Chapter Twelve

Furry Godmother’s advice for life: Never look a gift horse in the mouth, especially if it comes dressed as a bull.

Imogene walked Jack out a few minutes later while I helped a customer choose a dress for her Chihuahua. Imogene brought the bakery boxes back inside with her, and I said a silent prayer of gratitude that they hadn’t been stolen, because even after all the trouble I’d gone to baking and hauling them to work, the paper lady had made me forget they existed.

I rang the woman up for the dress while Imogene set my boxes onto the counter and began filling the bakery display. Imogene had paired a teal pantsuit and white camisole with a purple head scarf wrapped exotically around her salt-and-pepper hair. She looked exquisite, confident, and ready to lecture when the line at my register disappeared. “I don’t envy Detective Oliver,” she said as an opening. “Keeping you alive and out of trouble is a full-time job. I should know. I did my time.”

I smacked my lips at her. “Well, don’t make it sound like a jail sentence,” I said. “I wasn’t that bad.”

She raised her brows. “You were worse, and at least if I’d been in jail, I could’ve eaten a warm meal and watched my programs. Instead, I chased you around this district with my heart in my throat for eighteen years while you and that red-headed friend of yours tried to tear the place down.”

I smiled. “We have had some good times, haven’t we?”

Imogene clucked her tongue.

“Besides, Mom only said Jack has to keep me out of harm’s way, not out of trouble. Those are different.” I let the concept sink in a bit further. “I don’t understand why Jack offered to do such a thing, anyway. And I can’t decide if it’s gallant or controlling.” It would help me decide if I knew how the whole conversation had come about between him and my mother and why no one ever told me these things.

“Speak of the devil,” Imogene said, “here she comes now, and she’s gone and dressed like him.”

Scarlet’s smiling face flew along the windows and pivoted at the door. Little red horns protruded from a bulbous red helmet on her head.

Imogene grabbed a bottle of glass cleaner and a rag, then headed toward the sticky door where the paper lady had hung. She pushed the barrier wide and held it while Scarlet skated inside. “What are you dressed up for?” she asked. “Does your mother know you’re out looking like that?”

Scarlet spun in a circle on high-end roller blades. “I’m no longer my mother’s problem,” she said. “I’m thirty years old. I’m my husband’s problem now.” She smiled at Imogene’s sour look. “Carter likes my outfit,” she continued, striking a pose in her red-and-black roller derby ensemble. “What do you think?” she asked me, skating to the counter.

Aside from the skates and knee and elbow pads, Scarlet wore little black spandex bike shorts under a red crinoline tutu that stood out in every direction and what appeared to be a shiny red leotard under a red cut-off shirt that had the Hawthorne law firm logo on the back.

“My mother would die,” I said. It was the first and only thing that came to mind for a long while. A few seconds later, I managed, “It’s really cute.”

“Thanks.”

My tired brain caught up with the situation a minute later. “Are you going to be one of the bulls tomorrow? I thought you would be standing around the water table with me.” If Scarlet wasn’t going to be there, who was I going to talk to? Who would check out the best costumes with me, nosh on vendor sweets, and rehash my murder investigation drama?

“I’ll be at the table until it’s time to line up,” she said. “Then I really want to run down some men with my whiffle bat.” She mimed swinging a bat a few times, then grabbed the strap of her black cross-body bag and pulled it over her head. She slid the bag onto the counter. “I skated over to make sure I still knew how, and to bring you your outfit.”

“You mean T-shirt,” I said.

She nodded and grinned. “There’s a T-shirt.”

I looked at the box, then Imogene. Imogene stopped working midwipe on my window and turned to watch. I felt the intense flutter of anticipation in my middle as I opened the box with bated breath. There was an entire outfit inside, and it coordinated with Scarlet’s, minus the skates. I lifted the pieces one by one.

Imogene made a disapproving face from across the room. “That shirt is too small,” she said. “You can’t fit half your blessings in that little scrap of fabric, and that skirt had better come with some long pants, not those little booty shorts like Miss Thing is wearing over here. Your mother will kill you twice for that.”

