The Viking’s brow furrowed. Cyrus crossed his legs.
“And kinky men really get into that?”
“Oh yeah,” she said. Her green eyes went bright and wide. “I could tell you stories, Cyrus Tremont.”
“Don’t tell me any stories,” Cyrus said. “No stories at all.” The Viking chuckled.
“Wish I could help you more,” Nora said.
“You could help me find Mr. Edge. I better ask him if he remembers giving your card to anyone down here.”
“You can ask him,” Nora said, “but I asked him yesterday and he says he didn’t.”
“I’d like to see him anyway,” Cyrus said. “The right question can jog the memory. I was hoping you’d be willing to come by Ike’s apartment with me. In case there’s more kinky stuff there, and I don’t know what it is.”
Nora glanced at the Viking, as if asking him permission.
“May I ask a few questions first?” Søren said.
Cyrus tensed. “Yeah, of course.”
“Eleanor said—”
“That’s me, by the way,” Nora said.
“I figured. Go on.” Cyrus nodded at the Viking.
“Eleanor said you wouldn’t tell her who hired you to look into Father Murran’s suicide. You seem like a very decent man,” Søren said. “But I need to know that before I let her get more involved. I’m sure you understand.”
Cyrus did. He respected the man for wanting to protect his girlfriend.
“No one actually hired me,” Cyrus said. “I’m doing this as a favor for a friend of mine on the police force. She was told to drop any investigation into his death, just rule it a suicide, clean up and move on. And with no evidence of foul play, she can’t really justify putting any man hours on the job. She asked me to dig a little, make sure there’s nothing more at play.”
“This is quite a favor she asked of you,” Søren said.
“Father Ike and my fiancée were friends. They worked together at St. Agnes Middle School a couple years ago. For her sake, and a little curiosity on my part, I’ll do some digging.”
Nora looked to her lover, waiting for his verdict.
“I’ll allow Eleanor to go with you today,” the Viking said, finally rendering his verdict. “If you promise to keep her out of harm’s way.”
“I can promise you that,” Cyrus said.
Nora leaned over and kissed her Viking’s bearded cheek. “I want you home by five at the latest,” he said. “We’re going to Mass with Juliette and Céleste.”
“So you’re Catholic, too,” Cyrus said.
“This is New Orleans,” the Viking said, smirking. “Isn’t everyone?”
Chapter Twelve
Cyrus sat on a red sofa in the lobby and called Paulina. She answered on the third ring.
“Hey, baby,” he said. “How’s your morning?”
“Good Mass,” she said. “Missed you there.”
“Working. I’ll try to hit evening Mass tonight.”
“I’ll go with you, if you want. When nobody’s looking, I’ll let you put your hand on my knee.”
“You know I can’t turn that down.”
“You coming over now? I can fix lunch.”
Lunch with Paulina sounded almost as good as his hand on her knee.
“I gotta check a couple things out,” he said. “I just wanted you to know I’ll be with a lady today.”
“Is that so?” Paulina sounded amused. Better amused than angry.
Cyrus lowered his voice. “I told you about the woman who Father Ike tried to call before…she’s going to be helping me a little today.”
“This sex worker lady?”
“I just had coffee with her and her boyfriend. Judging by him, I’m not her type.”
“What’s her type?”
“She called him a ‘well-groomed Viking.’ It fit.”
“Oh my…I might like to see a well-groomed Viking.”
“Hey,” Cyrus said.
Paulina laughed her sweetest laugh.
“You know I love you and trust you. If you need this woman’s help, that’s fine. Finding out what happened to Father Ike is top priority.”
“You’re right,” Cyrus said. “You’re always right.”
“You know it,” she said. A long pause. Cyrus tensed. “You worried about something?”
“When am I not?”
“This lady?”
“She’s not bad,” Cyrus said. “But she’s no you.”
