CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Finn stuck her key in the lock of her Bug. An arm came around behind her and caught her around the neck. She screeched.
“You, devil woman, take it back, you.”
Finn struggled and managed to duck beneath the arm. She shuffled away to the front of her car, breathing hard. She yanked her backpack off and rummaged through it. “How do you people keep finding me?”
“What you mean? You people?”
“Who are you and what the hell do you want?” She astounded herself with her calm. Maybe being hungover had its advantages.
“I’m Peter La Fontaine. You killed my brother, and put de spell on my personals, me. Take it back, you.”
He started for her, his eyes wild, his clothes disarrayed. He smelled as if he hadn’t bathed in weeks and his breath, quite possibly worse than her own, could knock down a Clydesdale in mid-gallop.
When he reached for her again, she stepped into him and wrestled him to the ground. She found the pepper spray in her pack and liberally sprayed him. For good measure, she kneed him in the groin. Panting she sat back on the asphalt. His eyes watered, his nose ran. He started howling like a baby as he clutched his groin. “You is crazy.”
Finn hadn’t thought she could feel worse. This idiot managed it. She leaned over him and patted her backpack. “I have a knife in here. You think things are bad now, but I promise I’ll castrate you if you don’t leave me alone. There are worse things than not getting it up.”
She pushed herself to her feet, brushed off the seat of her pants and held the pepper spray above him. “And, for the record, I didn’t kill your brother.”
She leaned into her Bug. She pressed the stupid little horn for a solid minute which brought Jack running and Tommy, still dressed in nothing but plaid boxers, hobbling behind him.
La Fontaine pointed at Finn. “I say she’s evil, her. She’s a evil voodoo priestess who done stole away my manhood.”
Jack pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He called for backup while managing a slight grin.
Tommy chuckled. “What’s he talking about?”
“I don’t care.” Finn got in her car and slammed the door behind her. “I’m drunk and annoyed. I’m outta here.”
“What’ll we tell the cops?” Tommy asked.
“Tell them,” she said as she stared at the two brothers, “that an evil voodoo priestess put a spell on him that made him impotent and if she stayed around any longer, she threatened to do the same to any man within ten feet of her.”
“Whoa,” Jack said, pocketing his phone and backing away. “I promise to be good from now on.”
Finn started her car and backed out of her parking space. She rolled down her window. “Like I believe that.”
“Are you good to drive?”
“Good enough.”
***
Finn was as hungover as she’d ever been in her life. She felt sorry for herself and didn’t mind admitting it. She sat on a park bench outside Jackson Square watching the tourists walk by and listening to a jazz band that had set up on the steps in front of the Cathedral.
Franco was in jail. No, he was in the hospital with an armed guard who was probably unnecessary. She didn’t care but thought it was some kind of crazy karma that he was as violently allergic to poison ivy as Jack was. At least he was no longer able to harass anyone. That anyone being Finn.
Margaret Jane Barron was gone, according to her sister whom Jack was able to track down and talk to. Barron didn’t tell her sister all the details, but what she did know was that she’d bought an illegal passport with a fake name and left for an unknown island in the Caribbean that didn’t have an extradition treaty with the U.S. government.
That crazy loon, Peter La Fontaine, was either in jail or in a mental hospital. Either way, he was out of her hair.
Debbie was going home to Florida tomorrow to start her junior year of high school. Benjy Arnaud was devastated but his mother thought he would live.
Since Finn had finished her morning walking tour, she had nowhere to go, no classes to attend. Neither a nagging headache nor wallowing in feeling sorry for herself took much energy.
The beautiful, sunny day only added to her irritation. It should at least be overcast and gloomy to match her mood. Rain, no, thunderstorms would be better.
Getting kicked out of culinary school had crushed the life right out of her.
She’d spent one day crying. She then kicked herself in the butt and told herself to get over it. Life would go on, not that she cared all that much. She felt hollow inside. Her dream, for the moment, seemed unattainable.
