by Julie Chase
Mom arrived behind them with a sigh. Her black silk pajamas looked as elegant as anything she wore. Her blonde-and-silver hair was down and tucked behind one ear. “Have I thanked you for leaving these precious animals at my house indefinitely?”
I stooped to greet the purring kittens. “They seem happy. What does Voodoo think?”
“She hates them,” Mom said. “She barely leaves our room.”
Dad scooped Annie’s babies into his arms and laughed. “I think they’re magnificent.” He rubbed them against his cheeks and set them free. “I also think you’re just in time for coffee and dessert.”
Mom curled her finger at me. “Come along.”
Dad broke away in the opposite direction. “I’ll grab another place setting.”
I followed Mom dutifully to the parlor, over antique rugs, past ornate tapestries that had been in her family since they left France in the late eighteenth century. Mom’s pedigree was a masterpiece in itself, and there was no end to her family pride. Blue-and-gold flames danced in the gas fireplace. A carafe perched on the sideboard with a pair of cups, saucers, and a cream-and-sugar set. A plate of chocolate-covered strawberries finished the spread.
I took a seat in my favorite Queen Anne chair.
Mom glared parentally. “Are you going to tell me about the most recent break-in attempt, or are we going to pretend that didn’t happen?”
I puffed my cheeks. “The important thing is that I wasn’t home, and I was never in danger.”
She didn’t look convinced.
“No threats have been made against me. None of this has anything to do with me.”
“Nor me,” she said. “Funny how my name isn’t in the paper every morning, according to your logic.”
Dad appeared with a cup and saucer. “I know I’ve said it once, but I’m so glad you stopped by. It’s a wonderful feeling, having you back in town. I can’t seem to get used to it. Tell us. How was your day?”
I shot Mom a look and ran mentally backward in search of something I could discuss without her head falling off. “I had dinner at Scarlet’s. Guess who delivered our Acme Oyster House po’ boys.”
Mom made a throaty sound. “Do you know how many calories are in those? Breaded everything. And the mayo,” she said, swinging a limp hand in the air. “It’s one thing to enjoy our local flavor and wholly another to pollute the body God gave you. You’ll have three zits by morning.”
I gave her a look. “You didn’t guess.”
Dad ferried coffees to Mom and I. “I give up. Who delivered your po’ boys?”
“Chase Hawthorne.” I looked from Dad’s face to Mom’s for some sign of surprise.
Nothing.
Recognition dawned. “You both knew Chase was back?”
Mom made a sour face, as if the question was personally insulting. Of course she knew. She knew everything that went on in the district.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
“We tried,” she said, “but you’re always too busy. When was the last time we had a decent conversation?”
I bit the insides of my cheeks and lifted the cup to my lips. No one had a “decent conversation” with my mother unless they’d confessed their sins over a two-hour lunch and multiple mint juleps.
Dad took his position beside Mom on the love seat and balanced his saucer in one hand. “So, young Hawthorne is back in New Orleans delivering sandwiches?” His easy smile pushed away my frustration.
“Yes, but apparently the pay stinks, so he took a second job as a lawyer.”
Dad nodded approvingly. “That makes two district families finally reunited.”
I smiled. “I guess a little time away was all the clarity we needed.”
“Ten years,” Mom said.
I forced a tight smile. “Right.” The word “sorry” formed in my mind frequently but rarely made it to my lips. I owed her more than an apology for breaking her heart and making her worry. “I’m looking forward to dinner at Commander’s Palace Monday.”
She arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “I’m glad you haven’t forgotten. Chase agreed to sit at our table when I spoke with him yesterday. Wasn’t that nice? The Hawthornes have a table of their own, but he seemed quite content to sit at ours.”
The Hawthornes probably had several tables. I sipped my coffee and thought of the photos lining Scarlet’s mantle. “How many Hawthornes are there now? At least twenty in the district. Probably more than fifty in the city. They’re getting to be a small army.”
