by Robin Caroll
She was right, but if his father ever saw him in jeans, he’d be livid. How many times had he heard his father’s tirade? A Pampalon must always look professional, Dimitri. Our appearance and name is our reputation.
Adelaide lowered her voice. “Have you said anything to him yet?”
Dimitri didn’t need to ask whom she was referring to. He shook his head.
“Are you sure he wouldn’t understand? I mean, I know this hotel has been in your family for generations and you’re—”
“I’m sure.” How he wished he were wrong. Prayed it, even.
“I can understand your hesitation to say anything, knowing him, but Dimitri”—she reached across the space and laid a hand over his—“you love this, and you’re so good at it. I’ve never seen anybody so born to be a chef.”
“I do love it.” He gave her hand a squeeze, then pulled away. “I’ll figure it out.”
She finished off the casserole. “I hope you do. You are amazing in the kitchen.”
Time to change the subject. Dimitri leaned against the counter. “I was almost late today too. Guess what I found in the mailbox?”
“I doubt it was a past-due notice.” She chuckled. “A request for a donation.”
“How about a small boa constrictor?”
Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
He chuckled. “Very. Luckily, I’m not scared of snakes, so I took it out and dropped it off at a pet store on my way in to work.”
“How did it get in your mailbox?”
He shrugged. “I’m guessing kids put it there.” But that didn’t explain the little cloth bag that he’d found in the back of the mailbox that contained leaves and what looked like rodent bones with ashes.
“Where would kids find a boa?”
“Probably one of their pets.”
She shook her head. Her cell vibrated on her hip. She checked the caller ID before answering. “What’s wrong, Geoff?”
Dimitri pulled her empty plate out of the way as he listened to her side of the conversation.
“Well, that’s good. Grown men acting like children. They deserve to be arrested.”
She paused and took a drink. “Let the front desk know in the event they are late to check out of their room. We should bill them for an extra day.” She chuckled.
Dimitri leaned on the counter, resting his chin in his hand and not bothering to hide his staring. Even as lovely as she was, there was something off about her tonight . . .
“Thank you, Geoff, for everything. I’ll see you in the morning.” She set the phone down and sighed.
Dimitri straightened. “About the fire alarm . . .”
The frown furrowed her eyebrows. “The police arrested the two men on the security footage for pulling the alarm without cause. Geoff thinks they might spend the night in jail because they didn’t seem too inclined to call their wives to explain.”
Silly men. “Will they be released tomorrow?”
“Geoff said it depends on what the judge thinks, but most likely.”
“See, this is why you are much better at handling hotel business.” If only his father could see—could understand.
The warmth of her hand covered his again. “You should talk to him, Dimitri. I think he’ll understand.”
He could only hope, but he knew his father too well. Knew what a proud man he was, and how he expected his only son to follow in his footsteps and take over the family business. “I’ve been praying about how I should handle the situation.”
Her lips formed a thin, tight line and she gave a curt nod. She stood and pushed in the tall barstool. “I guess I’d better call it a night. I’m pretty beat and have a meeting in the morning, then the departments meeting at lunch. Don’t forget—1:00 sharp.”
“Of course.” He always seemed to say the wrong thing to her when he wanted to know her better, wanted to know her heart.
But she smiled at him. “Thank you for the casserole. It truly is a wonderful creation, Dimitri.”
He watched her leave without saying anything. Every time he brought up praying, she’d turn and retreat. What had happened to her? She’d never opened up about that part of her life. Well, there were a lot of parts of her life she kept to herself. That just made her all the more mysterious to him.
And Dimitri loved a good mystery.
Beau
The full moon cast a deceptively soft light over the Big Easy, aptly named for its easy-going way of life. Even though the French Quarter still pulsated with laughter and dance at the nearing midnight hour, the moonlight gave the appearance of romanticism along the brick-lined pathways leading into the dark alleys.
Beauregard Savoie stared out into the city streets. His city. He’d lived in New Orleans all his life and had no desire to be anywhere else. Yet just because he loved the area didn’t mean he was unaware of the harshness hiding behind the slower, simpler way of life. Monsters could—and often did—hide in the dim back alleys and passages. It was Beau’s job to find the monsters and put them away, but not tonight. After the discussion with his captain about the possibility of him being promoted . . . no, he wouldn’t fight monsters tonight.
Tomorrow.
He slipped out of his car and headed toward Jackson Square. Something about being near the hub of the Quarter made Beau feel alive. Inhaling deeply, he drew in the essence of the crescent city. His steps were sure along the path as he noticed a woman ahead. Jogging. Alone.
Shaking his head, he sped up to move beside her. Tourists. She shouldn’t be out here alone at this time of night. Not with the festivals so close.
He finally reached her. “Ma’am, I—” He touched her arm. “Addy!”
“Hi, Beau. What’re you doing here?” She slowed to a walk and smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes as it usually did.
“No, what are you doing out here? And by yourself too.”
She chuckled softly. “Yet here you are, out here all by yourself as well. I’ve lived here just as long as you. I’m well aware of how to make my way around here.”
“I’m armed, are you?”
