Creole Kingpin

by Meghan March

  My eyebrows go up, and it takes no effort at all to look eminently surprised with a side of panicked. “Fire? There was a fire? Is everyone okay? Was there damage?”

  His gaze narrows further. “So you weren’t here last night?”

  “Clearly not, if I didn’t know there was a fire.”

  “There wasn’t a fire.” He sucks on his teeth again.

  I blink, assuming another one of my favorite guises for dealing with cops—playing dumb. “Wait. I’m confused. You just said there was a fire.” My head falls to the side, and I squint to really nail it home.

  He shoves his hands in his pockets and his lips pinch. I get the sense he’s frustrated with me, and inside, I smile. I can waste your time way more effectively than you can waste mine, Detective.

  “There was a fire alarm. Pulled on this floor.”

  Again, I evince confusion. “Now you’ve totally lost me. You’re investigating a fire alarm when there was no fire? It seems like detectives in this fine city would have better things to do.”

  His nostrils flare, and he looks like he’s losing his patience with me. Good.

  “No, I’m investigating the crime scene and the dead body that was discovered.”

  I slap a hand to my chest, thankful acting has always seemed like second nature for me. It comes with the territory when your job is to create a fantasy. “Oh my God. Are you serious? This building is supposed to be safe! Jesus Christ. What the hell?” I pretend to have the chills and shiver as I glance up and down the hall. “Did the cameras catch the person who did it?”

  He studies me like a scientist and I’m whatever he’s growing in a petri dish. “Cameras haven’t worked in months, according to the building manager. You don’t know anything about any of this? You weren’t involved in any way, Ms. Maison?”

  I jerk back in overly exaggerated surprise. “Excuse me, do I know you?”

  Cavender’s smile turns predatory, as if the dumbass thinks he’s got an edge on me. I would shake my head if it wouldn’t ruin my act, but instead I mentally roll my eyes.

  “Pretty sure most everyone in the department is aware of you, Ms. Maison. You’re what we like to call . . . a person of interest.”

  Finally, I hit my limit and drop all pretenses because I really do have shit to get done. “So, what you’re saying, Detective Cavender, is that you’re profiling me in connection with an ongoing investigation in hopes that somehow you’ll connect me to it, even though I wasn’t here and have no idea what you’re talking about. Is that right? Because if it is, I’m happy to take a report of this incident to my councilperson so she knows exactly how the cops in this jurisdiction treat her constituents.”

  This time, when he stares at me, I get a definite impression of a snake.

  “That’s a lot of big words for a woman who spends most of her time on her back . . . not reading.”

  My shoulders go back, and I lift my chin. “I have nothing further to say to you, sir.”

  His gaze cuts to my door. “I need to search your condo.”

  “And I need a spa day, but we don’t always get what we need.”

  Cavender bristles. “You’re refusing to cooperate with an ongoing murder investigation now.”

  At this, I throw back my head and let out a burst of laughter that evaporates just as quickly as I stare daggers at him. “You know as well as I do that you don’t have probable cause, and no judge is going to give you a warrant. Yes, I live in this building. No, I wasn’t here last night. I don’t have any idea what the hell you’re investigating, nor do I want to know. Now, unless you magically produce a warrant in the next fifteen seconds, I’d like you to leave me alone before I have to report you for police harassment. Actually, if you could show me your badge again, I’d like to write that number down for my records.”

  He ignores my request for the badge number and continues his questioning. “Where were you last night?”

  My smile is as big as my aversion to nosy, meddling law enforcement. “None of your damn business.”

  “So you don’t have an alibi.”

  I tilt my head to the side and stare at him. “You think you know everything about me already. Do you think I was alone last night?”

  “All you have to do is give me a name, and I’ll leave you alone.”

  When I perch my hand on my hip reflexively, forgetting about my wound and stitches, it takes everything I have not to wince. “I’m afraid that’s too damn bad. I pride myself on having excellent discretion, and that means I don’t share the names of my companions.”

  His whistling nostrils flare again, and I don’t even want to know what the pervert is probably thinking right now. Perhaps he’s trying to imagine what it would be like to be one of those companions.

  Ew. Fucking gross. Not even if I were broke and starving.

  “I’ll be watching you, Ms. Maison. If there’s a single shred of evidence that connects you to this crime, then you’re going down. Mark my words.”

  I release a long breath and shake my head. “If only cops would investigate crimes and figure out who did it before they go around accusing people of committing them.”

  He backs away, his gaze steely. “That only applies to innocent people, madam.”

  With that dig, he backs away and returns to hammering on my neighbor’s door.

  Well, fuck. That didn’t exactly go well.

  Two hours later, I poke my head out of the condo and check the hallway. Detective Douchebag is gone, thankfully, but I have a feeling I haven’t seen the last of him.

  After a quick scan of the hall, I roll two giant suitcases through the doorway and lock up. The girls will be coming over later to take the rest of the boxes, and the furniture will be moved to Desiree’s house to replace some of her old stuff.

  I’m starting fresh in my new place, and I’m not coming back here again. Not fucking ever.

  This building has bad juju, and my new life doesn’t have room for any of that.