Dad chuckled. “Lucky ducks.”
“Indeed.” Mom crossed her ankles. “Do you know what you’re going to wear?”
“Yes. My black backless Givenchy. I’ve got a matching clutch and heels, but I need a decent wrap.”
“I’ll buy you a wrap. Wear your hair up. It’s not a prom.”
“Sure.” I pulled the length of my pale curls over one shoulder and checked for dead ends. “I’m overdue for a trim.”
Mom fidgeted, probably desperate to offer a day pass to her spa, where I could get myself together. “You look lovely in that dress. The tights were a nice touch.”
I leaned back. A compliment. “Thank you—my mother chose it for me.”
Her well-practiced look of nonchalance crumbled. “What do you think about it?”
I gave the material over my thighs a long stroke. “It’s soft, warm, and comfy. I think it’s very fashionable and figure flattering.”
“You like it?”
I nodded. “Very much.”
She bit back a smile. “Fine. I’ll send more.”
I opened my mouth to protest but thought better of it. For thirty years, she’d tried to dress me up. Maybe it was time I stopped protesting and let her. She had access to more couture than I could dream of, and it made her happy. Plus, free clothes. Triple win. “Maybe a few pieces.”
“I’ll let my stylist know. Tell me more about your visit with Chase,” she prompted.
“We didn’t talk much. We ate and helped Scarlet with Poppet. It was nice but brief.”
“Well, the dinner will give you two another chance to talk.”
I liked the sound of that.
“How are my chicks’ sashes coming?” Mom asked.
I flicked my gaze to her. I hadn’t given them ten seconds of thought since she asked for them. “Almost done. In fact, if I get going now, I can probably finish them tonight.” I carried my empty cup to the sideboard. “Thank you for the coffee. Penelope’s probably livid. I left her at Furry Godmother after work.” I checked my watch. “That was more than three hours ago.”
Dad popped onto his feet. “Don’t leave empty-handed.” He rushed to the kitchen and returned with a plastic container. He piled strawberries inside. “A little treat to keep you company while you finish those sashes.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I lifted onto my toes and kissed his cheek.
“I ordered the strawberries from Sucre,” Mom said.
“Thank you.” I wrapped her in a hug. “For everything.” My eyes misted for no good reason. Probably lack of sleep or overstimulation. I shook off the unease. Sure I could ask to spend the night, but then what? A second night? A week? I couldn’t explain the fierce need to live life on my terms, but I was certain it evolved from eighteen years of not being able to pick out my own friends, clothes, and schools. And I agreed ten minutes ago to let her dress me again. I suppressed the urge to groan. There was a fine line between bonding with my mom and letting her take over. I hadn’t found it yet, and I wouldn’t find it tonight. No, for now, my home had an excellent alarm system, and I had an NOPD detective on speed dial. That was good enough for me. “I’ll see you Monday night.”
I stopped on Magazine Street and picked up Penelope, then drove home slowly, avoiding the inevitable. I examined every passing car and shadow for a creeping cat-man or other yet-to-be-identified danger. When we got to my driveway, I couldn’t pull in. “What do you think?” I asked Penelope. “We need to go inside and feed Buttercup,
but there could be a lunatic in the bushes. We need to have those removed.”
She rubbed her face against the mesh of her travel crate.
“You’re exactly right. We should get backup.” I drove through the district on autopilot, passing and circling Jack’s house twice before admitting defeat and taking a spot in his drive. I could’ve bugged my dad or Chase, but Jack seemed the obvious choice. If he found someone in my bushes, he could shoot him.
I hauled Penelope’s carrier from the car and wedged the container of strawberries in the top of my purse. It was rude to show up unannounced, but bringing a gift would soften the blow. Thank the stars for southern laws of hospitality, where all anyone needed was a casserole and a finger to push the doorbell. Whoever answered was obligated to invite the visitor inside. Show up without food, and the sign at the property line, Trespassers may be shot, was in effect.
