Midnight on the Mississippi

by Mary Ellis

  He met her gaze as he handed her a mug. “I’m afraid breakfast will have to be takeout. I just got a call from the captain of the Queen Antoinette and he needs to see me. Some kind of small problem that needs to be settled with the dockmaster. He called my mother, but she was flummoxed by the whole matter. She’s still new at this.”

  Nicki sipped the strong brew. “What exactly is the Queen Antoinette?”

  “A sailboat. Well, a yacht actually. It was a birthday gift from my brother and sister and me.” When he finally noticed her outfit, a grin filled his entire face. “Hey, those duds never looked so good.”

  “The shirt is too big and the cutoffs are a little tight through the hips, but clean clothes sure feel better than day-old ones.”

  “There you go again—saying exactly what’s on your mind.”

  “You don’t pay me to be subtle. We don’t have to worry about breakfast. I can hit a drive-through on my way home.” Nicki finished her coffee and then set her mug in the sink. Turning around, she said with a smile, “You and your sibs give great birthday presents. I’ve never been on a sailboat before.”

  “You’ve never been on a boat?” His shock sounded genuine.

  “I was in a pirogue a few times in the swamp and a rowboat on the lake by my grandma’s.”

  “It’s hard to believe that’s the extent of your seafaring. Didn’t you grow up a few miles from the Mississippi and within a couple hours of the Gulf of Mexico?”

  “Wait. I went on a flume ride once at Six Flags. Does that count?”

  “It does not.” He shook his head. “How about a cruise ship to Cancun or a gambling riverboat?”

  She shook her head.

  “No powerboats for water-skiing? A ferry boat across the river?” He scratched his stubbly chin.

  “What part of ‘I’ve never been on a boat’ don’t you understand, Galen? Lots of people in this country could say that.”

  “Sure, if they live in the middle of Iowa or Nebraska. Natchez is on the largest river in the United States.”

  “I’ve looked down at the Mississippi from a bridge.”

  “In that case, we could take care of this today. How would you like brunch on Lake Pontchartrain? I can call the captain back and tell him to alert the crew. The Queen Antoinette can be ready for a morning sail by the time we drive to the marina.”

  Nicki stared at him without blinking. Going out on a yacht in his clothes? What if I get seasick? “I don’t know anything about sailing.”

  “You don’t have to. That’s what the crew is for.”

  “Look, I work you, Galen. I don’t think this is a good—”

  “We both need to eat and compare notes as to what we discovered last night before falling asleep. One quick spin around the lake and that’s it.”

  He construed her silence as acquiescence. “Prepare yourself for a new experience, Miss Price. One you will tell your grand-children about.” Hunter rummaged around in a drawer, the matter apparently settled.

  “What if I throw up?” Nicki winced at her choice of words. “I mean…get sick?”

  Having found whatever he sought, he lowered his head to meet her eye. “That’s why I’m giving you this.” He handed her a tube of Dramamine. “Take two with water and eat some crackers. Never go on water with an empty stomach unless you’re certain you don’t get seasick. Swallow those down and let’s go. I’ll call the captain right now.” He pulled a box of saltines from the cupboard and gave them to her as he punched a number into his phone.

  There was no point arguing. Hunter Galen was obviously used to getting his own way, even if she wasn’t. Nicki munched crackers all the way to the marina, already queasy from his fast and furious driving. He wove in and out of traffic as if he were in a virtual reality game.

  “Relax. You’ll be fine.” He gave her bare knee a shake. “It’s Lake Pontchartrain on a lovely day, not the Bermuda Triangle during the perfect storm.”

  His fingers lingered a moment too long. The physical sensation running up her spine and pooling in her stomach did nothing to set her at ease.

  Do you understand me, Price? I can’t go to jail.

  Remembering the arrogant words he uttered in the Blue Lotus jarred Nicki back to reality. She swatted away his hand like a fly. “Watch it, boss. Don’t get fresh with me. I’m nauseous enough.” She rolled down her window despite the air-conditioning.