I gave Scarlet a sad look and held the shirt up to my chest. “She’s not wrong about my blessings.”

“Braggart.”

I smiled.

I fished a bottle of water from my mini-fridge and passed it to Scarlet. “How’s life?”

She sucked down half the bottle before stopping. “Better than yours at the moment, I think. I heard about the paper lady on your door.”

“Well, the rumor mill is still spinning,” I said, slightly impressed by the speed the news had traveled.

“Actually,” Scarlet said, “I heard it from the man on the corner wearing glitter paint and a crown.”

“Did you think he looked pretty?”

She cracked up. “I did.” She twisted the bottle cap back on with a sigh. “I wish I could help you with this investigation. Usually I hear all sorts of interesting things at times like these, but whatever’s going on with the pageant seems to be internal to the event, and all the people are from out of town, so none of my sources know them. The details are sealed up tight behind the Tea Room doors.” She leaned her elbows on the counter and set her water aside. “Maybe I can rent a pet and go in posing as a contestant.”

Imogene headed back our way with the glass cleaner and paper towels. The shop door and windows sparkled from her touch. “Maybe you can put your connections to work finding your friend some more help. I didn’t sign on to work all these hours,” she said. “The place was dead when I stepped in. Now I have to request time off and coordinate my schedule with hers like this is my job. I don’t want a job.”

“Can I stop paying you?” I asked.

She made a mean face. “You know what I mean. I like helping. I don’t want to be all tied down like this. I’m about to die of exhaustion.”

I rolled my eyes. “And you call me dramatic.”

Scarlet skated around the counter and gave me a quick hug. “I’m on it, but I’ve got to skate home and change for Pilates now. Don’t worry another minute about looking for help here. I will find you help that you will love.”

“Thank you,” Imogene and I responded at once.

Scarlet waved and skated away.

I took my time folding the pieces of my new outfit and returning them to their box.

“I see you smiling at those,” Imogene said.

I jumped, then stuffed the box under the counter.

*   *   *

The walkway from the parking lot to the Audubon Tea Room was lined in fat pillar candles stuck inside fancy glass vases. Strings of bistro lights wound through the canopy of tangled, reaching limbs overhead. I admired their wispy beards of moss and the enchanting effect that had been created.

A pair of men in black suits opened the double doors to the Tea Room foyer with practiced precision, as if they shared one mind. They held their respective door with one of their hands while bending the other behind their backs and bowing slightly. I stopped to curtsy.

Mom shook her head at me, apparently waiting in the foyer to complain about something immediately upon my arrival.

“Hello, Mom,” I said, smacking air kisses on each side of her grouchy face. “I know you’re mad about earlier, but look.” I turned in a slow circle, showing off the petal-pink, knee-length dress I’d picked up on my way home to check on Penelope and Buttercup after work. “The saleslady assured me this is pastel.”

“You know that’s pastel,” Mom said sharply, though her eyes gave her away. She loved designer chiffon as much as she enjoyed complaining about me.

“You look amazing,” I said, admiring my custom-made gown on her narrow, youthful frame. “Smoking hot.”

She blushed. “At fifty-two, I’m grateful for not frumpy, but I’ll take the compliment.”

“Please. You barely look old enough to be my mother, and you know it,” I said. It was true. She’d had me at twenty-two and looked roughly fifteen at the time. These days, I saw the question in strangers’ eyes. We could easily have been sisters, me at thirty and her looking ambiguously forty.

She held my gaze for several silent seconds before hooking her arm in mine. “I’m not happy about what happened to you earlier,” she said. “I should’ve handled the situation with more dignity and grace. I’m sorry. I was angry, and I let it get the best of me, but I’m not angry with you.”

“You’re mad at Jack?” I guessed. “It’s not fair to hold him to his offer, even if it was his idea. There’s no way he can protect me from everything without putting me in his pocket and keeping me there.”

Mom sighed. “I think he would try that if he could, and I wouldn’t stop him if I thought it was possible.”

My chest warmed at her words. I didn’t want people worrying about me, especially Jack and Mom, because they both had so much to take care of already, but it was nice to be reminded that I was important to them—not just my general existence and safety, but my happiness. I was blessed beyond measure with a family, blood related and otherwise, who wanted the best for me, and the truth of it swelled my heart.

