Cat Got Your Cash

by Julie Chase

  She gave me a sympathetic look and chowed down.

  I patted her head. “I’m extra jealous because you always have a good hair day.”

  I checked the locks on my doors and windows, dropped food pellets in Buttercup’s tank, then went to my room for a depressing look at my closet. The Givenchy had been the perfect dress for tonight, and it was one of my last high-end numbers that were still in style. I’d sold several for rent and tuition in Virginia. These days my ensembles were comprised of ten-year-old things my parents had bought and others I’d found more recently at thrift shops. I heated the curling iron while I jumped in the shower and had a quick pity party. There wasn’t a forgotten Cinderella gown in my wardrobe waiting to be rediscovered. I had work clothes, comfy clothes, and a few cocktail dresses. There wasn’t time to call Mom or Scarlet for help. I was in an actual fashion emergency.

  I made a wish while I blow-dried my hair, but nothing new appeared in my closet. I rolled endless blonde hair into barrel curls and pinned them in a pageant-worthy updo, then applied my makeup as if my life depended in it. After another critical review of my wardrobe, I had three possible contenders. None were right for the event. Option one was a red beaded minidress I’d worn for salsa night on a cruise last year. Fancy and fun. Probably a little too much of the latter. Option two was a black, retro-chic, fitted wrap dress with a deep-V front and little white polka dots. It was a personal favorite of mine, though admittedly better suited to a business dinner than a festival food competition. My last choice was a silver strapless number I’d made in college for something my professor called the “Red Carpet Challenge.” I’d created a form-fitting formal by twisting layers of shimmering satin for the bodice and cinching them tightly at the waist. Strategically placed rhinestones were supposed to add subtle drama and sparkle. The material followed the curve of my silhouette from hips to heels and split on the left side to my knee. I loved the look, but I’d never been pretentious enough to wear one of my own designs to something so public.

  I started with the salsa gown and held my breath. Cleavage inched toward my chin as I zipped myself in. The hemline made cheerleaders’ skirts seem prudish. My mother would die a thousand deaths if I showed up like this. She’d probably make me go home and change. I peeled option one off and started again. The retro dress was lovely, and I could breathe while wearing it, but it was undeniably wrong for the occasion.

  I held the silver dress against my collarbone and looked at my reflection in the mirror. “This is going to be a disaster.”

  * * *

  Dad sent a car for me at seven and left my name at the venue’s door. I bypassed the line and headed right to the front of the room, where dad waved to me with a smile. The words “Speaker’s Table” were painted in fancy silver script on a small black canvas supported by a tiny white easel at the table’s center. An array of glimmering silver sticks shot through a beautifully dramatic bouquet of white roses and black feathers. The soft silver tablecloth matched my dress.

  Dad kissed my cheek. “You look stunning.”

  “So do you.”

  Everyone did. The crowd was ostentatiously dressed, vying for the attention of their peers. I was instantly thankful I hadn’t worn either of my other dress choices. As long as no one asked who made my dress, I couldn’t be cast as a snob who thought her designs were superior to everything on the market.

  Mom arrived at our table with an empty glass. From the look in her eyes, probably not her first of the night. “Lacy.” She opened her arms and beckoned me. “You look spectacular.”

  I kissed her cheek and returned the compliment.

  Recognition dawned in her face. “What happened to the Givenchy?”

  “It was torn.” I formed a small smile. “I had to find something in a pinch. There was hardly any time.”

  “You could’ve come to me. You know I have a hundred dresses, and I would’ve called my stylist. She could get you anything you’d like in an instant. Who are you wearing, anyway? It’s very good. Turn around.”

  I pressed my lips together and turned slowly.

  “I like it. It accentuates your figure without showing off your assets, if you know what I mean.”

  “Everyone knows what you mean.”

  She laughed. “Who did you say this is?” She moved her keen gaze over my seams and hemline.

