My patent leather peep toes ground to a halt on my porch.
A stupidly handsome man in black wayfarers leaned against the door to my car. His messy black hair and two-day stubble dried my mouth.
“Miss Crocker.” Detective Oliver whipped off the glasses and ended my stupor. “You look . . .” His lips moved, but nothing came out for a long beat. “Nice.”
“Thanks.” The disappointment in my voice irked me. “What are you dressed up for?”
He adjusted a Louisiana University ball cap over his still-damp hair. I shoved the image of him in the shower out of my head. It didn’t help that humidity had applied the robin’s-egg-blue T-shirt to his chiseled chest like a sticker or that his dark couture jeans fit well enough that I knew in which pocket he kept his keys. “I’m headed over to the Barrel Room to chat up the workers.”
My jaw dropped. “What? Why?”
“I heard you’re headed out there to talk to Miguel’s girlfriend. I thought I’d come with.”
“Come with? Why are you talking like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re a frat boy. Where’s your urban cowboy gear?” I drifted closer. “Are those track shoes? Where are your boots?”
“I’m undercover. None of those kids are going to want to talk to a homicide detective. What about you? Where’d you put the responsible-business-owner clothes and good-girl ringlets?”
I ran both palms down the shimmering material of my slinky black dress. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Care if I drive?”
“Yes,” I squeaked. “Who’s the snitch? The only ones who knew about my plans tonight were Paige and Mack.” I doubted either girl would have narced on me to the cops. “Did you bug my store?”
“I’ll drive.” He tossed his keys into the air and caught them.
“Mack won’t let you in after hours without an invitation.”
He wiggled his badge between us.
I rolled my eyes. “You just said they won’t talk to a cop. Mack knows you’re a detective. You’re stuck.” I shooed him away from my car and beeped the door unlocked. “I’ll let you know what I find out.” The smug expression creeping over my face couldn’t be helped, so I didn’t bother stopping it. I gave him a little index-finger wave and tugged the door.
He whipped a hand out to stop it midswing. “Nuh-uh.”
“Nuh-uh?”
“Nope. You go alone, and I’ll charge you with obstruction.”
“What?” I hopped back out, tugging the hem of my dress. “You would not.” He totally would, and I knew it.
He tipped his head and waited.
“If I let you tag along, you’ll let me ask the questions?”
A stiff dip of his chin in agreement.
Lies. “Fine.”
He smiled, and his damn dimple sunk in.
Chapter Eight
Furry Godmother’s fashion tip: Better to be overdressed than underinformed.
I locked the door and stomped gracelessly behind him to his truck, parked parallel at the end of my drive, successfully blocking me in. “You trapped me in my driveway.”
He opened the door and motioned me inside.
I climbed in and ignored him, choosing to concentrate on the beautiful evening drive instead. Outside my window, tourists meandered on sidewalks, smiling and pointing at things I’d long took for granted. Couples snapped selfies outside majestic neighborhood homes. Walking tours flowed in and out of Lafayette Cemetery No. 1, our district’s own “City of the Dead,” nicknamed for New Orleans’s unique above-ground burial style. A family on bicycles pedaled past us as we stopped at a stop sign. I fidgeted with a line of bangle bracelets until I couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “Who was the fink?”
He angled his truck into the parking lot and snuffed the engine. “Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
He observed me with his usual smug expression. “I ran into Mackenzie when I went out for a jog.”
“Mack?” That was unexpected. I recalled her comfort with him at the restaurant. I’d mistaken familiarity for flirtation. Sadly, it wasn’t the first time. “You live in her neighborhood?”
“Yep.”
I bit my tongue to stop myself from asking which neighborhood that might be.
“Ready?” He opened his door and climbed out.
I did the same and met him at the hood. “Would you really have arrested me?”
A glimmer of mischief danced in his eyes. “I’m glad we didn’t have to find out.”
“I bet you aren’t,” I mumbled. I turned on my toes and headed for the door. I’d get more answers from the people drinking than I’d ever get from him anyway. Why waste my time?
