An hour later, I faced Buttercup for a second opinion. “What do you think?” My co-ed ensemble included black leather riding boots, skinny jeans, a silver tank top, and a can of aerosol hair spray. “Is the hair too big?”
She stared at her new home next door and made a bubble.
“I agree, but it’s just for the night.” I unlidded her cup and lowered her into her new bowl. “Enjoy your pink-and-white marble flooring and handcrafted sandcastle.” I drew a heart on the bowl in purple dry-erase marker and blew her a kiss.
She took a spin around her new digs and lowered herself behind the castle.
“Oh, Buttercup. If only we all had a sandcastle.”
I applied another round of mascara and called a cab.
The night was gorgeous. A perfect mix of live jazz, oppressive humidity, and nostalgia. I lowered the window to breathe it in. How many times had I taken a cab to the Quarter at night? Too many to count and too long since. I leaned against the backseat door and window for a better look at the beautiful Spanish scrollwork on second-floor galleries untouched by time. A man with bagpipes played a low lament near the Moonwalk as horse-drawn carriages clip-clopped down Canal Street, pretending this was another era and the city was new. I’d been around the world, but there was nowhere else like New Orleans.
* * *
Boondocks was on St. Peter Street. The chalkboard outside advertised, “Soup of the Day: Whisky.” Inside, a traditional Irish bar complete with authentic copper top and stools lined one wall. The remaining walls were exposed brick and worn from age, like the rest of the place. The movie Boondock Saints played on a flat-screen. A bevy of locals filled the seats, complaining about work and kids. A trio of tourists stood near the door, complaining about the heat.
“What can I get you?” A tall blonde jogged to meet me on the opposite side of the bar.
“Coffee?” I fished a ten from my pocket and slid it her way.
“Coming up.”
I wiped a line of sweat and melted hair spray off my temple and noted the distinct absence of pool tables.
“Enjoy.” The bartender delivered a tall, frothy drink on a little napkin.
My mouth watered in anticipation. “What is this?”
“Coffee.” She winked and wiped the bar in big, wet circles. “Plus a little crushed ice, Irish cream, and whisky.”
I admired the glorious concoction. “Have you worked here long?”
She slowed her rag on the shiny surface. “A while. Why? Where are you from?”
“Not far.”
“No?” She smiled. “A local? Why haven’t I seen you here before?”
“I was away. College. Do you know a guy named Adam? Likes to play pool?”
She glanced toward a door in the back wall. “No.”
“No?” I gave her a disbelieving look.
“He’s not here tonight.”
I gave the door she’d glanced at a pointed look and improvised. “You sure? He said he’d teach me how to play, and he told me to meet him here.”
She looked me over, clearly deliberating.
I feigned casual, slid onto an empty barstool, and helped myself to the coffee. The icy sweetness hit my tongue with a high five of fantastic. “This is amazing.” I swirled the drink and marveled. “You just added the cream and whisky to regular coffee?” I took a long satisfying drag. I could make these at home. “It’s brilliant.”
“Plus the ice, a shot of Kahlúa, and some coffee liquor, but not much. You’re tasting the cream and whisky.”
I was tasting deliciousness.
I turned on the stool and gave the small crowd another look. No one seemed like a jewel thief on parole hoping to hurt me. The whole scene was charming in a dive-bar way. I would’ve loved this place in college.
The door on the back wall swung open, and a lanky-looking guy sauntered over to the bar. He had a beanie on his unruly hair and a Louisiana State jersey over baggie jeans. He gave me a toothy grin. “Hey.”
“You know her?” the bartender asked.
I pulled in a breath for bravery and took a chance. “Of course he does. We met on Bourbon Street, and he promised to teach me how to shoot.”
She leaned on her elbow. “I thought you were looking for Adam.”
I shrugged.
Confusion rode the guy’s brow, but he gave my cleavage an appreciative stare and nodded slowly. “Sure. I remember you.” He lifted two fingers in the bartender’s direction. “Get me another and a refill for my friend.”