“When did Jack make the promise to babysit me?” I asked, “and why didn’t you tell me?”

“He came to me after the first time you were threatened last year,” she said, turning sad blue eyes on me. “Back then, your father and I knew him better than you, and we were doing the best we could to convince you both to play nice, Jack with his suspicions about your sudden return to the area and you with your intolerance of his general disposition. His tune changed when you were put in danger, and he’s come to us consistently over the year since, namely after each of your subsequent near-death experiences. He blames himself, and I don’t try to dissuade him.” She looked almost guilty as her gaze shifted to the floor. “Whatever keeps you safe is all that matters, and I doubt he minds the challenge.”

I hugged her arm tighter as we continued through the busy space and leaned my head against her shoulder. “Do you know about Jack’s past?” I asked carefully, unwilling to give away anything personal about him that she didn’t already know.

“We do,” she said softly. Of course she would. It was her business to know everything remotely related to her district.

“Then you realize,” I said, “that he probably thinks of you as family, and that means a lot because he doesn’t let people in.”

Jack’s teenage mother had run off and left him to be raised by her father, who had been busy building a condiment empire and had sent Jack abroad to be raised in elite boarding schools instead of in a home with his next of kin. He’d become understandably guarded.

Mom slid her eyes to me as we walked. “He lets some people in.”

She stopped at the entry to the main hall, then turned to look back through the foyer.

“There. Do you see?” she asked, tipping her head slightly toward the empty table with a large FFA logo on the skirt. “They put their cage of chicks right there on the end and let people hold them.”

“Oh my goodness. I forgot.” A stab of regret punched through me. “I was completely off balance after the paper lady incident, and I didn’t have time to think of a cute way to draw attention to your table. I’ll make a list of ideas when I get to the judges’ table. I swear.”

“No worries,” Mom said. “I’ve got it handled. That was where I hurried off to this morning after I left your shop. I spoke with an old friend who makes hideous metal sculptures and charges a fortune for them. I figured if anyone I knew thought outside the box, besides you, it was him.” A small prideful smile curved her lips as she shifted her attention to the Jazzy Chicks’ table. “I told him what you said I should do, and he had something that fit the bill perfectly. He rents it for weddings and graduation parties.”

I took a step in that direction. A large medieval-looking contraption sat front and center on the Jazzy Chicks’ display. The thing was made of glass and metal, almost like a snow globe, except instead of snow, the bottom was littered with paper money and checks. A braid of tiny light bulbs wrapped the glass like a vine. I probably could have fit two Penelopes inside if I tried. “What is it?” I asked.

“It’s your idea,” she repeated. “Here. Try it.” She opened her clutch and handed me a twenty-dollar bill. “The slot is in the metal at the top. The metal hides the hole, so it looks magical and not like a cheap piggy bank.”

I positioned the money over the slot and fed it inside. When the tip of the bill breached the glass, a fan started beneath the base, and all the money on the ground swirled to life like a game show tornado machine. The vine of lights illuminated, and jazz music played. “Holy cow.”

“There’s a sensor,” she said, crossing her arms and beaming.

My money was sucked into the tornado. It joined the little party for another two or three seconds before the globe fell still and silent once more.

“Isn’t it marvelous?” Mom asked. “Now, if you wanted to give some money to a table with adorable chickens, would you put your cash in the stenciled burlap sack of a pigtailed yodeler, or would you bring it here and make magic happen?”

“I don’t think you understand farmers at all.”

She ignored me. “Okay, enough dillydallying. Let’s get you into position before the show begins.”

“I think you did great, Mom,” I said with a squeeze of her hand. “No one will be able to resist your donation collector machine.”

“Thank you.”

I made my usual circuit to check seams and stitches on contestants’ hats and gowns before letting Mom lead me to my seat at the judges’ table. Everything looked impossibly more beautiful from the new vantage point. Audience chairs had been set in arched rows and draped in black linen. Cameras were strategically positioned around the room, their operators at the ready. Speakers and wires were perfectly hidden. The center space was open for performers, and the judges’ table lined the rear wall of windows, with lush green gardens just outside. It was hard to believe anyone could have pulled this off in two days, but Mom was a force of nature. Pride filled my chest as she took the stand to announce Mackey and kick off the opening ceremony of the National Pet Pageant–New Orleans.