Paulina had insisted on counseling once they’d officially decided to be “a thing.” The first thing the counselor told Cyrus was, Tell her everything, even the stuff you don’t want to tell her. Especially the stuff you don’t want to tell her.
“Cyrus, one of these days you’re gonna have to get used to being around women again,” she said. “Women who aren’t me. Dr. Rourke said you should even try to make friends with a woman.”
“You want me to be friends with a dominatrix?”
“You never know who God’s gonna send into your life. The Creator can get real creative sometimes.”
“That’s for sure.”
“Think on it,” she said. “Maybe talk to that lady about it.”
Cyrus looked up as Nora entered the lobby wearing the same black dress and red strappy heels as yesterday. Was she a fine-looking lady? Definitely. But what he felt for her wasn’t attraction really, more like curiosity. He’d never met a woman quite that…what was the word he was looking for? Weird?
“We’ll see,” Cyrus said. “Gotta go, baby. Love you.”
“Love you, too, Daddy. See you tonight.”
Cyrus ended the call and stood up.
“‘Baby,’” Nora said, grinning the way women did when they caught a man in the act of doing something they approved of. “That’s cute.”
He ignored that. “You want to ride with me or me with you?”
She raised an eyebrow. “What’s your ride?”
“Black Honda CR-V. Yours?”
“Red Mustang convertible.”
Cyrus thought about that.
“You drive.”
Cyrus rode shotgun and didn’t mind at all when Nora put the top down. It wasn’t quite eighty yet, but it would hit it any hour now so they might as well enjoy the morning.
She slipped on a pair of black cat-eye sunglasses and headed out of the French Quarter.
“Kingsley first, I guess?” she asked.
“Might as well get it over with,” Cyrus said.
“Don’t worry about King. He’s fine. He’s just tense lately with Juliette about to have the baby.”
“It’s all right. I’m sure I’ll be the same way when it’s me and Paulina’s turn.”
“Paulina, pretty name. You two been together long?”
“Met two years ago, been dating about a year and a half. Engaged since May,” he said. “How about you and your Viking? Søren or whatever his name is?”
“Been together off and on since I was twenty,” she said.
“And you’re not married?”
She grinned as she made a left turn at a stop sign.
“We aren’t the marrying kind.”
“How about Edge and his Missus?”
“I think King would marry Juliette if only to make things easier on their kids. But Juliette’s dead set against it. Bad past experience.”
“Ah, I get that,” Cyrus said. “I’m about the only guy in town who handles domestics. Stuff I’d seen, damn. Marriage can get ugly fast.”
“Domestics?”
They’d picked up speed, so Nora had to raise her voice. The wind whipped her black hair around her face, but it didn’t seem to bother her. She looked good, a little wild like that.
“Yeah, that’s what we call it in the business. Domestic cases—those are cheating husbands, gambling husbands, deadbeat dads who buy brand-new Ford F-150s while their kids are wearing clothes from St. Vincent’s.”
“How’d you get into that line of work?” she asked.
“So you really are a knight-errant then?” she asked, glancing at him to smile.
“Been called worse.”
She pulled up to the drive of Edge’s 6th Street palace, and punched in the security code for the iron gates. When they parked inside, her dog ran to her, panting and wagging his tail. She pushed her sunglasses up on her head and reached for her dog.
“Sorry I abandoned you last night, boy,” she said, going down on her knees to scratch the Shepherd’s enormous black ears. “Mama had a date.”
“He’s a good-looking boy,” Cyrus said. “Too bad he eats men.”
Nora stood and tucked her fingers into her dog’s collar and held him against her thigh.
“Hasn’t eaten a man yet,” she said. “But every time Søren walks by, he does start to drool. Then again, so do I.” Nora winked at him.
Cyrus heard laughter and voices as they walked around the house. In the backyard, they found Edge standing in the shallow end of a swimming pool waiting to catch his daughter, who was perched on the edge of the pool in a pink swimsuit, pink arm floaties, and a pink swim cap over her curls.
