Chapter Eleven

Furry Godmother encourages good posture; otherwise the crown slips.

I had to park around the corner from Furry Godmother, but I managed to snag the last spot on the block, so I called it a win. I’d hoped to arrive in time to fill the bakery display and tidy up after yesterday’s crowds, but I’d spent more time talking to Jack than I’d realized, and it was nearing ten when I landed on Magazine Street. Instead of having my pick of parking, I had to outmaneuver every other business owner and employee who was also running a bit late for a ten AM opening. Early-bird shoppers were already drifting through the doors of local cafés, toting iced coffees and pastry bags with their leftover breakfast items inside. I had to hustle if I was going to make my shop presentable before it got too busy to bother.

Much as I wanted to grumble about people who rolled out of bed ready for a public appearance and a little shopping before noon, I could appreciate the benefits. Like being able to breath the air instead of bathe in it.

My meticulously blown-out hair was stuck to my neck, cheeks, and forehead before I rounded the corner at the Frozen Banana smoothie shop. I stopped in front of the open glass doors, and the arctic blast of air-conditioning called to me. Sweet scents of spun sugar, fresh-baked waffle cones, and homemade fudge rolled out and tugged me closer. Frozen Banana was delicious any time of day and my favorite place to go when I was in a mood. For two extra dollars, they’d add a shot of coconut rum to my pineapple-and-orange smoothie. No judgment. And it was amazing. I slowed at the threshold, debating a frozen coffee but unsure how I’d carry it with the stack of bakery boxes already in my hands.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” a scratchy voice asked. The sound was about three octaves lower than any I’d ever heard pose the question.

I stepped back a few paces and twisted at the waist in search of the person that went with the voice. A homeless man under a pile of coats despite the raging heat sat beside the Frozen Banana’s door. I craned my neck for a look at him around my stack of boxes. I hadn’t noticed him until he spoke, but now he had my full attention. “Actually, I do,” I answered, leaning in for a better look at the shiny crown on his ratty hair. The little silver accessory was strikingly familiar, and the design pattern of its Swarovski crystal accents bore an uncanny resemblance to a crown I’d had inside my little pink tackle box last night. The thought made no sense because I’d lost the tackle box at the Tea Room near the zoo, a long way from here. Though he certainly could have taken a walk in that direction, it seemed strange that he’d wound up on the sidewalk so near my shop.

“I like your crown,” I said.

“Thank you.” He stuck his hands out at me, as if to show off a new manicure. “Do you like my new rings?”

I squinted against the sunlight and dropped into a squat just out of the man’s reach. His breath nearly knocked me over, more from the sharp tang of alcohol than poor hygiene, which was another issue all its own. From my new vantage point I could clearly see a row of sticky-backed gems clinging haphazardly to his dirty forehead and a shimmer of glimmer paint across his bronzed skin. I’d used gems exactly like his to decorate Penelope’s hard plastic carrier. They’d been in my tackle box too, along with a matching bottle of shimmer.

The man’s eyelids drooped, then his head, and he began to snore.

“Sir?” I said. “Excuse me, sir?”

He didn’t respond, so I stood and nudged him with the toe of my white leather pump, lightly at first, then a little harder.

“Hey!” I gave his thigh a series of little kicks until his eyes opened again.

“Do I look pretty?”

I put my foot securely back under me and baby-stepped away. “Yes. Very pretty. Can you tell me where you got your beautiful tiara and makeup?”

“They were gifts from Her Highness.”

“Who?” I scanned the street for signs of someone fitting the regal description. All I saw were tourists. “Who is Her Highness?”

“The paper lady,” he said, swinging an arm in the direction of my store.

“Paper lady?” I took a few steps in that direction, and my overturned tackle box came into view on the ground beside the bench outside my shop door. The shadow of someone just inside sent a rush of panic through me. “Thank you,” I told the man as I speed-walked toward Furry Godmother, trying not to topple my bakery boxes in the rush.

I stopped, speechless, a moment later and stared.

There was no one inside like I’d thought. The shadow I’d seen was only a near life-sized paper cut out in the shape of a person taped to my door. She was covered in sticky beads, wore a scribbled-on paper crown, and had dark-black Xs for eyes, like the ones stitched onto the stuffed cat I’d been delivered. Unlike the cat, the paper lady had a lolling red tongue hanging from the straight line that represented her mouth, and she’d been thoroughly hosed over with red craft paint.

