The office of the employment agency was on Burgundy so Heaven walked over there. The young man behind the desk was very polite; tall, with a shaved head and a nose ring. No, he didn’t mind showing her the list of workers from the night of the chefs dinner. After all, the police had that list already.
“Thank you so much,” Heaven said sweetly. “As I said, I’m one of the chefs that cooked that night, and there were two or three people that I thought I might want to hire again, although I’m not sure what their names were. Do you think I could take a copy of the list with me so I could call folks from my own phone?”
The man behind the desk guessed it would be okay. These people wanted temporary work. But what would happen to the fee that the agency was supposed to collect, if Heaven were to hire these people independently, he asked slyly.
Heaven dug around in her purse and came up with her business card and fifty dollars. She scribbled her cell phone number on the card and handed it and the cash to the man. “This is my old card, from when I lived in Kansas City, but that’s my cell phone number on the back. And here is a little good-faith money, so you know I’m not trying to cheat your firm. If I hire any of them I’ll call you and have them report to you as well.”
The young man considered this for a second and swept the cash off the desk into his pocket with a nod. The deal was done.
“Would you help me with just one more thing? Could you go down the list with me and comment on the people you know? You can tell the servers from the dish people better than I.” Heaven had spotted a lone straight-back chair pushed against the wall. The place was a pretty bare-bones operation. She quickly grabbed it and carried it over to the young man’s post, knowing that unless he was totally unlike most people in the food business, he wouldn’t refuse to give his opinions on the crew.
In twenty minutes or so, Heaven was standing outside the employment offices having learned more than she wanted to about the temporary servers of New Orleans; which ones were addicted to cocaine, which were reliable, which showed up late but at least showed up. There were only five names the deskman wasn’t familiar with. Three of the names were Hispanic with no addresses and Heaven figured they would be the hardest to track down. One was a woman and Heaven didn’t know what to think about that. Sure, a woman could shove a knife in Truely with enough force to kill him. But could she then position his body in a tub of running water, complete with the cross? It was possible, but it was much more likely the killer was a man. The fifth unfamiliar name was generic, James Smith, and that rang Heaven’s bell. If you were a hired hit man, you’d want to be anonymous, Heaven supposed. James Smith didn’t have a phone number on the list, just the words Verti Mart. That’s where Heaven was headed now.
Verti Mart was a French Quarter institution. Heaven supposed it had once been a corner grocery store. And it still had soft drinks and liquor and milk in the front. But mainly it was a deli with a huge prepared food business. Mass quantities of food were prepared there every day for the workers and residents of the Quarter to consume. The variety was astounding. Meat loaf, baked chicken, meatballs and spaghetti, scalloped potatoes, all the po’boy sandwich combinations, every salad known to a deli, vegetables dressed and cheesed up were behind the counter. The place was open twenty-four hours a day and had teams of delivery bicycles running all over the Quarter with their wares.
Heaven had been in the Verti Mart last week, walking back to her hotel from prepping at Peristyle restaurant. She had gone in for some bottled water and stayed for twenty minutes talking about all the food they offered. Today the same team of workers was behind the counter, a young man with purple hair and one with tattoos all over his arms and what Heaven could see of his torso. Although these guys did not wear chef’s jackets—cut off jeans, tee shirts and dirty white aprons seemed to be the standard uniform—they did have their armpits covered, and they had hip head scarfs holding their hair away from the food. Just one shock of purple curls stuck out in the front of the head rag of the one boy.
Heaven talked to their backs as they worked. “Hey, I know you don’t remember me. I was in here last week.”
The two moved as one, turning toward Heaven and then turning back to the Styrofoam containers they were filling. “Yeah, I remember your hair,” the purple-haired boy said. “Can I get you something?”
“I was looking for someone, and I’d love some macaroni and cheese,” Heaven said, knowing she had to order something to keep their interest. “Do you have an employee named James Smith?”
“We did. Hasn’t showed,” the tattoo man said as he pulled the macaroni and cheese container out of the cooler and piled what must have been five pounds of the stuff in a container for Heaven. He put it in the microwave and turned the switch.
“Did he work here long? Any idea where I can find him?” Heaven asked.
They both shook their heads in unison. “Only about two weeks. He hasn’t been here this week. Slacker,” purple hair declared solemnly.
“By the way, what did he look like? Was there anything unusual about him?” Heaven asked.
“Yeah, he only had one tattoo,” the tattoo boy said disapprovingly. “An arm bracelet,” touching his upper arm.
Heaven was excited as she left Verti Mart. She stuffed the macaroni and cheese in the nearest trash container and headed over to the police precinct to give them the news that she’d tracked down the hired killer who killed Truely. Sort of.
“So this is the second time in twenty-four hours that I visited the local police station and they were less than happy to see me.”
Nancy Blair handed Heaven the French bread. “I love the bird story. But you forget, the Quarter police are used to dealing with eccentrics. You’re probably not even the only person to come in there with a dead bird this week, or with a tip on a murderer, as far as that goes.”
