Once we were satisfied that we’d covered all our bases, we made sure everything was covered and stored before dragging out into the parking lot. Then somebody suggested a stop at the Dizzy Duke, and miraculously we all found a second wind.
We made our ways there separately, some on foot and others in our cars. I fired up the Range Rover and drove the two blocks so I could make a quick getaway later. And yes, I’ll admit that after spotting the prowler on Monday night, I wasn’t eager to walk the dark streets of New Orleans.
I was alert and slightly on edge even just walking the few feet into the bar. I said hello to Gabriel and spent a few minutes flirting (a pick-me-up I highly recommend) before joining the others at our usual table. Calvin offered to go to the bar with our orders and the rest of us spent a few minutes getting settled. I grabbed a chair at our regular table and hooked my bag over my knee so that it hung between my legs. Which is why I felt my phone vibrate a few minutes after we’d arrived. I snagged the phone and saw Edie’s name and a picture of JD on the screen. I groaned softly, hoping Edie wasn’t having another mommy crisis. I wasn’t sure I could survive a breakdown just then.
I answered, but the music, conversation, and laughter made it impossible to hear. I could tell that Edie was talking but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. “Hold on a minute,” I shouted. “I’m going outside.” I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder, then pushed through the crowded barroom and out onto the sidewalk.
“There,” I said as the door muffled the noise behind me. “I can hear you now. Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine,” Edie assured me. “Actually, I called to ask you a favor. I should have known you’d be at the Duke. It could have waited until tomorrow.”
“You’ve got me now,” I said. “Go ahead and ask.”
“I need a babysitter for tomorrow night. I know this is bad timing. Really, I do. I know you’re completely swamped getting ready for the vintage clothing thing on Saturday, but River has this work dinner and he really wants me to go with him. I don’t know . . . maybe he’s not so bad. I told him I’d go with him if I could find a sitter. If you can’t do it, I’ll completely understand.”
She was right, it was terrible timing. I’d been wanting her to soften up where River was concerned, and I didn’t want to throw up a roadblock, but with only two days until the ball, I couldn’t see any way I could say yes.
“I wish I could,” I told her. “You know I would if there was any way, but the Belle Lune Ball—”
“You’re right,” she said. “I shouldn’t have asked. It’s just that all my friends are at Zydeco and you’re always my first choice.”
A cheer went up from the crowd inside the Duke and I moved a little farther from the doors. I think she said something else, but I didn’t hear it. Something hit me from behind, hard enough to make me stagger forward. “Hey!” I started to turn, wanting to see who’d run into me but I didn’t get very far. Whoever it was shoved me forward again, harder this time.
I lost my balance and fell to the ground. Pain shot through my knees, but I was far more aware that my assailant was trying to wrench my bag from my shoulder. I wrapped both arms around the bag and rolled onto my side, hoping the strap wouldn’t break and praying that I was strong enough to win the tug of war. Not that I had much in there, but it was the principle of the thing. And I really liked that bag.
Instinctively hoping to minimize any physical damage coming my way, I curled into a fetal position, head down, legs drawn up, arms curled inward. In that position I couldn’t see much, but I thought my assailant was tall, or at least taller than me. And strong. It was all I could do to hang on while he—or she—shoved and tugged and jerked on my bag.
On the plus side, my attacker seemed much more interested in the bag than in me. On the negative, I was convinced my attacker was after the necklace.
I heard someone shouting from a little distance away and footsteps pounding toward me. I almost wept at the prospect of help, but most importantly, my attacker let go of my purse strap and hotfooted it away. I sat up gingerly just as Carlo Mancini drew up beside me.
His chest heaved from exertion and he looked worried, but I could only wonder why he was there in the first place. Guess I didn’t exactly trust him.
Two more people reached my side only a few seconds after Carlo came to the rescue. One young man helped me to my feet, and then he and his buddy raced off in the general direction I thought my attacker had taken.
Carlo stayed with me. He studied my face carefully and asked, “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I said, giving my bag a quick once-over to make sure it hadn’t been damaged. To my relief, it seemed intact. “What are you doing here?”
Carlo laughed. “That’s some kind of thank-you. I just saved your life.”
Yeah. Maybe. I tried to appear gracious. “Thanks. So what are you doing here?”
Carlo’s grin faded. “Tell me, do you treat all your knights in shining armor this way?”
“That presumes I have knights in any kind of armor hanging around,” I said. “But to answer your question, no. Only the ones that make me suspicious. Where did you come from?”
Carlo jerked his head toward the end of the street. “I was parking when I saw that guy attack you. Not that I knew it was you. I just saw a lady in distress and came to help. Would you rather I let the guy hurt you?”
“Was it a guy?” I asked. “I couldn’t tell.”
“I assumed so, but I couldn’t swear to it.” He motioned toward a metal bench near the curb. “You want to sit down or something?”
I nodded and took a step in the right direction. My right knee twinged and my left knee throbbed. Mancini must have seen me wince because he took my arm and helped me hobble across the narrow sidewalk. I hated feeling beholden, him being such a jerk and all, but I did manage what I hoped sounded like a sincere “thank you” as he helped me get settled.