“Well, no. You’ve got me there, but I don’t think I need to be armed out here for a run.” As if to emphasize her point, she started walking faster again.
He fell into step with her. “Addy, it’s a full moon, it’s after midnight, and Twelfth Night is this weekend. You know that brings the crazies out. Almost as bad as Mardi Gras.”
She nudged him. “Beauregard Savoie, are you honestly worried about me?”
All moisture left his mouth. If she only knew. Images fast-forwarded through his mind: sharing PB and Js on the back porch of her parents’ cottage when they were no more than seven or eight, camping in her backyard with her dad when they were barely ten, countless Thanksgivings and Christmases and Easters . . . A knot lumped in the back of his throat as he remembered watching her leave with her homecoming dates, then her prom dates. Staying up late to wait for the car lights to pass his house on the way to her dad’s when she was out on a date.
“Beau?” She tilted her head and stared at him.
He balled his hands into tight fists to keep from running a finger along her defined jawbone. He could do many things, but risk her friendship wasn’t one of them. “I do worry about you. I worry about any woman out at night alone. You forget, sha, I see the worst of the city, and Twelfth Night seems to bring out some of the very worst.”
Twelfth Night, twelve days after Christmas, was the official beginning of Mardi Gras season. Traditionally, the private krewes—groups who came together for the Carnival season with balls, parties, and parades—presented their kings and queens, complete in their fabulously outrageous costumes. The Twelfth Night carnival filled the New Orleans streets, especially in the Quarter, with the parades, music, and some of the spiciest and best food south Louisiana could offer.
It also brought out the demented, depraved, and desperate in just-as-bold living colors as the krewe costumes.
“Just wanted to go for a run to clear my head. It’s been a long day.”
“So I heard.”
“Dad?”
He smiled. “I got the details from the scanner.” But he’d tuned in when her father called to see if he knew about the problems at her hotel. “Heard we made a couple of arrests.”
“Yeah. Don’t know for how long, though. I’ll be glad to see this group leave. They’ve been quite the headache.”
“I told you, it’s the coming carnival.”
“We have one of the krewes booked for their party this weekend. I’ll bet you they don’t give us nearly the problems this pharmaceutical group has.”
He chuckled as they stopped in front of the statue of Andrew Jackson on a rearing horse. “What happened to the good ole’ days when tourists came to the city for its history and culture? Now it’s for festivals and parties.”
“Fun over facts, my friend.” She stared up at the statue and cleared her throat before continuing in a stiff voice, “Did you know that Jackson Square is the site where the Louisiana Territory was turned over to the United States from France in 1803?”
Beau smiled and, in just as formal and stiff a voice, continued the spiel, “See these redbrick buildings that flank the square? They are called the Pontalba Buildings, were built in the 1840s, and are the oldest apartment buildings in the United States today.”
Her laugh warmed him to his toes. “I think we might’ve heard the guide’s lecture one too many times.”
A breeze kicked an empty paper cup across the sidewalk in front of the statue.
Adelaide closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.
Beau understood. He liked to breathe in the city too. It centered him. Gave him focus. Another thing they had in common.
One of many.
She shivered. “I guess I should be heading back.”
“Let me walk with you.” He looped his arm through hers, not giving her the option to decline.
He didn’t miss her little sigh. “So, was Daddy really put out that I didn’t make it to supper tonight?”
“He was more concerned about you.” They both were.
“Sometimes, my job has to come first. He should understand that.” Addy’s posture slumped just a little bit. A fraction of an inch, but Beau felt it.
“He does, he just worries about you.” He drew her arm close to his side. “Can’t fault him for loving you.”
“I know. I know. I just think he sometimes forgets I’m not his little girl anymore, and that I have a job where people depend on me and the decisions I have to make.” The timbre of her voice came out heavy, as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders.
It was all Beau could do not to pull her into an embrace, but he knew he couldn’t. The older he got, the harder his secret was to keep. So much time had passed. Still, he knew Vincent and Addy would feel the sting of his betrayal.
Pushing aside his own guilt as was his habit, he led her up to the Darkwater Inn and stopped. He faced her. “Vincent’s proud of you and your work here, Addy. Don’t ever think that he isn’t.”
She smiled, but it was weighed down with . . . he couldn’t quite tell. “I know. It’s just hard to tell him no.”
Beau laughed. “Isn’t that the truth? He has me signed up to help take down his Christmas tree Sunday afternoon.”
Addy joined in, her laughter ringing truer than her smile had. “That stinker! I volunteered to come help him take down the tree then.”
“Let me guess, you’re bringing lasagna?”
She shook her head. “That man is incorrigible.”
He waved toward the grand entrance to the hotel. “Then I guess I will see you Sunday afternoon. Should I bring the garlic bread?”
“I guess you should. I ought to make Dad spring for dessert.”
“King cake?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m calling him in the morning and telling him to order one from Gambino’s.”
“Cream cheese/pecan praline, of course.” Beau nodded, already tasting the rich sweetness, making his mouth water.
