CHAPTER FIVE
Jack refused to talk until they sat at her kitchen table. Glasses of iced tea dripping condensation and a plate of Debbie’s homemade oatmeal cookies lay between them. The sweet scent of cinnamon and nutmeg made Finn’s mouth water. She broke one in half and stuffed it into her mouth.
“How was your day?” he began pleasantly enough. “I got your voice mail, and Tommy kinda sorted it out for me. Not only is the woman you saw on the poster in the post office wanted by the FBI and on their Ten Most Wanted List, but you snapped her photo while she was adulterating. The kicker being the guy who came after you at Tommy’s last night was also in the shot. Have I got it right?”
“Yeah, pretty much. She's the one I photographed and she's definitely wanted by the FBI for embezzling. She also has a lovely butterfly tattoo on her left breast.”
He hooted. “Good to know if I ever get close enough to her to check it out.”
Finn took a sip of her tea and munched on her cookie. She wasn't going to say a word about the scarecrow or the fact she'd been back to the apartment building again. All best left unsaid.
“You're a font of information,” Jack said, eyeing her over the rim of his glass. He grabbed a cookie, gave it a sniff and stuffed it whole into his mouth.
Finn raised her brows. “Wow. Font. Kind of a big word for a dumb cop.”
He flashed a quick grin, still chewing. “You'd be surprised what I know.”
“I always am.”
“I have no idea what's going on with this FBI fugitive, though,” he admitted with a shake of his head. He wiped a crumb off his lower lip. “What the hell have you and Tommy got yourself into?”
Finn shrugged. “All I did was take some innocent pictures.”
“Innocent, my ass.”
“Maybe not innocent.” Finn set her tea down, in case the slippery glass fell from her hand when Jack dropped another bomb. He wore an anxious look which told her he was about to do exactly that. “What did you really come over here for?”
“I kept something from you the other night at the hospital.” He sat with his feet propped on one of Finn’s wooden, third generation slat-backed kitchen chairs, his tumbler of tea in one hand, and the fingers of his other hand drumming a tattoo on the tabletop. The curved shade of the opaque overhead lamp cast half his face in shadows. She didn’t miss the obvious look of impatience passing over his features, though. As if he wanted to be anywhere but here with her. She waited for the other shoe to drop.
Finn stared at him a moment anticipating his next words, when she glimpsed the renovated antebellum mansion next door and another problem leapt to the forefront of her beleaguered brain.
Debbie had left a note telling Finn she was going to the Arnauds'. Debbie was probably inside at this very moment trying to score with the Arnaud’s teenage son, Benjy, who even in Finn’s much older mind was a stone-cold hottie.
Yesterday when Debbie spotted him out the window washing his blue Corvette in the alley behind the house she texted Finn. She described him to Finn in intimate detail. Since he lived next door Finn knew good and well what he looked like, but Debbie insisted on repeating the information.
Shirtless, with his khaki shorts wet and clinging to his thighs and tiny butt, Debbie became instantly enamored. Finn read between the lines of text and diagnosed the first blush of infatuation in Debbie's desperation to tell her about her latest heartthrob.
It was the worst possible news. Considering what she knew about Debbie and her predilection for hormonally charged boys, this was definitely not a good thing. Dorie would have a heart attack if she found out.
Debbie could get into all kinds of trouble with another teenage boy. Finn narrowed her eyes at Jack’s sneaker-clad feet propped on the chair and attempted to pick up the thread of their lapsed conversation with an intelligent remark. “Huh?”
“I said,” Jack unnecessarily stated louder while grinning like a fool, “I forgot to tell you something the other night. Where did you wander off to?”
“Forgot to tell me or deliberately didn’t?”
“Deliberately didn’t.” He shrugged. “You were worried about Tommy and you obviously had other things on your mind, kind of like you do right now.”
She sighed. “It’s Debbie. If anything happens to her while she’s on my watch, Mom’ll kill me. I know she’s going to get into trouble with that cute Arnaud boy next door.”
“Your mom won’t kill you. No doubt she expects the worst.”
