Rescued By A Kiss (The New Orleans Go Cup Chronicles Book 1) (5 page)

“You found all this out from that cop’s clipboard?” I asked.

“Nope. I recognized his name when I saw it.”

“Julia, you know this guy? What’s his name, Jiff or Jeff or one of the others?”

“Jiff. I don’t know what it is short for, but that’s what was on his driver’s license, so it must be his God-given name. He would be your love interest. I know his daddy’s name is Jeffrey Heinkel. Besides, how is this going to work with him being German and you being Catholic? Aren’t Germans Protestant?”

“What kind of disputes? Germans can be Catholic. What does that matter? God help me.”

“Jeffrey Heinkel, the Daddy, is the gentlemen I met. They’ve been in all the papers, even on TV. Did you see any of that stuff? His son, your Prince Charming, works at the firm. His name is Jiff Heinkel. About two days ago I heard on WWL radio the Heinkel firm was involved in a parish-wide controversy over inherited oil leases, theirs, and little old ladies they represent. The guy trying to finagle the leases away from those old folks is using a little muscle to do it, or so they said on the news. Too bad he’s not Italian, ’cuz they’re all Catholics, right?”

Dante must have known who got shot, and who the Heinkel family was, and why me being there acting like I knew him could get me in a world of trouble. It sort of explained his road rage behavior.

“So, what’s their address on Audubon?” I asked.

“I don’t know, I just know the Dad lives on Audubon Place because he took me there one night. I met him at the Pontchartrain Hotel Piano Bar late one night after work. He bought me a drink and we talked for a couple of hours. He’s very charming. Then we went back to his house on Audubon Place for a nightcap. He had his limo driver wait and take me back to my car and then followed me home. He’s a dying breed. It’s called a gentleman.”

“You met that guy before? Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me go to Charity looking like an idiot?”

“I didn’t meet the guy you kissed. I met his father. Aren’t you listening? Since I didn’t know who got shot until a few minutes ago, I couldn’t know who he is or who he is related to. You know, you’d make a terrible detective. You better keep selling phones.” She looked at me with her face all screwed up as if she wondered how I made it through a day by myself.

I took three deep breaths before I got my heart rate under control. Trying to interrogate Julia is an art form I haven’t mastered. After a few deep inhales and exhales, I asked, “So, what is the address the cop had on our victim, the Heinkel that got shot? Jiff, right?”

“Oh, his address. He lives in the Tower Apartments, the real nice ones, on the Lakefront.”

I mentally started mapping our route toward the lake.

“I can see what you’re thinking, and we can’t go there. Whoever shot that guy might be there. Or the cops might be there. Or, Mr. Right Next Door might be there with his partner, the snitch.” Julia snickered.

She was never going to let that go. “That’s exactly why we’re going there, because Mr. ‘Just-Got-Shot’ asked me to do something for him.” I didn’t want to tell her he asked me to help someone named Isabella. It occurred to me there might be a screaming, ticked off, Italian girlfriend when Julia and I showed up and told her I kissed her boyfriend and then I saw him get shot. I shook my head to clear the thought.

Not having all of her jewelry on began to wear on Julia’s patience. She hated to be out in public so naked and undressed. When her ensemble missed a vital accessory, she became irritated. All of her jewelry now resting in her purse must have her borderline manic.

Julia rummaged through her purse and asked, “What are we going to do, that the cops can’t do? What did he ask you to do? Bring him a clean shirt? Water his plants? What?”

I plunged into what I knew would be met with some resistance, “He asked me to help someone named Isabella.”

“Isabella! A woman! You are going to help his woman? It’s probably his girlfriend, or worse, his wife.” Julie sounded flabbergasted.

We were just two blocks away from Charity but still in the war zone. “Well, you can get out here and walk back to Charity and ask Dante for a ride if you don’t want to go with me.”

“Take the I-10,” she said. “The parade traffic should be all cleared up, and that’s the fastest way.”

