“It’s okay.” She squeezed his arm. “I’ve got it.” She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead and applied a great deal of pressure before addressing her father. “You need to pick up your mess.” Her tone was brisk. “They’re removing the crime scene tape right now, which means people will start filtering in soon. The place can’t look like this when they arrive.”
Oscar swiveled, as if realizing for the first time he wasn’t alone. “Don’t tell me what to do,” he snarled. “You’re not the boss of me. This is my place!”
“You need to pick up your mess.” She was firm. “If you don’t ... .” She left the threat hanging. She could never finish it. They both knew why. If she actually uttered it, she would have to stand by it. That was the only way he would respect her.
“You’ll what?” Oscar challenged. “You’ll kick me out of my own bar?” His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, something that didn’t sit well with Felix.
“Don’t even think about it.” Felix planted his hand in the middle of his father’s chest and gave him a shove, causing Oscar’s eyes to flash with something dangerous. They were well-matched physically, both standing over six feet tall. Oscar, however, had gone doughy at the middle. He was still in good shape, especially for his age, but Felix was in his prime and he wasn’t afraid to take on his father if it came to it. In fact, there were times when he was a tempestuous teen where he prayed his father would finally embrace the violence he was convinced was lurking under the surface simply so he could shut him up with a punch to the face.
“Don’t tell me what to do.” Oscar’s voice was savage. “You’re not the boss of me. You’re not my keeper.”
“That’s exactly what you need,” Felix shot back. “You need a keeper. We should lock you in a cage and never let you out.”
Despite the vitriol-laced words, Ofelia knew he didn’t mean it. Felix might’ve had a complicated relationship with their father — they both did — but deep down, he loved the man. He just didn’t understand the issue as well as Ofelia.
Oscar suffered from mental illness. Unlike others, though, he didn’t suffer silently. He was loud when his symptoms decided to hit. He was a tall, noisy, rage machine ... and he refused to go to a doctor. He’d never been diagnosed with anything, although research on the internet had led Ofelia to believe he suffered from bi-polar disorder. To be fair, he didn’t have all the symptoms. He had quite a few, though, and it was enough to make her constantly leery.
She’d suggested he see a doctor over the years. In fact, when Marie filed for divorce, she promised to leave Krewe alone if he agreed to see a therapist. He spit, hollered, and threatened any number of vile things. Of course, Marie knew exactly where to hit him. She didn’t want Krewe. She did want her children safe, though. She recognized Ofelia would never truly abandon her father. If Oscar was going to continue flying off the handle, she wanted him to have some control mechanisms in place. Unfortunately for her, she didn’t foresee Oscar hiring a charlatan to fake his therapy. By the time the ink was dry on the divorce, it had become obvious that he was faking his “recovery” and it was too late to do anything.
Marie had been incensed. She demanded Felix and Ofelia stay away from their father. She felt as if she’d been bamboozled, something that didn’t sit well with her. Felix was fine acquiescing to her demands. Ofelia, however, refused. It created tension between mother and daughter, something that still existed today. Ofelia refused to turn her back on Oscar, however. He needed her, and no matter how difficult he was, he was still her father. Guilt would’ve eaten her alive if she abandoned him.
Of course, hindsight being twenty-twenty and everything, she now recognized that if she’d joined in a united front with her mother and brother, there was every chance Oscar would’ve been forced to see a real therapist. Because she was weak and gave him a shoulder to lean on, he got away with it ... again. Now she felt he was her responsibility ... whether he refused treatment or not. In truth, he was a loving and devoted father ninety-five percent of the time. That other five percent, though, he was a monster.
“It’s fine, Felix,” Ofelia reassured him. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll handle this.” She immediately moved to the stool her father had upended and righted it.
“It’s not okay,” Felix insisted. He had a tendency to dig his heels in and there was no way he would leave his sister when his father was having a manic episode. “You can’t keep allowing him to get away with this.”
Oscar was incredulous. “Get away with what? I’m not doing anything!” He kicked the metal bar again. “I’m the injured party here.”
That was another problem, Ofelia silently admitted. Her father had a persecution complex. He believed everyone was out to get him. “What’s wrong now?” she asked, hoping to distract him from destruction and reroute him to ranting. “What did she do?”
Oscar whipped the envelope he’d been clutching in his hand in Ofelia’s direction. “This! Can you believe she’s doing this?”
Ofelia feigned patience as she retrieved the envelope from the ground, smoothing it so she could read it. She had to admit, what she found inside was troubling ... but not for the reasons her father probably believed. “She’s throwing a birthday party for Felix. That’s nice.”
“What?” Felix furrowed his brow as he snatched the invitation from Ofelia. “I didn’t know she was doing this.”
“And at NOLA, too. She’s going fancy.” NOLA was Emeril Lagasse’s restaurant in the Quarter. It was known for delicious food and nice ambiance. “It looks like she rented out the entire second floor. That’s a big deal. It’s probably because you’re turning thirty this year. That’s a milestone.”
Felix slid his sister a questioning look. “When was the last time she threw you a birthday party?”