A guy in a dirty, white T-shirt, jeans, and work boots answered the door. A green apron hung loosely from his neck. His eyes lingered at my neckline before jumping to the hulk at my back. “Yo, we’re closed.”
I stepped closer and smiled big, trying not to stare at the silver ring in his eyebrow. “Mack invited me.”
He sniffed and lifted his chin, careful to clutch the door in one hand and the frame in the other. “Who are you?” No one was getting past this bulldog without some effort.
I needed a strategy.
I softened my voice and tried looking sexy but probably missed by ten miles. “I’m Lacy.”
I ignored the throaty cough behind me.
The doorman looked over my shoulder. “Yo, who’s he?”
I looked over my shoulder and shrugged. “I don’t know. He was in the parking lot when I got here.”
The guy stepped aside to let me in. He didn’t extend the same courtesy to Detective Oliver, ball cap or not. I didn’t dare a look back. I had work to do.
I headed for the bar where a knot of early twentysomethings poured a line of glasses to the top with red wine. Every one of them wore cutoff shorts and tank tops. Most were barefoot. I was massively overdressed.
Mack frowned when she recognized me. “Did you come from a fancy party?” Confusion danced across her youthful face.
I nodded and slid onto the nearest empty stool, tucking my skirt securely beneath me. “Yep. How was work?”
“Sucked.”
“Is Paige coming tonight?”
A girl with wild, sandy hair bounced behind the bar. “You know Paige?”
“Yes. Do you?”
Mack nudged my elbow. “Lacy, this is Trish.” She nodded to the bouncy girl, then the others one by one. “Hayden, Kelly, and Sunshine.” She put heavy emphasis on the final name. If she’d stopped to stage wink, it would have been less obvious.
“Hi.” I lifted my fingers in a tiny wave. Something flashed in Hayden’s eyes. She must’ve picked up on Mack’s less-than-smooth introduction. Had Mack confided in her about what I was up to tonight?
Mack shoved a glass my way and wine sloshed over the rim. “We’re chugging.”
Well, there was a verb I hadn’t heard since college. “Oh, no, I can’t.”
The girls stared, openmouthed. Their gazes drifted to Mack. I could almost see the wheels turning: Who was this weird, overdressed woman who didn’t chug?
Mack smashed my toe with her foot.
I winced. “Sorry. I’ve already had a few drinks at the party I just came from.”
“Drink, drink, drink, drink,” they chanted, pounding their fists against the lacquered bar top and lifting their overfilled glasses with their free hands as I watched.
Mack finished first and raised her arms into a victory V. She winked again, and I got the impression she had planned this little game to loosen Sunshine’s lips. I sipped from my glass.
The red Moscato was delicious and classified as a dessert wine for good reason. I savored the sweet burst of flavor on my tongue.
The other girls tipped their heads back in unison, completing the challenge. Crimson liquid clung to their glasses as it drifted into their open baby bird mouths.
Mack freed the phone from her pocket and smiled.
“I’ll be right back.”
I watched as the other girls slapped high fives and laughed. There was a strange energy between them, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. It felt like tension, but they all appeared happy. I scanned the scene for some less obvious source of drama.
Sunshine swept the glasses away and dropped them in the sink, looking peckish. The drops left in her glass were strangely dark and opaque. Had she helped herself to a better bottle than the rest of us had shared? “I’ll be right back.”
I lifted my now half-empty glass and sipped again. “What’s her story?”
The girl with the wild hair leaned across the counter and lowered her voice in confidence. “Her boyfriend just died. He like died died. She’s a mess. The boss told her to take some time off work, but she says she really needs the money. Can’t afford to take a break, not even to grieve. The rule for paid leave is family only. No boyfriends.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” My face tingled, either with anticipation of answers to come or in response to half the wine that seemed to have disappeared from my glass. “Is she going to be okay?”