Edge said something in French and the little girl laughed and then launched herself into her father’s arms.
“You speak French?” Nora asked Cyrus.
“Three years of French in Action in high school. Don’t remember a damn word.”
“He said, ‘Don’t jump on me. You’ll mess up my hair,’” Nora translated. “So of course she jumped on him.”
“Kids,” Cyrus said.
With his daughter in his arms, her skinny stick legs around his waist, Edge waded over to the side of the pool. He had on black sunglasses that he pushed up to his forehead.
“Hi, Tata Elle,” the little girl said, waving.
“Hello, my fishy,” Nora said. “You playing with Papa in the pool today?”
“Mama’s taking nap number one,” the little girl said. Edge laughed.
“Céleste, you remember Mr. Tremont, right?” Nora asked her.
“Hello, Miss Céleste,” Cyrus said.
“Bonjour, Monsieur Tremont,” she said. Even Edge grinned at that and kissed his daughter on her forehead.
“Can you do me a favor, sweetheart?” Nora asked. “Can you run into the house with Gmork and change his black collar to his pink collar? He told me he wants to wear pink like you today.”
“Can we dry off first?” Edge said to his daughter. “S’il ti plait?”
“I’ll help.” Nora held out her hands, and Edge passed his daughter to her. With a big pink towel, Nora dried off the girl and sent her scurrying into the house with a playful swat on her tiny pink-clad bottom, the big dog right behind her.
Edge put his hands on the side of the pool and rose up and out of the water. Cyrus breathed a sigh of relief. He’d thought all Europeans wore Speedos, but Edge had on a pair of black swim shorts.
“Mr. Edge—” Cyrus began, but Edge held up a hand. He said something in French to Nora. Nora replied, also in French. Edge nodded. Nora said something else, smiled, then laughed. Edge replied in what Cyrus assumed was a universal language, that of the middle finger. Nora didn’t seem shocked or insulted.
“Sorry,” Nora said to Cyrus. “King, Cyrus Tremont. Cyrus, Kingsley Edge.” Nora waved her hand between them. “Cyrus has a couple quick questions, then we’re leaving. I promise.”
“Get it over with,” Edge said, still dripping wet. He grabbed a towel off the stack and ran it over his wet hair. First, Nora in the bathtub. Now, Edge in the pool. Were these people ever dry?
“I know Nora told you about Father Isaac Murran’s death,” Cyrus began. “And that he called her minutes before his suicide. She doesn’t remember giving anyone in New Orleans her business card. Did you happen to give one of her red cards to anyone down here at any point?”
“What was the number?” Edge asked.
“My 3969 number,” Nora said.
“That was after you quit working for me,” Edge said.
“Right,” Nora said, nodding. “I had a different number when I was an Edge Enterprises employee.” Cyrus jotted that down his black reporter notebook. “But I quit working for him and went solo—stopped seeing almost all my clients but for a handful of favorites. That lasted about two years, then we moved down here.”
“When was that exactly?” Cyrus asked, though he already knew the answer from Nora. Just wanted to make sure…
“We bought this house…” Edge said, pausing to think. “…November, three years ago. Elle bought hers in December, same year. Yes?”
“Right,” Nora said.
“I’d guess you came down here to house hunt before buying the place,” Cyrus said.
“Of course,” Edge said.
“Any chance you gave someone down here Nora’s card during those trips?”
“I don’t know why I would. Trust me, this city has plenty of sin without needing me to import it,” Edge said.
“But you did, right?”
Edge shrugged. “I left most of my sin in New York. But I couldn’t bear to leave it all back there.”
“What about you?” Cyrus turned to Nora. “You remember giving your card to anyone when you came down here to house hunt?”
She exhaled heavily. “That was a quick trip three years ago. I was here less than a week.” She rubbed her forehead as if trying to jostle a memory loose. “It’s possible, I admit. But I wasn’t looking for clients. I’m trying to think if I met anyone kinky and exchanged information.”