Ofelia internally sighed. Her brother was the perceptive sort. He recognized right away where her head had gone. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It was her sixteenth birthday,” Oscar seethed. “She threw that ridiculous Mexican party for her.”
“It was a Quinceañera,” Ofelia countered. “I was very into Day of the Dead mythology at the time. She thought she was doing a good thing for me.”
Oscar’s snort was disdainful. “Oh, please. She just wanted to do something where she was the center of attention, where she looked like a good mother who wasn’t all about herself.”
“I remember that party.” Felix, always sympathetic to his sister’s emotions, moved his hand to the back of her neck and gave it a light rub. “You were mortified because she invited all those girls from the school.”
“You mean the girls I didn’t like? The ones who tortured me? Yeah, I wasn’t happy about that,” Ofelia agreed. “It doesn’t matter, though. That was more than ten years ago. I’m over it.”
Felix knew better. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry.” Ofelia meant it. Felix was one of the brightest spots in her life. He was the one person she could always rely on. She would never begrudge him anything. “Thirty is a big deal.” She playfully poked his side. “You’re an old man.”
“An old man without a job,” Oscar muttered, sinking into one of the chairs nearest to him. The rage that had been fueling him had dissipated. This, too, was normal. He flew off the handle, lost control for twenty minutes, and then returned to his normal self.
“He has a job,” Ofelia countered. “I wish you would get off his case. It’s not as if he asks you for money. He pays his own bills and doesn’t hurt anyone. He’s also a good person. Most parents would be thrilled to have a son like that.”
Oscar’s expression remained dark. “What do you know? You’re not a parent. At the rate you’re going, you won’t ever be a parent. You don’t even date; not since that ninny who made you look like a fool by cheating on you with every skirt in the Quarter.”
Felix, who inherited at least a portion of his father’s temper, seethed under the collar. “Have you ever considered that she can�
��t date because she already has a child?”
Puzzlement etched itself through the lines of Oscar’s face. “What are you talking about?”
“You,” Felix shot back. “She has to take care of you so she doesn’t have time to date. You’re a job in and of yourself.”
Oscar was offended. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Felix refused to back down. “You’re the reason she can’t date. You take up all her mental energy. You’re worse than a child.”
Oscar made to stand up again, but Ofelia shot him a stern look. “Don’t. Please. Just ... don’t.” She turned a set of pleading eyes on Felix. “I’m begging you to let this go.”
Disgusted, Felix held up his hands in defeat. “Fine. I’m only agreeing because I don’t want to cause you more grief than necessary, though. Just remember that. I’m a good brother.”
“You’re the best brother,” Ofelia agreed, sighing as she moved to sit on the stool. Given the way her pocket bulged, she remembered the hex bag and pulled it out. “This has been one heckuva day already. When is it bedtime again?”
For the first time since she entered the bar, Oscar eyed his daughter with something other than annoyance. “You look tired, kid.” He sounded like his normal self again. “What happened?”
“You mean other than the dead body being found outside my bar?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, this for starters.” She shoved the hex bag in his direction.
He had to get to his feet to look at it. “Why do you have one of Henrietta’s hex bags?”
Ofelia stilled. “What do you mean? She says that bag isn’t hers.”
“Well, she’s lying. Look here.” He held up the bag and pointed toward the corner. “See that mark there? It’s an H and a W. She created a symbol so people would always know when she was out to get them. This is definitely hers.”
“But ... she said the stitching was wrong.” Ofelia felt like an idiot. “She lied directly to my face.” And then she disappeared, she silently added. “Son of a ... !”
SULLY WAS STILL DEBATING HIS coffee date — although it wasn’t really a date as much as a feeling-out session — with Ofelia an hour later. He’d done three circles around Jackson Square hoping Henrietta would return. It didn’t look like that was going to happen today. He was either going to have to track her down through alternative means or come back tomorrow. He wasn’t thrilled with either option.
“Hello, young man,” a familiar voice called out, drawing his attention to the sidewalk across the way. There, Bernie Portman rested on the ground, a blanket spread out next to him, and a flask in his hand.
“Hello.” Sully offered up an amiable smile. Bernie was one of the many homeless individuals who made their way to New Orleans. He lived on the street, handing out beads and sleeping over the heated grates during the colder nights. He was a friendly guy, who very clearly had a drinking problem. He wasn’t afraid to snitch on the locals for a few dollars, though. If Sully was being honest with himself, he would’ve given Bernie money regardless, even if his information wasn’t good. He had a soft heart when it came to the homeless, which wasn’t always a good thing in the Quarter. After all, not everyone who walked the street and pretended to be needy had good intentions. Bernie, however, was the real deal.
“How’s it going?” Sully asked as he dropped to a crouch so he was at eye level with the man. “How are you feeling?” Getting emotionally invested with a man who lived on the street was an iffy proposition, but Sully couldn’t help the way he felt. There was just something about him that Sully enjoyed.
“I’m good.” Bernie puffed out his chest. “How could I not be good? I live in the most beautiful city in the world.”
Sully glanced around dubiously. The street Bernie was calling home today was littered with garbage. The city workers were diligent about cleaning Bourbon Street every morning. They had a system in place that involved carts, water jets, and a special street cleaner that scrubbed away the grime from the night before and prepared the street for another night of raucous partying. Sometimes the side streets weren’t as lucky, although they all got cleaned at some point or other. “It is a beautiful city.”
