Midnight on the Mississippi

by Mary Ellis

  Hunter had no idea why he’d done that—invited Nate’s cousin up for a drink as though he was the Welcome Wagon of New Orleans. He still had plenty of work examining James’s portfolios if he wanted to see what trouble he was in. Besides, he’d gone barhopping down Bourbon Street more times than he cared to admit. That’s why he was settling down and getting married. He never wanted to wake up bleary eyed with the taste of river sludge in his mouth again. Nicki probably had her own ideas of what constituted a good time. Ashley was always haranguing him to loosen up.

  While waiting for her to discover the back stairs, Hunter poured two tall drinks. Soon he heard her shoes clattering on the metal gallery. Nicki walked through the French doors wearing gold hoop earrings, bright pink lipstick, and blue eye shadow. His heart clenched, remembering a commercial for disposable cameras to capture prom night.

  “That is one hot car,” she said. “Could I take it for a spin sometime? Maybe out to California?”

  He handed her one of the drinks. “Not until you get me off the hook for murder.”

  “Fair enough. How’s the accounting going? Are you ready to compare notes about what you found in the company’s books?”

  “Not yet. I need to review files to make sure no confidentiality issues are at stake. I know you’re sworn to the PI code of secrecy, but my clients’ privacy is essential. Anyway, we’ll conduct no business tonight. You’ve come to town with a pretty dress on, so we’re not talking about work.”

  “It’s a skirt and top, not a dress.”

  Hunter pretended not to notice. “I stand corrected, Miss Price. Are you ready for Saturday night in the French Quarter? I hope you don’t plan to earn any beads.” He took a swallow of his bourbon.

  Nicki sipped her drink and then grimaced. “What is this?”

  “It’s called the lazy man’s mint julep. It’s bourbon on the rocks with a splash of peppermint schnapps.”

  “It tastes awful. Could I have something else? And I heard about getting beads on Bourbon Street. If I want beads, I’ll just buy them at Target.”

  “Didn’t your mama teach you never to say ‘it tastes awful’ to your host?”

  Nicki momentarily covered her mouth with her fingers. Then she stood a bit straighter, smiled, and in a sweet Southern drawl said, “Excuse me, Mr. Galen, but may I trouble you for something else to sip? This beverage doesn’t seem to suit my delicate constitution.”

  “That was perfect.” Hunter took the glass from her. “What might sit better with your constitution, miss?” He emulated an exaggerated drawl too.

  “Diet Coke would be lovely. I want to take in the sights, not become one.”

  When Hunter walked to his refrigerator for the soft drink, Nicki followed him. “Your hair is still dripping wet. How many showers do you take a day?”

  He realized he hadn’t finished drying his hair before sticking his head into the alley. “Two, at least.” He poured her soft drink from a two-liter bottle. “See if this meets your expectations while I finish getting ready.” He handed her the drink and left the kitchen. Somehow the country girl made him nervous and jumpy, as though this would be his first night in the Quarter instead of where he had been born.

  A few minutes later he found her studying his paintings on the living room wall. “See anything you like?”

  “Very much so. Are these by a member of your family?” She pointed at a signature in the corner of one canvass.

  “My sister, Chloe. She has quite a gift. She recently graduated from Tulane and has been accepted into their graduate program. I think she wants to teach. There’s not much else you can do with a master’s in fine arts. You certainly don’t need an advanced degree to put paint on canvas.”

  “The world will always need teachers.” Nicki turned to face him. “She’s a wonderful artist. Please give her my compliments on this piece. It makes me want to buy a rail pass and backpack through Europe.”

  Hunter gazed at the pastoral watercolor of mountains and a pristine village, complete with an old man tending his flock while a light burned in his farmhouse window. Simple, perfect, how life should be.

  “Thank you. I will tell her. That painting has always been my favorite too.” Turning his attention back on her, he asked, “Tell me how you lived less than two hundred miles away yet spent no weekends in the Big Easy with your friends. No spring break blowouts, no bachelorette parties, not even one Mardi Gras? Seems almost criminal to be so close yet never partake in the festivities.”

