I didn’t sleep well, and it wasn’t just because of the tuba, which ceased its elephant mating cries around 4 a.m. I dreamed about someone trying to kill me with a gigantic whiskey drink that had an arrow for a swizzle stick. First they were forcing me to drink it, and then I was drowning in it. For a mixologist, getting killed by a cocktail is a particularly unpleasant way to go. I mean, you can always choke on a cherry or an olive, but poisoned? Ick. It was almost enough to turn me off alcohol.
Almost.
The truth was, like Neil, I’d never been into alcohol per se. I was into the glamour that surrounded it, the classic cocktails and the lush life that was especially thriving in New Orleans. Sure, the underbelly could be sordid and even sad, and NOLA had quite the muffin top when it came to booze. But I saw the gorgeous old bars, heard the great stories, soaked up the traditions. I watched the best bartenders in the world come to the French Quarter and make everything from delicate champagne cocktails to kick-ass tiki drinks, each creating a safe and pleasurable world of flavors for their drinkers. Not the neon nightmares on Bourbon Street, but sophisticated, balanced potions whose quality was almost magical. I was into the craft. Art, really. For every trendy vodka filtered over diamonds extracted from the belly buttons of Scandinavian virgins, there was a naturally fruity liqueur that had been made in some Italian valley for three hundred years or a boutique rum crafted by an ancient genius on a paradisiacal Caribbean island the size of a postage stamp. The newly minted foodies who watched chefs on TV all day long were only just waking up to how wonderful cocktails could be with their cuisine, and I wanted to show them the way.
Small steps.
I let the shower finish the wake-up process and donned black pants; a white button-up shirt that I didn’t button up all that high; a subtly striped vest with a deep, rounded V-neck and four buttons in a diagonal, off-center line; black leather boots with a short heel, and Snow White-caliber red lips. And the glasses, of course. This hot geek was going to kick some cocktail butt today.
That said, I peeked out of the door before undoing the chain, and not seeing anyone, I sighed in relief, exited and closed the door behind me.
When I looked up, Neil was standing there, and I almost rocketed out of my skin.
“What the hell!” I clutched my bag as if it were some sort of anchor and tried not to feel stupid.
“Sorry. Timing. You’re meeting me for breakfast anyway, right? I can walk you downstairs.”
“Yeah. OK.” As my heart settled, I stole a second glance at him as we walked toward the stairs. His beard looked freshly trimmed, crisply defining those sculpted cheekbones. He wore matching gray pants and vest, a crisp white shirt and a black skinny tie. In other words, he was completely edible.
Stop it, Pepper. First of all, he hasn’t even touched you this morning. No hello kiss or anything. Though now that I thought about it, that would’ve been kind of awkward. OK, we’re pretending last night didn’t happen, I guess. The kissing part, anyway.
“Any developments?” I asked as we trotted down the stairs.
“I pinged Dash, and he said he had a headache and was going to sleep in this morning but would try to catch my seminar this afternoon. Travis called to ask me details of what happened. Other than that, no news.”
We got the same table at the restaurant in case any of the others showed up. This morning was a French toast morning for me. That and lots of coffee. Neil went with protein—an omelet and bacon, plus more coffee. The bartender’s friend.
“I feel like I have to clear the air,” Neil said.
Uh-oh. “Yeah?”
“I shouldn’t have let what happened happen last night. You were shaken up, and besides that, I’ve hired you to do a job. I don’t want to be that kind of guy.”
I let the spoon clink into the cup where I’d been stirring in my sugar. “Look, I’m not your employee.” He raised his eyebrows. “Not really. You hired me, yes, but the way I look at it is, I’m your partner. We all are. Most of us work at different bars. I own half of mine, for God’s sake. And we’re grownups. And if anyone’s to blame, it’s me.” Crap. That wasn’t exactly how I wanted to say it.
“I don’t know,” Neil said.
“That didn’t come out right. There’s nothing to blame anybody for. I mean, what happened wasn’t bad. I mean, it was good. Oh, hell, somebody please shut me up.” I took a big gulp of my coffee and spit half of it back out, it was so hot.
Neil looked like he was trying not to laugh. “I just want to make sure we’re OK.”
“We’re OK. I hope you don’t act like this every time a girl wants to kiss you.”
This time he laughed out loud. “It doesn’t happen all that often.”
“Then maybe you should enjoy it when it does.” Christ, he’s going to think I’m a total man-eater. “Before I say anything else that makes me want to move to a desert island, I have some ideas on how to track down Robin Hood.”
“Mm-hmm,” Neil said over his own sip of coffee, his eyes twinkling.
“I’m thinking I’ll go to the hat shop after breakfast and see what I can find out. Maybe they’ll know who bought that hat, even have a record of it.”
He quirked his mouth. “It could be anyone’s.”
“True. But we don’t have a lot to go on. I also want to talk to Nicki, the bartender at La Bonne Vie, and see if she knows anything about the boomerangs.”
“Good thinking. I wish I could go with you, but I have some last-minute prep to do for this afternoon. You can be back by noon?”