“You probably ought to call the police,” he said helpfully.
I wasn’t so sure about that. Another complaint might make the police take me seriously, or it might just convince them I was a complete nut. I could have called Sullivan, but he would only tell me to stop inviting trouble. “Yeah,” I said. “Maybe. Right now I just want to catch my breath.”
Mancini nodded and sat beside me. “So I take it you don’t know who just attacked you.”
“I don’t have a clue,” I said. “I came outside to take a phone call, and the next thing I knew, I was on the ground.” I suddenly realized that I’d been talking to Edie when the guy hit me. “Speaking of my phone . . . where is it?”
I patted my pockets while Carlo returned to the scene of the crime to look for it. After a moment he leaned down and pulled something out of a planter box. He held my phone aloft with a grin. “Found it!”
I held out my hand and wiggled my fingers impatiently. Edie was probably worried sick. “Is the call still connected?”
Carlo shook his head and gave me the phone. I found two missed calls from Edie and a text message asking if I was all right. I texted back blaming the disconnect on a dying battery and promised to call back later.
“Everything all right?” Carlo asked.
I could almost see him salivating at the prospect of a juicy news story. “Yeah. Fine. Just peachy, in fact.”
“Great. It looked like your friend was after your purse.”
Score one for the ace reporter. “Some friend. But yeah, that’s what it felt like.”
“Probably a mugger, then.”
“Yeah. No doubt.”
“Unless it was something else.”
I slid a glance at him from the corner of my eye. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. You have anything valuable in there?”
“Just the usual,” I said. “Wallet. A little cash. A couple of credit
cards.”
Mancini fell silent for a moment but he didn’t leave, which warned me he had more questions. He finally coughed up the first one. “Did you happen to see my story on the evening news?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t bad.”
“Not bad? It was terrific. I thought you even came across as almost likable.”
Funny guy. “I’m sure that was thanks to your amazing skills as an editor.”
“Probably.” His lips curved slightly.
I rolled my eyes and stretched my legs carefully to see if my knees were still wobbly. “I suppose you’re planning to report on this.”
“Well, sure! It’s news. Star reporter saves damsel in distress. I just wish I’d had my camera crew with me.”
“Yeah, that’s too bad.” I made no effort to sound sincere. “I’m heartbroken for you. I’m surprised you didn’t video it with your cell phone.”
“Didn’t even occur to me.” The smile slid from his face and he gave me a quick once-over. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I wasn’t sure at all, but I couldn’t just disappear on the Zydeco crew or they’d think something bad had happened to me. I wasn’t in the mood for another intervention. “I think I’ll be okay,” I said. “But thanks.”
“Do you need help getting back inside?” He stood and held out an arm, giving a relatively convincing imitation of a gentleman. “I’m going inside anyway.”
“Why? This isn’t your usual hangout.”
“Why not? Seems like a nice enough place.”
I ignored the arm and got to my feet. To my relief, my knees behaved themselves this time. “I suppose it’s a free country. Do me a favor, though, okay? Don’t tell the people I work with about what happened out here. They worry about me.”
“With good reason, it appears.”
“Whatever.” I hitched my bag onto my shoulder. “Just keep this between us, okay? Seriously. No news reports.” The crew from Zydeco would be hard enough to live with if they found out. I didn’t even want to think about what Miss Frankie would say.
“I’m not sure I can agree to that,” Carlo said. “It would be a great follow-up to the first story.”
“Except that it’s not a follow-up. I just happened to be standing in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Then you’re not afraid that the curse is responsible?”
“Not even slightly.” I stopped in front of the door and stared him down. “It seems a whole lot more likely that somebody is looking for some good press.”
Carlo’s mouth fell open. “You think I staged the attack to get a story?”
“It occurred to me.”
He clamped his mouth shut and the humor in his eyes evaporated. “In case it escaped your notice, lady, I saved your ass.”
I still wasn’t sure if he’d done the saving or if he’d latched on to the two young men who’d helped me, but I didn’t want to antagonize him into airing the story about the mugging, so I smiled to take some of the sting out of my accusation. “Look, I believe you, okay? I just want to make sure you keep this little incident quiet. It’s not news. Nobody would care except my friends and mother-in-law. So how about we both keep quiet? You don’t report this and I don’t wonder aloud how you happened to be here at just the right time. My mother-in-law rests easy and your reputation isn’t bruised.”
Mancini gave me a cold stare, but I thought that he was considering my offer. I just hoped there wasn’t a law against blackmailing the press. I could be in big trouble.
After a while Mancini gave a shrug and reached for the door handle. “Yeah. Whatever. This one’s between us. But don’t count on it happening a second time.” He pushed past me and strode up to the bar, clearly pissed off at me.
Which was fine with me. Whatever it took to keep him from worrying Miss Frankie. As for calling the police, I decided against it. I was pretty sure they’d call what just happened coincidence, but someone wanted that necklace badly enough to break into the Vintage Vault, badly enough to stalk me at home, and now badly enough to assault me. It was one coincidence too many for me.