  “I worked to put myself through college and PI training. I had no help from my mother or athletic scholarships, and very little financial aid. That meant each weekend and every vacation I worked at the mall or waited on customers at a restaurant to pay my way.” She sipped her cola, looking at him as though he were the naive one. “Don’t get me wrong, Hunter. I’m not complaining. My education was more important than partying. Besides, I have a problem with people drinking themselves stupid on spring break. So in a nutshell, no time, no money, but no big deal.” Nicki finished off the rest of her soft drink. “Any more questions?”

  “I don’t think so. That pretty much sums it up.” He smiled because he couldn’t think of anything else to do. He’d hit an unexpected nerve.

  “Do I amuse you? Does Nicki-from-the-backwoods offer entertainment not available on pay-per-view?” She didn’t look quite so young or innocent anymore.

  “No, Nicolette, not in the way you think.” Hunter chose his words carefully. “I would love to see things from your eyes, especially New Orleans. For three hundred years this city stayed pretty much the same. Then Katrina hit and now instead of making improvements, New Orleans is struggling to bring life back as it was. Fools probably got drunk and stupid on Bourbon Street back when men fought with swords and women wore corsets.”

  Nicki blushed. “You do have a way with words, boss.”

  “Everything is old here and hanging together with a gossamer thread.” He met her eye. “You aren’t bored with the world and everything in it. I envy that.”

  “In that case, you can show me around the city as long as your girlfriend doesn’t mind your spending time with an employee. But for the record I don’t imbibe, so no more of your lazy man cocktails or any other kind.”

  “Fine with me. My budget can use a break.” Hunter winked and went for his wallet and a swig of mouthwash. Briefly he considered changing his silk shirt into something more casual. His new employee was making him concerned about matters he seldom worried about.

  Soon he wasn’t worried about anything at all.

  Nicki took charge on their way down the back steps. “I picked up a tourist map and we’re heading down Royal Street to Jackson Square.” She unfolded the colorful brochure under a street lamp. “And we’re not rushing or hurrying past anything.”

  She danced on the sidewalk, posed for a caricature sketch she paid for herself, and didn’t pass a street musician’s upturned hat without throwing in a dollar, but she paid no attention to the fortune-tellers with their crystal balls and flamboyant clothing.

  “Don’t you want your palm read to find out if you’ll marry your old high school sweetheart and move to Mobile?” asked Hunter when they reached a corner.

  “I didn’t have a high school sweetheart. Besides, I think we should steer clear of fortune-tellers.” She peered up at the filigree ironwork along the balconies of the Pontalba Buildings.

  “Well, then. Would you like to look inside my church? My family has gone here for generations.”

  “You’re Roman Catholic?”

  “I am. I hope you didn’t think only Southern Baptists go the heaven.” He placed his hand over his heart.

  Her complexion darkened. “Of course not. We’re all judged individually.”

  When they stepped inside one of the oldest churches in the country, Nicki’s eyes turned round as saucers. “Look at the carvings and stained glass!” They slipped into a back pew behind the tourists, the devout on bended knee, and those who came for cool r
elief from the heat. “What are those folks doing?” Nicki pointed at several women lighting candles.

  “They’re asking for intercession for someone sick, and maybe for the soul of a deceased loved one.”

  Nicki’s brow furrowed with confusion. “Do you have to be Catholic to light a votive?”

  “Of course not. Just put a buck in the box to help defray the cost.”

  Nicki grabbed a dollar out of her wallet and walked up to the rail looking more frightened than she had inside Robert Bissette’s home. The moment her candle was glowing she hurried down the aisle and dragged him toward the door.

  “I asked God to take some of Mom’s pain away. Now I wish I put in a five.”

  Hunter pulled a fifty from his wallet and shoved it into the poor box on their way out. “All bases are covered.”

  “You’d better stop throwing your money around or you’ll end up in debtor’s prison. After all, time has stood still in New Orleans.”

  “At least it was fifty well spent. Where to now, tour guide?”

