When the Cat's Away

by Molly Fitz

It warmed my heart to see her this happy. I didn’t think I’d heard her so excited in the entire year I’d known her. At sixteen, she deserved some wonder in her life.

  I sighed and dropped onto the other bed.

  We’d figure out what to do with Hunch after a good night’s sleep. Instead of focusing on what was wrong, I turned to Amber, smiled, and said, “Yes, this is all going to be amazing.”

  Chapter Four

  Morning came too soon.

  “Shower’s all yours,” Amber said from her place in the middle of the hotel room floor. I blinked to clear my eyes. She had Hunch up on his hind paws and was looking him square in the eye. “Now you’re going to be a good kitty and keep out of sight today, right, Hunchie?”

  I pushed up in bed. “We probably need to take him out.”

  “Already did. By the way, the front desk clerks this morning aren’t nearly as nosy as that guy last night. We shouldn’t have any problem getting Hunch in and out today.”

  Shouldn’t. But what if we did?

  I looked at Hunch, who was staring back at Amber as though he truly understood every word that came out of her mouth. I made a noncommittal noise and headed for the shower.

  Half an hour later, we made it to the lobby to find Liam chatting with a couple in their fifties. They had matching salt-and-pepper hair and stiff postures.

  “Mallory, Amber! I’m glad you’re ready to go. Come and meet Victor Kinsley and his wife, Victoria.”

  I chuckled as I reached out a hand. “Victor and Victoria, huh?”

  Victor shook my hand, his face stoic. “That’s right.”

  “We hear you’re all the way from West Virginia, dear?” Victoria asked, shaking Amber’s hand.

  I answered for both of us. “Yes. We got in late last night. Where are you folks from?”

  “A couple hours upstate,” Victoria told me. “Just outside Lafayette.”

  I’d never thought of West Virginia as being a long way from Louisiana, but so far, Amber and I felt like the outliers.

  “We’re looking forward to trying the New Orleans fare,” I told them all. “Are you also a winner of the Foodie Elite Recipe Contest?”

  Victor’s snigger told me this he found amusing. “No. This tour costs a pretty penny for those who haven’t won a contest, I can assure you.”

  Oh. I’d just assumed this would be a group of chefs or wanna-be chefs who had all submitted award-winning original recipes. I looked over Victor and Victoria Kinsley a little closer, though. Her diamond earrings and his tailored dress shirt suggested people of means. I suddenly felt a little underdressed in my peach and fuchsia flowered sundress. At least I’d talked Amber out of her usual sneakers and big-statement hoodies. Today, she wore a jean skirt with an off-the-shoulder cream flounce top that looked gorgeous with her auburn hair.

  Just then, a woman in jeans and a pink T-shirt walked up. She had mousy brown hair and wore a bright shade of pink lipstick that matched her top. “Liam, right?”

  Liam looked at a clipboard in his hands. “You must be Lisa Lorenson?”

  Her ponytail bobbed as she nodded, and Liam made the introductions to the rest of us. At least I no longer felt underdressed.

  “I’m so glad I made it on time! I was worried with traffic this morning!” Lisa continued to babble about the drive. If she and the Kinsleys had driven in this morning, did that mean none of them were contest winners and hadn’t been treated to a room at this beautiful hotel?

  “Are you from around here?” I asked when she finally stopped to take a breath.

  “From Jackson,” she told me, and then that launched her into another diatribe about the trucker that cut her off and how she’d spilled her coffee all over her car.

  I still hadn’t seen Clive and his girlfriend, Scarlett, from last night. Because they were at the bar until late, I had to assume they were also recipe award winners staying at the hotel. Studying in Paris couldn’t have hurt.

  I was about to ask after them when a man on a nearby velvet bench caught my attention. He looked over his newspaper at our group every few seconds.

  The man must have also caught Liam’s attention. He walked over and said, “You’re not by chance Mr. Emile Dubois?”

  He replied in a quiet French accent. “Oui, I am Monsieur Dubois.”