  Wearing my own gown was borderline obnoxious, but if someone like Annie had picked it up for her line, I would have been famous. A pang of selfish regret pinched my chest. The file from her desk rushed to mind. Her protégé had a lot to lose when Annie died. Maybe Shannon Martin knew something about his mentor that could help Jack find Annie’s killer. Had Jack spoken to Shannon yet?

  Someone grabbed my waist. “Hello, gorgeous.”

  I spun in the small space and peered up at a delightfully familiar face. “Hello, Chase.” I hated myself for the onslaught of lascivious thoughts.

  He stepped back an inch and shook my parents’ hands.

  “I still can’t believe you’re here,” I said, mystified by my luck at gaining his company for the second time this week.

  He stretched a long arm toward the room’s center, where a string band played a waltz and the district’s upper echelon swayed to each magical note. “How about a spin around the dance floor?”

  “I’d love to.” I followed him into the cloud of moving couples and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You look quite dashing.”

  “Why, thank you, Miss Crocker,” he said in a deliciously slow southern drawl. He took my free hand in his. Soft lighting threw long shadows across his gently rounded cheeks and danced in his playful green eyes. His other hand slid over the curve of my hip.

  “Watch it, Mr. Hawthorne, unless you aren’t very fond of those fingers.”

  He reset them in the dip of my waist. “You’re right. That was mischievous, and I should be on my best behavior when I’m with you.”

  “Correct.”

  He lowered his lips to my ear and hovered while a shiver rocked down my spine. “Have you given any more thought to the thank-you kiss you promised me?”

  I pulled back, cheeks burning, and failed to wipe the smile off my face. “This is your best behavior? Whispering in my ear and asking me to kiss you?”

  He straightened to his full and ridiculous height. “You’re absolutely right. Begging your pardon.” He wrapped his arms around my back and drew me into a tight embrace. “We should keep a respectable distance.”

  I leaned my cheek to his chest and giggled softly. “This is not how you waltz.”

  “It’s scandalous. You’re such a clingy woman.”

  I pried my face off him. “I’m not clingy.”

  “Oh, no?” He opened his arms, leaving me flat against him.

  I stumbled back with a laugh and shoved his chest. “You’re going to get me in trouble.” I dared a look at my parents’ table. Mom, Dad, and several others were staring at Chase and me, whispering behind their hands and smiling. “Now you’ve done it. They’re all watching.”

  He grabbed me again and swung me effortlessly into a graceful box step. “Ignore them. We’re having fun.”

  “They’re gawking. And gossiping.”

  He dipped me low and took his time righting me. “Let them talk.” Our bodies moved seamlessly together over the smooth dance floor. “How’s your investigation going? Anything new?”

  I let my head roll back. “I finally had my mind off it for five minutes.”

  He paused as the tune ended and another much slower number began. “You know, I can take your mind off everything for a lot longer than five minutes if you’d just ask.”

  I released him on instinct. “You’re killing me, Chase Hawthorne.”

  “My apologies, miss.” There was no hint of apology in his tone—more like shameless amusement.

  I fanned my face and headed for the bar. I felt his gaze on me as I walked away. The heat of his hands lingered on my skin. That man could ruin a lady’s reputation without
leaving the dance floor. “Ice water, please.”

  Feedback from the speaker’s microphone quieted the room.

  I gathered my water, napkin, and remaining wits, then returned to our table. Chase pulled a chair out for me.

  The announcer began with a preplanned spiel on cue cards while the rest of the room found their seats. Chase sat beside me and locked me in his gaze. “You didn’t answer me. Anything new with the investigation?”

  I leaned in, overcome with the need to unload. “Everything’s become so convoluted. Strange things keep happening. They feel unrelated, but the timing suggests they can’t be.”

  He bent his head to mine and quieted his voice, a secret between only us. “Let me look into something for you. I’m excellent at research and bored at work. As it turns out, lawyering is a bit dull most of the time. I could use something fun to keep me occupied.”

  I typed Annie’s protégé’s name into a search engine on my phone and turned my screen toward Chase. “This is Shannon Martin. I found a file of his designs on Annie’s desk, and I think I should talk to him.”

  “Do you think he knows something about what happened to her?”

