New Orleans: 4 June 7:30 P.M. Central time
Pushing aside the memories of Iraq, Tobie got in her car and headed home. She kept telling herself that maybe the policewoman was right; maybe Henry had been sipping a latte in some local coffee shop when the Psych Annex exploded into kindling. But every time she tried to call him, she went straight to voice mail.
With a sigh, she flipped her phone closed and pulled into the covered parking lot of the Whole Foods on Arabella and Magazine. She could still smell the bitter reek of smoke clinging to her clothes and hair, pinching at her nostrils. All she wanted was to go home and stand under a hot shower. But she was out of cat food, and while she wasn’t the least bit hungry, she knew she needed to eat.
Twenty minutes later, a bag of groceries on the seat beside her, she pulled out onto Magazine. This was the part of New Orleans near the river that hadn’t flooded, although the storm’s winds had taken their toll on the neighborhood. The houses here were old, a mixture of stately Victorian mansions and tiny nineteenth-century cottages that all had one thing in common: a serious lack of off-street parking. Many of the narrowest streets—including hers—had been made one way, which meant she had to swing around in a wide loop in order to get home.
But even before she made the turn from Constance onto Eleanor, Tobie knew from the lines of cars on both sides of the street that parking, tonight, would be more difficult than normal. Glancing up the block, she caught sight of a stretch limo disgorging a white satin and tulle decked bride in front of the steps of St. Francis of Assisi, and groaned.
Oh, no. Not tonight. Weddings at one of the neighborhood’s two churches were even worse than back-to-school nights at the nearby elementary. She’d be lucky if she could find a place to park for blocks.
One glance up Patton was enough to convince her not even to try her own street. She had to go down to Laurel and over another half block before she got lucky and was able to squeeze her little yellow Bug into the gap between an Explorer and a Lexus.
So far the rain had held off. But she could see lightning flickering in the distance as she shrugged into her cotton jacket, hefted the grocery bag, and set off walking. She smelled the coming rain in the air. Felt it. A clap of thunder exploded like an artillery shell, and she startled so badly she almost dropped her groceries.
She stopped, her arms clutching the bag, her heart pounding uncomfortably in her chest. She told herself she was being silly. The policewoman she’d spoken to at the fire didn’t seem to attach much significance to the message Dr. Youngblood had left on her voice mail. The fire was probably due to a gas leak, she’d heard them say; the building was old, after all. They told her she was lucky she’d still been outside when the building blew. She had no reason to be acting like—well, like she deserved that psycho discharge from the Navy.
She quickened her step down Patton, her breath coming easier as she swung open her low gate and headed up the short brick walkway to her front gallery. An orange cat leaped over the edging of monkey grass and threaded through her legs, nearly tripping her. She laughed.
“Hello, Beauregard,” she said, and fumbled for her keys. It was good to be home.