“I wasn’t going to get lost,” she stated. No point in arguing. He was right—she’d get lost.
Rita headed to the car fifteen minutes later but stopped when she saw Christopher strolling down the sidewalk. “Aren’t we driving in?”
“Nope. Too many people, too many beads dropping from the sky.”
She caught up to him. “Beads are going to drop from the sky?” She squinted up at the sun.
He chuckled. “Not literally. People throw them from galleries. Those are balconies to you and me.”
“This place is like another country.”
“For sure. Balconies are galleries, sidewalks are banquettes.” He held out a pack of bubble gum in a gesture of offer, but she shook her head. She didn’t want to be reminded of kissing him. He popped a purple chunk in his mouth and stuffed the pack in his pocket. Would she ever smell grape again and not think of him?
Along the parade route naked trees were treated to a new look: beads of all colors draped from their branches. Groups of people wandered around, wearing Mardi Gras colors and looking at the houses.
“Come on, let’s try to catch the next streetcar.” He grabbed for her hand as he broke into a sprint but let go as soon as they made contact.
Once they were settled on the old wooden seat of the streetcar, a bell clanged twice and they headed toward the Quarter. Sunshine slanted down into her window. She closed her eyes and soaked up its warmth. When she opened them, he was watching her with something that looked like hunger. Instead of looking away, he gave her a soft smile.
Several stops later, they disembarked at Canal Street. They crossed a large expanse of road flanked by hotels and shops and continued straight on Royal Street. The buildings were old, but what character they had. Some of them had character of an X-rated kind. Naturally, he had to catch her as she peered into one of the open doorways.
“Just holler if you want to stop,” he said with that sly grin.
“I was just…there was…oh, never mind!” She really had no decent excuse, other than curiosity.
He chuckled. “I’ll start calling you my peeping Annie.”
That smile of his arrested her as surely as the words he’d just said. His peeping Annie, huh? He probably hadn’t even noticed it, but those words settled into her belly like a dose of peppermint schnapps.
“One block over is Bourbon Street,” he said, pointing to the left as they crossed the street.
People flowed from Bourbon down the side street, draped with beads and wearing silly hats. She absently placed her hand on her collarbone; she hadn’t put on her beads. Almost everyone was wearing at least one necklace and as many as thirty. Without those gaudy beads, she was the one who stood out.
“Mawtha a’Gawd, a condom shop!” She stopped, gawking at the sign over the doorway proudly exclaiming their specialty. “A shop that sells nothing but condoms. Who would have figured?”
“Oh, they probably sell a few other things.”
She started to ask what but caught herself. She didn’t want to know. Okay, maybe she did a little, but she wasn’t about to ask.
He shook his head. “What was that first part you said. Mouther something?”
She thought back over what she’d said. “Mother of God? It’s just an expression Kevin White—one of our former mayors—used to say. It kinda stuck.”
The crowds got even thicker as they ventured farther into the Quarter. Several party animals were already nearing the bottoms of their large, plastic cups of beer. “Huge ass beers,” according to a sign one guy was carrying around. She looked over at Christopher, who was oblivious to his surroundings.
“Did you spend a lot of time at the hotel?” She wondered if the place would evoke painful memories.
“I helped out during Mardi Gras and over the summers.”
Rita thought about what Emmagee had said. “New Orleans must have changed a lot since you left.”
“For sure.”
Well, that was deep. But she already knew he wasn’t into sharing, and for a moment she envied Emmagee for having known him when he wasn’t living in the dark. When he danced. When he was Chris. Maybe she could have…
She stopped herself right there. She had lived with too many maybes and what-ifs. First with her father, and now she seemed to be repeating the pattern with Christopher. He already told her he didn’t need her help, that he had monsters in his moat. That should be more than enough to steer her clear. But every once in a while she glimpsed something besides all that anger and indifference. She saw a man who deserved a woman who would not give up on him.
“Where you headed?” he asked.
“A dangerous place,” she said, then realized she’d walked on without him.