A wrought-iron gate creaked open on my right before I made it to the door. Jack padded over brick pavers in bare feet and board shorts. His hair was wet. His chest was bare, and a towel was thrown over one shoulder. “What are you doing here?”
“I have strawberries.” I shifted Penelope’s carrier into my left hand and pulled the plastic container from my purse. “My parents sent them,” I lied.
“Everything okay?”
“Mm-hmm.” I nodded, unsure where to look. “You’re swimming?”
He freed the towel from his shoulder and rubbed it on his head. “Laps. Sometimes repetitive motions help me relax.”
Heat rose from my core to my cheeks. “How did it go with Josie and Gideon?”
He took Penelope’s carrier and held the gate for me. “As well as could be expected. She’s either coy or well trained in verbal evasion. I doubt the latter. Gideon’s lawyer wouldn’t let him answer ninety percent of our questions.” I followed a side path around the front of his house to the grand courtyard in back, complete with flower garden, cobblestone patio, and heated pool. Steam hovered over the water like an apparition, and moonlight reflected on the surface.
He grabbed a shirt from the pool’s edge and pulled it over his chest. “Can I let Penelope out in the house? We can talk out here.”
“Sure.”
“Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you.”
He disappeared into the house with Penelope and returned with a hooded sweat shirt and a leather coat I’d never seen him wear. He pulled the sweat shirt on and handed me the jacket. “Here. The air’s gotten chilly.”
“Thanks.” I threaded my arms into too-large holes and settled on a white Adirondack near the water. “I think I’ll have a talk with Josie. It seems like she was the closest person to Annie. She has to know something useful, even if she doesn’t realize the information is useful.”
“I think you should stay out of this.” He pulled a red chair next to mine and lowered himself onto it. “You nearly got yourself killed last time, and call me a buzzkill, but I can’t handle seeing you go through something like that again.”
“I’m not getting involved.”
He shot me a tired look.
“What if I just ask her a few questions about the day of the murder? She might be more inclined to open up to a woman—especially one who isn’t a cop.” He didn’t answer, so I kept going.
“I think she was in shock when we spoke to her at Annie’s house. She’d come home to find her friend murdered and the house teeming with emergency crews. That had to be overwhelming. Then today, she was hunted down and carried to the police station for an interrogation.” I handed him the strawberry container. “That had to be scary, plus you can be a little intimidating.”
He popped the lid on the container and held it out to me. He frowned. “You think I’m intimidating?”
“Yes.” I plucked a small berry from the top and admired its chocolate cocoon. “Then again, I was afraid to go home tonight. I’m a chicken. That’s why I’m here.” I shoved the strawberry into my mouth before I admitted something else I’d regret.
“I’ll drive you home when you’re ready, walk you inside, and check the house before I go.” He stared across the surface of his pool. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want. I have a bunch of spare rooms.” He snorted a humorless laugh. “I don’t even know how many.”
For the first time since we’d met, I got the feeling Jack was lonely, and my chest ached for him. His mom had handed him off to his grandfather to raise. Grandpa Smacker was more businessman than child-rearer, so Jack was sent to school abroad until graduation. He had joined the military from there and had come back to New Orleans for the detective position about three years ago. He had lived and worked in the Quarter until his Grandpa passed. He had no real ties to anyone now. His mom was estranged from him, and he’d never mentioned a dad. Jack said his mom had gotten pregnant young, so I supposed there was a chance he didn’t know his father. If that didn’t make someone lonely, I wasn’t sure what would.
“You know, if you’re not comfortable sleeping here and you don’t want to go home, I can take you to your parents’ house and see you inside.”
“Negative.” I bit into another waiting strawberry and suppressed a moan. “How’s the personal investigation going?”
His jaw clenched. “Awful. I’m hitting dead end after dead end, partially because I don’t know what I’m looking for and partially because I can’t come out and ask what I want to know. This isn’t a formal investigation, and I don’t want the papers getting wind of my inquiries until I have something to tell them.”