The Lakefront Tower is a high-rise apartment building with breathtaking views of Lake Pontchartrain from one side and downtown New Orleans, the Dome, and French Quarter from the other. It’s very she-she-la-la, with its own doorman, like New York City apartment buildings. The doorman, Sam, is a friend and retired policeman who works as security there. I met him when he adopted a companion pet for his retirement. The dog turned out to be a Schnauzer under all the matted and stinky hair, much like the one back at home. Once groomed, he made for quite a good-looking, handsome dog and learned commands very fast. Sam and the dog quickly became devoted to each other. It made my heart sing to see them so happy together. Every time I ran into Sam at the grocery or bank he would tell me the dog’s latest accomplishment. Sam was so impressed with how smart the little dog was, he named him Einstein.

When we got to the lobby I saw Sam on duty behind the front desk, and he smiled when he saw me. He took this job because he had a small apartment in the rear of the building, gratis, if he worked nights as security. That way he was never far from Einstein and could walk him or check up on him when he made his rounds.

We arrived at the Towers right after ten 
P.M.
Sam opened the lobby doors which automatically locked at ten 
P.M.
He let us in, and relocked them. If the police were there, they weren’t in the lobby. After polite hellos I introduced Julia, also a dog lover. I asked if he had heard about the shooting at the parade. He said yes, but he didn’t know who was shot. I told him that it happened to be one of the tenants, Jiff Heinkel, and Mr. Heinkel asked me before being taken to the hospital if I would come by to see if Isabella was all right. I had all my cards on the table, and I really hoped Sam would be as forthcoming about Jiff Heinkel as he had always been about Einstein.

“I’m so glad you know Mr. Heinkel. If he was shot, no telling when he will be coming home, and I’m happy, Brandy, to know you will help Isabella.” Sam got the keys from behind the reception desk and headed to the elevator.

“Has Jiff Heinkel lived here long?” I asked trying to make small talk and get Sam to start giving up some information.

“Oh, a couple of years. He’s been here ever since he graduated from Loyola Law School.”

“Really. Do you know where he went to high school?” I asked.

“High school?” Julia burst into the conversation. “Why do you need to know where he went to high school?” I knew right then I would never take Julia on another covert mission.

Sam looked at Julia and asked, “You aren’t from here are you?”

I jumped in and added, “If you know where a person went to high school, you usually know someone they know. That’s how small New Orleans is. You get to know people better by finding out who you both know in common.”

Sam looked at me, smiled and said, “It would be great if you could take Isabella home with you. C’mon, I’ll take you up there and let you in.”

Whoa Cowboy! I hoped he would let us into Heinkel’s apartment, check and see if Isabella was okay, but take her home with me? My knees were getting rubbery just thinking what to say when I met her face-to-face. Julia allowed me to barge in without a well thought out plan. The amused smile on her face and her silence was annoying the hell out of me.

I prayed for enlightenment during the elevator ride. Sam put a key into a lock on the elevator panel and hit the button right above the twentieth floor that said, PENTHOUSE. Where else? I imagined meeting Isabella could go either way, however, I didn’t expect her to roll out the red carpet for us. Enlightenment was slow to come; however, anxiety arrived at breakneck speed.

The elevator didn’t stop. It just went straight to the Penthouse and opened directly into a vestibule. A wrought-iron enclosure acted as security outside the elevator for a front door. After leaving the elevator, guests had to be let into the apartment via the secondary wrought-iron door. Sam had that key too. As the gate opened without a sound, I heard a dog start barking. It appeared and ran toward us. It was a little salt and pepper Schnauzer. It ran right past Sam and up to me.

I thought, Isabella is going to be some kind of ticked off that we walked right in here and scared her dog.

Sam knelt down and lowered his voice when he spoke to the dog, “Now, Isabella, this nice young lady is going to take you home with her and take care of you until your dad gets better.”

Isabella is a dog!