  Thankfully, I don’t see a soul as I wheel out my suitcases, and those fabulously malfunctioning cameras won’t catch me leaving this time either.

  I can’t believe I didn’t think about cameras last night. God. What a fucking nightmare that could have been.

  Although, at least then I would have had a clear-cut case of self-defense. No way anyone could argue that the man charging into the elevator to stab me could have been my fault. Then again, given the attitude of Detective Cavender, maybe it wouldn’t have mattered. I probably would have been in cuffs for not calling the cops myself and reporting the incident.

  Well, old habits die hard, and the day I call the cops to report I stabbed someone is the day I leave this town and never look back. I load the suitcases into the back seat of the Honda and drive away, with part of me wishing I could just point my car toward the highway and do exactly that—drive away and leave it all behind.

  But I love my new place. It’s going to be a fresh start. No, really, it will be.

  After all the time and money I’ve spent on the house in the Quarter, I don’t have any left to skip town and live a lavish lifestyle on the beach. Not in a hurry, anyway. I’d have to liquidate, and that would take at least a month or longer.

  But what if the attack really wasn’t random? Ho-It-All asks, chiming in.

  “The guy’s dead, so there shouldn’t be shit to worry about now,” I tell the interior of the beat-up Honda and its empty car seat. “Besides, even if he weren’t, no one is going to run me out of my own town over some stupid stitches.”

  But the unease dogs me the entire time I drive, park the car, and then wheel the suitcases to my gate.

  Something doesn’t feel right, but I’m not sure what it is.

  That’s when I decide to visit Celeste again. Maybe a reading will ease my concerns. Or make them a million times worse.

  Seventeen

  Magnolia

  “I had a feeling I’d be seeing you again today, chère.”

  Madame Celeste’s h
usky voice welcomes me as I cross the threshold of her shop, the Reading Room, which is where she can be found most of the time when she’s not sitting at her card table out in front of Saint Louis Cathedral.

  Sunshine from the doorway highlights dust motes floating in the air, and I feel instant relief as soon as I step inside. The spicy scent of her incense. The deep colors. The quiet sounds of chimes and tabletop fountains she has around the space. They soothe me.

  I pride myself on staying firmly rooted in the here and now, but after living my entire life in this city, I can’t help but be drawn to forces I can’t see. Especially at times like this when restless energy and uncertainty have me all twisted up in knots.

  There’s too much chaos in my brain, and I need to get back to being sharp and invincible. That’s the only way I know how to live. Anything else makes me feel weak and powerless, and that’s unacceptable.

  “You always seem to know when I’ll be making a pass.”

  She tsk-tsks at me. “Your energy is right strong. Easy to read. What happened?”

  The stitches tug on my side with every step, and I consider for a moment whether I should tell her the whole truth. If there’s one thing for certain, it’s that Celeste didn’t have a damn thing to do with the man I sent to his death in an elevator car.

  “I had a rough night.” The understatement of the century comes out clear and calm before I tell her what happened. Thankfully, there’s not a single waver in my voice.

  To her credit, Celeste doesn’t react immediately, and I have incredible respect for her self-possession. Instead of launching into dozens of questions like anyone else would, she simply bobs her turban-covered head and turns to the side, indicating with one weathered hand that I should precede her into the back.

  “Best go sit down. I’ll lock up so we’re not disturbed. This reading will be important.”

  A tremor shoots through me as I take a step, as if my body is bracing for the gravity of what’s coming next. Like I have many times before, I make the short walk to the back room, ducking between the dangling curtain of fabric, beads, feathers, and whatever else Celeste has sewn into it.

  The table is small and round, painted with a design that came from a vision she received once. She told me about it my first time back here, nearly twenty years ago.

  Some people might not believe in all of this, but I can’t dispute the change in my energy as I settle on the velvet cushioned chair. Probably because I do believe. I believe there are forces we can’t see. There’s wisdom and guidance waiting for us, if we only ask. I can only hope they’re feeling generous today and can answer some of the questions swirling in my brain.

  The front door chimes as Celeste flips the sign and locks us inside. The scent of roses and cedar grows stronger as she steps through the curtain and smooths the individual pieces of fabric before she pauses at a chest against one wall to retrieve her cards and whatever else she deems necessary for the reading. Before taking her seat, she pauses at the altar, lights a candle, and whispers a prayer. I listen carefully, but can’t make out all her quick broken French.

  If it were my first reading, I’d assume she was exercising showmanship, but I know Celeste better than that. This is a ritual. Serious business.

  When she finally sits down, I have to remind myself to take long, slow, deep breaths.

  I can handle whatever is coming next. I always do. I always will.

  Celeste hands me the well-worn deck. “Knock, and then think about your question as you shuffle, child.”

  I do as she says while she arranges crystals on the table. I focus as I make the cards dance between my fingers, praying they’re able to provide guidance.

  When I hand the deck back to her, Celeste meets my gaze.

  “Now we begin.”

  She deals the cards in the spread on the table facedown, then flips the first one over to represent me. The Empress.