“Oh, I don’t need . . .” I lifted my empty cup. Huh. I set the cup on the bar.
Two fresh drinks appeared. The guy paid. “You ready?”
Not at all. I slid off the stool and prayed the bartender didn’t make another protest. “Absolutely.”
We cut down the length of the room and through the rear door. The stockroom on the other side was arranged to accommodate two regulation-sized pool tables. The shelves and boxes were pushed against the walls. A handful of men and women hung around, smiling and canoodling. Two men circled the table, cues in hand.
The guy who bought my drink pointed around the room, assigning names I’d never remember to people I’d never recognize again. “And over there is Adam.”
A guy with a smooth-shaven head swore as he lined up his shot. “Man, Tim, can you not talk right now? I’ve got a lot of cash on this shot.”
Tim buttoned his lips.
A guy in a black hoodie and jeans peeled himself off the wall. The chain hanging from his pocket swatted his baggy pant leg as he ghosted to my side. “Is this your girl, Tim?”
I tried not to make eye contact, which was simple because Pocket Chain’s hood covered half his forehead and hid his eyes. The hood, however, did nothing to hide the line of shiny rings in his lip.
Tim barked a deep belly laugh. “Nah, we met on Bourbon. I don’t even remember going there. Crazy, right?”
“Yeah.” The creep moved into my personal space until his body heat warmed my arm. “What’s your name, kitten?”
My jaw dropped open, and I craned my head back for a better look at Pocket Chain. “Um.”
It was Jack, all right. Jack’s eyes were near slits of frustration beneath the hood. He’d shaved his ever-present stubble and added several shiny rings to his face.
Fight or flight kicked in as adrenaline beat back the effects of the boozy coffee I’d finished at the bar. The full cup in my hand felt like an anvil. Would Jack blow my cover? Would he arrest me for obstruction like he’d threatened? My instincts screamed to flee. Curiosity and sheer hardheadedness said I had every right to play pool in a weird stockroom with a murder suspect if I wanted.
I gave Adam another look. He didn’t seem to be very good at pool, but he also didn’t look like a killer. He seemed more like the loud guy at a frat party, running his mouth and getting punched a lot. Though he could’ve paid someone to do his dirty work. It was impossible to tell if he had any money. His scrubby outfit said he was blue collar or wanted to appear that way. The toes of his work boots were scuffed. His belt was worn. The logo on his pocket was familiar.
Tim swung a heavy arm over my shoulder. “Watch it, dude. Kitten’s with me.”
I shook him off and glared. “My name is not kitten. It’s . . . Jack-ie.” I did a smug face at Jack.
“Well, Jackie,” Jack retorted, completely unfazed, “do you have the five hundred to cover your game?”
Tim scoffed. “Man, I just told you she’s here to learn, not play.”
Jack leveled Tim with a look that chilled the room. “Well, she can’t have my time at the table. You don’t come here to hook up. You come to play.” He turned his icy gaze on me. “Maybe you should go.”
Clearly not a request.
Adam threw a chalk cube against the wall and it shattered into pieces. He marched into our little squabble, eyes blazing. “You just caused me to miss my shot!”
Violent curses ricocheted off the walls and my brain. The crowd complained about having to w
ait. Tim complained about being confronted.
Jack grabbed my wrist and yanked me aside. “You need to leave.”
Fear rooted me in place. I had a very bad feeling about whatever came next.
“What were you thinking by coming here? Are you crazy?” His whispered rant gained speed like a downhill snowball. “And what are you wearing?”
His cocky tone snapped my mouth into motion. “Me?” I waved a palm in front of his pierced face. “What are you wearing?”
His chest expanded and his eye twitched. “I’m investigating a murder. You’re obstructing that effort. Leave now and I won’t call your mother.”
I gasped. “You wouldn’t!”
He leaned into my space. “You don’t seem to fear my badge, but you sure as hell fear her. I’m not above getting childish if that’s what it takes to save your life or keep you out of jail.” He liberated his phone from one pocket and swiped the screen to life. “What’ll it be? You staying for a lesson, or am I calling you a cab?”