Kneeling down on the floor next to Sam to make friends with Isabella, I asked “Sam, doesn’t Mr. Heinkel, I mean, Jiff, have any friends, uh, lady friends, who might come for the dog?” I blundered forth, but Sam didn’t seem to notice. Julia did. She nodded approval, encouraging me to get more intel on Heinkel.

“I wouldn’t give this sweet little girl to any of those women. Half the ones who come around here looking for Mr. Heinkel he won’t even let in. He makes me tell them he isn’t home. I don’t trust any of them anyway, at least not with Isabella. If you can’t take her, maybe she can stay with Einstein and me until he gets home. He sure loves this little sweetie. So does Einstein. Einstein might not have Isabella’s breeding, but they are both smart enough to recognize each other as fellow Schnauzers. Right Isabella?” Sam was rubbing Isabella’s ears while she thumped her back foot in doggie bliss.

It’s always interesting to watch a man with his dog or handle a gun. Both will tell you a lot about the guy.

“I can take her home with me, if it’s too much trouble for Brandy to watch her,” volunteered Julia.

“Oh, it is no trouble. I take in rescues all the time, and she’s a Schnauzer. Isabella will fit right in with my dogs and get socialized at the same time,” I said, cutting Julia off.
Great. Another yappy dog at home. My mother will be so happy.

“Ok, let’s find anything that’s hers, like her food, a bed, toys and get going so Sam can get back to work.” I smiled at Julia, happy over the fact that Isabella was a dog, and a Schnauzer, no less!

While the three of us rounded up Isabella’s belongings I observed how inviting his condo was. Two big leather sofas faced each other and overstuffed chairs looked like you could sink into them, relax and enjoy his collection of local artwork. He had a very extensive library of books. His condo could have been done by a decorator. It was inviting, comfortable and elegant. Several photos of what looked to be his brothers with some of him and Isabella lined floor to ceiling bookshelves. Even with the masculine overtones, a woman would feel comfortable here. It felt like a home, not the typical bachelor pad. And he had a dog, a small, female dog, suggesting he didn’t subscribe to ‘my dog has to be an extension of my big, macho self.’

We found Isabella’s doggie stuff, a bed, food, and a couple of toys when the elevator bell rang from the lobby. The doors closed and the button lit up as the elevator started its descent to the first floor. Sam went to the intercom and called the lobby. He had a puzzled look on his face and I knew why. Sam locked the lobby doors behind us after he let us in. Sam asked over the intercom, “Security, can I help you?”

An inarticulate voice that sounded like it belonged to a large, not too bright guy came back over the box, “I was sent by old man Heinkel. I need to get some of his t’ings.”

When Sam asked his name the guy responded angrily, “You don’t need to know my name, you just need to let me in to get his stuff.”

Then the elevator, with the key still in its panel unlocking access to the Penthouse, dinged and started up to our floor. Sam tried to raise the visitor on the intercom, but got no answer.

“S
am, how did
he get into the lobby?” I asked. “You locked the doors behind us.”

Sam moved fast saying, “Locks only keep honest people out and make the dishonest work harder to get in.”

“I don’t think that’s a friend of Jiff Heinkel,” I said.

“Or his Dad,” Julia added.

“Sam, someone can walk right in here.” He locked the wrought iron gate from the penthouse side saying, “This will slow them down, but not for long.” He called on his police radio for backup. I scooped up Isabella. She looked at the elevator and started to growl.

Sam pushed Julia, Isabella and me into the kitchen and over to a door marked Freight. He unlocked it with a key. He shoved us into a room-sized dumb waiter that served all the upper floors for moving furniture or large deliveries in and out. Once we were inside, he closed a sliding metal accordion door across the opening and said, “This takes you to the ground floor behind the lobby. Watch your hands and feet. Be quiet and stay still until it gets to the first floor, then go out the emergency exit. The alarm will go off. Just get out of here.”

I heard him calling in another 720 for police backup, when the service door closed and we started riding down to the basement. The chance of the police getting here anytime soon, on the night of a big parade, was not good.