  “You mean nauseated. Nauseous means you’re the one making your stomach turn.” He grinned like a cartoon cat right before he got steamrollered.

  “You think you’re pretty smart, huh?”

  “Yep. I certainly hope I haven’t been laboring under a misguided notion all these years.” He threw back his head and laughed.

  “You really know how to get on a person’s nerves. My Maw—my grandmother used to say that to me. Her timing always took me by surprise.”

  “If she can catch you unawares, Nicolette, your grandmother sounds like a woman I’d like to meet.”

  Nicki knew he was just teasing her to make her forget her nervousness. “At least driving like a maniac got us to our destination quickly.”

  The yacht club marina opened before her like a playground for the rich and idle. Mrs. Galen’s yacht was one of the largest in sight—no surprise there. Nicki tripped going up the gangplank to the Queen Antoinette and stuttered while being introduced to the captain and his crew of four.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Price,” Captain Lucas said, doffing his cap. “A light lunch is ready in the stern, Mr. Galen. The chef arranged catering to be delivered due to our time frame. He hopes it meets your expectations.” The captain bobbed his head as though addressing royalty.

  “It will be fine. Thanks for accommodating my short notice.”

  Hunter led the way to the back of the boat, where lunch on the Queen Antoinette had no rival from any of the restaurants Nicki had favored in Natchez. They dined on chicken salad, fresh fruit, and warm baguettes under a huge umbrella. The glass-topped table had been set with linen, china, and crystal goblets. A nearby bouquet of lilies perfumed the air and added a further touch of loveliness to the day.

  Hunter filled their goblets with sweet tea, which she usually drank by the quart. The boat idled behind a break wall until they finished eating and a crewmember cleared away the dishes. Then Hunter handed Nicki a life jacket and buckled one around his own waist, while several men hoisted huge white sails. A few minutes later the yacht heeled over and began cutting through the waves. Nicki felt glad for both the Dramamine and the life jacket.

  “How can you go around barefoot? Isn’t that deck surface hot on your feet?”

  “Nope. I guess I’m used to it.” He refilled tea glasses. “Shall I strap you in, Nicki? Are you afraid?”

  “Only of you, Hunter,” she murmured under her breath.

  “You have doubts about me?” Removing his sunglasses, he locked gazes with her. “Do you really think I killed James?” His words, soft and melodic, held plenty of uncertainty.

  “No, I don’t, or I wouldn’t be out here in the middle of a lake with you.”

  “Can you swim, cherie?”

  “You betcha. Like a shark.”

  He scooted his chair back into the sunshine and replaced his shades. “I don’t think a shark. Probably more like an angelfish or bottlenose dolphin. Perhaps a pufferbelly blowfish.”

  “I bet you just amuse the heck out of your girlfriend.” Nicki immediately regretted bringing up the subject the moment she said the words. She’d never met the woman, probably never would, and preferred to keep their conversation professional.

  His smile faded a tad. “Ashley appears to be happy enough. I am a lucky man.”

  “Tell me about your financial situation. Are you rich enough to absorb the losses caused by your late partner?”

  Hunter sat up straight and frowned. “That’s certainly getting right to the point.”

  “Well, we’ve come out here to discuss the case. So let’s deal with that.”r />
  “You’re right. I shouldn’t keep secrets from my chief investigator. Right now, I don’t know if I’m rich enough or not. The mess caused by James will doubtlessly create havoc. I need to talk to my accountant to gauge how much. I don’t have full access to my money. It’s held in a trust, originally to endow the arts of New Orleans, now diverted to various reconstruction projects, Habitat for Humanity, and other projects to restore the city to her former glory. I’ve been living off my salary and whatever income the trust generates.”

  “You can’t get your hands on your inheritance? You’re no spring chicken.”

  “This is how I set things up when I inherited my share of the estate. I don’t need vast sums of money when many people around me struggle to keep a roof over their head.” He stood and then began to pace in the limited deck space.

  “That arrangement surprises me,” she said, fascinated by how he morphed from a man of leisure to a prowling caged animal.

  “Why? You didn’t think rich people have humanitarian tendencies?”