  With a smile, Celeste meets my gaze. “I think we both knew this was coming. Your power is directly related to your femininity. You know that. You feel that. Don’t forget it.”

  Dipping my chin for her to continue, I feel a sliver of relief pass through me.

  Okay. This is a promising start.

  Another card represents my question, which, without me saying anything, Celeste seems to know.

  The Chariot. There’s a decision to be made. I can’t stay caught between two choices. I have to move forward.

  As I glance up at Celeste’s pale blue eyes, the scent of roses coming off her is even stronger than before. “I made a decision, though. I sold the brothel, and I’m building a new business. I have a new direction. New purpose.”

  She tilts her head to the side. “You made that decision in the past. You have a new one to make. The winds of change cannot be denied. I felt it yesterday, girl, and I feel it even stronger today.”

  She flips over a couple more cards to represent my past, and they’re accurate enough to tell me the reading isn’t nonsense. There’s something here, and I need to pay attention. When she gets to outside forces, she flips over the King of Pentacles.

  “Ahhh,” Celeste says with wonder underlying her tone. “And here we have a male figure. You rarely have these in your readings.” She lifts her chin and tips her head to study me. “Do you know who he is?”

  My first instinct is to retreat into being cagey. “Should I know?”

  “Don’t play games with me, Magnolia Marie. This is too important. You know exactly who he is, because he’s offering you prosperity and security.”

  I swallow the lump rising in my throat the moment she reinforces the gravity of the situation. Softly, I admit, “I know who he is.”

  She sways and runs her left hand over a crystal. “There’s resistance. Is it one of your former clients offering to make your life free and easy, all for the price of doing whatever he wants?” That scenario has presented itself plenty of times, but that’s not what’s going on now.

  “No. I don’t know why he’s here or what he wants. At least . . .” I glance down at the card on the table, focusing on the man on his throne. “At least, I don’t believe what he claims he wants is true.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t have anything left to give him.” I choke on the last word, shocked to realize I’m near tears.

  What the hell is going on with me?

  I clear my throat and straighten my shoulders.

  I do not show weakness.

  But old Celeste sees right through me. “Child, you have so much light to shine on this world, but only if you don’t blow out your flame. Protect it. Nurture it. Getting burned is a risk, but being in the dark is much worse.”

  When she flips the next cards, the joyful, cheery reading I’d naively hoped I would receive is completely dashed.

  I release a heavy sigh as I tap the Tower card. “Jesus Christ.”

  Celeste glances up at me as she gives me a lopsided smile. “Don’t see only the bad. See the change that’s coming. I sensed it yesterday, and there’s no doubt in my mind it’s coming and that it will manifest soon. It’s time. You can’t keep going on as you have been.”

  I tip my head back, staring at the ceiling above me, blinking at the burn behind my eyes. If Celeste were anyone else, I’d get up from the table, walk out, and dismiss the whole thing as garbage. But I can’t. I feel it too.

  Moses’s words echo in my head. “I’m here for you, Mags. That’s the only reason I’m back.”

  He has the power to change everything, whether I want to admit it or not. One small part of me—the part that drew me to the damn window yesterday morning, looking for those glowing green eyes, believes he speaks the truth.

  What are his motives, though?

  I’m not making any decisions until I figure them out. Trust nothing and no one. That’s been my motto for so long, I’m not sure it’s possible to change.

  Celeste strokes the back of the final card, still facing down. “Are you ready for the last one?
”

  I give her a go-ahead gesture, but if I’m being honest with myself, I’m not ready. Not at all.

  As soon as she flips it, I bolt to my feet.

  “Really?” I shake my head, staring down at the face of Death.

  “Hush, girl. You know enough to know this card isn’t what most people think. Sit down and breathe.”

  I drop into the chair and stare at the knight riding a horse, carrying a banner with a rose. “The end of something is coming,” I say, almost without thought.

  “That’s right, chère. But the new beginning is going to be even brighter. Look at the patterns here. Look at what you’ve been through. There’s no doubt you’ve struggled. You’ve survived. You’ve carved out a life for yourself. You’re a woman of true strength and power. But you can’t do this all alone. Life isn’t meant to be a solitary endeavor. You’ve never had an equal partner who could balance you.”

  I choke out a laugh at that absolute truth, but Celeste continues.

  “You’ve always been fixated on control and power, chère. Sometimes you have to release your grip and let the universe work in its mysterious ways.”

  I practically gulp down my next breath. “Release my grip? Really?”

  Her turbaned head nods. “Almost as terrifying as death, isn’t it?”

  “Something like that,” I whisper, my attention still on the mounted knight. When Celeste’s bony fingers reach out to clear the cards away, I stop her with an outstretched hand. “Wait.”

  She meets my gaze, and I gather the courage I didn’t expect I’d need sitting at her table today.

  “Yes?”

  “How do I know if I can trust him?”

  Her thin lips curve into a secretive smile. “Let him show you.”

  Eighteen

  Moses

  I’m sweaty as fuck, but I always feel better after a good workout. Stronger. Sharper. More determined.

  I drop my gym bag on the floor next to the table where Trey’s computer is set up. He’s not in front of it, however, and the screen is black.