The part of me who was still grasping at straws insisted this wasn’t a threat either, it was just really bad art, but the rest of me wasn’t listening to the lie.

My knees knocked painfully as I lowered the boxes onto the bench and freed my phone from my handbag. I took photos of the threat, as was my new daily routine, and sent them to Jack, then sat beside my bakery boxes. I wasn’t sure if opening the door and going inside would contaminate the crime scene.

What I knew for sure was that it was going to be a long day.

Jack arrived nine minutes later and drove partially onto the sidewalk instead of looking for a proper parking space. He jumped out in jeans and a T-shirt, detective badge in place, mirrored aviators hiding his eyes. “You okay?”

I nodded to assure him I was, but my mouth still said “No.”

“You’re smart to sit out here and keep watch,” he said. “You’re safer in public, and your presence probably kept some derelict from taking any of the evidence.”

I went along with the idea I was “keeping watch” instead of what I really was, too scared to move.

He crouched by the toppled tackle box. “This the one you were missing?”

“Yep.”

“Any witnesses?” he asked, looking at the curious faces all around. No one spoke up.

I pointed to the heap of coats by the Frozen Banana. “That guy is wearing one of my crowns, and he told me about the paper lady. I don’t know if he saw anything or if he helped himself to the bling.”

Jack stretched onto his feet. “All right. I’ll bag this up, then you can go ahead and open for the day, if that’s what you want to do. I’ll talk to the guy with the crown when I finish. Doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere.”

I watched while Jack returned to his truck and pulled his black shoulder bag out with a yank. He snapped on blue latex gloves and bagged the items on the sidewalk first, smoothing yellow labels over each and scratching his initials in the corners.

Imogene stepped through the little cluster of people at the corner beside Jack’s truck and gasped long and loud when she saw the mess. She grasped the pendant on her necklace as she inched closer to the door. “Have mercy,” she whispered. The paper lady was about Imogene’s height, and the two seemed to stare one another down. “This meant for you?” she asked, flicking her gaze in my direction.

“Unless you’ve got a crafty enemy,” I said hopefully.

Imogene looked into the sky, closed her eyes, and mumbled something incoherent with one hand raised overhead. Then she got busy digging through her mammoth handbag.

Jack peeled the paper lady off the window and rolled her carefully. “This paint is getting all over.” He looked at me as he stuffed her into a large bag. “Paint that hasn’t fully dried in this heat couldn’t have been here too long.”

That sparked another question in my mind. “How’d you get here so fast?” I asked. He must’ve left Grandpa Smacker’s right behind me to have changed and gotten here so quickly. My search for parking and chitchat with the homeless prince hadn’t amounted to more than ten minutes.

“I left right after you. Got the texts that you needed me when I was already en route to the Tea Room.”

“You were in a suit thirty minutes ago. How’d you have time to change? Do you keep an extra detective costume at the office?”

He looked down at himself and frowned. “I keep a couple of suits at the office. I like to come and go in my detective costume.”

I smiled.

Jack stuffed the evidence into his black shoulder bag and rolled his shoulders. “You’re going to need to lay low until I can get a handle on who’s doing this,” he said. “I know you’re going to argue, but please don’t.”

“How am I supposed to lay low?” I asked.

He blew out a gust of frustration.

“I’m a judge at the pageant that got this nut’s attention to start with.”

“Quit.”

“Can’t. My mother will kill me.” Better to take my chances with the murderer.

He smiled.

Imogene pulled a stick of wood from her handbag, then flicked a sliver lighter to life and lit the stick’s end.

Jack and I watched, dumbstruck.

“You carry sticks in your purse?” I asked.

She waved it at me. “This isn’t a stick. It’s a plane of Palo Santo, holy wood. It’ll help clean up all that bad juju you’ve got going on right here.” She dropped the lighter back into her purse, then swung her empty palm in giant circles, indicating my entire self.

I choked on the string of stinky smoke coming off her stick as she marched around me.

“Stop,” I whined, gagging on the cloudy air.

Jack stepped out of her way as she went for a second pass.

Imogene stopped on the third trip and stood in front of me to blow out the stick. She held it across her palms like an offering. “Spit on it, then keep it under your pillow and light it as needed to defend your juju.”