  “Can’t say I’ve known enough rich folks to form an opinion. What does Miss Ashley think about your new financial status? I mean, is she used to living on a budget?” Nicki couldn’t help herself. She was curious about the mysterious girlfriend of her employer.

  “You don’t know my Ashley. She’s not exactly a woman accustomed to clipping supermarket coupons.”

  A miserable feeling reared its ugly head inside Nicki. “I’ve met women like her my whole life. More to the point, I’ve waited on them at the mall. They are all alike. They travel in packs like coyotes, never going anywhere alone. They giggle instead of laugh, condescend to clerks and waitresses, and make purchases without looking at the tags, as though price doesn’t matter. After all, it’s only money, right?” Nicki heard the contempt in her voice and knew she sounded envious.

  He stopped and smiled at her, pity in his eyes. “I know that type too, but Ashley’s not like that. She’s really very nice. I think you’ll like her when you meet her.”

  Then you need to think again. But instead of saying that, Nicki nodded her head and smiled back at him. “I look forward to it.” She’d had enough of her pettiness for one day. Whatever his girlfriend was or wasn’t, it was none of her business.

  Hunter resumed his pacing. “She does like to spend money, no doubt about that. But her father, Philip Menard, is a self-made man. He’s quite a success story. He grew up in what started out as a trapper’s cabin on Lake Boudreaux. He earned every dime he has…and he has plenty now. He may have spoiled Ashley because she’s an only child, but he knows the value of a dollar. I’m sure he taught her that lesson as well.” Even as he said the words, Nicki had the impression he was hoping that was true.

  She knew all about that. She practiced that type of logic on a regular basis. But for the moment, it was time to talk about something other than Ashley Menard, daughter of a swamper, who loved to spend money. “Why do you care so much about people you don’t know? I’m talking about the charities you mentioned that benefit from your trust account.”

  “I’m sure you’ve written a check to charity, or thrown cash into a kettle, or put money in the collection plate at church. You don’t see where the funds are going, but you take it on faith it will do some good.”

  She chuckled. “What I throw in the plate at church doesn’t crimp my lifestyle.”

  “Maybe I believe somebody is keeping score.” He pointed his finger at the cloudless blue sky.

  “You can’t buy your way into heaven, Hunter.” She looked up, too, as though the pearly gates would suddenly become visible. Her eyes watered from the sun’s intense glare until she lowered her gaze. “Besides, I didn’t take you for a religious man.”

  “What did you take me for, Miss Price? A hedonistic misanthrope, debased beyond redemption?”

  “I don’t know what all that means, but I’ll get back to you after I find my dictionary.”

  They both laughed at that—easy, relaxing laughter that smoothed away the hard edges from last night. Tension had accumulated from too much caffeine, too little sleep, and corporate books revealing things Hunter didn’t want to know. Today the dark circles were gone from under his eyes. He looked as though a weight had been lifted, although nothing had changed. His partner was still dead and his fortune was not quite so vast anymore.

  Suddenly, Hunter saw something out in the water. “Look there, Nicki! Come quick.”

  Scrambling to her feet, she approached the deck rail cautiously. Walking on an unsteady surface would take some adjustment time, but she spotted what he indicated. “Jumping dolphins!” she exclaimed. Her heart swelled with joy while her eyes filled with tears. She loved animals of all kinds, something that had distanced her from the hunters and trappers she’d grown up with.

  “You’re close. Breeching porpoises. Very rare in Pontchartrain. Dolphins are leaner, more plentiful, and have longer beaks. Porpoises are portly, have smaller mouths, and are less talkative. Did you know orcas are actually big dolphins?” Hunter leaned over the rail as though trying to get a better view.

  “I did not, Jacques Cousteau, but I think I’m in love. I’ve only seen them on TV. They’re beyond beautiful.” Nicki felt as if her face might crack from grinning.

  “I’ll have the captain radio the Coast Guard. They’ll have to be led back to sea by marine volunteers. Every now and then they get through one of the navigational canals.”