  “Oh, well, fine morning to you!” Liam held out his hand. Monsieur Dubois looked at it for several seconds before standing to shake it. Emile Dubois wore jeans and a short-sleeve white T-shirt. I never would have guessed him for a Frenchman preparing to go on a food tour. I got the impression he would have sat there until we left the hotel, missing the tour altogether simply due to shyness. “Come! Join us!”

  Monsieur Dubois obeyed, but remained silent as Liam introduced him. Relief crossed his face when Clive and Scarlett stepped off the elevator, effectively snatching the attention away from him.

  “We’re not late, are we?” Clive checked the time on his phone. He wore a black dress shirt with a sheen and had three buttons undone, revealing the top of a hairy chest. I glanced at the lobby clock. It was ten after.

  “Not a bit!” Liam said regardless. “Well, that’s grand. We’ve got everyone together.”

  Clive’s girlfriend, Scarlett, wore another fifties-style dress, this one yellow. It looked striking with her fiery hair. She wore the same vintage pendant, but today, the brass buttons on her dress also had a vintage look, with ornate circles around the outside and a leaping dog in the center of each one. I wondered if she had a dog. Then I wondered what I would look like in a dress with cat buttons.

  But did I really want my appearance to scream cat lady?

  “Where did you get that beautiful pendant?” I asked to get that thought out of my head.

  She fingered it. “Oh, at an antique store in town. I work in a local museum, so I’m always on the lookout for beautiful old trinkets. Did you see the one I found for Clive?”

  I didn’t particularly want to look at her boyfriend’s bare chest. The round pendant he wore also looked antique, though not my style. It contained a large blue stone with a black dot in the middle, making it look like someone’s eye.

  I forced a smile and nodded.

  Liam clapped his hands. “Our first stop is the Maison de Tarte.”

  “House of pies?” Amber murmured to me, her tone excited. “We’re starting with pie?”

  “I know the one,” Clive said. “I’ll tell y’all exactly what to order.”

  Liam cleared his throat. “Actually, we have a special menu we’ll be ordering from today.” Clive seemed put off by this information and gave Scarlett a raised eyebrow look. Liam ignored this and went on. “It’s right here in the French Quarter, only a wee saunter from here.” Liam motioned toward the door.

  “Oh, um, I have to run upstairs,” I said. They all looked at me, so I felt the need to explain and figured I might as well be honest. I dropped my voice, even though we were too far from the front desk for any hotel employees to hear. “You see, I have my cat along and I should just check on him before we head out.”

  Clive balked. “People are too attached to their pets. Can’t leave them be for five minutes.” His words were so loud, my cheeks warmed.

  “I should grab my sweater from upstairs.” Amber pulled me toward the elevator. “Maison de Tarte. We’ll meet you there.”

  Liam looked confused by our straying from the plan, but only for a second. Then he led the way toward the doors with the rest of the group following him. Emile trailed at a distance, and I wondered if he was considering ditching the tour altogether. With Clive Richards as one of his companions, it wouldn’t surprise me if the shy Frenchman didn’t even make it to the first stop.

  Chapter Five

  I staggered out of Maison de Tarte an hour later, delighted with the beignet I had chosen at Monsieur Dubois’s suggestion. The pastry was about the only thing memorable, though. The rest of the food had been fairly ordinary, nothing special, and Clive’s know-it-all brashness was casting a pall o
n the group. Victoria’s food intolerances had provided another wrinkle—it seemed she couldn’t have anything with dairy, gluten, or egg, which made me wonder why she had chosen to come on this tour in the first place.

  Liam’s smile was starting to fray at the edges, and I didn’t blame him. Still, with effort, he kept it in place and gave us an overview of some of New Orleans’s attractions as we walked toward our second stop. Amber had raced back to the hotel to check in on Hunch, promising she’d be more than capable of finding the next restaurant on her own.

  “Are you from the area?” I asked Monsieur Dubois as I walked at the rear of the group with him. He’d recommended the beignet, after all, calling it, “Very French. Very New Orleans.”

  He shrugged with one shoulder. “Originally, non. Originally from a small village in Bordeaux. But now, oui. I own a restaurant in the city.”