  Nicki headed up an alley, home to a quaint bookstore and shuttered storefronts. On the next block she vetoed the voodoo shop but bought an overpriced flower from an elderly blind woman on the corner of Decatur and St. Ann.

  “Ashley would demand proof of blindness before buying a flower from that woman,” Hunter whispered once beyond the woman’s hearing. He was only half joking.

  “If she’s faking it, then I’m only out five bucks. But what if she isn’t and really needs our help? I’m not taking the chance.” Nicki inhaled the scent of a long stemmed rose.

  Hunter pondered that for a moment. Then he walked back and bought every one of her flowers. “When all my money’s gone, I’ll go home.”

  Nicki smiled behind her tourist map. “I hope you’re not totally broke yet. We’re on our way to the French Market.” She took off at a trot while he struggled to keep up, looking like a deranged wedding planner with the massive bouquet.

  Inside the market, Nicki handed a rose to every woman they encountered. If anyone asked, she explained they were the unofficial welcoming committee for New Orleans. Soon they met tourists from Alabama, Florida, and Georgia. Nicki chanted the LSU fight song with girls in head-to-toe purple and gave a high five to a kid from OSU with an appropriate O-H-I-O.

  When an elderly couple said they hailed from Michigan, Nicki gave them two flowers. “This is to make up for the long winters you put up with,” she explained.

  When the grandmother hugged Nicki affectionately, Hunter yearned to do the same. Instead, when their roses ran out, he dragged her into Café du Monde for café au lait and sugary beignets. When Nicki excused herself to the ladies’ room, he watched her walk away from him with bizarre wistfulness. What is wrong with me? She was the tourist, yet he wanted to ride the streetcar until their 24-hour-pass expired. After she returned to their table, they sat in the courtyard, sipping their coffee and watching an assortment of humanity pass by.

  “Your city is beautiful, Hunter. True, it’s old, but it’s stately and classy. That’s how I want to be when I’m sixty.” Her face glowed. “Based on Nate’s description, I thought I would hate it.” She leaned over the tiny table. “But I may be falling in love.”

  He looked away as a flush climbed his neck. “I can almost guarantee you’ll hate Bourbon Street, so we’ll see that last. I insist you try the local cuisine before we run too far off track.”

  “Dutch treat, sir, and nothing expensive. I’m willing to eat from a street vendor. There’s a cart on the next corner.”

  “We are not eating at a hot dog cart,” he said flatly. Up to that point, she hadn’t let him pay for anything but the flowers. She’d even insisted on paying for her coffee. “And I’m not accustomed to women paying their own way. I can’t say I like it.” Especially since he knew the state of her financial circumstances.

  “Nobody ever died from eating at a pushcart.”

  “No, Nicolette. You agreed to let me to show you the city. I’m buying your dinner tonight and everything else or I’m taking you back to your double-parked car. Do we have a deal?”

  Nicki glared at him over her powdered-sugar mustache. He glared back with equal determination. When she slanted her eyes, he did the same. She lifted her eyebrows and he matched the response.

  “Shall we play a game of game of rock, paper, scissors next?” he asked.

  “Okay, you win, but only because my face was starting to hurt. Remember, just good food and nothing pricey. Got that, mon ami?”

  “In every language.”

  Hunter took her to Red Fish Grill, where they dined on crawfish etouffee, fried oysters, collard greens, and cornbread. Nicki marveled over every bite she ate, and they both cleaned their plates. Hunter savored each dish as though tasting it for the first time. He’d always loved the local cuisine, but at some point he’d stopped ordering his favorites. Too rich, too spicy, too fattening—Ashley’s words rang in his ears. Ashley was entitled to her opinion, but why had he pulled away from foods he enjoyed?

  After dinner they began their sojourn through the Quarter, avoiding Bourbon Street altogether. Instead on the edge of downtown, close to the river, they found a Cajun dance hall where the music was loud and the song lyrics in French. Instead of cloistered around the tables, everybody was up on their feet, dancing. Nicki started tapping her toe to the lively music before the hostess found them a small table against the wall.

  “I love this place!” she exclaimed over a well-amplified fiddle.