“Probably. So why are you really here?” Jack hadn’t stopped by to see her more than a few times in his adult life. Once when she had the flu he brought over soup, and once when he wanted to borrow Gert’s leaf blower. Now she’d seen him two days in a row. “Why didn’t you call?”
He put his glass down and dropped his feet to the cracked linoleum floor, elbows on his thighs, hands dangling between his knees. He stared at Finn. “Honestly? I didn’t want you to freak out on the phone.”
She snorted. “You’d rather freak me out in person? Are you kidding me? I think I can take it, whatever it is.”
“Get real. You don’t think anything else can freak you out?”
“Aside from seeing what I thought was a dead body? Aside from getting conked on the head? And,” she continued after taking a deep breath, “aside from seeing a woman I photographed on an FBI wanted poster at the post office? Hmm, what do you think?”
“Okay, chere, I get your point.” He chewed on his lower lip a minute, then placed his hands flat on his denim-clad thighs and sat up straight. “What I have to tell you is about you but don’t forget that FBI's Most Wanted woman. If she’s on their list, she’s big-time serious and could well be dangerous to anyone who finds out she’s here.”
Worry lines fanned out from his baby blues. Now she was concerned, too. She forced a smile she wasn’t feeling. “What is this thing that’s about me that’s going to freak me out?”
He blew out a slow breath. “When I went to investigate your crime scene I found a small voodoo doll.”
“Not a full-size scarecrow?”
“No. Huh? What are you talking about?”
“Nothing.”
“At the spot where your so-called body was supposed to be, I found a voodoo doll with your likeness.”
She leaned forward, intrigued and more than a little creeped out. “My likeness?”
“Yup, blue jean shorts, pink tee shirt, curly red hair, even a tiny pink baseball cap imprinted with New Orleans propped on its head. It wore miniature Mardi Gras beads around the neck.”
“That doesn’t seem like much,” Finn admitted. “Maybe I have a secret admirer. So what if it looked like me? That doesn’t mean it is me.”
He shook his head, his lips thinned. “Other than the fact that there was a rope tied around the neck and three pins were stuck in the chest? For some strange reason, that doesn’t sound like a secret admirer to me.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. A big damned oh. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t believe in that voodoo crap. And I don’t even think for a minute that your mojo is compromised or some other bull. I do think you’re on this guy’s radar. It was a straight forward warning to mind your own damn business, which,” he said, with a nod in her direction, “isn’t a bad idea.”
“Hey, I did my civic duty. I let you know,” she said pointing a finger at him. Mind her own damn business? Yeah, like that was going to happen. It was a good thing no one saw her this afternoon stalking a scarecrow. “I’m not going to do anything else.”
“I hope not. Had to let you know about the doll though.”
“Did you talk to the people living there?”
“Detective that I am, I knew the body, either alive or not, fake or real had to go someplace, so I talked to the landlord. He lives on the first floor of the building. There are three apartments there on the third floor.
“He told me he’d been home all day and hadn’t heard a thing. Of course, he's stone deaf and had the TV on loud enough to be heard across the river at Algiers Point.”
Finn smiled.
“He told me two brothers named La Fontaine live in Apartment One. The older one works at the French Market down on Decatur and the younger one drives a horse-drawn carriage in the Quarter.”
Finn nodded, urging him to continue.
“Apartment Two houses three young women. The guy gave me the universal hand gesture for a shapely woman.” Jack did the same thing with both hands and Finn nodded as she fought off a grin.
“He said he didn’t know where they worked and didn't care since they paid their rent on the first of the month without fail. The third place is rented to a sweet little old lady—his description—who was the first to rent an apartment when he divided up the house twenty years ago. She’s quiet and seldom leaves the place. He said she even has her groceries delivered.
“'I’ll probably have to call the morgue myself when she kicks the bucket',” he told me. “He said he’d hate to see her go since she’s never given him a bit of trouble and always pays her rent on time.
“I asked about the brothers since they seemed the likely suspects but he didn’t know if they were even home at the time.”
“Now what?” Finn asked.
