abuse?”
“Couldn’t tell ya, but it sounded odd.” He wiped his hands on his apron, smearing Andouille juice across the bib. “The family said his blood was missing.”
“I mean it, Veronica.” I shielded my mouth and phone from view of the pedestrians outside Molly’s at the Market. “There was something serial killerish about that Thomas guy. I wouldn’t be surprised if he bled the grandpa dry.”
“A nurse or another staff member is a more likely culprit.” Her voice was hushed despite the background noise at Galatoire’s restaurant. “And the man could’ve died from an undiagnosed medical condition, for all we know.”
“An autopsy would’ve determined that.”
“Not necessarily. But I’ll find out whether a court case was filed in the morning. Dirk and I are about to be seated, and then he’s taking me to the French 75 Bar.”
Envy pierced my chest like a poisoned Cupid’s arrow. “Bradley took me there once—when I was more important than his job.”
She sighed. “You just said that you missed a call from him when you were in class. Why don’t you call him back?”
I leaned against the wall of the Irish pub. “Because I don’t want to.”
“Normally, you’d be desperate to contact him.” Her tone had softened. “What’s going on with you?”
An elegantly dressed couple passed by, arm in arm, and another arrow stabbed the open wound.
“I guess I don’t know what to say to him.”
“How about—I miss you, and I can’t wait until you’re home?”
I sniffed. “I haven’t decided if I do miss him. Besides, with Anthony and Nonna around, it might be better for him if he stays gone.”
“Oh, Franki. You know he adores your family.”
I’m glad one of us does.
“Hang on a sec,” Veronica whispered to someone, presumably her boyfriend. “Why don’t you go unwind at my apartment until Dirk and I get there?”
The offer was tempting, but a couple of French Quarter Task Force cars rolled by, reminding me that I had work to do. “I told you, I’ve got that tour at midnight. And I’m already at the pub. Someone here could remember seeing Gregg on Saturday night.”
“Are you going to interview Raven tonight too?”
“Don’t say ‘interview’ in reference to a vampire, okay?” I flashed back to the vampiress at the Krewe of BOO! parade. “And you can’t seriously expect me to talk to her in the middle of the night.”
“You’ll have to,” she said gravely.
“Why’s that?”
“Because she can’t come out of her coffin during the day or she’ll burn up and blow away.” Veronica giggled, and I heard Dirk yuk it up too.
“I know someone who’s burning up.” My tone was as dry as vampire dust. “And she’s coming in late tomorrow.” I ended the call and entered Molly’s.
It was nine o’clock, which was early by New Orleans standards, so I had my choice of seats. I climbed onto a stool at the far end of the bar. The pub was a hangout for local notables, particularly politicians and journalists, so I needed to question the staff away from interested ears. I also wanted to avoid the center of the bar because there was a coffin hanging overhead and because the late owner, Jim Monaghan, Jr., sat on top of the cash register—in an urn.
A young male bartender with black hair, glasses, and a “Marco Arroyo” nametag tossed a Guinness coaster in front of me. “What can I getcha to drink?”
I jerked backward and slid halfway off my barstool.
He had a full set of vampire teeth.
“Sorry.” He spit out the offending eyeteeth. “We host an annual Halloween parade, and I’ve been getting into the spirit.”
I wanted nothing to do with the spirit—his, Chandra’s, or anyone else’s.
He turned on a faucet and scrubbed his hands. “Drink’s on the house.”
Molly’s famous frozen Irish coffee enticed me, but caffeine was a bad idea before a creepy tour. On a whim I asked, “How about a Campari Crimson?”
“What’s in it?”
That answered my question. “Never mind. What do you have on tap?”
“Abita Amber, Chafunkta Voo Ka Ray—”
“Are you okay?” I interrupted.
His brown eyes got big. “Are you?”
“Oh. I thought you were choking.”
He gave a sympathetic smile and pointed at the label on the tap. “It’s an Imperial IPA. The Voo Ka Ray is a play on Vieux Carré, as in French Quarter.”
“Got it. I’ll take one of those.” I slid a twenty across the bar. “Listen, Marco. I’m a PI, and I’d like to ask you some questions about a tour group that came in Saturday night.”
