The Queen of Dauphine Street

by Thea de Salle

  “Yeah, he can sit, but you fuck off. I need to talk to Darren. Alone. I gotta apologize, right? I did him wrong. He was a good boyfriend and I did him wrong.” She looked like she was going to cry as she shuffled forward into the room, letting the door swing closed behind her. Darren stumbled away from her, a hand lifting to ward her off, saying nothing.

  Yep, she’s still drunk.

  And he’s still terrified.

  “Okay, we can talk, Kelly. I’m Maddy, nice to meet you. I own this ship. It’s called the Capulet.” Maddy discreetly tried for her phone again, but Kelly shouted “Hey!” and Maddy froze. Kelly’s hand was still buried in that pocket, grasping on to who knew what, and Maddy was neither brave enough nor stupid enough to find out.

  Hold it together, Madeline.

  Darren can’t so you have to.

  “No police,” Kelly groused. “You said we’d talk. I wanna talk.”

  “Okay, all right. No police. Just talk, okay? Just talk. I’m going to help Darren to the couch. He’s having a hard time right now. He’s scared, Kelly. He got shot a few days ago and he’s scared so he needs help. I’m going to help him, okay?”

  Kelly looked flustered and upset, and Maddy’s stomach flopped, but she circled around behind Darren all the same. She grabbed his wrist and he flinched but otherwise didn’t acknowledge her. She was able to move him carefully over to the couch and help him sit. He looked at her, eyes big, his face expressionless.

  Fuck you, PTSD. Fuck you.

  “You’ll be okay,” she whispered, and Kelly let loose with another, “Hey!”

  “None of that shit,” she said. “You two—are you fucking her, Darren? This girl? Is she me now?”

  No, I’m not you, you rotten bitch. I’d never, ever hurt him that way, but Maddy couldn’t say that so she bit her tongue.

  Darren shook his head, frantic, and Maddy immediately backed the lie, her voice calm and clear. It was the same tone Maddy’s therapist used during Maddy’s more harrowing sessions. “No, Kelly. We’re friends. He needed to get away. He was afraid because he thought someone else was going to come hurt him. And a friend said he should come on my boat to relax, so I let him. That’s all.”

  Kelly nodded, peering between them, and then she started to cry, stomping her foot, her hand leaving her pocket to thread through her greasy hair. “I know. I know I was bad. I feel bad. Darren, I . . . I’m gonna go to rehab, okay? And I’ll stay. And I’ll get better. I promise. I’ll do that for you ’cause I owe you. You were a good boyfriend. I know you’re gonna hate me forever, but I’ll always love you, ’cause you were so good. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  Kelly bent at the waist, her arms wrapped around her stomach as she sobbed. It was, by some standard, a pitiable thing, but given the circumstances, Maddy couldn’t muster much of anything beyond fear.

  “You should,” Darren warbled when Kelly’s crying quieted to gasps and snivels. “Feel bad, Kelly. You should feel like shit. You tried to have me killed. And you’re not going to rehab, you’re going to jail. For attempted murder. That kid you hired? He’s spilled his guts. He’s terrified because he’s eighteen years old and his life is over. You didn’t just ruin your own life, but mine and his, too, because that’s what you do, Kelly. You ruin shit. You break it and you don’t give a fuck until the consequences are bad enough that you can’t ignore them anymore. You should feel very bad.”

  Maddy slid her hand over the couch back to squeeze his shoulder. It was a fleeting thing, the touch there and gone, because she didn’t want to draw attention to the intimacy of the gesture. She hoped he heeded it for the warning she meant it to be—there was a time for righteous anger. There was a time for him to shout Kelly into deafness, but now, when she posed an immediate threat, was not that time. Now was a time for calm and collected so maybe all of them would get out of this intact.

  Maddy could hear him breathing, seething, as he pushed himself up to standing, all six and a half feet of him unfurling so he could tower over Kelly. She tilted her head back to look him in the face, her eyes wide and miserable.

  “But I’m sorry,” she said. “I apologized. I’m sorry.”

  “And this is me not accepting it. Your sorrys are plentiful and worthless. They never change a thing, and here we are.”