“I detect. I try to track down these guys and see if they know anything. Nobody was home when I knocked on their door but I’ll try again tomorrow.” Jack got to his feet and stuck his hands in his back pocket. “In the meantime I want you to watch yourself. I’d say it wouldn’t be a bad idea to carry a gun but since you don’t know diddly-squat about guns it would be a bad idea.”
“I have Mace,” she volunteered, standing up to walk him to the door.
“Guess it’ll have to do.” He pulled his hands from his pockets, then turned and stopped with a grip on the doorknob. He winked at her. “According to Tommy, you swing a mean backpack.”
Finn cringed. “I’m afraid it’s God’s own truth.”
Jack opened the door and stepped out onto the dark stoop. He stared at Gert’s mini mansion, and shook his head.
“What?” she asked.
“Oh, it's your crazy aunt and that gigantic mausoleum she lives in.”
“You should be nicer. She had exceptionally good things to say about you this morning at breakfast. Tommy, too.”
“That's 'cause the woman is always on the prowl. I doubt we have anything to worry about. Neither of us has any money. Of course, we could be her pool boys. One at a time, of course.”
“Very funny.”
He raised one brow. “You don't think I can satisfy an older woman?”
“Let's not go there.”
“Whatever you say, chere. So what's the game plan now? It’ll be awhile before Tommy can hide in the bushes and take dirty pictures. ‘Course he’s always got you to do that.”
“And I'm available for birthdays and bar mitzvahs.” Finn laughed as she joined Jack outside the door, the sound of crickets chirping in the darkness. “Jack, I have a proposition for you if you’re interested.”
He turned to look at her, a twinkle in his eye. “I’m always interested in propositions.”
“Of course you are,” she agreed with a shake of her head. “Part of me living here rent free is I have to do yard work for Gert and I hate yard work. If you’ll come help me with it this weekend while she’s out cruising, I’ll cook for you. I can make—”
“Anything,” he said, interrupting her. “I’ll help with any yard work if I can get a home-cooked meal out of it. I eat take-out seven days a week.”
“How do you know it’ll be any good?”
He started down the walkway around the side of the house to the street where he’d parked his car. He stopped, turned to look at her and grinned. “I trust you. I have a feeling it’ll be great. Call and give me the where and when, I’ll be there.” He waved. “Later, chere.”
Finn stood staring after him. He forgot to tell her the good news.
***
Finn settled on the couch for a little serious one-on-one time with Debbie after a dinner of her own recipe for spicy beef stew. It was damned good if she said so herself.
Debbie turned away from the flickering TV screen. Some crazy reality show where the contestants chased each other from one third world country to another. She stared at Finn with a quizzical look on her bemused face, the light of a table lamp reflecting off her youthful face. “The stew was pretty good.”
“Thanks.”
“In spite of the sweet potatoes.”
“Thanks.”
“Those were sweet potatoes, weren’t they?”
Finn nodded.
“And beans?”
“Yep, black beans.”
“Not bad.”
This conversation couldn’t get much more inane. Still she appreciated it. Finn enjoyed Debbie’s company and for the first time in two days felt relaxed.
“I don’t like my food mixed together. Normally,” Debbie said, staring at her chipped nails. “You got remover?”
“In the bathroom medicine cabinet.”
“Boys think fingernail polish is sexy.” She got up to go to the bathroom. “I’m thinking about getting nipple rings. They think they’re sexy, too. Do you think it will hurt?”
“Definitely.” Oh, boy. She wasn’t prepared for these kinds of conversations.
Debbie sauntered to the bathroom staring hard at her nails when Finn’s phone chimed.
Saved by the bell.
“Hello.”
“Finn, darlin' girl, how are you?”
The baritone voice on the other end of the phone belonged to Wesley. Again? What was wrong with the man? Definitely not her favorite person. Okay, he was her least favorite person. On the planet. In the entire universe. To infinity and beyond. “Yeah, what is it?”
“How’s the world treating you?”
What did he want? They hadn’t spoken in two years, three months and seven days, but who was counting? She had enjoyed every silent minute. And, now, twice in one day? What was up with this guy?