  “I thought you might,” Hunter replied, and to the waitress he said, “Two Cokes please.”

  Nicki concentrated as the dancers two-stepped around the room. “I believe I can do that.” She dragged him to the dance floor.

  Before Hunter could refuse, they were moving around the room with couples of all ages. She stepped on his toes and he stepped on hers, yet no one seemed to notice how badly they danced. Suddenly, someone slipped a washboard over his head, and Hunter found himself accompanying the accordion and guitars with a pair of spoons. Nicki stamped her foot and cheered for him while taking pictures of his musical debut with her cell phone.

  They both almost levitated from the floor with joy in that crowded dance hall where everyone smiled and no one tried to look sophisticated or chic. Soon he was spinning her around again as though they had danced together all their lives.

  “If I lived in this town, I would come here every weekend to dance the night away.” Breathless and flushed, Nicki waved her hand in front of her face as the band took a break.

  “You do live in this town. Chalmette isn’t that far away.” Watching the exuberance vanish from her face, Hunter regretted mentioning her housing arrangements.

  “I’m just staying there temporarily,” she said with a shrug. “I don’t know for how long.”

  “Should I help you find something else? Apartments are scarce, but I know a few restaurant owners who rent out upstairs rooms to select, quiet tenants.”

  “Select and quiet, that’s me.” Nicki shook her blond hair back from her face, her brown eyes flashing from the strobe lights. “But don’t get ahead of yourself, boss. Nate might not hire me on a permanent basis. He won’t need an assistant if he’s headed to the slammer.”

  “Then we must make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  She picked up her soft drink and took a sip. “And how do you propose we do that?”

  “This is New Orleans. We throw money at every elected official who walks by the courthouse and then wait for the charges to be dropped.”

  “You wouldn’t.” She set the glass down with a thud.

  “It’s the classic New Orleans standing joke, Nicki. You really need to lighten up.”

  Grabbing his arm, she pulled him back toward the other dancers. “Laugh about this, Mr. Employer. If you’re throwing money around, maybe it should go to keep you out of jail. I personally think prison will do Nate a world of good. But from what I hear, the person running your investigation doesn�
�t know her behind from a beehive.” She laughed all the way back to the dance floor and turned to face him. Just then, the band changed the tempo to a slow, melodic tune. It was the first break from their foot-stomping, hand-clapping, ear-deafening zydeco.

  Hunter drew Nicki close and placed her hand on his shoulder. “I bet your grandmother, your Mamaw, taught you that line. It’s a good one, but if it’s true I’m in trouble.”

  “So you caught my down-home expression from the only person to love me with no strings attached.” Her face was close with so many dancers surrounding them, her expression challenging him to take issue.

  “I caught it and I love it. My siblings and I refer to our grandmother as Grandmère. Don’t think we didn’t take abuse over that expression. The French population, although plentiful in the western parishes, is rare in the Quarter these days. But I think everybody has a right to call their kin anything they want without fear of ridicule.”

  The corners of Nicki’s mouth turned up, followed by an all-out grin. “I’ve been laboring under a false notion ’bout you, Mr. Galen. That’s one more of Mamaw’s favorites.”

  What happened next he hadn’t meant to do. And it was a very bad idea because she worked for him.

  Especially since he was almost engaged.

  Hunter tipped up her chin and kissed her lightly on the mouth. The world stopped spinning for several delicious moments.

  “Goodness, Hunter, I would have said my name for my grandmother sooner if I’d known how you’d react.” Nicki dissolved into a fit of giggles while he dug his hands into his pockets like a schoolboy.

  “So you don’t disapprove?”

  Nicki placed her hands on either side of his face, her fingers tangled through his hair, and she kissed him squarely on the mouth. “There, that’s a kiss.” She stepped back. “And we’ll have no more of that nonsense, or I’ll turn you in for sexual harassment. After all, I work for you and you’ll get into heaps of trouble with your girlfriend.” She marched back to their table, picked up her straw hat and tote bag that miraculously hadn’t been stolen, and headed for the door. “I have to get up early tomorrow, boss, so let’s get going.”