  I shrugged to keep my speech to a minimum.

  Chase took my phone and searched for Shannon on social media. We bowed our heads together and trolled his Instagram while the announcer traded the microphone off to the night’s featured speaker.

  “He doesn’t look too broken up,” I whispered. Shannon had taken dozens of party pics at multiple Faux Real venues throughout the week.

  Chase lowered my phone to his lap. “We should go find him. We can use his selfie obsession to our advantage, track him down, and ambush him while he’s been drinking. We’ll learn all sort of good information that way.”

  I lit up at the shamefully brilliant idea.

  “Good evening.” A low, gravelly voice caressed the microphone. “My name is Jack Oliver.”

  I whipped around to face the podium. Jack stood in the spotlight, wearing a custom-fit tux, hands shoved deep inside his pockets. My idiotic heart went bonkers.

  His jaw worked as he stood there, silently.

  “What’s he doing?” I asked.

  Chase swigged his drink. “He’s the speaker.”

  My jaw dropped.

  “You all knew my grandpa,” Jack finally said. “Grandpa Smacker. I suppose, in a way, he was everyone’s grandpa. To me, he was family. An honorable and upright man. A thinker. An entrepreneur and a philanthropist. This competition was his favorite event of the festival. He never missed a year.” His Adam’s apple bobbed slowly.

  My life seemed to hang in the pause.

  “Grandpa was supposed to speak tonight. He’s had it on his books for nearly two years, and I wanted to honor that, so I agreed to stand in his absence. I’m not nearly as eloquent as my grandfather, or as business minded, but I love this city like he did, maybe more, and I’m proud to stand here tonight and represent the corporation he spent his life building. So on behalf of Grandpa Smacker, I’d like to present a check in the amount of five hundred thousand dollars to the culinary school that trained tonight’s winner. We do this because we want to see the continuation of culinary excellence in New Orleans, and that means training from the world’s finest chefs in the world’s best kitchens with the highest quality equipment. The winning chef will receive a paid one-year lease at any location of their choosing within the city, where we will help them open a restaurant and continue to serve up meals that can only be called New Orleans’s finest. Thank you.”

  He stepped away from the podium amidst a standing ovation and strode confidently to our table. He shook hands with Dad, Chase, and several other men before taking the seat directly across from me. His cool-blue gaze trained instantly on mine. “Lacy, you look lovely.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  “I see you didn’t have any trouble finding a new dress.”

  “I made it.” The words jumped off my tongue, and I regretted them instantly.

  Chase guffawed. “You made this? That’s incredible.”

  Jack didn’t look surprised. “It’s very nice. When you said you had a schmancy dinner, I didn’t realize you meant this one.” He flicked his gaze to my parents.

  Right. I didn’t usually accept their invitations.

  “I would’ve offered to drive you.”

  Heat bloomed in my chest as Jack and Chase stared at me. A familiar zing of tension electrified the space between us. “Dad sent a car. I didn’t know you were the speaker, or I would’ve wished you luck. Not that you needed it. You were great.”

  He looked away.

  I followed his gaze to a woman I recognized as his grandpa’s girlfriend, Tabitha.

  “Are we dating?” I asked Jack.

  Chase leaned back. “What?”

  I turned his way quickly. “Go with it.”

  Tabitha made her way to our table and slid onto the chair beside Jack.

  He dipped his chin hard.

  Chase continued to stare at the side of my face. “Is this for real?”

  “Nope,” Jack and I answered in unison, though he could’ve been a little less peppy about the answer.

  Tabitha frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  Jack waved her off.

  Chase fiddled with his phone, while I wondered what to say to Tabitha that would make me sound like Jack’s girlfriend. I forced an awkward smile.

  Chase put his phone away in a hurry, then shot me a wild look.

  “What?” I asked.

  He looked at Jack and groaned.

  I rested my fingers on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  Chase shook his head. “I think I might’ve overdone it with the predinner drinks.”