“The reason I’m calling is, I know how you like the Neville Brothers. They’re playing at Tipitina’s and I was wondering if you’d like to go.”
She didn’t hear any humor in his voice, or sarcasm, or nastiness. If she wasn’t mistaken, he sounded sincere. Who was he kidding? She adored the Nevilles but it would be a cold day in Hell before she so much as crossed the street with him.
“You’re kidding. Right?”
“Is that Weasel Wesley?” whispered Debbie, as she entered the room holding a bottle of nail polish remover, several cotton balls and Finn’s newest bottle of polish, Flame Out Red.
Finn nodded, then rolled her eyes.
Debbie held out her free hand. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Shh.” Finn waved her away. If she couldn’t handle Wes, she should throw away her mom’s I Am Woman CD which she’d confiscated after falling in love with Helen Reddy’s ode to the liberated female.
“I used to think he was all that,” Deb continued, “with his Porsche, his wavy black hair, those outstanding green eyes, but, like, what a first-class jerk he turned out to be.”
Finn cupped her phone. “Debbie, shush please.”
“Finn, you still there?”
“I’m here. What do you want? Honestly?”
“I’m asking you out,” he said.
“No, really. What do you want?”
“Seriously, I'm asking you out.”
“Then no, I won’t go out with you.”
“Is next week good for you?”
Finn rolled her eyes. “No.”
“The Nevilles will be gone after that.”
“They live here, Wesley. I think they’ll be playing somewhere sometime. It doesn’t matter. I’m not going out with you.”
“I’ll check their schedule and get back to you.”
“No.”
“Talk soon, Finn.”
Finn ended the call and stared at the phone, then at Debbie. “Do you believe him? Asking me out?”
“He always had a ginormous ego. Wasn’t he, like, worried all the time about how he looked? I like the way he dressed, though, like a model or a movie star or, you know, a celebrity.”
“Looked like one, too,” Finn hated to admit. “He paid more for his haircuts than I ever did. I can’t believe you even noticed him. What were you? All of thirteen, fourteen?”
“Yeah.” Debbie plopped down beside her, after putting her nail supplies on the end table. She moved one bare foot to the coffee table. “Like it was always all about him. No offense, Finn, but I wondered what he saw in you.”
“None taken.” Finn grinned. “Maybe it was my sparkling personality? My oh-so-interesting jobs? How about my falling apart Bug?”
She grinned right back. “Ha, like all of the above, I’m sure.”
“It must have been my cat duty for Aunt Gert. Wes loved her cats, especially cleaning out the litter boxes.”
Deb snorted. She picked up a cotton ball and the polish remover. “Like I believe that.”
“All true, Debs. All true.”
The phone rang again and she jumped.
“Hello?” she answered tentatively.
“Is this Finnigan?” came a familiar, older female voice Finn couldn't quite identify.
“Yes?”
“What did you do to my baby boy?”
Ah. Mrs. Boyle. Tommy and Jack's mom. She was the mama bear of all mama bears. She still lived in the same house where they grew up, a widow with nothing better to do than interfere in their lives and make sure they were being good Catholic boys. She wanted wives for them and grandchildren and soon. Since both of her boys refused to comply, she grabbed every opportunity to turn the situation around.
“Mrs. Boyle, I'm so sorry. It was an accident.”
“Call me Evie, hon.”
As if she could. She’d been Mrs. Boyle when Finn was a little girl and Mrs. Boyle she would forever be.
“I tried talking to Tommy when I came over to his place with my shrimp and eggplant bake but he was so drugged out on pain medication, he made absolutely no sense. He told me you pushed him down a flight of stairs. Is that the truth?”
“No. God, no. It was an accident.”
“I figured as much. You Jones girls would never hurt my boys.”
Finn wouldn't. She wasn't so sure about either of her sisters.
“Had to make sure. How's your folks doing down there in Florida?”
“They're good. Enjoying their retirement.”
“Good for them. Give them my love the next time you talk.”
“I will.”
“And in the meantime, don't be pushing any of my boys down any more steps.” Finn detected a slight amused tone.
“I'll try.”