Adam suddenly shoved Tim and Tim knocked into me.
I tripped over my feet, trying not to grab onto Jack for support. I flung both hands in search of balance as my drink went flying. My back hit the wall. “Oh, no.”
Adam gasped. Iced coffee dripped from the tip of his nose and eyelashes.
I untangled my feet and adjusted my tank top to show a little more cleavage. “I am sincerely sorry about that.”
He delivered his thoughts on my apology with more swearing. Loud swearing.
I pressed a palm to one ear and blinked rapidly. The logo on his shirt snapped something loose in my memory. “You work at All-American Construction?”
He swore some more.
I’d take that as a yes and talk to Jack later. He could probably take it from here. No need to involve my mother. I slipped behind Tim and made my way toward the door.
“Hey, babe. Don’t go.” Tim shot an arm out to block my escape.
Adam capitalized on Tim’s distraction and lunged at us.
I jumped.
Adam and Tim struggled, banging into the wall and cursing. They deflected and spun through the crowd until they crashed onto the table, scattering balls and snarling threats. A few beefy bystanders piled on.
I wrenched the door open and waved a silent good-bye to Jack.
He tapped his phone screen. “Go!”
I slipped through the open door but peeked at the chaos I’d left behind. Would Jack be okay? Should I call the police? Would that ruin his investigation?
He put his phone away and grabbed two men by their shirts, hauling the latecomers off the top of the pile. “That’s enough. Knock it off.”
Both men spun blindly toward the hands that had grabbed them and punched outward.
Jack’s head whipped back. “Son of a . . .” He shook his head and checked his mouth for blood. When his fingers came up red, he unzipped his hoodie to reveal his detective badge on a shiny, beaded chain. “Against the wall.” He cuffed the offending duo with zip ties. He readied another set of ties and raised his badge into the air. “NOPD! Don’t move.”
The room stilled.
Adam sprang off the table and made a run for the door I was behind.
I jerked the barrier between us and slid the lock.
The door bounced hard under my trembling hand. “That was close,” I whispered to myself.
“You do that?” The bartender appeared beside me, and not too happy. She nodded at the door.
I blew out a shaky breath. “Not intentionally. Did you know Miguel Sanchez?”
She watched me in wonder. “Who’s asking?”
“Me. I’m trying to find out who would’ve wanted to hurt him.”
“Someone hurt him?” Her voice hitched with genuine shock. “Is he okay?”
“No.” Apparently news didn’t travel in the Quarter as quickly as it did in my district. I did my best to steady my voice. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but Miguel’s dead. He was murdered four days ago. There are no significant leads.”
Sadness tugged at her eyes. “You a cop?”
“No. Just someone looking for answers.”
The hasty bark of sirens cut through the air.
My time was running out. “Anything you can tell me . . .” I looked toward the open front door where a line of cops in street clothes flashed badges and marched our way with authority.
She turned her back to the room. “There was a guy in here looking for him about four nights ago. You said that’s when he died?”
“Who was he?”
“I don’t know. He said to tell Miguel he came by and that he owed Miguel one.”
A man the size of a barge pushed past us and unlocked the rear door. “Lacy Crocker?”
I gave an appreciative nod to the bartender as she slipped away. “Yeah?”
“Don’t go anywhere. Detective Oliver would like to talk to you.” He pulled the door open and steamrolled inside.
“I’ll be at the bar.” Ordering another iced coffee.
Chapter Fourteen
Furry Godmother’s advice for ladies: Don’t flaunt your superiority. It’s bad form, and men don’t pick up on it anyway.