  Hunter went below while Nicki watched the creatures frolic and play until they disappeared from view. Her throat began to close with emotion as she worried about their welfare. She had to clear her throat twice when he rejoined her at the rail.

  “Will they be okay until they find their way back to sea? Isn’t this lake fresh water?”

  “Not anymore. It’s brackish, but they’ll be fine until they’re guided back. Have faith.” He patted her hand.

  She pulled back discretely. “Do your deep pockets fund any dolphin charities?” Her voice sounded alien to her own ears.

  “Yep. I support the Clean Seas Foundation, Greenpeace, World Wildlife Fund, and protection for tortoise breeding habitats off the critical coastlines of Georgia, Alabama, Florida, and Mexico.”

  Nicki swallowed hard, understanding for the first time that great wealth could do more than buy fast cars and designer purses. It could preserve species, rebuild ruined cities, feed the hungry, and change people’s lives—things poor people could only talk about. Yet the realization left her oddly annoyed.

  “Good to hear that some of your dough is well spent. But we’d better head back in. I need to run some errands and then tackle your books again. I’m a working girl, not a lady of leisure.” She softened her tone by saying, “Thanks for lunch and this lovely experience.”

  “You’re very welcome. I’ll tell the captain.” Hunter headed for the pilothouse, leaving her staring out at the unbroken water.

  This wasn’t what she had planned. She didn’t want to start liking this guy. She wanted to get him off the hook for murder for Nate’s sake, not his. She wondered what Miss Ashley Menard thought about his tenderheartedness for wild creatures and their habitats.

  Hunter’s compassionate traits made him far more attractive than his silky hair or his well-developed muscles, but he was something Nicki couldn’t have in a million years whether Ashley was in the picture or not.

  ELEVEN

  Hunter didn’t go up to his apartment after dropping Nicki off at her car. With plenty of work to do, he headed downtown to his office. The police hadn’t released the crime scene, but he could work in the outer office. He was eager to learn what financials on the office servers hadn’t been uploaded to his laptop.

  On the top floor, only a few junior brokers were at their desks, following up with potential clients interested in rebalancing their portfolios. His assistant had turned on the answering machine and taken the day off, along with the other employees, leaving Hunter with several unbroken hours to piece together an incre
asingly dismal economic picture.

  “I’m surprised to find you at work today, in light of James’s death.” Ethan Galen’s lilting accent floated into the room before he did.

  “I wouldn’t be if I wasn’t a person of interest for a murder investigation. And I haven’t been here all day. I took the Queen Antoinette out this morning to discuss the case with my investigator.” Hunter barely glanced up from his computer monitor.

  Ethan scanned the room before slouching into the opposite chair. “Really? I’d heard Nate was in jail again, that ne’er-do-well.”

  “He’s out. I posted bail this morning. But I was with Nicki Price, not Nate. Nicki is Nate’s cousin.” Hunter hit the printer button and leaned back in his chair.

  Ethan frowned over the cluttered desktop, hating not being in the loop. “Nate’s cousin Nicolette from rural Mississippi?” He pushed his sunglasses up into his hair. “You hired an underfed teenager to solve your partner’s murder? Are you itching to go to jail, little brother? Or do you feel the experience will advance your already noble social conscience?”

  Hunter ignored the jab. Ethan’s favorite pastime was taunting him. “She’s no longer underfed and no longer a teenager. Miss Price is a licensed investigator.” He tried to sound more confident than he felt.

  Ethan shook his head. “You need someone experienced, not a greenhorn without a clue as to how things work down here.”

  “I’m the one without a clue as to how things work.” Hunter pushed a stack of printouts across his desk. “My partner and friend churned portfolios for years without our clients’ knowledge. The sole purpose was to generate commissions for the firm, but mainly for himself. I could have found this out sooner if I had looked. Instead, my greenhorn investigator pointed it out last night at my dining room table.”

  “That’s what Nowak was doing?” Ethan looked both angry and worried.

  “We’re way overextended at the bank, leveraged up to our teeth. But I think it even goes deeper than that. I’m trying to find out just how deep.”