Nineteen
Still shaking after the would-be mugging, I ducked into the ladies’ room at the Dizzy Duke to make sure I looked presentable. I wasn’t sure I could trust Carlo Mancini to keep his mouth shut, but just in case he hadn’t said anything to the Zydeco crew about what happened outside, I didn’t want to raise questions by looking like I’d just gone a couple of rounds with the welterweight champ.
One or two spots on my arm had started to sting, which made me think I’d sustained a few scrapes. I’d probably develop a few bruises, too, but for the most part I looked surprisingly unscathed.
I brushed the dirt from my pants and shirt, cleaned the noticeable scrapes on my arms, and washed my hands. I applied a little lip gloss and gave my hair a toss, then returned to our table, where, to my surprise, nobody seemed at all concerned by my absence. Maybe Carlo Mancini had kept his word. Gabriel gave me a deliciously sultry stare as I walked by so I had to figure he didn’t know, and nobody at my table seemed interested in the slightest.
I saw that the reporter had snagged a stool at the bar. He lifted his beer bottle in salute as I sat. I answered with a nod of thanks. Mancini and I weren’t destined to become best friends forever, but I had to admit a tiny sliver of appreciation had wedged itself in with all the annoyance.
Ox was in the middle of a story about a family camping trip and Calvin was supplying the details Ox omitted. The story earned laughs from everyone else, but my run-in with the would-be purse thief had soured my enjoyment of the evening. I wanted to go home and nurse my bruised ego, but I was too unnerved to walk back to the Range Rover on my own.
Gradually, as the evening wore on, the stories and laughter began to relieve my tension, and by the time we left, I was feeling almost back to normal. But I still locked my doors as soon as I got in the car and circled my block at home twice to make sure nobody was lying in wait for me. Face it, there had been plenty of time for the mugger to beat me home. He could have been hiding anywhere.
My nerves ramped up again and I started to wish I’d told the others about the mugging. One of them would have followed me home and made sure I got inside safely. As I drove down the dark street, I wished I had someone watching out for me.
I might be nervous, but I couldn’t very well drive around all night, so I finally bit the bullet and pulled into a parking space. I laced my keys between my fingers and quick-walked to my front door.
I let myself inside and flipped the lock and deadbolt with trembling fingers then leaned against the door and tried to steady my breathing.
I hated feeling afraid. Even more, I hated knowing how vulnerable I was. After a long time I squared my shoulders and climbed the stairs, and I vowed that I would find some way to get my life back.
* * *
It wasn’t until Friday afternoon, when I went to the Monte Cristo Hotel to get key cards that would grant us access to the rooms we’d be using, that the necklace intruded into my hard-won peace of mind.
I’d just finished talking to the Monte Cristo’s excitable manager, Tommy Sheridan, and was on my way across the shabby-chic lobby when a square woman wearing an expensive-looking suit stepped into my path. “Ms. Lucero? Can I have a minute?”
I managed to stop walking before I ran into her, but I don’t think she appreciated the effort that took.
She held out a hand for me to shake. “Natalie Archer,” she said. “We met the other day at the Vintage Clothing Society offices.”
“Yes. Of course.” I slipped the key cards into my pocket and shook the hand she offered. “How are you, Mrs. Archer?”
She smiled ever so slightly. “Harried. There’s so much to do and so little time left before the banquet. I’m sure you feel the same.”
“Yes I do, but all we have to do is get through the
next two days. Then it will all be over.”
Natalie’s smile faded and she ran an assessing look over my face. I’d been working all morning and I was almost certain I looked frazzled, but there was nothing I could do about that now. “I wonder if you and I might chat for a few minutes.”
I couldn’t imagine what she wanted to talk to me about. Did she think I could convince Simone to give her the display space she coveted at the ball? “I’d love to,” I said, which was only a tiny white lie. “I’ll give you a call after the event on Saturday.”
“I meant now,” Natalie said. “This really needs to be decided before the ball.”
Mmm-hmm. Just as I thought. Maybe I should hear her out. If she was trying to snag the Vintage Vault’s unused space through me, Simone would want to know. “I guess I can spare a few minutes,” I said. “What’s on your mind?”
Natalie glanced around the lobby. Nobody seemed overly interested in us, but she frowned and shook her head. “Not here. Could you stop by my house later this evening?”
“I don’t think that will work,” I said. “I’ll probably be working until midnight or later. This may be my only opportunity to break away until after the ball.”
Natalie glanced around again, sighed loudly, and nodded toward a couple of chairs flanking a small wooden table near the window. “Fine. Let’s grab that spot before someone else gets it.”
I followed her across the lobby and sat down across from her. She linked her hands in her lap and crossed her ankles like a proper Southern lady. “Are you aware that I’m the last remaining descendant of Gustave Toussaint?”
I blinked in surprise. “I was not.” Plus, her claim didn’t jive with what Miss Frankie had told me about the family. My mother-in-law had left me with the impression that Gustave had left a long line of descendants in the area, not a sole scion. In spite of Miss Frankie’s recent odd behavior, I believed her. She had no reason to lie. I couldn’t say the same for Natalie.
The Cakes of Monte Cristo Page 19