One by one, the feline competitors and their owners showed off their stuff, sometimes to music, sometimes in silence. The costumes were fantastic on pets and owners alike. I gave every act a ten because anyone who could get a cat to perform deserved a pat on the back, but my favorite of them all was a local group called the NOLA Lolas.

The NOLA Lolas were a tabby trio wearing the equivalent of giant scrunchies for collars. Purple, green, and gold. Lola, Lola, and Lola. I’d never heard of them before, but I would absolutely never forget them. My foot began to tap with the first measure of a familiar jazz tune. The trainer, dressed in a black suit with a purple fleur-de-lis tie, began to bounce in little timely bursts, perfectly choreographed to the tune. His cats took notice and began a game of leapfrog, hopping over one another in a crisscross pattern until the trainer took a bow. They ran for him then, one by one, and were tossed onto a broad platform several feet off the ground. From there, they drove a cylinder across the plank, each cat on two legs, front paws on the prop ahead of them. When the cylinder hit the short wall at the end of the plank, fleur-de-lis flags popped up, and the crowd went crazy. The cats ran down a set of padded steps and began a flurry of varied activities. I didn’t know who to watch. One spun on two legs. One ran a big colorful ball around the floor. One walked a little tightrope. It was a three-cat circus, and I was on my feet, whistling with the audience as the music climbed to a crescendo. The cats unified, climbed a row of carpeted columns, and grabbed the thick purple ribbons on top. When they jumped back down, fancy white letters became visible on the rich satin material. Together, they announced: NEW ORLEANS STRONG. The crowd exploded in applause and a set of tiny confetti rockets burst with the final note of the song.

I couldn’t have been more excited if it had been Penelope on stage. Those cats were fantastic! My heart raced as I pounded my hands together while the trainer led them in a series of bows, all three cats cradled in his arms.

I was thankful for the small break while the stage was cleared so I could catch my breath.

By intermission, I was eager to get out of the spotlight and slouch a while. I moved slowly “offstage,” toward the green room with private refreshments set out for judges and pageant staff only. The spread was gourmet and elaborate, and once again, Mom had outdone herself. I found a place against the wall and watched as people trickled in. Unease crept over my skin, never far away these days. One of the people filling the room could be the same one who had threatened me this morning and for the third time this week. Worse, one of them was a killer.

I rubbed the gooseflesh off my arms and willed my coiling stomach to still. Jack was on the case. If anyone could find the culprit, it was Jack. And the pageant will be over in a few days anyhow, I reasoned, so either way, the danger will soon be gone.

Chase inched along in my direction, surrounded by a gaggle of giggling women. I recognized most of them as pet owners and PAs, though one was a member of my NPP Welcoming Committee. I also recognized Chase’s smile as the one he used in court while facing off with a witness from the opposing side.

I fluffed my hair and refreshed my smile. “There you are,” I said in a gush.

“Here I am,” Chase repeated with the quirk of a brow. “Everything okay?”

I reached for his hands and pulled him to me, forcing the women at his sides to fall back. I rose on my toes and kissed his cheek.

Chase’s arm snaked out and held me in place. His lips found my ear. “Help,” he whispered.

Behind him, the ladies ogled and giggled.

I slid my arm through his and beamed at his pursuers. “Ladies, thank you so much for looking after him for me.” I snuggled tight to his side, “but I think we’re going to sneak off and get some fresh air.”

A woman at least twice our ages raised her hand before we could escape. “Is it true he was a professional volleyball player?” she asked me. Her gaze slid over Chase thoughtfully.

He squirmed at my side.