“Got it.” He didn’t want the medical examiner’s full report to make national headlines. Seventy-eight-year-old grandpa-to-America died with drugs and alcohol in his system. Grandpa Smacker stocks would plummet. The company he’d worked all those decades to create would be irreparably wounded by actions completely outside his knowledge. People would lose jobs. Families would lose homes. “You know who can ask anything she wants because she’s never on an official investigation?” I asked.
He laughed.
“I’m serious. I could reprise my role as your girlfriend and invite Tabitha out for coffee or drinks. A little girl talk could loosen her lips, maybe even produce a fresh lead.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Good.” I was impressed. Jack was probably the only person on earth who hated asking for help more than I did. The fact that he’d consider letting me get involved said a lot, either about his situation or his trust in me. I chose to think it was the latter. “If there’s anyone you want me to unofficially bump into tomorrow and ask about my old pal Tabitha, let me know. I think I can fit them into my schedule.”
His smile reached his eyes, lifting his cheeks high and revealing a line of perfect white teeth. “I’ll think about it.”
“Okay. So tell me more about Josie so I can prepare for my chat with her.”
“There isn’t much to tell. The only new information she had was a collection of funeral details. Annie’s family is flying her body back to Manhattan for a service that will be aired on the Fashion Channel. There’s a public memorial there today.”
“A televised memorial. Gross.” I set the strawberry top on the arm of my chair.
“Very,” he agreed.
“What’s wrong with people?”
“Money.” He turned serious eyes on me. “Someone’s probably making a fortune from signing off on the coverage, and they aren’t above exploiting a dead family member to make a buck.”
I rested my hands on my tummy. “Yuck.”
“It’s probably the reason she’s dead, too. Someone knew about the cats’ trust and wanted a quick payday. Kill Annie. Save the cats. Collect the money.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t know. I’m not seeing a big play for the kittens. Charlie was on some kind of activist mission that had nothing to do with the money. Latherope thinks the kitties belong to him, so he’s on a power trip. No one else has mentioned them.”
Jack gave me a weary look. “Lath
erope knew about the trust, and I guarantee that’s what it will come down to in the end. It’s always about money, Lacy. Every time. Money or jealousy, but Annie wasn’t married or seeing anyone, and that leaves money.”
I made a mental note to call her attorney and ask who would inherit Annie’s estate. She was close to her parents, or at least she’d seemed to be. I’d connected to her emotionally as I watched her rise from local fashion icon to the cover of magazines abroad. She was my hero through high school and college. We were cut from the same cloth, both products of New Orleans, only children, creative hearts with a passion for fashion. The glaring difference between us was money. Annie’s family was blue collar with little to give financially, but they told her to chase her dreams. She mentioned that in every interview I’d read. My family had everything to give, and my mom still tried to mold me into something I wasn’t. Something she preferred. Any success I’d had in fashion felt vaguely like disappointment.
Jack pinched a strawberry between his fingertips. “I did some more research today. Annie wasn’t as big of a star as you made her out to be.”
“She was big to me.” Bigger than most aspiring designers ever got.
He nodded. “Fair enough. It looks like her mom waited tables and her dad worked on cars until a few years ago, when Annie bought them a home near their extended family in New York.”
“She made it in a cutthroat industry with no contacts or money to cheat the system. She got there with hard work and chutzpah.”
“I can see why you liked her.” He fixed a sincere gaze on me. “What would it be like to do something remarkable for our families? You and I may never know, but I think it would be great.”
He wished he could do something grand for his family. “Me too.” A sense of camaraderie settled in my chest. Despite how opposite Jack and I sometimes seemed, he knew what it was like to be showered in affluence and choose to make his own path anyway. A little smile caught my lips. What had his grandfather, who raised him in elite European boarding schools, thought when Jack joined the military? Or when he’d chosen blue blood over running the family’s billion-dollar empire?