“Now I get why you jumped when you saw my teeth.” He filled a frosted mug. “You want to know about Gregg.”
“Why would you make that association?”
He placed the beer in front of me and put the bill in a tip jar. “Because everyone’s talking about how he died, especially after the blood bank break-ins.”
“Don’t tell me you believe a vampire killed him?”
“Either that or it was one of his ex-girlfriends.” His demeanor was nonchalant, as though either option was equally possible.
“Is he a friend of yours?”
“He was kind of a regular and a local legend.”
“Why?” I asked in a what-in-the-hell-for way.
“He’s the oldest student and frat boy in the city of New Orleans, if not the entire state.” He grabbed some dirty mugs from the bar and placed them in the sink. “You’ve got to admire that kind of devotion.”
If you could call it that. “Let’s go back to his girlfriends. Do you know any of them?”
“Fortunately, no. But it was clear he had a type. Crazy.”
Although I was willing to entertain the possibility that an angry ex had killed Gregg, especially since Craig had also mentioned his exes, I couldn’t imagine a woman, even a wack job, single-handedly stringing him up. “You were here on Saturday, right?”
“I served his whole group. We take care of them pretty quick since they only have about fifteen minutes.”
“Does anything stand out about his behavior? Or who he was with?”
“We were slammed, so I didn’t notice much.” He rested his forearms on the counter. “But I did see him talking to a dark-haired lady with a boa.”
She could’ve been the vampire Thomas mentioned, but the description fit a lot of women in the quarter on any given day of the week. “Did she have glowing eyes and vampire teeth?”
His mouth twisted in an apology. “I went through a rough divorce, so as far as I’m concerned all women do.”
I took that as a no, but I planned to follow up with the vampire herself. During daylight. “Anything else you can tell me about the group?”
“Yeah, one of the guys has been in here before with a cocktail club. He has dirty blonde hair, pale skin. Seems like a loner.”
That sounded like Thomas Van Scyoc. “Did he talk to Gregg?”
“Apart from ordering a drink, I’ve never seen him talk to anyone. He just stands around and watches.”
Definitely Thomas. “What’s the name of this cocktail club?”
“OBIT.”
I frowned. “Reminds me of obituary.”
“It’s supposed to. Their full name is the Grande and Secret Order of the Obituary Cocktail, but don’t be put off by that. They’re good people.”
I was sure they were, but I had my doubts about Thomas. And the creepy cocktail club only reinforced my suspicions given the Campari Crimson clue.
While the Victims and Vampires tour members assembled in front of the tall white wall surrounding the old Ursuline Convent, I pulled Pam aside. “So, I ask you about a murder involving a guy drained of blood, and you don’t mention the vampire on his tour?”
She pointed to her necklace. “Like the locket says, live and let live.”
I gave her a you-should-know-better glare. “You came of age with the Beatles. It’s ‘Live and Let Die.’”
“I don’t have time for your hang ups, dig? I’ve got a tour to do.” She yanked up her hip huggers and led Benny to the head of the group.
“All right, people.” Pam raised her arms like she was communing at a be-in. “I’m going to lay a righteous and frighteous story on you about this convent and NOLA’s founding mothers. Locals consider it a point of pride to be a descendent of one of these first mamas. They call ‘em the Casket Girls.”
That explains a lot about this town.
“In the 1700s, King Louis XV sent ships with prospective wives for the colonists. The French skirts brought these freaky hope chests they called cassettes, but everyone in the colony called them casquettes because they looked like caskets.”
Benny groan-growled—either that or it was Bulgarian for “bummer.”
“The girls stayed at the convent until their weddings went down. But after they made the scene, the death rate doubled, and a rumor circulated like a doobie at a drum circle that they’d smuggled vampires in those casquettes.”
Talk about a tale from the crypt.
“Now, life in a swamp colony was like a bad trip, so some of the girls cut out and left their hope chests. The nuns stored them in the attic, which is the only pad in the Quarter with shuttered windows.”
I studied the gray and black shutters, which looked coffin-like on the white, stuccoed convent.
“That’s because the nuns had opened the chests, and they were empty. They told the Archbishop, who was hip to the vampire rumor, so he had the windows shuttered and the chests sealed with nails and screws blessed by the head preacher man, Pope Clement. Yet passersby have seen the windows open in the wee hours—when the vampires come out of the casquettes.”