“Most definitely.” She leaned up and pecked a kiss on his cheek. “Thanks, Beau. Just hanging out with you always makes a bad day better.”
“See you Sunday.” He forced the words out past his cotton-filled mouth as she climbed the steps to the hotel and disappeared behind the doors with a quick, final wave.
Beau headed back to his car. Tomorrow he’d get lost in the business of keeping the good citizens of New Orleans safe and sound, but tonight . . .
Tonight, Adelaide Fountaine would haunt his mind and make his sleep as restless as the spirits in the St. Louis Cemetery.
Just as she had for many years now.
Three
Kevin Muller
What were the chances of seeing her again?
Finally alone, Kevin Muller sank back into the hotel room’s chair. He kicked his loafers out of the way and propped his feet on the edge of the ottoman. He ran a finger over his top lip.
It’d been almost a decade since he’d seen her—years since he’d even thought about her, but now . . .
He closed his eyes and recalled the first time he ever saw her. It’d been a fluke that he’d been there that night. He’d just graduated—barely—but all that mattered was he actually got the degree and was starting out in the pharmaceutical industry. He’d had a date that ended badly and had needed a cup of coffee. He’d been annoyed that a poetry slam was in progress. Until he got swept up into the raw emotion of the poets.
She was one of them. He could see her as she was back then. Younger. So alive. Full of hope. Full of trust. He remembered she’d worn a black T-shirt featuring Edgar Allan Poe’s face and one of those silly newsboy-style caps. A red one, but not a bright red, more of a deep crimson. Like the color of dried blood.
The poem she’d recited had been so filled with angst. Worry. Fear of failure. Her voice had even cracked at the most perfect places in the sonnet.
Slinking lower in the hotel chair, Kevin caught his bottom lip between his teeth. The next week, he’d gone again, looking for her there. She came in late, wearing a white shirt made of that gauzy material. He smiled at her and pointed to the stage where a stiff jerk whined in prose about being dumped. She shook her head but joined him at his table. She’d worn a heady perfume that drowned out the chicory smell permeating the campus coffee house. It was almost as intoxicating as the husky edge to her voice.
Kevin straightened in the hotel room and reached for his glass from the side table. The ice clanked as he downed the drink.
She’d been older today, of course, but the gut-level draw still pulled at him. Her eyes seemed guarded now but just as bright. Her face had flushed slightly as her gaze had swept over him in one defining moment. Had she recognized him? Had she realized who he was? She’d been such a draw to him that he almost gave her his real name. Yet in the back of his mind, even then, he knew what he intended todo.
Did she remember?
Glass empty, he set it on the table beside the hotel chair. He sat up, then hunched over, resting his elbows on his knees. Seeing her again, while exciting, could hurt him. He had a career now. A pregnant wife. A promising future.
But there was still something about her—
Creak.
Kevin straightened and stilled, waiting a second. Another. Then another. A door banged shut from somewhere down the hall.
His thumb rubbed his wedding band. It was nothing. The convention had concluded tonight. He was set to check out in the morning and drive home after lunch with his regional team. Maybe he should skip the lunch and head home in the morning. Play it safe and get out. That’d been his motto for years and had served him well. His wife would be thrilled that he’d hurried home because he missed her. Yeah, that’d win him some points for sure
.
Creak. Creak. Creak.
Every hair on the back of his neck shot to attention. Kevin jumped to his feet and stared at the closed room door. He squinted to make sure he’d pushed the hotel’s night lock into place. Yep, he’d flipped the metal security bar over the door’s catch.
Kevin shook his head. Seeing her again had made him jumpy. Nervous. He wasn’t the type to be either. Maybe he was just tired. He tried to laugh at himself—a grown man wearing nothing but boxers and his tee from earlier tonight that still smelled like expensive whiskey and cheap perfume, getting jumpy alone in a hotel room.
He flipped off the lamp. Only a sliver of light from the moon slipped in from behind the closed curtains. From the corner of his eye, a shadow moved.
What?
Freezing, he stared into the dimness of the doorway, his heart hammering. He held his breath as his eyes adjusted to the desk and armoire partially outlined by the splinters of light teasing in from the windows of the courtyard below.
Nothing.
He let out a slow breath and chuckled. Now he was seeing things? Man, he needed to get some sleep. A shower first, though. He had to wash the smell of the woman off him or he’d never be able to sleep.
Kevin stomped around the bed and into the bathroom. He flipped on the lights.
And froze.
The shadow faced him.
“H-how did you get in here?” He barely managed to get the words out. Random facts assaulted his mind all at once. The door was locked. He was on the second floor with no stairs down from the slim balcony, only the rickety fire-escape pole.
Kevin had only a split second to register the glint of silver flashing. Then it was buried into his chest.
Hot pain. He stumbled backward a step.
The blade came again. And again. And again.
He slumped to the floor against the shower stall. He couldn’t get his legs to support him. His own pulse pounded in his ears.
The room spun.
He pressed his hand to his chest, pulled it back. His vision blurred, barely able to focus on the red staining his palm. It was wet . . . and warm. Nausea washed over him in waves. He couldn’t breathe. He sputtered.