Furry Godmother’s advice for ladies: Don’t flaunt your superiority. It’s bad form, and men don’t pick up on it anyway.
An hour later, I was still at the bar nursing a bottle of water. Everyone from the stock room had been questioned and released, except Adam. I hadn’t seen him or Jack since the cops arrived. The crowd at Boondocks had grown generously, and the ruckus on Bourbon Street had, too. Knots of tourists wandered inside with giant plastic souvenir cups and flashing party buttons. A woman in a hooker dress and wedding veil let men kiss her for a dollar, while her girl crew cheered them on. Frat kids bought shots for someone’s twenty-first birthday. Retired, divorced, and middle-aged friends stood wide-eyed and awkwardly in the corners, reliving their heyday or maybe regretting that they’d missed it thirty years ago.
This night had definitely not gone as planned. Jack would never let me speak with Adam, and Adam was so mad at me for dousing him in iced coffee, he probably wouldn’t talk to me anyway. Everyone else from the secret pool room was long gone. I’d already forgotten their names and faces. I had no leads, and it seemed unlikely Jack would share what he learned from Adam with me.
The juke box suddenly blasted a long guitar solo from an eighties hair band, and I turned for a look at who had thought that song was worth his or her money. A pair of plainclothes cops brushed past me with Adam sandwiched between them. He wasn’t cuffed, but the escort didn’t look optional.
Jack mounted the empty stool beside me and tussled his sweaty hair with one hand. “Well, that was fun. Not at all useful, but fun.” He pulled the faux studs from his nose and eyebrow with ease but flinched when removing the rings from his swollen lip.
“Yeah. That was a blast. Who doesn’t enjoy bleeding from their face once in a while?”
He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck side to side. “I haven’t been in a bar fight since I was fifteen.”
“Fifteen!”
His snarky expression stopped me short. “It’s a joke. Relax.” He pushed the jewelry into his pocket and swiped my water bottle off the bar. He pressed the cool condensation to the corner of his mouth. “At least I didn’t have to arrest you.”
I grimaced. “I’m sure they can get you some ice. No need to bleed on my drink.”
He took a look at the bottle, twisted the cap off, and drank it dry. “Two more.” He lifted a peace sign into the air. “Guessing you didn’t want that bottle back.”
“Correct.”
The bartender dropped two bottles in front of us. Jack paid.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
He levered himself off the stool and placed a tip on the bar. “Calm down. It’s bottled water, not an engagement ring.” He stripped out of his hoodie and bunched it into one fist.
“Adam works at All-American Construction.”
“That’s what you keep saying. Feel like telling me why?”
I followed him onto the sidewalk and soaked in the tangible buzz of energy. “That was the company that put my shop together for me. Tater hired them. They made the built-ins and handled lighting and my display case. That company is ever present on Magazine Street. The crews are really good. Store owners rarely call anyone else for renovations or improvements.”
“Good to know.”
“Did you arrest him?”
“No.”
“Are you kidding? He had access to my shop!”
“We haven’t let him go. He’s headed to the station for more questioning. If we find grounds, we’ll keep him. How does he have access to your shop?”
My short legs scrambled after his on the crowded sidewalk. “They had keys. They let themselves in and out all week while they worked there this spring. It wasn’t that long ago. He could’ve kept the key.” I snapped my fingers. “Or had a spare made! We should find out where people get keys made in town and show his picture around.”
Jack laughed. “I’ll get right on that.”
“I don’t believe you.” I waved hello to a passing group of goths in variations of Vampire Lestat costumes.
They leered suggestively and bared their fake teeth.
Jack dug in his pockets for keys. “You look more comfortable here than with most of those Garden District women.”
I laughed. “Oh, you’d be surprised.”
“Yeah?” He moved along the street, and I kept pace. “Heard any compelling stories about me from your circle?”
My circle? I didn’t have a circle. Unless I could talk Paige and Scarlet into running around me a few times. “No. I didn’t know you existed until four days ago. I’m comfortable here because everyone came here as often as possible when they were younger. Except you. You were overseas somewhere playing cricket and drinking tea.”
“And you said you hadn’t heard anything about me.”