“You think?” Heaven pondered what it would be like to have the French Quarter as your beat. “I will say that the detectives admitted they had focused on the so-called James Smith as a possible suspect. But they haven’t had any luck finding him so far. I think he’s long gone. Back in New Jersey by now.”
Nancy’s eyebrows went up. “New Jersey? Oh, Heaven, really. Are you trying to imply a gangster hit man?”
Heaven shrugged. “I know. It’s probably just my imagination. I’ve been thinking that maybe Truely was smuggling something into this country in his coffee. Jewels. Drugs. Something that might have gotten him killed.”
“That makes some sense, except for the fact that the customs officers down here are a pretty shrewd bunch. And they are Federal. Not as easy to bribe as you might think.”
Heaven shook her finger at the older woman. “That sounds like it comes from experience. But enough of my wild imagination. Can we move on to another topic?”
“Of course. How do you like your gumbo?” Nancy asked.
“Oh, it’s great,” Heaven said absentmindedly. They were sitting in the courtyard at Commander’s Palace. Heaven could see a birthday party taking place in a glassed-in room to one side of the main house. A passel of twenty something women with blond hair were drinking mimosas and watching one of their own unwrap presents. There were clumps of purple and pink balloons tied on the birthday girl’s chair, waving cheerily in the air currents caused by the air conditioner ducts. “Nancy, have you ever heard of Truely having an affair?”
“You mean with Amelia Hart?” Nancy said slyly, pleased with herself.
“You dog. Why didn’t you tell me if you knew?”
“I don’t know for sure. Rumors are mother’s milk in this town, child. I never saw them together.”
“But?” Heaven said impatiently.
“About a year ago it was the talk. Then, two or three months ago, word was that Truely had broken it off.”
“You mean that right before I came to town for the first meeting, when Amelia showed up and pitched a fit—right before that, Truely broke up with her?”
Nancy wagged her finger. “All just rum
ors, but yes, it was a couple of weeks before that meeting, if my memory serves me right, and it doesn’t always.”
Heaven thought of the photo burning a hole in her purse. “So Amelia might think that getting rid of Truely at the nun’s party could kill two birds with one stone.”
“But, as I recall, Amelia didn’t show up with her cameraman until after the explosion and after we found Truely,” Nancy said, squinting her eyes as she tried to bring up the sequence of events.
“But think about what I just told you about the guy from Verti Mart who worked the party and now has disappeared. Amelia didn’t have to stab Truely herself to be responsible.”
“I wouldn’t want Amelia mad at me. But she’s a big girl. When you go out with a married man, chances are it will end with him saying ‘see ya.’”
“Were any of your lovers married, Nancy?”
“Honey, you forget what I did for a living. Before I was a landlady, I was a whore. Every John was married, or almost every John.”
“Speaking of married, you haven’t heard from your current husband, have you?”
Nancy looked down as the waiter came and brought their entrees, soft-shell crabs for Heaven and a Cobb salad with crabmeat for Nancy, and poured the wine. A bus-boy refreshed their water. When the servers were gone, she said quietly, “Not a word.”
“I think now is the time to tell me about those other five husbands.” Heaven tore a crispy leg off a crab and ate it.
Nancy shook her head and looked off in the distance. “I can barely remember their names,” she lied. “Andy Blair and I married when I was fifteen. He was the cutest boy in Memphis. We lived in a shack with no indoor plumbing. It was the only time I was happy.”
“So you kept his name?”
“I became a working girl while I was still married to him. It was my business name and it just made sense to keep it.”
Heaven figured that Nancy kept the name Blair because it symbolized something to her, a more innocent, happier time. But she wouldn’t dream of calling her on it. “Did you move to New Orleans with Andy?” she asked.
“No, to get away from him,” Nancy said, her face clouding up. “Next I married my business partner, Pete Herman. He owned a club over on Conti and I had girls in the rooms above.” She took a sip of wine. “Then a gangster from Chicago, Sam Hunt. Sam died in a shootout outside a bank in Detroit.”
“While you were married?”
“No, years later. In the early sixties.” Nancy’s voice had taken on a dreamy quality.
“Next?”
“Charles McCoy. A cop. We moved across the lake and I tried to go straight. I put up preserves and green beans and Charles tried to raise cattle. What a joke that was.”
“Each of these husbands sounds like he’d be good for a whole book. Keep going, though. I want the full slate.”
“The next one hardly counts. We were only married for three months. Wayne Bernard was his name and he was a gambler. Horses were his thing. We met at a track and he won big and we flew off to Las Vegas. Then he went back to the East Coast and I went back to work. That was it.”
“And then Jimmy, isn’t that his name?”
“Jimmy Stouffert. He turned my head almost as bad as Andy Blair. An old woman’s foolishness,” Nancy murmured.
Heaven wanted to ask a million questions. She could see why the woman from the university was going to write a book about Nancy’s life. “You know, Nancy, you don’t have to be old to make bad decisions about men. I’ll tell you about my husbands sometime. But now, do you mind if I don’t stay for coffee?”