“It’s bad enough, but they got into a massive fight that day. The last thing she ever said to him had a bunch of expletives in it, and not the good ones.”
I pondered the idea of good expletives. “That’s awful. What’d they fight about?”
The taller girl, whose name I couldn’t recall, looked up from the counter where she pushed a rag in circles, sopping up spilled wine. “He was seeing someone else. I told her to leave him, but oh, no. No one wants to listen to me. See where it gets them?”
“Dead?” I asked.
“No!” She balked. “Brokenhearted.” She wadded up the towel and tossed it on the counter before stalking away.
“Ignore her,” Bushy Hair said. “Hayden hated Sunshine dating Miguel.”
I sipped my wine and worked the information over in my mind. “He was that bad, huh?” That didn’t take a lot of imagination to believe. I tipped the glass to my lips and nothing came out. I pulled it away for a quick examination. Empty. Huh.
“Having fun, sweetie?” Detective Oliver glared from a closing distance. Mack hustled along beside him. “Funny story. I had to call Mack to get inside.”
I waved and smiled. “Bummer.”
Mack rounded the bar and poured him a glass of wine. He swirled and sniffed it with authority.
“Excuse me, do you know about wine?”
He tented his brows. “A little. For example, I know you’ve had enough.”
I harrumphed and slid off my stool. His fresh glass reminded me of Sunshine’s empty one and its weirdly colored contents.
His long fingers flashed out to clutch my wrist. “Where are you going?”
“Bathroom. Apparently, I’ve had too much wine.” I shot him a warning look. I wasn’t a big drinker, but I didn’t appreciate the implication I’d had too much or that he knew me well enough to judge. Honestly, I liked very little of what he’d said since we met.
He released me. Wisely.
I wandered the restaurant, checking room by room for Sunshine. Ironically, I found her in the bathroom. She was crying.
She patted a wet paper towel under her eyes. “Sorry. I’m not usually so emotional.”
I fished a travel pack of tissues from my purse and handed them to her. “It’s okay. I heard about your boyfriend.”
She sobbed into the tissues. “Thanks.”
“That other girl out there was kind of mean. She said she didn’t like him for you.”
Sunshine scoffed. Her round, freckled face bunched. “One hundred dollars says that was Hayden talking. She said she didn’t like him? That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that she did like him and he chose me. She hated not getting what she wanted for once.”
That explained a lot. “She was jealous.”
“Yeah, and he was guilty. He led her on, and they hooked up sometimes, but he never let me go. That’s what I always told her. Yeah, fine. He’s a man. Maybe he thinks with his pants once in a while, but who does he go home to? And what did she think she proved by getting in bed with him over and over?”
I had so many opinions. I held my breath so I wouldn’t ruin my investigation with a lecture on the merits of fidelity, integrity, and basic feminism.
“Lacy?” Detective Oliver’s voice boomed through the ladies’ room door. He rapped on the thick mahogany.
Sunshine ducked around me and whipped the door open to make her escape.
Detective Oliver’s expression said he knew I was ahead of him on information and he didn’t like it. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes.” I brushed passed him and waved to the girls at the counter. “Thanks, guys. I had fun.”
He caught up easily and paced his gait with mine. “How much did you have to drink?”
I stumbled, looking over my shoulder. “One glass, yeesh. What are you, the party police?”
“No.” He pressed the door wide. “I’m the regular police.”
A gust of humidity stole my breath and warmed my skin. Across the lot, I saw Sunshine and Hayden arguing. The words were hard to make out, but the tone and facial expressions said plenty. Hayden vanished into a tiny sports car and burned rubber out of the lot. Sunshine ran back inside, crying.
Detective Oliver sauntered to his truck and opened the passenger door.
I climbed inside, debating the benefits of calling a cab.
He started his engine and applied his seatbelt. “What do you suppose that was about?” He tipped his head toward the place where the sports car had revved out of sight.