“You do that, chere. Now take care. Bye-bye.”
“Mrs. Boyle. Tommy's mom,” Debbie said. “Was she giving you what for?”
“I think she thought I pushed Tommy down the stairs on purpose.”
“As if.”
“Exactly.” She went to put her phone down when it rang again. She was Miss Popularity tonight. “Hello?”
“My favorite private eye,” came Tommy’s familiar voice. “I’d say private dick but it is so wrong.”
“Tommy, how are you?”
“Honestly? I feel like I fell down a flight of stairs.”
“That's funny. You did.”
“Oh, yeah. I did. That explains the cast on my leg. And the naked women dancing around my apartment.”
“Naked women?”
“Not quite. They are wearing neon green g-strings.”
“Tommy?” Now she was worried. As she stood up and reached for her car keys, he said, “I think it’s the pain meds. And, Jonesy, I plan on being in pain a long, long time.”
“Oh, thank God, Tommy, you scared me there for a minute. By the way, your mama called.”
“Sorry. What did she blame you for? Her long labor with me? My lack of reproducing genes? Or was it the broken leg?”
“She said you told her I pushed you down the stairs. On purpose.”
“Oh, Lordy. That woman.”
“I straightened her out. I think.”
“Good. You ready to go out again?”
“Oh, yeah. Can’t wait. Soon I’ll be tooling around in my beat-up VW taking lots of dirty pictures.”
“Ain’t life grand?”
“Can’t complain,” she said. “What happened with your hot clandestine affair?”
“Oh, man, I wish I was having a hot clandestine affair.”
“You know what I mean. Is the job off now that you’re incapacitated?”
“No,” he said. She heard him sigh. “It’s postponed until I’m back on both my feet.”
“They’re willing to wait for you then?”
Tommy laughed. She heard him clomping around the room, then a heartfelt sigh as he sat down. “They’re willing to wait for the best damn PI in New Orleans, hell, the best damn PI in the state of Louisiana, that’s f’sure.”
Finn grinned. “F’sure.”
They finished talking and Finn plopped down on the couch. Could she quiz Debbie about the Arnaud’s teenage son and her intentions toward him without causing the girl to go ballistic? Maybe she could bribe her with food, homemade pralines or almond macaroons but if she remembered correctly, Debbie hated almonds.
“Benji Arnaud is hot,” Debbie stated as she removed the chipped polish from her nails saving Finn the problem of how to broach the touchy subject.
“Oh?”
Debbie picked up the TV remote and muted the sound. She curled one bare leg beneath her, and gazed at the screen where a pair of hefty guys were traipsing through a cornfield. “Oh, yeah. Hot.”
“And what are your intentions toward him?”
Debbie giggled. “Intentions? You sound like Dorie.”
“Sorry, but I am responsible for you.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Uh-huh, so what are you thinking about him?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“What about Freddy?”
Debbie rolled her eyes. “Freddy’s hundreds of miles away. I still love Freddy but he’s, like, not here and Benji is right next door. Isn’t that great?”
“Yeah, you’re right, it's wonderful.” What could be wrong with agreeing with her? “He's right next door.”
Her face took on a faraway look. “Finn, have you ever been in love?”
“When I was about your age, I had a majorly crush on Jack Boyle. Majorly. I thought I was in lo-ove.”
“Did he know?”
“Probably.”
“Wasn’t Emmy dating him then?”
“Yes, but it didn’t stop me from crushing on him.”
“Did you tell him?”
Finn’s mouth fell open. “Are you crazy? Emmy would have killed me if she thought I was trying to steal Jack away from her.”
“Hmmm.” Debbie’s gaze wandered to the TV where a couple was now having a heated argument about whose turn it was to drive. Such serious problems. “I would have told him.”
“You, Debbie, are bolder than I ever was.”
She shook her head. “I, like, you know, go for what I want. I don’t let anything stop me. If you really wanted Jack, you’d have done the same. It’s not too late, you know.”
“Who are you? Dr. Ruth?”
She turned to look at Finn with a quizzical expression on her face. “Who’s Dr. Ruth?”