Finn looked up. She shook her head as the one and only Margaret Jane Barron sashayed toward her with a big smile on her face. “Not you again. I thought you were gone. Where’s the fake gun? Gonna try and kidnap me again right here?” She waved her hand around at the crowds of people. “In front of all these tourists?”
“No,” she said. Dressed in a fawn-colored skirt and jacket, she looked as out of place in Jackson Square as a pirate at a tea party. “I came to apologize. In person.”
Finn eyed her as she sat down next to her, casually crossed her legs and tugged at her skirt. “Oh? I thought you did that already.”
“Honestly. I didn’t feel like it was fair to you to apologize over the phone or while you were working.” She studied Finn a moment, and then gazed across the plaza at two children hop-scotching up and down the Cathedral steps. “I lost my head here in New Orleans. It must be the heat. I’m so not used to it.” She wiped a bead of sweat coursing down her brow.
“Uh-huh. The heat.” Finn was skeptical. She’d been abused by this woman and didn’t much appreciate it. “A phone apology was fine.”
“I used to work at a bank.”
“That’s where you stole the money?” Was she actually having a calm, normal conversation with a woman on the FBI’s Most Wanted list? She eyed a pair of New Orleans’ finest as they strolled past.
Margaret saw Finn watching the police. “You could turn me in, but I promise you will never see or hear from me again after today.”
“Oh-kay.” Finn wondered if she was agreeing to something illegal.
“I’m a nice person or at least I used to be. Taking the money was the easy part. I told myself I deserved it after all the years I gave to them. I worked my way up from teller to loan officer. I was a good girl, did what I was told, worked long hours. My job was my life. I never married, hell, I hardly even dated. I never had kids even though I would have loved to. Instead the bank was it, my whole existence. So after twenty years, what do they do? They promoted Poindexter Adams over me. That was my job as a vice-president and they gave it to that little dweeb.”
“Poindexter?”
“No kidding, his real name. His so-called friends called him Dex. I never called him anything but Poindexter, the moron. He only worked there five years but he sucked up to the bosses like a Hoover. He had the nerve to tell me he thought I deserved the job, but, hey, better luck next time.”
“So, that’s when you took the money?”
“Oh, no, I’d been doing that for years. That was the thing that pushed me over the edge.”
“Over the edge?”
“Yep. I took everything I could get my hands on and walked out.”
“Don’t they audit banks periodically?”
Her eyes gleamed with cunning. “Oh, there are ways around all that if you know what you’re doing. I’m pretty smart ordinarily. And I was not a happy camper. It’s amazing what a woman can do when she’s really motivated.”
“Wow.”
“Thank you.”
“I mean, don’t you have any remorse? The money’s not yours.”
“Grow up. The money is mine now. It’s in an offshore account and unless I get picked up here in this hellhole, it’s all mine.”
“What do you want with me?”
“I want to say I’m sorry is all. I’m sorry I scared you. I’m sorry I scared your sister but she scared me almost as much. She’s a wildcat.”
“She is,” Finn agreed.
“I’m sorry I kidnapped you. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m sorry I chased you through the streets of this God-forsaken town.”
“We’re hardly God-forsaken.”
She continued as if she hadn’t heard Finn. “I’m sorry I ever got involved with Johnny Franco. I thought he was harmless, a fun guy who’d give me a good time and then I’d be on my way once I said good-bye to my sister. I’m really sorry I told him about the money.”
“Not exactly the way you wanted it to turn out.”
“Not exactly.” She got to her feet. “I never thought he’d murder anyone because of me, or even for the money. I don’t think he cared about me at all, I think it was always the money. Money is the root of all evil.”
“I think the quote is, ‘love of money is the root of all evil.’”
“Makes more sense when you think about it.”
“You would know,” Finn said.
“Good-bye. Have a nice life.”
“Yeah.”