  “You own a restaurant here in New Orleans?” I didn’t realize how loud I’d been until Clive looked back from where he walked alongside Liam, adding his two cents to Liam’s description of the local sights.

  Monsieur Dubois dipped his gaze to the sidewalk in front of him. “Just a small place.”

  I dropped my voice. I was too curious not to ask more, even if Monsieur Dubois was normally too shy to talk about himself. “What kind of food do you serve at your restaurant?” If the restaurants didn’t improve, I’d much rather garner an invitation to his establishment.

  He smiled meekly. “It is a mix of French and seafood, with a soupçon of Cajun.”

  “Sounds delicious. We’d love to stop by before we leave town. What is it called?” I pulled out my phone, but when I looked up with it, poised and ready, Monsieur Dubois had locked eyes with Clive. Liam continued on, now talking about a nearby museum we should visit, but Clive had stopped in place to glare back at the Frenchman. A strange tension stretched between them, and I wondered what I’d missed.

  “You don’t have anything to add, Clive?” Liam asked in what seemed like a dig, but Clive didn’t take it that way.

  “Newcomb Art Museum’s the best in the city.” Clive puffed out his chest, as though he had curated the place. “Scarlett can get you a discount, can’t you, Scarlett?” Clive sidled up beside his girlfriend and pawed at her purse. “Give them a discount card.”

  She dug into her purse, but kept her face downturned as she said, “Oh, um, actually, hon, my discount only works at some of the smaller museums.”

  A long pause followed, but then thankfully, Liam took over, directing our attention to a nearby park worth visiting. The rest of us kept moving, but Clive and Scarlett were at a standstill.

  “I guess you’re not as important as you try to make out.” As we passed, he gritted out, “How could you embarrass me like that? You made me look like a fool.”

  A moment later, she caught up with the rest of us, avoiding Clive’s eyes as she passed a business card to each of us. “The discounted museums are listed on the back. You’ll get twenty percent off, but I’m afraid I can’t help with the bigger museums.”

  I barely had time to skim the list of six museums when Clive made his way up to the front of the group beside Liam again and interrupted my thoughts with his loud voice.

  “I just think if you’re looking for culture, you go on one of the local cultural tours. We’re looking for the best food in New Orleans.”

  I hated to admit it, but I agreed with Clive. Liam smiled in Clive’s direction with a close-lipped smile, one that looked fake even from my distance. “We at Foodie Elite provide access to a wide array of the best cuisine in New Orleans.” Liam’s usually lighthearted Irish accent sounded strained with a seemingly prepared script. He clapped his hands, but everything about the motion seemed forced. “Don’t you worry. We’re almost at our next stop.”

  But Clive didn’t let up in trying to convince Liam to change some of the stops on the tour.

  At least the tour wouldn’t be boring. I wondered if we’d get through the entire two-day food tour without our host throttling his most irritating attendee.

  Chapter Six

  The next stop didn’t inspire much confidence.

  Donnie’s Irish Pub.

  As abrasive as Clive Richards was, he might also be right. Were we simply on a cash-grab foot tour that offered stops at a handful of local joints that needed some extra publicity?

  I gnawed on my lip as I waited for Amber under the green neon sign. It didn’t take long. In fact, with the colorful people I’d been grouped with, I’d barely had time to worry about the teenager I’d brought into this big city being on her own. Her relaxed smile disarmed me as she strode up. In truth, Amber had navigated our way from West Virginia to our hotel room, thanks to the GPS on her phone, but she was still much more efficient at it than I was.

  After she told me how much Hunch was enjoying his holiday, we walked through the front door of Donnie’s, but as soon as the jiggy Irish music hit my ears, I asked Amber, “What kind of a New Orleans food tour starts at an Irish pub?”

  She shrugged, smiling. “I dunno. A fun one?”

  I raised my eyebrows at her attempt to groove to the music as she made her way through the busy pub toward a weathered bar, where the rest of our group sat.

  Monsieur Dubois caught my attention, standing not too far from the bar, looking at Donnie’s pub merchandise. This was getting more commercial by the minute. But I headed there anyway. Of anything on this tour, I was enjoying Monsieur Dubois’s company and insight the most.