An hour later, I was still at the bar nursing a bottle of water. Everyone from the stock room had been questioned and released, except Adam. I hadn’t seen him or Jack since the cops arrived. The crowd at Boondocks had grown generously, and the ruckus on Bourbon Street had, too. Knots of tourists wandered inside with giant plastic souvenir cups and flashing party buttons. A woman in a hooker dress and wedding veil let men kiss her for a dollar, while her girl crew cheered them on. Frat kids bought shots for someone’s twenty-first birthday. Retired, divorced, and middle-aged friends stood wide-eyed and awkwardly in the corners, reliving their heyday or maybe regretting that they’d missed it thirty years ago.
This night had definitely not gone as planned. Jack would never let me speak with Adam, and Adam was so mad at me for dousing him in iced coffee, he probably wouldn’t talk to me anyway. Everyone else from the secret pool room was long gone. I’d already forgotten their names and faces. I had no leads, and it seemed unlikely Jack would share what he learned from Adam with me.
The juke box suddenly blasted a long guitar solo from an eighties hair band, and I turned for a look at who had thought that song was worth his or her money. A pair of plainclothes cops brushed past me with Adam sandwiched between them. He wasn’t cuffed, but the escort didn’t look optional.
Jack mounted the empty stool beside me and tussled his sweaty hair with one hand. “Well, that was fun. Not at all useful, but fun.” He pulled the faux studs from his nose and eyebrow with ease but flinched when removing the rings from his swollen lip.
“Yeah. That was a blast. Who doesn’t enjoy bleeding from their face once in a while?”
He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck side to side. “I haven’t been in a bar fight since I was fifteen.”
“Fifteen!”
His snarky expression stopped me short. “It’s a joke. Relax.” He pushed the jewelry into his pocket and swiped my water bottle off the bar. He pressed the cool condensation to the corner of his mouth. “At least I didn’t have to arrest you.”
I grimaced. “I’m sure they can get you some ice. No need to bleed on my drink.”
He took a look at the bottle, twisted the cap off, and drank it dry. “Two more.” He lifted a peace sign into the air. “Guessing you didn’t want that bottle back.”
“Correct.”
The bartender dropped two bottles in front of us. Jack paid.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
He levered himself off the stool and placed a tip on the bar. “Calm down. It’s bottled water, not an engagement ring.” He stripped out of his hoodie and bunched it into one fist.
“Adam works at All-American Construction.”
“That’s what you keep saying. Feel like telling me why?”
I followed him onto the sidewalk and soaked in th
e tangible buzz of energy. “That was the company that put my shop together for me. Tater hired them. They made the built-ins and handled lighting and my display case. That company is ever present on Magazine Street. The crews are really good. Store owners rarely call anyone else for renovations or improvements.”
“Good to know.”
“Did you arrest him?”
“No.”
“Are you kidding? He had access to my shop!”
“We haven’t let him go. He’s headed to the station for more questioning. If we find grounds, we’ll keep him. How does he have access to your shop?”
My short legs scrambled after his on the crowded sidewalk. “They had keys. They let themselves in and out all week while they worked there this spring. It wasn’t that long ago. He could’ve kept the key.” I snapped my fingers. “Or had a spare made! We should find out where people get keys made in town and show his picture around.”
Jack laughed. “I’ll get right on that.”
“I don’t believe you.” I waved hello to a passing group of goths in variations of Vampire Lestat costumes.
They leered suggestively and bared their fake teeth.
Jack dug in his pockets for keys. “You look more comfortable here than with most of those Garden District women.”
I laughed. “Oh, you’d be surprised.”
“Yeah?” He moved along the street, and I kept pace. “Heard any compelling stories about me from your circle?”
My circle? I didn’t have a circle. Unless I could talk Paige and Scarlet into running around me a few times. “No. I didn’t know you existed until four days ago. I’m comfortable here because everyone came here as often as possible when they were younger. Except you. You were overseas somewhere playing cricket and drinking tea.”
“And you said you hadn’t heard anything about me.”
I clenched my jaw. I’d given him the impression I’d asked about him when I hadn’t. Protesting would make it worse. I dodged a woman speaking with large hand gestures. We needed to focus on the reason we were both in the Quarter tonight. “What did Adam say back there?”
Cat Got Your Diamonds Page 14