  Kelly stamped her foot again and spun around, her fingers pulling at her hair in frustration. Her face was red, her eyes bulged, her cheeks were stained with tears. Maddy was braced for whatever came next—shouting, violence, more crying—but then the most miraculous thing happened.

  Two knocks and a beep.

  Richter. He’s fine. That had been him on the phone!

  The door swung wide and in waltzed Capulet fresh off her lead.

  Oh.

  Well. This is interesting.

  On one hand, there was the real danger that if Kelly was going to pull a weapon, now would be the time. There was a 416-pound predator in their midst and she looked feisty, prancing around and swirling in a circle. Cappy was always happy when Maddy came home, eager as she was to see her cat mama, and that could, in a horribly cruel world, get Cappy shot. On the other hand, Cappy was a 416-pound tiger and Kelly was really fucking drunk. Kelly eyeballed the cat, then Darren, then the cat one last time. She stumbled back, her back striking the wall, the realization that this wasn’t some delusion and she really was in the presence of a major carnivore causing panic. Still no weapon appeared, no evidence of a knife or a gun or anything else, as she edged her way toward the door.

  “Tiger,” she hissed, obviously afraid. “Tiger!”

  Maddy reached for her cell, Kelly distracted by the cat, who was curious about the newcomer and insisted on performing thorough sniffy-sniffies. Richter may have already realized that something was wrong, but she fired off a text to Julio just in case, three simple letters he’d know how to answer:

  HLP

  “Mmm. It is. She’s vicious,” Maddy said as Cappy craned her neck to rub her face against Kelly’s arm. Kelly squawked and lunged for the door, still not producing a weapon, and Maddy felt a little more comfortable taking a risk.

  Which is why she said, “I’d run if I were you.”

  Cappy backed Maddy’s play by yawning and exposing sharp, pointy fangs.

  That was it; Kelly was yanking open the door and fleeing, and Maddy, being Maddy, caught the door and held it wide. Because running away from a tiger got its hunting instinct up. Because Richter, when he played with Cappy, ran from her and let her tackle him, so Cappy took off like a jet in pursuit because she thought chasing their guest was a fun and awesome game.

  Kelly Adams Roberts didn’t even get halfway to the stairs before she discovered exactly what it was like to be pounced on and flattened beneath more than four hundred pounds of fat and orange fur.

  “You know, I always liked that cat,” Darren said, sprawled out on one of the poolside chaise lounges. Patrice had run out to get them iced cappuccinos so they had something to drink while they talked to the police. After Cappy “captured” her prey, it’d been easy for Julio to neutralize Kelly. She hadn’t been hurt, the tiger doing nothing more than ardently licking the back of Kelly’s head, so the team called in Richter, had him lead Cappy away, and they dragged Kelly to a guest room to wait for the New Orleans PD. When Lieutenant Casper asked Julio how he’d apprehended Kelly, Julio had pointed at the tiger, disgusted, and shaken his head.

  Cappy stood there on her leash on the top deck, leaning against Richter’s leg, watching the milling police officers just as vehemently as they eyed her. Maddy guessed she was wondering when any of the meat sacks surrounding her would produce a proper steak. Sometimes she batted one of her paws at one of them. Some of the braver officers were more than happy to provide scratches. Others stayed as far away as they humanly could, mistaking her contented groans as intent to attack.

  It turned out that Kelly hadn’t been a
rmed after all. Not really. She’d had a pocketknife on her, but it’d been in her back jeans pocket and she never pulled it out. Her story, though stupid, turned out to be true; she’d gotten loaded and regretted what she’d done to Darren, so she decided she’d find Darren and apologize. She’d seen him on TV in her motel room in Dallas, felt awful, and started driving. She went to the last place she knew him to be, which was the Capulet, like she’d seen on the news. A lapse in security at the gates let her stumble in, and Maddy’s lack of staff on the ship allowed her to climb aboard without much ado. Tobin had restocked his kitchen earlier that night so the gangplank was down for the grocer. From there it was just a matter of sitting and waiting until Darren arrived.

  And then what happened happened, and there they were.