Finn was still contemplating Margaret Barron when a shadow crossed before her.
“I heard.”
Finn looked up, shading her eyes from the sun’s glare. Emmy, looking as gorgeous and cool as a runway model, stared down at her. She sat beside her, leaned over and gave her a tight hug. She seemed not to care that she might mess the silk scarf knotted around her neck or wrinkle her creamy linen shirt and pants. She held on to Finn, disregarding the tears leaking from Finn’s eyes.
“You’re back from the south of France.” Finn didn’t know if she was more surprised that she had any tears left or that Emmy was beside her trying to make her feel better. “How’d you find out?”
She laughed, a deep, sexy sound that made heads turn. “I knew you were going to cooking school already. Tommy let it slip one day over lunch. He was so bedazzled by my looks he let it drop. He called me about what happened at the school.”
“I should have known,” Finn said in a muffled voice against Emmy’s narrow shoulder. “You can let me go now.”
She released her hold, then held her by the shoulders and took in her reddened eyes, pink tee, denim shorts and out-of-control curls. “South of France? I wish. I was in Cleveland, Ohio working.”
“What?” Finn asked.
“I love you,” she said, tears gleaming in her eyes.
“I know.”
“I know I don’t act like it. I never say it. I’m way cool and act like I know what I’m doing all the time.”
“You do. You are.”
“It’s all a big act. I honestly don’t have a clue.”
“You’re a terrible sister.”
“True. But I do keep track of you through Tommy and Jack.”
Finn sighed. “Why didn’t you call Debbie? She waited and waited for you. You broke her heart.”
One lone tear rolled down her flawless cheek. “I was afraid.”
“Afraid? You? Afraid of what? She’s just a kid. She doesn’t understand.”
“I don’t understand either. I’m seeing a therapist because I don’t know why I do the things I do. I alienate the people who love me the most. I’m such a bitch.”
Finn nodded. “It’s true. You are.”
Emmy gave a shaky laugh. “I keep busy so I don’t have to deal with my feelings. According to my therapist, the reason I have three jobs and work eighty hours a week is avoidance. If I work and wear myself out, I don’t have to deal with messy emotional relationships like family. It’s why I date so many men, so I won’t get attached to any one of them. People, especially family, know me, know my history and if I don’t talk to them, I don’t have to worry anyone will delve beyond the outer shell.”
“Wow, you got all that from a therapist? I could have told you that for free.”
“Not if I didn’t talk to you, you couldn’t. That’s my point.” A watery smile lifted her lips. “See, I’d rather pay a fortune to a stranger than have to deal with you guys.”
“But Debbie, she doesn’t understand.”
“I’ll call her. I promise.”
“How did you find me here anyway?”
“I knew you had a tour this afternoon so I waited until you’d finished, and then followed you here.”
“Damn, you could have saved yourself the trouble. I’m not good company.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not either. You can rant and rave about it or about me being a first class bitch. Either way, I’m here for you.”
“Who are you and what have you done with my sister?”
“Very funny.”
“Better late than never.”
“So they say. Whoever they is.” She wrapped her arm around Finn. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve cried my eyes out. I’m sick of feeling sorry for myself. I’m sick of myself. The head chef instructor said I could come back, maybe, in the next term.”
“That’s good. Isn’t it? Isn’t this what you want? Tommy says your cooking’s fantastic. Jack says so, too.”
“Even though I poisoned him?”
“You didn’t know he was allergic to that spice. Even he didn’t know. It could have happened to anyone.”
“Yeah, it could have but it happened to me. To me. I’ve never had the confidence you do. You’ve always been perfect. Except for the bitchy part, I mean.”
“Have you been listening to a word I’ve been saying? It’s all a great big fat act.”
“But look at you.” She gestured from Emmy’s Jimmy Choo-clad feet to her trendy hundred-dollar haircut.