“As close as I can. We’re all meeting in the kitchen that’s linked to the ballrooms on the second floor, right?”
“That’s right. The workshop starts at two.” He did that looking-out-the-window thing again. Unspoken words hovered between us like an unwanted drone at a nudist camp. Fortunately, our food arrived, giving us an excuse not to talk.
“So,” I said after a few minutes of delicious French toast inhalation, “why do you think I got a threatening note last night and you didn’t? You were there, too. You’ve been there all along.”
Neil stopped eating for a minute and looked me in the eye. “Maybe because this psycho knew that threatening you would have the same or worse effect on me. He didn’t need to threaten me directly.”
I stared at him. What was he saying? Was he worried about me?
“I feel responsible for my people,” he continued, bursting my bubble. It’s not all about you, Pepper. “This whole thing makes me really angry. There are a lot of people that could have been hurt last night. Even more with the whiskey stunt. And I still can’t figure out why anyone would target Dash and Travis or us, for that matter.”
“What about your frenemy? He threatened you at the tasting. He had possession of the boomerangs. And he seems pretty nuts.”
Neil snickered. “Alastair talks a good game, but it seems unlikely. He was at the bar when we left. Wait a minute.” He pulled out his phone and tapped it, took a sip of coffee, and glanced at it again when it chimed. “Luke says Alastair left just after we did, complaining he couldn’t get his drinks fast enough.”
“So he had opportunity.” Boy, those Law & Order marathons were paying off. “I guess the next question is, does he hate you that much?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. But he did hate that I was better than him in school and behind the bar. So he endlessly delights in giving me shit about dropping out.”
“You left. That’s different.”
He smiled. “I appreciate that. He makes me question whether I would’ve been better off as an astronomer. But I had this insane affinity for cocktails, for making great ones, and once I got a part-time job doing it, I knew I didn’t want to do anything else.”
“When did you start making drinks?”
“Officially, college. But I was making whiskey sours and gin martinis for my grandfather when I was ten years old.”
I almost choked on my coffee. “He sounds like fun.”
“I would say I’d like you to meet him someday, but I’m not sure you’d ever forgive me.”
I laughed. “Then I definitely have to meet him.”
“He has this bad habit of showing women his ancient dildo collection.”
“His what?”
“He’s a treasure hunter. Shipwrecks. His house is full of all kinds of interesting artifacts, including the dildos, though he keeps those in his private office. Most of the family is still trying to figure out if he’s got a stash of gold somewhere.”
“Do you think he does?”
Neil shrugged. “He helped me buy The Junction Box. I think he knows more than he’s telling.”
“Intriguing.” We’d finished our food. I pulled my phone from my bag and checked the time, then fished around for my wallet. “I should probably get going.”
He waved me off as I extricated the wallet. “I’ve got this. I’ll write all this off, anyway.”
“Oh. Thanks! That’s awfully nice of you.”
“I’m definitely not being nice.” He raised one eyebrow, staring at me as he sipped his coffee. Oh, my. Maybe ...
I couldn’t help a small smile, remembering last night’s kiss. And then I popped a pin in that thought when I remembered all the crazy stuff that was going on, the problem we had to solve before I could think of anything as frivolous as Neil’s mouth on mine.
I tried to assume a serious expression. “I wish I had time to see Barnie this morning, but I don’t think I do.”
“We’ll try to go after my seminar. I’ll have my head in the game then. We should have enough time before the awards tonight.” The waiter dropped off a bill, Neil signed it, and we got up and headed toward the lobby.
“Are you nervous about your seminar?” I couldn’t quite believe it. Neil wasn’t nervous about anything.
“Let’s just say a shot might be required.”
I grinned. “Nerves are good for you.”
The faintest of smiles touched his lips. “Then you’re good for me. Listen, Pepper—” What? I made him nervous? “Be careful out there. I mean it. Don’t go into any dark alleys.”
“Or cemeteries.”
“It’s not funny.” His voice had an edge now. We paused at the fringe of the busy lobby, and he moved closer, lowering his voice. “Take cabs if you have to. I’ll pay for it. Just be careful.”
“Now you’re making me nervous. It’s not a far walk to either place. There are tons of tourists around. It’s broad daylight.” I was trying to convince myself more than anything. “I’ll be OK.”
“You’d better be.” He zapped me with what could only be called a smoldering glance, then turned on his heel and walked away. Nothing more to say. Or he’d gone verklempt. Actually, I kind of had, too. Maybe Neil did care about me, a little.
I headed through the throng toward the main doors and almost ran into Dash.
“Pepper!” A new straw hat with a broad white band covered most of his bandage.
“How are you feeling?”
He smiled. “A lot better. Sleep helped, and I took some ibuprofen and a shot of bourbon.”
Distiller medical insurance must be as bad as bartender medical insurance. “What are you up to?”
He shrugged. “I thought I’d ask the same of you.”
“Heading out to learn more about the mystery hat and the boomerangs.”
“Mind if I join you?” His enthusiasm charmed me and impressed me, too, given all the stress he was under.
What the hell. Two targets were better than one, right?