I clenched my jaw. I’d given him the impression I’d asked about him when I hadn’t. Protesting would make it worse. I dodged a woman speaking with large hand gestures. We needed to focus on the reason we were both in the Quarter tonight. “What did Adam say back there?”
Jack cut through a crowd on the corner and headed directly for an intimidating-looking motorcycle.
I clipped along at his heels like the little dog following the big one in cartoons. “You talked to him for almost an hour. What did he say? What did you say?”
“He copped to having a gambling problem, and I gave him the name of a local gamblers anonymous group. They meet in the Central Business District. It’ll be good for him if he doesn’t end up arrested for murder.”
I grabbed his swinging arm and released him instantly. “You know what I meant.”
He looked at his sleeve where I’d touched him. “Ever been on a bike like this?” He stopped beside the fierce, gas-blue motorcycle.
I crossed my arms and tried looking defensive instead of terrified. “No.”
“Looks like tonight’s your lucky night.”
“This is your bike? I thought you were going to give it a ticket or something. Where’s your truck?”
“I’m going to pretend you don’t think I’m a meter maid and answer your question instead. My bike is easier to park down here.” He handed me a helmet. “Put it on.”
I rolled the bulbous object over in my hands and gave the motorcycle another look. No seatbelts. No roof or doors. There was no way a helmet could protect me if I flew off of that thing, and where was I supposed to hold on? My traitorous gaze slid to Jack’s torso. The heat index, coupled with hours in a hoodie, had applied his heather-grey T-shirt to his skin. I cleared my throat. Twice. “Sunshine came to talk to me today. She said you brought her and Hayden in for questioning.”
“Put my helmet on your head and get on the bike.”
“She didn’t do it.”
He took the helmet from me, turned it over, and stuffed it on my head. “There. Now let’s go.” He grinned and shook his head.
“Excuse me, are you smiling?”
He straightened his face. “No. Get on.”
“You aren’t listening to me. We need to talk about Sunshine.”
“I heard you. She’s innocent. What about the other one?”
“Hayden? I don’t know about her, but Sunshine’s pregnant. She didn’t want to hurt Miguel. She loved him. They were going to leave New Orleans together.”
Jack motioned to the bike. “Hayden’s a mess over his loss. She had a rough upbringing, and she’s a little worse for it, if you know what I mean.” He tapped his temple. “If you see her coming, I’d go the other way.”
“Why?” I squeaked. “She blames me for his death, too?”
He made a sad face. “No, but she knows about Sunshine’s pregnancy, and she’s livid. That spiel he gave Sunshine about leaving town together?” He cocked his brows. “He told Hayden the same thing. I’d advise anyone to steer clear of her right now. She’s a ticking time bomb of rage and unsubstantiated entitlement. Add her boyfriend’s betrayal and recent death to her lifetime in poverty, and she’s not in a pretty place. You’re everything she hates in one package.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I had nothing to do with her socioeconomic background or Miguel’s awfulness.”
“You’re pretty, classy, educated. All the things she thinks she can’t ever be. Are you okay wearing that helmet? You’re not going to freak out on me once we’re on the road, are you?”
He thought I was pretty and classy? “No. I think this is okay.” I slid onto the seat and scooted as far back as possible. What wasn’t okay was his description of Hayden’s temper. If she’d been following Miguel around town with an employee discount card to Frozen Banana, I had a solid idea of who’d vandalized my window.
I adjusted the helmet and tried to look natural while straddling a motorcycle. I may as well have tried to look natural riding an ostrich. “If my dad sees me on this thing, you’re going to have a whole new set of problems.”
“Why would Dr. Crocker be in the Quarter at midnight? Besides, you’re the one with explaining to do. If I were you, I’d use this time to get my story straight before I’m questioned by New Orleans’s best detective.” He climbed in front and settled onto the seat.
I ignored the distracting effect on his jeans and tried not to touch more than necessary. “I suppose you’re New Orleans best detective? Way to be humble.”
He revved the engine to life and eased away from the curb. Pedestrians with big smiles and go cups hustled out of our way. Men stared at the motorcycle. Women stared at the driver.
I got my story straight.
* * *
I headed for the kitchen, flipping every light switch I passed.
Jack followed. “I hope you’re making coffee. I have a feeling this is going to be a long night.”