  He had predinner drinks? I hefted a pitcher of ice water from the table’s center and filled a glass. “This will help. Can I get you something else?” I scanned the elaborately set table for something to settle Chase’s stomach. Where were the bread baskets or appetizers? Wasn’t this night supposed to be all about food?

  Jack sucked his teeth and scrutinized Chase. “What’s going on, Hawthorne?”

  Tabitha moved her gaze slowly from Jack, to Chase, then me.

  Chase tipped slightly forward. “Lacy?” he moaned. “I should probably go home.”

  “Okay.” I dug for my phone. “I can call a cab and ride with you.” I gave Jack an apologetic face. “I’ll be back in less than an hour.”

  Chase pushed onto his feet. A set of car keys balanced on his palm. “I drove.”

  “All right.” I excused myself, kissed Dad’s cheek, and performed a small wave across the table to Jack. “I guess I’ll be right back.”

  Chase went to the valet.

  Jack followed me as far as the front door. “He’s not sick,” he whispered. “He’s up to something.”

  Chase chatted with the valet outside the heavy glass door.

  I wasn’t convinced Jack was wrong. “Do you want me to stay?”

  He gave Chase another long look. “Yes, but you should go. He can’t drive if he’s been drinking, and if I’m right, he may need someone to keep him out of trouble. Any idea what kind of trouble it might be?”

  I pressed my lips and shook my head.

  The valet brought Chase’s shiny new sports car to the curb. Jack sighed. “Call me if you need me.”

  I walked outside, and Chase held the passenger door. “I thought you needed a driver.”

  He jogged around the hood and dropped behind the wheel without waiting for me to get in. “I’m feeling better.” He motioned for me to hurry up.

  Reluctantly I obliged.

  He barked the tires as we sped away.

  I buckled in and punched his arm. “You faked sick to get out of a delicious meal. Are you nuts? Where are we going?”

  “That was improvisation and not my best work, but I had to think fast.” He glanced my way. “Check Shannon Martin’s Instagram.”

  I checked my phone. Shannon had put up
three new photos in the last ten minutes.

  Chase smiled into the night, accelerating smoothly toward the French Quarter. “He’s at One Eyed Jacks right now.”

  I pulled dozens of pins from my hair and let the wind shake it loose. “My mother’s going to be livid when I don’t come back.” I checked my face in the lighted visor mirror. Shockingly, the fear wasn’t visible.

  My phone buzzed. “Jack’s texting me.” I swiped the screen to life. “He says if I don’t text him back to confirm this wasn’t an abduction, he’s coming after us.”

  Chase slid me an impish half smile.

  I responded to Jack with emoticons. A smiley face, a tiny church, some drinks, and a river. “There, he should know that means we’re heading to the Quarter.”

  Two hours later, we were in Jackson Square taking selfies with Andrew Jackson and his trusty steed. The great silver peaks of the St. Louis Cathedral rose proudly behind us, piercing a velvety sky. A smattering of people sat on the benches and in the grass, enjoying a stolen moment or taking in the beauty of my town. We’d followed Shannon’s Instagram feed all around the Quarter, seeming to miss him at every turn. “This is like an elaborate scavenger hunt, and the only item on our list is mobile.”

  Chase took another picture of me. “Yes, but it’s fun. If we catch him, we get a double win.”

  We crossed the street to the path along the Mississippi, toting coffees from Café Du Monde and a bag of warm beignets. Dark waters churned and glistened beside us in the moonlight. Chase swung the bag at me. “Do you want any more? There are two left.”

  I helped myself to a third delicious treat. “You’re right, this has been fun. I haven’t been this at ease in a long time. Look at me.” I stopped and struck a pose. “I’m dressed for a ball and eating sweets from a bag.”

  “Don’t forget I bought you beads on Bourbon Street. The nice kind that light up.”

  The flashing necklace cast green-and-yellow light over my beignet. I giggled, and a puff of powdered sugar floated onto Chase’s jacket. “All those people thought we just got married.”

  He dusted the material of his snazzy tux. “Those guys were so jealous. I filed their faces in my happy memory storage.”