“The Dr. Phil of a few years ago. Go ahead and make me feel a hundred years old. How old are you anyway?” she asked rhetorically.
“Seventeen,” she stated as if Finn could forget.
“I think you’re a little young to be handing out unwanted advice to your older sister who, by the way, is way over her crush on Jack Boyle. And don’t forget Emmy has a nasty temper. She would have had a cow if I’d made a move on Jack. She has a mean left hook.”
“Oh, yeah, right. Like she’d have hit you.”
Finn stared at Debbie. She forgot how much younger she was. Apparently, she didn't remember being around Emmy when she had one of her hissy fits. “If Emmy thought I was after her boyfriend, she would have slapped me silly. Then complained to Dorie how I was picking on her and being mean. I’d have ended up grounded, even though I was the one with the black eye and the swollen cheek. She knows how to manipulate things to her own advantage.”
“Come on.” Debbie stared at her. “Did that really happen?”
“Twice.” She recalled times in her teens when she honestly hated Emmy.
“Maybe I’ll have Benji run me over by the house and, like, you know, see what’s up with her.” She held up her left hand in front of her face and checked to make sure the old polish was off.
“You can try but she’s out of town,” Finn said. “In the south of France with an up-and-coming politician. So, Debs, tell me about Benji. How old is he?”
Debbie clasped her hands to her chest. “He’s seventeen just like me, has his own car, a Corvette, and he promised to show me around town.”
Finn grinned. “You already know your way around town.”
“He doesn’t know that. Besides it’s changed since Katrina.”
“Unfortunately, that’s true but we’re getting there.”
“He’s so hot, I’d like to get my hands on him and—”
“Hold it!” Finn jumped to her feet. “Wait one damned minute!”
Debbie jumped to her feet and threw her arms around Finn keeping her sticky fingers away from Finn’s shirt. “Gotcha.”
Finn backed up so she could look into her sparkling caramel brown eyes. “What?”
“I’m kidding, Finn. Besides he said he’s seeing someone else but, you know, he also said it’s not serious. She’s probably some Mardi Gras princess with a humungous trust fund, a tight butt and Botoxed lips.”
Finn twisted around to look at Debbie’s backside. “Your butt is plenty tight.”
Debbie frowned. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know,” Finn said with a knowing grin.
“Oh.”
Finn pulled her back into her arms. “Gotcha.”
“I guess I deserved that,” Debbie grumbled against Finn’s shoulder.
“Please promise me you won’t go crazy with Benji.”
“Go crazy?”
“You know what I mean. No sex.”
“I’ll try but I can’t make any promises.” She rolled her eyes heavenward and then gave Finn a goofy smile. “He is so-o yummy.”
God. Finn was so-o in trouble.
***
Jack left his third story Upper Pontalba apartment on Jackson Square with a to-go cup of coffee. He bounded onto the street to walk to work. He’d remained forever on the waiting list for the pricey apartment, but what else did he have to spend his money on? He didn’t gamble, or care about clothes or cars. The car he owned, a twelve-year-old Camry, didn’t often get out of the parking garage where he stored it. He had no hobbies unless he included rocking back with a cold Abita in front of ESPN. He didn’t have time for anything else.
The place was ideal, close to work, restaurants and most everything else he needed. Women thought the four-story red brick building was cool because of its history and location in the heart of the French Quarter. He simply liked the convenience. Impressing women was merely a bonus.
As soon as he sat down in his chair at the precinct, Jack got a call from the coroner’s office. A floater who vaguely fit the description of the body Finn had seen during her walking tour. He was identified as thirty-nine-year-old Simon La Fontaine, a part-time carriage driver with one former conviction for attempting to blackmail a tourist after eavesdropping on a conversation while driving him around the Quarter.
Jack shook his head. Why were people so stupid as to talk about anything that could be cause for blackmail while riding in a damned horse-drawn carriage?
Then he smacked his forehead, remembering where he'd heard the name before.
Simon La Fontaine, along with his brother, Peter, lived in one of the apartments where Finn saw her so-called dead body and where he'd found the voodoo doll.