I peered into the new fishbowl on my counter. “Buttercup? I’m home. Please come out of your sandcastle so I know I didn’t transfer you too soon and accidentally kill you.”
Jack hefted the coffeepot into the sink and turned on my water. “Where do you keep your coffee?”
“On the lazy Susan.” I tapped the bowl. “Buttercup?” Panic laced my voice.
Jack reached around me, dripping water from wet hands onto the counter. He shook a food flake onto the water. “That’s how you get a fish to come when you call it. Make it associate you with mealtime. They love mealtime.” He went back to making coffee. “What kind did you get? A goldfish?”
“A Crowntail Betta.”
Buttercup stuck her nose through the castle door and made a bubble. She darted to the surface and snatched the flake.
“Oh, thank goodness.” I deflated against the counter. “She ate it. She’s alive.” My heart warmed to Jack. “How’d you know to do that?”
“Common sense.” He pressed the Brew button on my pot.
Warmth gone. “Can we please talk about Adam?”
“All right.” He pressed his backside to my counter and crossed his legs at the ankles. “What did you plan to ask him tonight when you found him?”
“I had plenty of questions, like whether or not Miguel had ever mentioned my store or his former partner. I wondered if Adam knew if Miguel participated in the recent jewelry store heists. I wondered if he knew anyone who might have wanted Miguel dead. I had lots of questions.”
He seemed to consider that. “Coffee?”
“Sure.”
He upturned two mugs from my drying rack and snagged the pot off a still-brewing coffeemaker. “Cream or sugar?”
“Black.”
“I’d have figured you for a both. I thought you were a café au lait girl.”
I made a you-don’t-know-everything face. “I learned to love black coffee for its ability to keep me awake all night in college.” Besides, I’d had enough doctored coffee for one night.
“Was that medical school or fashion college?”
“I was premed, which is nothing like medical school, and stop making my design degree sound like Monopoly money.” I gathered my overteased hair into a messy bun, which had to look better than it did after being hair sprayed to death, sweat drenched, and smooshed into a helmet. I jabbed a pair of takeout chopsticks into the mess and breathed easier. Cool air on the back of my neck lowered my blood pressure.
“I’ll stop teasing you about your foofoo degree if you agree to stay out of this investigation.”
I blew over the surface of my coffee. Delicious tendrils of bitter steam swam up my nose. “I guess that’s it for the banter portion of our evening.”
“I’m serious. This investigation is a hairy mess, and you need to keep your distance so I can follow through on my leads without any distractions.”
“Do you mean like the information I gave you on Miguel’s two girlfriends?” I tapped my bottom lip with one fingertip. “Who told you Adam worked for a company that had a key to my shop a few months ago? Oh, yeah, me again.”
He nodded along, unamused. “That’s right. You’re bringing me tons of intel on this case. Like the big-ass railroad spike you found in your tire. Thanks for handing that over. It was a case cracker.”
“That was not my fault.”
“No, but it was a direct result of you putting your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“I was accused of murder. He broke into my store.”
Jack rolled his eyes up at me, peering over the rim of his mug. “I’m aware of that. It doesn’t mean you have to get yourself killed.”
I set my coffee aside. The cold fingers of fear slid into my gut. “I really need to know who did this before I go bankrupt or my store goes under. There’s a lot riding on this. My business. My reputation. My sanity.” I rubbed my tired eyes. “Sorry. You don’t want to hear this.”
“No. Keep going. It helps me understand why you seem hell-bent on undermining me.”
“I’m really not trying to do that.”
He bobbed his head. “But you still have to stop. I’m on top of this, and you need to distance yourself. If anyone asks you how the investigation is going, tell them you have no idea because I iced you out. Okay?”
Something like fear flashed in his eyes. I didn’t think fear was an emotion Jack possessed.
“I’ll try.”
“Don’t try. Do. How’s it going with the new security system Tater had installed?”
“It’s not in yet. The company will be out in the morning for the installation. They did a walkthrough with Paige while I was at Mrs. Feller’s place. I got the work order and appointment confirmation this afternoon.”
He poured more coffee into his half-empty mug. “Good. Make sure you never leave without setting it, and keep it on after hours, even when you’re there.”