“Not at all and I’ll hold you to that about your men. I bet you’ve had some good ones too. What’s your hurry?”
“Well, I had a list of things to get done today and so far all I’ve crossed off is tracking down a missing dishwasher, or not tracking him down. I want to go to the library and find out about what caused that explosion down the street from the convent Saturday night, the meth thing. And I think I need to talk to Amelia Hart. I’ll tell you one thing. If she did have something to do with Truely’s death, she sure was as cool as a cucumber when the three of us went out for a drink that night. Not a tear in sight.”
“There are plenty of men in their graves because of women they underestimated, Heaven. It wouldn’t be the first time.” Nancy took Heaven’s hand in hers for a moment.
Heaven covered the older woman’s hands with her free one and patted. “Are you coming to Truely’s party Saturday night?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Then next week I’m going to New York.”
Heaven had slipped the waiter her credit card when they came in. She had motioned to him a minute ago and he appeared with the slip for her to sign.
“Thank you for lunch but I think it was my turn,” Nancy said, frowning at the waiter.
“What’s going on in New York?” Heaven asked.
“I’m going to an auction at Sotheby’s. A couple of my antique dealer chums are going with me. There’s some nice religious articles in the sale.”
What an unusual thing for a former madam to collect. “Do you have much religious art?”
“Oh, a few pieces. I’ve always been fond of the Russian triptychs from the tenth and eleventh centuries.”
“Were you religious even when you were …”
“A landlady? Goodness, no. But you get old and you figure you need a back-up position, just in case.”
“So you reformed and started writing checks to the Catholic Church. That’s just what they count on.” Heaven grinned as she got up from the table.
“Be careful with Amelia. I’ll see you Saturday night,” Nancy said.
“Wish me luck,” Heaven said as she slipped out of the courtyard gate.
Heaven thought she was going to the library in the Central Business District. But her car drove right to the television station instead. “Then let’s get this over with,” Heaven said out loud as she buzzed the outer door. This time when Amelia Hart learned it was Heaven, she told the receptionist to let her come back by herself. Just as she’s getting to trust me, Heaven thought. She picked her way through the warren of cables and lights and found Amelia in her office, sitting in front of her computer. She looked up and smiled a friendly smile. “Hey, Heaven,” she called.
Heaven pulled out the photo and threw it on Amelia’s keyboard. “You really had me fooled. I thought we were becoming buddies. And all the time you hadn’t bothered to tell me you were fucking my friend’s husband, the same husband who just happened to end up dead last week.”
“Where’d you get this?” Amelia said sharply, holding the snapshot.
“Hidden away in Truely’s desk.”
“Mary didn’t see this, did she?”
“No way. But should I be looking for more photos around the house so she never does?”
“I had no idea he kept that. What do you want, Heaven?”
“I want to know about you and Truely. And don’t lie to me, please. Don’t insult me further.”
“You’re a smart girl. Surely you understand why I wouldn’t mention this to you, you being Mary’s friend and all. Then, after Truely was killed, I sure wasn’t gonna say a thing, no way,” Amelia said defiantly. “Truely already tore my life apart once. I wasn’t about to let him do it again in death.”
“Was it over, or was it still going on?”
“Over four months ago. Truely told me it had to end. Before that, he’d never said anything about leaving Mary Beth, never made any promises. But I know he did love me. So I was shocked. I tried to get him to tell me why. He said his business needed his attention. That something strange was going on with it.”
“Are you just saying this to divert my attention back to Truely’s business and away from you as a murder suspect?”
Amelia’s eyes flashed with anger. “Do you think I liked losing my boyfriend over his business? How insulting. ‘I love my wife.’ ‘I can’t do it to my children’—a girl can understand those lines. But,
‘I have to take care of my business?’ Heaven, I sure wouldn’t tell you this pitiful tale unless it was the truth.”
“You didn’t tell me anything until I came in here with evidence. In my book, you just became suspect number one. You hated the Sisters of the Holy Trinity, and you’d been scorned by Truely. Why not take him out and make it look like a plot against the sisters?”
“Heaven, I’m sorry you had to find out about our relationship, but I didn’t kill Truely. You know I couldn’t sneak anywhere in this town. I’m too well known. And I didn’t pay someone else to kill Truely either. It was over and my feelings were hurt, that’s all. The whole affair was so typical of this town. The Uptown white guy in the seersucker suit comes callin’ at the beautiful colored girl’s bed, not the coal black girl’s bed you understand, but the one with skin the color of cafe au lait. I was mad at myself for falling for it.”
“You just keep revealing more motive for murder,” Heaven said and got up from the side of the desk where she’d been perched. She reached down, picked up the photo, and turned for the door.
“Heaven, don’t do anything stupid, like showing that to Mary. Please, give me that.”
Heaven put the photo in her purse and held the purse behind her back. “Don’t threaten me, Amelia. If I find out that you’re lying to me about anything else, forget about Mary, I’m going to the police with this. I may go to the police with it anyway,” she said and ran down the hall and out into the reception area. But Amelia didn’t follow.
Red Beans and Vice Page 16