“I’m not spitting on anything,” I said, pinching my face into a knot. “I love you, but that’s just bonkers, and why would I want to keep something I spit on under my pillow? Hard pass.”

She moved the gaze of her forlorn brown eyes from my face to the stick and back.

“Jeez.” I reached for the stick. “I’ll keep it under my pillow, but I won’t spit on it, okay?” If someone managed to get the jump on me while I was sleeping, I could always club them in the head.

Imogene gave me the stick, then hugged me tight while the smoke cleared.

Mom popped into view over Imogene’s shoulder, looking as if she was ready to club someone already. “What’s going on?”

“You called my mother?” I asked Imogene. I wasn’t completely surprised. I just hadn’t seen her use her phone, and she’d been here only a few minutes.

Mom headed for Jack. “How could you let this happen?”

“I called as soon as I knew,” he said.

My jaw dropped. Jack called my mother?

I made a face at him.

“You and I had an agreement,” she barked at him. “You’re supposed to keep her safe, and you’re supposed to keep these sorts of things from happening.”

A man in the crowd raised his phone in Mom’s direction and held it there.

Jack pointed a finger at the man’s face without taking his eyes off my mother.

The man put the phone in his pocket.

I reached for the door to my shop. “Why don’t we take this inside?” I asked, before footage of my usually poised mother berating a New Orleans detective went viral.

Jack nodded, and I turned the deadbolt to let us in.

I locked up behind us, then spun on Mom. “What are you doing? Jack is not my keeper, and it’s completely unfair of you to task him with something so ridiculous. He has an entire city to keep tabs on already, and I’m a grown woman. I don’t need a babysitter.”

Jack, Imogene, and Mom muttered a jumble of words that sounded a lot like agreement on all sides. They all thought I needed a babysitter.

I dropped my head back and growled at no one, then refixed my attention on Mom. “I’ve told you before. You can’t just assign a local detective to be personally responsible for my safety,” I said.

She and Jack exchanged a look.

“She didn’t,” he said. “I offered.”

“What?” When had Jack and my mother spoken about me? Why hadn’t either of them mentioned it?

Jack’s jaw went stiff and his stance rigid. The air around us grew uncomfortably thick.

Mom clapped her hands softly. “Enough of this for now,” she said, dragging a pointed gaze to Jack. “I would like to know what’s going on with Eva. I’m having trouble reaching her, but I’d like to ask her to return to the committee, if that’s okay.”

“It’s fine with me,” he said. “She was released after making her official statement, but she remains a person of interest. She’s free to do as she pleases, but she’s still our strongest suspect at this time.”

“Great,” Mom said through gritted teeth and a forced smile. She turned on her toes for another look at me. “What are you doing about it? Don’t say nothing, because I know you’re lying. People who are doing nothing don’t get bloody-looking paper ladies glued to their door.”

“I’m going to talk to Eva as soon as I can,” I said, forcing the image of the dripping red paint out of my head. “Maybe she’s remembered something else since giving her statement, or maybe she’ll be willing to open up to someone she knows personally.”

“Good idea,” Mom said. She lifted her chin at Jack. “I have to go. Try not to let anything else happen to my little girl, or I’ll be forced to make good on our agreement.”

“Mom,” I started, having no idea where to go from there.

She turned back to me with narrowed eyes. “What are you wearing? That is not what I asked you to wear,” she said. “I swear if you were any more stubborn, you would’ve been born a bull.”

I tugged the short bell of my skirt in both hands. “It’s blue.”

“It’s navy. Navy is not pastel, and I’m done with this song and dance. My stylist will deliver a rolling rack of appropriate outfits to your dressing room immediately. Choose from there.”

“I have a dressing room?”

Mom rolled her eyes in a heated tizzy, then pointed two fingers at Jack’s eyes to let him know she was watching him, or might poke them out Three Stooges style, while I gaped after her.

“What agreement?” I asked Jack when Mom had made it out of sight on the sidewalk beyond my window. “She said you have to keep me safe or she’ll make good on your agreement. What does that mean?”

“It means she vowed to kill me in my sleep if any harm comes to you. Ever.”

“She called that an agreement?”

“Yeah,” he said, “because I agreed.”

I groaned. “You really are my keeper.”

“Yep.”

I fell against his chest and wrapped my arms around his middle. “I’m so sorry.”

Jack laughed. A few beats later, he hugged me back.