“You didn’t go to any clubs or anything?” Edge asked.
“No,” Nora said. “Not that I remember. Although it is New Orleans. I might have had too much to drink one night and given out my number to everyone on Bourbon Street. I didn’t. I think.”
“Did you do any drinking while you were in town?” Cyrus asked her. She looked at him, lips pursed.
“What do you think?”
“Maybe you got drunk and gave everyone on Bourbon Street your card. Narrows it down.”
“Nobody called me after my trip down here,” she said. “That I do know. And if I give someone my card…they call me.”
“A dead priest did,” Cyrus said.
“A dead priest I never met in my life,” Nora said.
“So…either you got drunk—” he said, pointing at Nora with his pencil, “—and maybe gave your card to everyone on Bourbon. Or Father Ike went to New York, and he could have gotten your card from…”
“Literally any kinky person in the city,” Nora said.
“Great. Fantastic,” Cyrus said dryly. “I’ll ask Sister Margaret if he took any trips to New York. You ready?”
Céleste came running out of the house then with Nora’s big dog now wearing a hot pink collar around his neck.
“Much better,” Nora said.
“Come swim with me,” she said to the dog, pulling him by the collar to the pool.
“No dogs in the pool,” Edge said two seconds before Céleste and the dog waded into the shallow end via the pool steps.
“Out, Gmork,” Nora said. Her dog obeyed, climbed out of the pool, and promptly shook himself dry all over Edge, who took it with impressive stoicism.
“I never knew I could hate a dog,” Edge said. “But I can.”
“Bye, King,” Nora said. “Bye, princess!”
Céleste waved goodbye to them.
“Thank you, Mr. Edge.” Cyrus held out his hand, and Edge only hesitated a second before shaking it. As Cyrus and Nora were leaving the backyard, he saw Edge jump back into the water, swoop Céleste into his arms, and toss her squealing and laughing into the air.
“I’m gonna say something,”
Cyrus said to Nora. “And you’re gonna forget I said it after I said it.”
“Say it.”
“That is one good-looking man.”
“Rich, too.”
“Do I want to know where the money comes from?”
“He had a trust fund,” she said. “Sort of. He used it to buy buildings in Manhattan in the ’90s. Sold them twenty years later for ten times what he paid for them. Oh, he’s hung like a horse, too.”
“We’re one-hundred percent done talking about this.”
“Talking about what?” Nora said.
“Thank you.”
Nora sent Gmork back to his doghouse, which was only slightly smaller than Cyrus’s first adult apartment.
“So, we go to Father Ike’s place now?” Nora asked.
Cyrus paused. “Once you tell me what you all were saying about me in French.”
“Believe it or not,” she said, “we weren’t talking about you at all. Kingsley asked how our Viking was. I said he was okay. Then I asked King how well he slept last night. Kingsley said he slept very well. I said I didn’t sleep much. He flipped me off.”
“That part I got. He mad you got some and he didn’t?”
“I don’t blame him,” she said. “And trust me, if King has something to say about you, he’ll say it in English.”
They returned to her car. “Where to?” she asked.
“St. Valentine’s,” Cyrus said, and gave her directions.
“You know, we might never figure out how he got my card. We had hundreds printed.”
“We?” Cyrus said. “You investigating this case now?”
“Wouldn’t you be a little curious if someone you didn’t know called you two minutes before shooting themselves in the head?”
“Probably. But this is my job. It’s not yours.”
“If Father Ike was kinky, he was one of us,” she said, pointing at herself. “Somehow we failed him if he thought the only way out was suicide.”
“Don’t blame yourself,” Cyrus said. “People make their own choices.”
“True. But I want to help if I can.”
“You’re kind of friendly for a dominatrix,” Cyrus said. “Where’s the whip and chains?”
“You wanna see ’em?” She glanced at him over the top of her sunglasses.
The Priest: An Original Sinners Novel Page 10