  It was ridiculous. Maddy knew it was ridiculous, and yet it was totally apropos, too. She was ridiculous. She’d prided herself on it many times, and the notion of one of the most dangerous moments in her life ending in a tiger pounce was fairly typical for a day in the life of the Queen of Dauphine Street. The newspapers were going to love it. Maddy wouldn’t live it down for years to come, but she didn’t mind. Not truly. She’d long ago grown immune to the pitfalls of her celebrity.

  Hopefully, if Darren was still intent on sticking around, he’d get used to it, too.

  Maddy watched Lieutenant Casper dismiss the bulk of his officers. Richter pulled Cappy downstairs and back to her jungle room. Their resident furred hero was going to eat her weight in steaks and then get a tooth brushing because she smelled rank. Patrice fluttered around the top deck like a hyperactive butterfly ensuring everyone on board had everything they needed, all the while avoiding Cappy’s section of the deck. Tobin helped, too, producing platters of appetizers like they were having a grand old party and not filing a police report. And Darren . . . Darren was working on calming down. He’d been shaken after the incident, but between the Xanax and the comforting knowledge that Kelly was safely in New Orleans PD custody, he was getting better by the minute, as was proven by his insistence that he had always wholeheartedly approved of Maddy’s choice in pets.

  “Ah yes. I could tell how fond you were of her when you called her Murder Kitty,” Maddy said, sipping her cappuccino.

  “Right? I said it with all the fondness in the world. Hey, why did the tiger lose at poker?” He paused a beat, then added, “Because he was playing with a cheetah. Get it? Get it?”

  Yes, she got it, and yes she smirked, because that’s just what she did when Darren was around. She reached for his hand, he took it, and they sat like that, connected, in side-by-side chaises. She met his gaze and the smile on his face softened.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “Mmm?”

  “For everything. For helping me earlier. For taking care of Kelly. For thinking to . . . shit, Maddy. That thing with Cappy was brilliant. How’d you know she wouldn’t hurt Kelly?”

  “I didn’t,” Maddy admitted, her lips pursing in a flat line. “I mean, she wouldn’t hurt Richter or me, but I figured if I was ever going to risk my tiger maiming someone, the girl who tried to have you murdered was as good a target as any.”

  “Damn. That’s ice cold. I completely approve, of course, but . . . damn, woman.”

  He grinned and craned his head, watching the rest of the officers filing off the ship one by one. Lieutenant Casper had conducted most of his business with Julio so he didn’t bother saying his good-byes. That suited Maddy fine. She was tired of people, tired of answering questions, and tired and tired and tired.

  “So now what?” Darren asked, slurping the last of his icy drink with an obnoxiously long draw. “We don’t have to go to Tampa anymore if you don’t want to. I had fun with Sol and Rain, maybe we can—”

  “Tomorrow you call a doctor. A therapist. I’ll get you a referral,” Maddy interrupted. She’d mused before that no one could force anyone into self-care, but after what happened with Kelly, after witnessing his panic attack and everything else, she was willing to push for it. It was true he would only get out of therapy what he put into it, but she’d walked his road before, and if she could spare him even an ounce of her strains, she would. “Mental health is important. It’s as important as your physical health. What good is your computer if your processor is broken? I want you to take care of yourself. I’m hoping—”

  “Yeah, sure. Fine. I planned on it anyway,” he said, cutting her off. “I mean, I have a therapist in Texas. It’s not like I’m opposed to going.”

  Oh.

  She eyed him. He eyed her back. “Well, yeah,” he continued. “It’s the smart thing to do. You gotta take care of yourself or what good are you to the people you care about? I don’t want to saddle you with two hundred pounds of broken.”

  “Well. Good!”

  He’d stolen the wind from her sails. She’d been prepared to battle him on it, readying all sorts of arguments to plead her case, but he’d made it so easy, because that’s just what Darren did. He made it easy. He was kind and good and easygoing and wonderful.

  So he better stick around now that Kelly’s gone or I’m going to be disappointed.

  “We could go back to the city awhile,” she offered, keeping her tone light. “Back to The Seaside. Sol and Rain would be happy to have us. With Kelly off the streets, I suppose you could go back to Dallas to work if you wanted to. Alex would be happy to have you back, I’m sure, but . . . I don’t know. I’d take some vacation time myself. You deserve one.”