“What are you doing down here?” Bernie queried, taking another sip from his flask. “I haven’t seen you in a few weeks.”
“Actually, I’m looking for Henrietta Wells. We were supposed to have coffee and beignets together at Cafe du Monde, but she wandered away.”
Bernie snickered. “More like ran. She can’t be seen hanging out with the cops. People already think she’s strange. If they think she’s a snitch, too ... .” He purposely left the sentence hanging.
“Yes, well, I still need to talk to her. My understanding is that she was fired from the Grand Laveau and might have an ax to grind with them.”
“Oh, she’s grinding more than an ax. She’s grinding anvils, swords, and those big things they used in medieval times to break down castle doors. She’s furious.”
“Has she said anything to you?”
Bernie shrugged. “She says a lot to anybody who will listen. That’s just how she is. I don’t know that she’s said anything of importance.”
Sully withdrew a twenty from his wallet and dropped it on the blanket next to Bernie. “What does she say?”
“I’m being serious. She hasn’t said much that would interest you.” Bernie didn’t take the money. Instead he eyed Sully with a great deal of speculation. “She just said she was going to make the manager pay. She didn’t get into specifics.”
“Have you seen her hanging around down here?”
“I’ve seen her over in Jackson Square. She’s especially bitter about having to sit at a table and lure people in. She had a captive audience at the hotel … where there’s air conditioning. She hates the heat. She complains about it nonstop.”
“She’s not over in the Square right now. I’ve been watching for her. Keep your eyes open for me, okay? It’s really important that I talk to her.” He stood and then made up his mind on the spot, grabbing another twenty and placing it next to the first. “Try to get some real food in you, huh? Maybe a little gumbo.”
Bernie beamed. “I’m a shrimp-and-grits man.”
“Then get some shrimp and grits ... and be careful out here. It’s still early in the season but the tourists will be coming in droves soon. That’s always a more dangerous time.”
“For them, not for me. Everyone ignores me.”
“Not everyone.”
“No, not you.” Bernie tucked the money into his pocket and held Sully’s gaze. “Do you know what you need? You need a girlfriend. A man like you shouldn’t be spending all your time with the likes of me. With your looks, you could get anyone you want.”
For some reason, unbidden, Sully’s mind floated to Ofelia. He couldn’t deny his attraction to her. There were other things to consider, though including the fact that she was very clearly hiding something from him. It could be something simple. Most people didn’t find it easy to open up to strangers. He couldn’t kid himself, though. It could be something serious, too.
The Quarter was a place where it was easy to hide secrets. If her secret was big, he was better off finding out sooner rather than later.
Of course, he was hiding a big secret of his own. How that would play out was yet to be seen.
Seven
Ofelia wanted to track down Henrietta and throttle her ... or maybe just yell at her a bit for being such a big, fat liar. Instead, she had to take a shift at Krewe. She preferred taking the two-to-ten shift rather than the late shift — there was nothing she hated more than dealing with the heavy drunks — and she had no one on tap to cover for her. Occasionally she could coax her father into filling in, but given his episode earlier in the day, she couldn’t risk that.
Bastion Blessed (a name Ofelia knew to be fake, but she embraced anyway) was working with her for the afternoon shift and he was atwitter about the murder.
“That’s all anyone is ta
lking about,” he enthused as he mixed a sloe gin fizz with gusto. He’d recently taken to watching old Tom Cruise movies — why, Ofelia had no idea — and Cocktail was a particular favorite. He’d broken three bottles while tossing them before Ofelia put her foot down. That didn’t mean he refused to give up all the flash he’d accumulated. “People say you saw the dead guy.”
“I did,” Ofelia confirmed, stopping at the end of the bar long enough to check on her father. She would’ve preferred he shy away from the drinking tonight, but she knew better than suggesting it.
“I’m good,” Oscar assured her when she cast him a questioning look. He hadn’t apologized for his outburst earlier — he never did unless he somehow had a moment of clarity, and those were rare — but he was being unusually quiet and had been nursing the same bourbon for more than an hour. That was as close to an apology as she would get. “You don’t have to keep checking on me.”
Ofelia offered him a curt nod and then focused on the woman who had sat next to him. “What will it be, Laverne?”
Laverne Kelly was a former actress who had a string of romantic comedies in the ’80s. She hit it big, made a mint, and then officially “retired” to the French Quarter. She was something of a legend in the area ... and that was only partially because she was a fairy who could cast a love spell over any man who dared look in her direction. No one was immune ... well, unless she wanted them to be.
“I’ll have a mint julep,” she replied, her soft drawl on full display. Ofelia had heard her speak when she was so drunk she couldn’t remember where she was and knew the accent to be fake. Honestly, she didn’t care, though. She found Laverne funny.
“You’ve got it.” She moved to the liquor rail and grabbed a top-shelf bourbon. She knew what Laverne liked in her cocktails.
“What are y’all talking about?” she asked, offering Oscar a friendly smile. “Were you talking about me?”
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