I contemplated how much to share with him from my girl talk at the bar and in the restroom. Much as I wanted to squirrel away the newfound information, he was the police, and I needed him to close this case. “Both of those women were sleeping with Miguel.”
“Both?”
“Yep.”
“And they both knew?”
“Yep.”
He slid his phone from his jacket pocket and scrolled through his contacts before exiting the parking lot.
“Who are you calling?”
“Mack. I need the addresses for those women so I can send black-and-whites to pick them up and haul them in for questioning.” He made the calls.
I listened intently for any new information. Nothing.
He set the phone in his cup holder when he finished.
“You’re bringing them in? Don’t you want to know what they told me?”
“Nope.” He flashed his brilliant white teeth my way. “I’ll take it from here, but I will drive you home first.”
“Oh, gee. How chivalrous, considering you invited yourself along and insisted on driving.”
“This is a murder investigation.” He enunciated and drew out the final two words, breaking them into their syllables. His gaze trailed over my face, returning to my eyes. “You know, Mack gave me an open invitation to drop by after hours. I didn’t have to tag along with you tonight.”
I tucked the ends of my skirt under both thighs and fiddled with a loose thread at the seam. “I didn’t kill him. You have to know that.”
He flicked his attention back my way as we rolled along St. Charles Avenue.
I turned my face to the window.
“Either way, you need to leave this alone. Civilian involvement is a bad idea. We don’t know what we’re dealing with, and Miguel Sanchez wasn’t a good guy. Let NOPD handle this.”
“Maybe.” I watched homes flash past. Pets walking their people. Couples holding hands. Logically, I knew it was his job and not mine, but it felt like my entire world depended on clearing my name, and frankly, it didn’t seem like a big priority to him. He didn’t even want to know all the details of what I’d learned tonight.
“I mean it, Crocker.”
In two days’ time, I had gone from the sole suspect in Miguel’s murder to a woman with two viable leads. “Me, too.” Not bad for a fashion designer.
Chapter Ni
ne
Furry Godmother’s business tip: Blowing up is messy. Buy a broom.
Electricity sizzled through me on the way to work. After receiving two new e-mail rejections on my small business loan applications during breakfast, I’d gone back to obsessing over Miguel. By my third cup of coffee, a new idea had also percolated. If I couldn’t find any solid information on Miguel, maybe I could contact his accomplice, Levi Marks, in the big house. If anyone would be willing to dish the inside scoop on Miguel, it would probably be the former partner he’d flipped on. After a couple sketchy impersonations on my part and several terrible attitudes on the part of the correctional facility administration, I learned Levi had been released on parole five days ago.
Plenty of time to get to New Orleans and exact his revenge on Miguel three nights earlier.
I parked along the crowded street and thanked my stars I didn’t work in Arlington anymore, where creepy multilevel parking garages were the norm. My cell phone had 9-1-1 on one-touch dialing thanks to those terrifying memories. I jumped into the sunshine and dashed through a line of manicured flowerbeds and a mass of animated morning shoppers. Inside my studio, I flipped every light switch and slouched in relief.
Three days. Three suspects. I wasn’t sure if I should feel proud or overwhelmed, but at this rate, I’d never know who killed Miguel.
I set Roomba-Spot in his charger and fed the turtles, Brad and Angelina. The place looked magnificent considering the black cloud raining on it. I shook the tension off my shoulders and turned the “Open” sign in my window.
The bell above the door jingled. A line of people moseyed in, sucking lattes and munching beignets, dusting everything they touched with powdered sugar and judgment.
I shifted into congeniality mode. The crowd wasn’t my enemy. It was my opportunity to hold onto Furry Godmother, my lifelong dream come true. I wouldn’t see it go belly-up because some thief had dragged me into his mess. “Good morning.” I nodded and welcomed every patron. “I’m glad you’re here.”
The doorbell rang all morning as people poured into the tiny space. Most made their rounds, peeked at the murder suspect behind the counter, and left. Others came with actual pertinent questions.
Cat Got Your Diamonds Page 9