My gaze darted back to the shutters, just to check.
“In 1978 two reporters asked to see the infamous casquettes, but the Archbishop told them to split. They said, ‘Hell no, we won’t go,’ and that night they climbed the wall and set up video cameras. The next morning, their equipment was scattered across the grounds, and they were dead on the steps.” Pam held out her hands. “And this is the trippy part. The dudes were almost decapitated, and eighty percent of their blood had been drained.”
A cold hand brushed the back of my neck, and I let out a scream from beyond the casket.
Detective Sullivan laughed low in his throat. “I’m beginning to think I make you nervous, Amato.”
Pam grimaced like she’d done a hit of acid. “No, baby. That chick was already flipping out.” She picked up Benny’s leash. “Okay, gang. Let’s head around the corner to Royal Street.”
The group followed Pam, but I turned on Sullivan. “Real adult of you to go for my jugular during a vampire story.”
He pulled his shoulders back, accentuating the breadth of his chest in his cable knit sweater. “You had a moth in your hair. What was I supposed to do?”
“Leave it.” My tone was as tense as my limbs as I stalked after the group. I’d had it with him. And with bugs. “What are you doing on this tour, anyway?”
“I thought I’d take my own advice and brush up on vampire lore. Plus, I got a little carried away at dinner, so I wanted to walk it off.” Sullivan grabbed his six-pack gut and gave me a sidelong look. “Italian is heavy, but I can’t resist it.”
My stomach fluttered like it was full of moths. He was talking about food, wasn’t he?
I stole a glance at him.
He ogled me like I was a leg of prosciutto.
The fluttering intensified, as did my pace.
It was unfathomable, but I felt like I did when my Catholic school went from all girls to coed—like a young Eve being introduced to an apple. Except that this one was rotten. With a worm. “I took you for an Irish stew guy.”
“I won’t turn down a plate of meat and potatoes. But I’ve developed a weakness for arancini.”
“Arancini?” The coincidence caught me off guard.
“You know, those Sicilian rice balls? They’ve got a crispy fried outside, and then you bite into one.” His pitch was low and verging on lustful. “And you taste that soft, saucy center.”
I re-upped my speed, and so did my pulse. Sullivan was trying to sed
uce me, but that was no longer the source of my nerves. It was his reference to arancini al sugo.
“Now that we’re all here.” Pam shot me an incensed stare as we rejoined the group. She pointed to a brick mansion with a wrought-iron balcony at the corner of Royal and Ursuline. “This is the former home of Compte Jacques de Saint Germain.”
And the present house of Josh Santo.
Pam launched into the legend of the count, but my mind returned to those rice balls.
I side-stepped to Sullivan. “Hey, so, most restaurants around here don’t make the arancini with sauce,” I whispered. “Where’d you get them?”
He leaned so close his breath tickled my ear. “Your nonna.”
The scream that erupted from my throat could’ve awakened the undead in their casquettes.
Pam squeezed her live-and-let-live locket like she wanted to make war, not love. “Could you wait till I get to the hairy part, man?”
What I’d heard was more “hairy” than any vampire legend. I’d told Nonna to invite Santina, not Sullivan. But I shouldn’t have planted the idea in her head. The woman didn’t make a move that wasn’t motivated by meddling, and this one was straight from her manual. What puzzled me was the devious detective’s motive for accepting.
Was his interest in me purely personal? Or did it have something to do with the case?
“Look.” Sullivan put a hand on my back and pointed.
I shivered, but I told myself it wasn’t his touch. It was the sight of Josh exiting the front door on Royal Street in a top hat and cape.
“It’s been heavy, Amato.” Sullivan’s lips grazed my hair. “But I just got a new walking partner.”
I watched both men disappear into the darkness, and my heart was as jittery as my head. But my thoughts had nothing to do with Sullivan or Josh or even Bradley. I was fixated on Marv at Where Dat Tours.
Was he serious when he’d said vampires went out after midnight? If so, was Josh one of them? And could he be the count?
Pam gestured to the second-floor balcony. “You’ll notice that one of the windows has been bricked over. Locals believe that when evil goes outside, you need to brick it up so it can’t come back in.”
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