He steered them toward the dark green covered entry for the LaPorte. The tall doorman nodded without a smile as he opened the door, but he obviously had no idea Christopher was a LaPorte. Then again, Christopher probably hadn’t identified himself as such.
“Have you been here much since you came back?” she asked as they passed beneath an ostentatious chandelier hanging in the lobby.
“A few times.”
She wondered if his father had left him any portion of the hotel. Charlie had left her a few thousand dollars, but everything else had gone to his mother. Rita would have traded every dollar for an hour with him before he’d died.
Even though Christopher did not have any ties here, he walked through the office door as though he had authority. Behind the white carved door, a hallway split right and left, and a series of offices lined both sides. Along the walls were framed pictures of nature with inspirational sayings beneath them like TEAM: Together Everyone Accomplishes More, and Persistence prevails when all else fails. It was strange that she’d never seen this side of Brian. It made her feel as though she hadn’t known him at all.
“I’ll meet you over at Pat O’Brien’s when you’re done chatting Tammy up,” he said, slowing down in front of the last office. “Go up to St. Peter and turn toward Bourbon. Once you walk in, I’ll be in the piano bar on the right.”
“You’re leaving me here?” When at first she’d intended to go into the Quarter by herself, now she was disappointed he wasn’t staying.
“I’m going to check out Brian’s office again, look for anything I might have missed the first time, and then I’m outta here. Unless you need me to wait.”
And inconvenience him? No way. “I’ll be fine.”
He smiled. “Don’t look so worried, cherie. This part of the Quarter’s not so bad during the day. Just don’t go wandering or making friends on the way.”
“Like I would.”
Tammy came around the corner of the hallway. Her blond, curly hair was a bit disheveled.
“Hi, Rita. Christopher,” she acknowledged more carefully. “Slumming?”
Rita answered for him. “He walked me in to make sure I got here in one piece.”
Tammy’s eyebrows rose. “Really now? Better watch it, Christopher. Your chivalry is showing.”
He merely gave her a lift of his eyebrow and turned away.
Tammy looked annoyed that she hadn’t riled him. She turned to Rita. “I’ve got about fifteen minutes to squeeze in lunch, so let’s go.”
Tammy secured a table in the crowded courtyard. Most of the patrons here were dressed in fine clothes and jewelry, though a few were decked out in Mardi Gras colors.
“Make it fast, Dave,” Tammy said to the waiter, who eyed Rita curiously. “I’ve got fourteen minutes.” Once they’d ordered, she said in the same no-nonsense voice, “You’re obviously still snooping around Brian’s life. Have you found anything to prove Christopher pushed him off the roof?”
“He had nothing to do with it.”
“But you still think someone did.”
“I think it’s more likely than him falling by accident. After all, he spent his whole life in that house. He knew his way around that deck. You obviously cared a great deal about him,” Rita ventured. “Don’t you w
ant to know what happened?”
“I didn’t only care about him. Any fool could see I loved the man. But not Brian. As far as romance goes, I might as well have been the palm in the lobby. All those women he dated, and not one measured up to him.”
Or to you, Rita didn’t say. “Christopher said Brian hadn’t dated anyone in some time. What about business ventures? Had he shown any interest in video games lately?”
Her brows furrowed. “Video games? I can’t imagine that. But you know, he could have been into anything for all I know. And the more I think about it, the more I’m sure he was into something. He zoned out a lot. Like he was daydreaming. He had this light in his eyes, too, and sometimes a faint smile.” She crumpled her linen napkin. “Doesn’t sound like a business venture, does it?”
Rita shook her head. Another dead end. “Did he ever mention the name Sira? Or anything about Xanadu?”
“Nothing about Sira. Xanadu was the name of his father’s krewe, but he never talked about that anymore.”
When Tammy looked behind Rita, Rita turned to find the waiter approaching with their sandwiches and hot teas. How long had he been standing there listening to them? He placed their food on the table and left.