  “See anything you like?” I sidled up beside him and surveyed the black and green T-shirts and beer mugs on display.

  “Shall we sit?” Monsieur Dubois motioned toward the bar. As at Maison de Tarte, Liam sat at the far end with Clive, whether or not Liam liked it. I could already hear them arguing over the loud music. Clive argued about how Kerry or Finnegan’s would’ve made a better choice for the tour.

  “I don’t know why we have to have a stop at an Irish pub at all,” I murmured to Monsieur Dubois as he took the barstool beside me.

  Amber was chatting with Clive’s girlfriend and smiled brightly. Amber didn’t have any interest in alcohol, as her dad hadn’t been a great drinking example. I was glad she was having fun, and Scarlett seemed the closest to her age out of anyone in the group.

  “The Irish community in New Orleans is not so terrible,” Monsieur Dubois said, surprising me. I would have expected a French restaurateur to have more refined taste. But when he went on, I wondered if I was missing something. “The places you least expect often have their spécialités. If you come to New Orleans for only one day, you miss so much. There is variety and richness, if only one takes the time.”

  “Hmm. So do you agree with Clive Richards that there are better Irish pubs in town?”

  Monsieur Dubois’s lip curled up on one side. “I do not agree with that man about anything.”

  I was taken aback by the venom in Monsieur Dubois’s words.

  The bartender approached to take orders. I hadn’t even seen a menu yet.

  But apparently, Monsieur Dubois knew what he wanted. “Smithwick’s if you have?”

  The bartender chuckled. “Always.” He leaned in closer to me and asked in a voice filled with natural hills and valleys, “And what can I get for the lady?”

  I was surprised when Monsieur Dubois answered for me. “The mademoiselle is looking to experience New Orleans food and drink for the first time.”

  The bartender held up his fingers in the shape of a pretend gun toward Monsieur Dubois. “Gotcha.” He moved along to Lisa, who giggled at whatever the Irish bartender said to her.

  I was more concerned with whatever Monsieur Dubois had just ordered me. “You know, I am pretty picky.” This wasn’t completely true. I enjoyed ninety percent of most food and drinks if they were made well.

  But it was about the anticipation. And perhaps about keeping control.

  Monsieur Dubois didn’t reply, which only made my control issues flare harder. He raised an eyebrow and
nodded.

  The bartender moved onto Mr. and Mrs. Kinsley, and an argument developed.

  “Look at the assortment, darling,” Victor said to his wife. “You have to grant me one beer.”

  “But the wheat!” Victoria said the words to the bartender, but they were directed at her husband.

  “Ah, we have a great variety of barley beer. Do you like a good lager?” His fun-loving tone hadn’t changed as he directed his question at Victor, but Victoria stood from her barstool, huffed, and pulled her arms across her chest. Her stool, now that I could see it, was in the shape of a horse’s rear.

  “We don’t drink beer,” she said.

  “Honey…” Victor’s tone with his wife seemed meek. “I’m not sensitive to—”

  “But solidarity!” she hissed. “You promised.”

  The bartender didn’t miss a beat, listing off beer and lager varieties with a barley base. His natural accent made me question again if Liam might be putting his on or, at the very least, enhancing it.

  The bartender’s smooth tongue didn’t lighten Victoria Kinsley’s concerns, though, and a second later, Clive arrived behind them and clapped a hand on each of their backs.

  “Let the dude have what he likes to drink,” he told Victoria, his voice more commanding than jovial. He turned to Victor. “She doesn’t own ya, does she?”

  Victoria’s eyes widened, and she spun away from Clive to get his hand off her.

  “If you ask me, this world is about natural selection, survival of the fittest. People who can’t handle a little gluten, are they really going to last? Why should they be around taking up all the resources of the planet?” Clive let out a hearty laugh, as though he hadn’t just told Victoria she might as well die.

  “Nobody’s asking you,” Victor gritted out. Everyone at the bar had gone silent, making the jovial Irish music seem suddenly out of place. Scarlett popped out of her chair, raced over to Clive, and whispered something the rest of us couldn’t hear.