“Come on. It’s only the shell. It’s not who I am. On the inside I’m insecure, thoughtless, and mean-spirited.”
“It all comes out now.”
Emmy laughed, then punched Finn in the shoulder. She got to her feet, reaching for her hand. “Come on. Let’s get your fortune told. My treat.”
Finn stood up, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. “Oh, joy. Even more good news.”
“You never know.”
They strolled over to the nearest fortune-teller, one of many set up around the square.
She watched as they approached, her Tarot cards and crystal gazing ball spread out before her on a small folding table covered by an orange-fringed tablecloth and shaded by the trees overhead.
She had long black, straggly hair and wore the de rigueur costume of fortune-tellers everywhere—multi-colored broomstick skirt, colored tank, and tons of rings, bangles and necklaces.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“You can,” Emmy assured her with a bright smile. She pushed Finn into the folding chair opposite the fortune-teller. “My sister needs her fortune told. She’s had a really bad week. Maybe some good news will help cheer her up.”
“There are no guarantees in the spirit world,” she warned in an ominous tone.
“Do your best.” Emmy glared at her until her eyes widened. She visibly shivered as if a ghost had walked over her grave. “What do you call yourself?”
“Jane.”
Okay. Finn thought they all were Madame this or Madame whatever.
Jane ignored the Tarot cards and crystal ball. She took Finn’s hand and turned it palm up. “You have heartache.”
“Got that right.” Finn nodded in agreement.
“But it will clear up soon. Your love life...”
“What love life?” Finn asked, rolling her eyes.
“Shut up, Finn, and let the woman work.”
“You will meet a tall, dark stranger.”
“Ha. I work as a tour guide. I meet tall, dark strangers every day.”
The woman stared at Finn, her darkly shadowed eyes penetrating through Finn’s sarcastic thoughts.
“Okay, all right, I’ll shut up.”
“Good idea,” Emmy said.
“No, no.” She shook her head, her lips pursed. “I’m reading it wrong. You aren’t going to meet a tall, dark stranger. You already know a tall, dark man who will change your life.”
“How?” Finn wondered. “Who?”
“You are on the cusp of change.”
“Do you see food in my future? A restaurant?”
“That would be your financial line. I’m looking at your love line.”
Finn rolled her eyes again. This was the generic fortune she was getting? “Do you have specifics?”
“I see a Pisces in your future. I also see death.” Jane stole an apprehensive look at Emmy, then shrugged her shoulders. “I can only read what’s there.”
“At least I’m not a Pisces. Go on.” Emmy placed her hands on her hips and tapped the toe of her expensive shoe.
“Not your death,” she said, “or the death of a loved one, but someone you know.”
Oh, no. No, no, no, no. Enough death already!
Jane turned Finn’s hand, so that she held it cupped in the two of hers. “I see love.”
“Is this Pisces the love you see?” Finn wanted to know.
“Only the Fates know that.”
“Who do we know who’s a Pisces?”
Emmy shook her head, then handed over a wad of bills and thanked the strange woman. Finn got to her feet and they walked away.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Emmy said taking Finn’s hand.
“I doubt it. Even I don’t know what I’m thinking.”
“Things look bleak right now. But you’ve still got your tour guide job and your job with Tommy. You’ve got me and Debbie and you’ve always got Dorie and Dan. And Aunt Gert. And Uncle Finis and Uncle Neville. You have family who loves you. Jack and Tommy, too. Even though they’re men and clueless, they’ll always have your back.”
“I know.”
“You’ll get back in school and someday you’ll have your own place and all of this will be behind you. You’ll be rich and famous and you’ll have a waiting list of six months to get a table at your very own spectacular restaurant.”
“Now you’re the fortune-teller?”
“You wait and see if I’m not right.”
“From your mouth to God’s ear.” Finn smiled. She squeezed her hand. “Thanks, Emmy.”
It sounded wonderful.
Some day.
First she had to get back into culinary school.