After taking a bite of her shrimp salad sandwich, Rita asked, “What did Brian do on Mardi Gras night? Trent said he’s taken the night off the last two years. Since that’s one of your busiest times, it surprised me.”
“Trent has a big mouth.” She ripped away the curly edge of the lettuce. “Brian’s the boss. He can do what he wants. He always made sure everything was covered.”
“What did he do, go to a party?”
Her expression stiffened. “He only said he had an engagement.”
“Did you notice a nurse who was at the hospital that first day we met? You may have passed her on the way out. She had vivid green eyes, probably contacts, bright red hair, and her name was Aris Smith.” She noticed the other woman’s eyes, an unusual shade of gray-green. Not contacts.
“No, why?” Tammy answered without giving it any thought at all.
“I wanted to talk to her, but she doesn’t seem to work there. Maybe I just got her name wrong.”
Rita studied her: smooth complexion, plain features, long Mardi Gras-colored nails, and enough time to have changed clothes, thrown on a wig, and put in contacts before waltzing into Brian’s room to bathe him—or specifically to get Rita out of the room. Tammy claimed not to have known him in the past few years, but who would have known him better? Throw unrequited love into the mix—
“Trent, I need to talk to you when I’m done here,” Tammy said to the right of Rita’s shoulder. He was passing through the courtyard. “About you-know-who,” she added, indicating a man sweeping bread crumbs from beneath a nearby table. Trent nodded and continued on.
Tammy turned back to Rita. “Have you actually found anything to substantiate your theory that Brian was pushed? Obviously not, since you’re asking all these questions. So let me ask you a question. Why are you so sure someone tried to kill Brian?”
“Call it a feeling.”
“You know, I’d suspect you were some nut with an obsession for Brian, except for one thing: the way you look at Christopher. Unless it’s just, what do you call it? Transference? Maybe you’re transferring your feelings for Brian onto his brother. Either way, I think you’re chasing a story that’s not there.”
When Dave dropped off the bill, Tammy signed for it before Rita could even get her purse. “I’ve got to get back to work. The only person who can solve this mystery is Brian himself, and it doesn’t look like he’s going to be able to tell us anything anytime soon.” She pushed back her chair. “I have some of Brian’s mail I forgot to give Christopher. Can you pass it on to him?” She stood. “I have to give him credit for taking care of Brian’s personal affairs. It’s more than I thought he’d do.”
“You were wrong about Christopher. He’s as worthy as Brian is,” Rita said as they walked through the lobby.
“Be careful,” Tammy threw out as she handed Rita the envelopes a minute later.
“Careful?”
She nodded toward the entrance. “Watch yourself out there. Never know what kind of kooks you’ll run into.”
“Thanks for the warning—about the kooks. And for lunch.”
Rita headed to the restroom. She glanced back to find Tammy and Trent discussing something—her, by the way they looked in her direction. The restroom was as elegant as the hotel’s lobby. There was even a chandelier in here, though of a smaller scale. She stepped into a stall and took a few moments to clear her head and prepare to walk the streets of New Orleans alone.
That bitch knew way too much. He could have walked over and slid his fingers around Rita’s throat…if there hadn’t been fifty other people sitting in the lush courtyard enjoying their lunches.
She knew about Sira, which meant she definitely knew about Xanadu. Brian wasn’t supposed to tell her until she was voted in by the High Council, and they hadn’t reached a decision yet. Apparently he had. That was reason enough for his execution. And for Rita’s.
All he had to do was get her alone. That was beginning to be a challenge with Christopher around. But she was alone now.
He ducked into the men’s room and pulled some items from his duffel bag. Exiting the restroom at the same time she did, he made sure to catch her eye but saw no flicker of recognition. Rita walked out of the hotel and into the stream of foot traffic on the sidewalk. She kept glancing back, as though she could feel someone watching, following. Yes, be afraid of me. I have the power to end your life.