  He nodded. “I think I’ll stay awhile yet. Bob can handle shit while I’m gone. And I’m pretty sure Alex would use my nuts as a punching bag if I don’t give myself a break after the Kelly thing. Rightfully so, too. I’d do the same to him.”

  “That’s friendship right there—mutual nut punching,” Maddy said. “Or it’s a kink, but neither of you strike me as the type.”

  He smirked, leaned over to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, and flopped back into his chair. She kept her hold on his hand and alternated between watching the boats coming and going at the dock and appreciating Darren’s profile. He really was the handsomest man she’d ever met—possibly the handsomest man in the world—and she was the woman lucky enough to call him her own.

  For now.

  Or maybe longer, if he’s willing.

  “So I want to cut a deal with you,” he said a few minutes later.

  “Mmmm?”

  “I’ll call the therapist tomorrow, no problem—I’m going to do it anyway, so don’t think I won’t—but since I was so amenable and such a good boy, I want you to call on that house on Dauphine. I’ll walk through with you, tell you what I can about the guts. You can make an informed decision about whether or not you want to offer that way.”

  She finished her drink and held the empty plastic cup aloft in wait. Patrice whizzed by, plucking it from her hand like a trash fairy before sailing off to sprinkle her Patrice fairy dust elsewhere on the ship. “All right, I can do that.”

  “Roots, Maddy,” he said. “Maybe it’s time for some roots, yeah? You don’t have to float all over the place forever if you don’t want to, and it’s obvious Sol likes having you around. You two . . . there’s synergy there. You’re two peas in a pod.”

  “I know. It’s revolting. I just wish I’d figured out that he was a far better accomplice than he ever was a husband. It would have spared both of us.”

  She looked out at the black sky and blacker water, the moon and stars peppering the gentle waves with light sprinkles. A breeze blew by, and somewhere, a night bird called. It was lovely, but what made it perfect was having him there, with her.

  Roots, he’d said.

  She didn’t know what would happen a week from then or a month after that, but maybe, given more time, their happy-for-now could turn into a happily-ever-after. Maybe she could dust off some old dreams from the shelf and see if they still shined. They were bot
h anxious and vulnerable, needing help in the aftermath of their respective tragedies, but maybe that was a blessing in disguise on some level? They understood each other and could support each other. They could be empathetic when others wouldn’t understand. They could make sure they got the help they needed and come out better, stronger people for it.

  They could view their challenges not as things that would divide them, but as things that would bring them closer together.

  Roots. With someone who gets why roots are so difficult for me.

  It’s not impossible. It’s not even all that farfetched.

  She squeezed his hand again.

  He squeezed back.

  EPILOGUE

  THREE WEEKS LATER

  “I’LL GIVE YOUR dentist credit where credit is due—he did well by this place.” Darren was on his knees in the foyer, running a hand over the gleaming hardwood of the French Quarter house. The border of the floor was mahogany dark wood. The inside was starbursts of dark wood against a lighter grain.

  He pointed at the molding along the bottom of the gold-painted stucco walls. “That’s original to the house, I’m betting. Too bad they covered it with paint, but I bet we could strip it and restain it. We’d just have to be careful.”

  Maddy waltzed into the front room, her white kitten heels clicking with every step. Some of the dentist’s furniture was still in attendance—whatever his family hadn’t picked over like scavengers, anyway—and the rest was tasteful if not a bit dull. There was a portrait of a pipe-smoking man wearing tweed above the fireplace, his leg propped up on a velvet stool, hunting dogs in repose by his side.

  Dead dentist was a man’s man.

  He’d roll over in his grave knowing she planned to paint everything red.

  “Dr. Petrucci adored this house,” the real estate agent said. Her name was Susan and she looked very much like every Susan Maddy had ever met with her curly brown locks and black pantsuit. From the moment Darren and Maddy had stepped out of the limo, she hovered, darting back and forth like a hummingbird. She smiled shyly whenever Darren looked her way. Maddy, however, she cowered from.