Two of the other ladies began to tap the screens of their phones. Googling, I guessed, and I knew what they would find. A wide assortment of photos from past competitions where Chase wore nothing but sunglasses and board shorts. I’d looked too when he’d first come home, and suddenly I felt a little creepy for it. “I’m sorry,” I said, ignoring the question. “I don’t mean to rush off, but we only get a few minutes, so I’d better make haste while I can.” I slid my hand down to take Chase’s, then led him away. I didn’t stop until we’d found a quiet piece of the hallway where we were alone.

“I feel dirty,” he said with a full-body shiver.

I shook my head. “You know women go through that every day, right?” Did the men in my life really have no idea?

He turned his mouth down and his expression softened.

“It’s life,” I said. “Though women are normally more discreet about our appreciation of a nice physique,” I told him. “I guess this is the price you pay for being sexy, young, and fabulous.” I nudged him with my elbow. “Are you going to be okay?”

“You think I’m sexy?” he asked.

My mom came into view, and I stepped away from Chase with a laugh. “I need to catch Mom before intermission ends. I want to see if Eva’s here tonight. I haven’t spoken with her about Viktor yet, and I really need to.”

Chase lifted his palms. “Go on, Crocker. Do your thing. I owe you one for the save.”

“Darn right,” I said, slipping into the mix of people heading in and out of the private hallway.

Mom looked up as I drew near. The ladies and Mrs. Smart turned in my direction as well.

“Hello,” I said to the little group. “Everything is going well. Yes?”

Mrs. Smart nodded. “It’s all very beautiful,” she said. “I think New Orleans might be one of my new favorite cities. Your mother has been spoiling me. Showing me around. Making sure I have everything I need, sometimes before I know I need it.”

“That’s my mom,” I said, “selfless and giving.”

Mom forced a tight smile.

I scanned her group for the mousy brunette. “Eva?” I said, locking gazes with my quietest committee sister. “I’m so glad to see you. Do you want to get a little air with me before intermission ends?”

She nodded, then looked at Mom, presumably for permission.

Mom gave a slow blink of approval, and I dragged Eva through the closest exit door.

Night sounds chirped and croaked around us. The area was unlit, oddly dark when compared to the endless lights on every other side of the building. “How about a walk to the bridge and back?”

We turned up a wide cobblestone path that glowed warmly beneath the extensive outdoor lighting at the Tea Room.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I said. “We need to talk about what you saw in the balcony the day Viktor fell.”

“I told the police everything already,” Eva said. Her wide brown eyes searched mine as we came to a stop on the high, arching bridge that separated the gardens from the zoo. “I don’t know what you think I’m hiding, but I assure you I’ve reported every detail from the time I spent in the balcony, and I didn’t see anything. By the time I got there, he was already gone.” Her normally gentle tone was clipped, the words rushed, and she chewed her lip when she finished.

Maybe Eva was just nervous about being cornered and led into the night to be questioned, but I couldn’t help thinking she was nervous for another reason, one I wouldn’t like.

“I’m not suggesting that you lied,” I said. “I’m just trying to put the pieces together, and you’re our best chance at finding Viktor’s killer. Everyone else seemed to be in the theater or otherwise accounted for at the time of his fall.” Except Veronica and North, I realized. Where were they before I found them arguing?

“I know you mean well,” she said, “and that this is the sort of thing you’re known for doing, but I don’t have anything else to say.” Eva leaned against the narrow stone ledge and stared into the water far below.

I wasn’t sure if I should feel offended by her words or her tone, but I did. “If there’s anything you forgot to mention when you gave your official statement,” I suggested, “maybe something you remembered after you left the station or something else has happened since then, I could help you get those details to the detective in charge.”

“No.” She tucked thick brown locks behind one ear and turned to face me. “It’s just like I’ve told everyone else who has asked. I heard a commotion, and I went to see what was happening, but by the time I got there, there had already been a loud crash and there was screaming coming from below. I stretched onto my tiptoes to see what was happening, and that’s when you saw me.” She blinked back fresh tears, composure quickly slipping. “I didn’t kill him, Lacy. I know I’m the easiest one to point fingers at, but I didn’t do it, I swear.”

I gave her a short hug. “It’s going to be okay,” I said, casting my gaze back toward the lights glowing softly in the distance. “I’ll figure this out.”

Eva hadn’t killed Viktor, but someone in there had.