“Of course.” Going to my storeroom in the middle of the day had given me goose bumps since running into Miguel that night. It would be nice to know the alarm was working to protect me around the clock.
“Are you ready for a refill?” He wiggled the pot between us.
“I think I’ve had enough. I’m going to get some rest tonight.” Right after I mock up a few tutus and kitty capelets. “Did Adam tell you anything useful about the murder?”
Jack laughed. “You promised to drop this five seconds ago.”
“I’m not investigating. I’m just asking. As a friend.”
“You need to get dumber friends. You’re asking about the details in a murder. That’s called investigating. So stop.”
“Why can’t I ask you? Asking you isn’t the same as interfering.”
“I’m not feeding your sickness.” The glimmer in his crystal eyes slid to his mouth, turning his reddened lips up in a smile.
I didn’t hate the fresh-shaven look on him or the evidence he’d kicked some bad guys’ behinds. “Let me get you some ice for your lip.”
He waved me off. “I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt, and it’ll look better in the morning.”
“What if it scars?”
“Ladies dig scars.”
I lingered my gaze over the tiny, white dashes on his cheeks. He had plenty of scars. I wasn’t sure I liked them or hated whoever caused them. I wetted my lips and looked into his eyes. “The bartender told me a man came in the day Miguel died and asked about him. She said she didn’t get a name, but he wanted to leave a message. He said he owed Miguel one.”
“One what?”
“She didn’t ask, but that was a blatant threat, probably from Levi Marks.”
“That theory wouldn’t hold up in court. It’s speculation. Miguel might’ve helped that guy with a flat tire, and now the guy owes him a beer or a return favor.”
“Oh, sure. Miguel was a real Samaritan.”
“Speculation.”
“Fine. You’re welcome for another lead.” I hid a smile behind my mug. “What’s your theory? Who killed Miguel Sanchez?”
Jack gave me a pointed stare. A little chuckle rumbled his chest. “You said you weren’t obstinate. I asked you the night we met and you lied.”
“Didn’t.” I bit my lips to stop supporting his argument.
He lowered himself to my height and softened his voice. “Please drop this. I want you to change up your routine until we find out who stabbed your tire. Consider talking to the security company tomorrow about getting an alarm system for your home.”
“Another monthly bill? Can I pay for it in blood or cellulite? Because I’ve already told you I’m out of cash.”
“Then adopt a big dog or put some NRA stickers on the windows. Did you take any self-defense classes in Virginia?”
I wrapped my arms around my middle. “A few.” The self-defense classes wouldn’t have helped me on the night I was mugged, though. Not against a man with a gun. “I got my concealed carry license.”
He set his cup in the sink and took mine, too. “I know. I made a few calls after we met.” He didn’t have to say more. He knew my secret. He knew I was a victim.
I swallowed the lump of fear that came with those memories. “I don’t carry. I never did.”
Jack watched me, giving me time to say more, but I couldn’t, and he didn’t push. “If you ever want to go to the range, I’ll take you. It’s a good release when you’re tense, and it’s a confidence builder. Criminals tend to be lazy. If you look vigilant, they’ll find an easier hit.”
“The average criminal, maybe, but what about someone who’s already threatened me once?” I’d spent countless hours at the firing range in my lifetime, honing my concentration and steadying my nerves, but none of that would help me with my current problems. A burst of boldness squared my shoulders. “What are you really doing here? Driving me home. Coming in for coffee. Am I in danger right now? If so, you need to tell me.”
“I’m being proactive. If I’m with you the next time the tire popper makes a move, you’ll be safe and I’ll be a hero. Win-win.” He smeared a cocky grin across his face.
“Very chivalrous. Thank you. What if you’re wrong, and I’m not in any danger?” I begged him silently to say this was a possibility.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and frowned at the screen. He pressed his lips into a tight line and groaned. “I’ve got to go.”
“What? Why?”
“Lock up behind me.”
“Where are you going? You just said you were staying here to protect me.”
“There was another break-in on Magazine Street.” His gravelly voice sent chills over my skin.
I scampered along behind. “What? I thought Miguel was the one breaking into jewelry stores. Wait. Which shop? There aren’t any more jewelry stores on Magazine Street.”
He stopped on the porch and turned his phone to face me.
1211 Magazine Street
“That’s my store!”