When she turned to look in his direction, he shifted his gaze to a woman walking toward him. She lifted her chin and snubbed him. A man flicked his cigarette butt dangerously close to his sweater. Dickhead. The guy challenged him, and he saw disdain on his face. Freak. Queer. The echoes of adolescent taunts bounced through his brain.
He wasn’t big but he was strong. I could hurt him without your help, Sira. I could do it myself. I’m the boy. He swung his gaze ahead. Focus. She’s the one you want. She’s the threat.
Didn’t these people realize his power? No. He was no one. Sira was his power, his strength. As much as he hated to admit it, without her, he was nothing.
He trained his gaze on Rita, who was now turning onto St. Peter. He scooted closer as she merged with a crowd of bead beggars. He adjusted the hokey purple cap he now wore and moved up behind her. If he could only get a little closer …
The afternoon skies had become cloudy again, and Rita pulled her coat around her as she made her way to St. Peter. Trash littered every surface, spilling out of full garbage cans and piling up in the gutters like so much dirty snow. The smell of refuse mixed with aromas from the hot dog vendor nearby.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She slowed down, looking from side to side. Nothing out of the ordinary. Well, for New Orleans anyway.
So why did she have the eerie feeling that someone was watching her? She surreptitiously glanced behind her and found that the crowds were thickening. Music floated out of restaurants and bars, jazz clashing with a dance beat. As she scoped around, a few people met her eyes. But this feeling wasn’t the kind one might have if someone were admiring her. This felt…different. Malevolent.
She glanced back again, but no one stood out. Or rather, everyone stood out. A woman in black tights with a purple and green leotard, a man wearing baggy black clothes and a fuzzy purple cap. A tall man wearing a cap covered with yellow, phallic-looking spikes. Oh, brother.
Maybe she was imagining it. Maybe she was just off-balance. She breathed out in relief when she saw the sign for St. Peter. Getting closer to Christopher.
The crowd was spilling out from Bourbon Street, with louder groups gathered below iron balconies—galleries—to beg for the beads others dangled from above. She migrated toward the crowd, hoping for safety in numbers. “Do you know where Pat O’Brien’s is?” she asked one woman.
“
Right down there.” Barely distracted by Rita’s question, she lifted her shirt to reveal bare pendulous breasts as she danced for someone above. “Throw me some pearls!”
A din of shouting and whistles ensued, and as Rita slipped out of the crowd, something hard hit her on the head.
Then the world went black.
CHAPTER 13
Christopher sat at a small table near the back of what he called the dungeon. It was dark and cavernous in the piano bar, the only real light coming from the two bronze-clad pianos with their mirror backdrop. Two women were at the helm, taking requests and trading off this song for that.
He wasn’t in the mood for songs, but he was in just the right mood to sit in a cave. He’d foregone the famous Hurricane drink for a beer, then another. He didn’t like what Rita was doing to him. She was opening up places inside him, old wounds she wanted to heal. He downed another half a beer to the chorus of Irish Eyes are Smiling and thought of Rita’s eyes.
She was also opening up bizarre possibilities. He glanced at the cylinder of paper sitting on the chair next to him. Rita wasn’t a crackpot. He liked it better when he suspected she was. She’d been telling the truth all along, and he’d been an idiot for not believing, for rationalizing away the obvious.
He couldn’t wait to show her what he’d found. He glanced at his watch, but it was too dark to see the time. Where was she?
“Breathe, lady, breathe.”
Rita heard the voice, but her heart was pounding beyond her control. Too many faces hovered over her, and she tried to suck in air. She was sitting on the ground with her back against a flimsy metal column.
“Move back, she’s hyperventilating,” a man in baggy clothing and a purple felt cap said, pushing everyone aside. The strands of beads around his neck brushed her face as he knelt down beside her. “Are you all right?”
“These beads hit her on the head,” the girl who had lifted her shirt said, holding up a strand of large pearls. “I earned ‘em, but she deserves ‘em.” She leaned forward and with the utmost care put them over her head.
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