At Risk (8 page)

“And that voodoo death has given the whole neighborhood a bad name. I guess now you’ll think twice about repeating the mistake.”

“It wasn’t a voodoo death.”

“What was it?”

“We don’t know.”

“Then it could have been.”

Before she could argue with the woman further, Rafe stepped between them.

“Ms. Beaumont has some business to attend to this morning. I’m sure she’d be happy to talk to you another time,” he said.

“Glad to hear it.
And who are you? Besides the guy who spent the night with her last night?”

Chapter Seven

In the dead silence that followed, Rafe fought the urge to explain why he’d been in Eugenia’s apartment overnight. Instead he took her arm. She let him lead her to the car and open the door, where she dropped like a stone into the passenger seat.

“So now as far as she’s concerned,
I’m a voodoo messenger of death and a slut,” she muttered.

“Do you care?”

“I shouldn’t.”

Should he have spent the night, he wondered.
The answer was the same as it had been the night before. If he hadn’t been there, the person who’d attacked him could have come upstairs and gone after Eugenia.

He slid her a quick glance.
She was sitting rigidly in her seat, staring straight ahead. He wanted to reach out and lay his hand over hers. He wanted to say he was sorry her nosy neighbor was keeping tabs on her. And he wanted to say he was sorry the two of them couldn’t figure out how to act around each other.

He cleared his throat. “What specifically has Mrs. Houston done before—that you know of?”

Eugenia clasped her hands in her lap. “Only let me know that I’m not welcome here.”

“Do you think she’d take it to the next level?”

She’d been thinking something like that a few minutes earlier. “Like sneak around in the alley? To do what?”

“I don’t know.
Do you think she’d arrange to have your customers mugged?”

Her eyes widened.
“Are you accusing her of that?”

“You know she’s on the suspect list. And she was pretty hostile just now.”

“Mostly she’s a big talker. Or—I guess you could say she’s been here a long time, and she thinks she knows what’s good for this street.”

oOo

“But would she do something illegal to get you to move?”

“I hope not.
On the other hand, she probably saw you taking me home last night, and she could have been snooping around to find out what we were up to. When you showed up in the alley, she hit you and ran.”

“That’s possible.”

She sighed. “But it’s hard to picture her actually mounting an attack.”

“Let’s consider another suspect,” he said.

“Who?”

“Your cousin.”

“Why him?”

“Because in his eyes, you’re a rival.”

“Yes. But I wonder if he really thinks there’s not room for both of us in New Orleans. I mean, the Brennan family has at least ten restaurants, and they all get along.”

“They get along, as far as you know.
They probably don’t advertise their conflicts.”

“You could be right.”

“How well do you know Cousin Bennett?”

“We played together as kids.
But we don’t run in the same circles now. Like I said, the last time we saw each other was at Thanksgiving. We were never exactly friends.”

“Where was that?”

“Another cousin’s house.”

“And you both brought food?”

She laughed. “I did. Cornbread stuffing, crawfish etouffee.”

“For Thanksgiving?”

“This is New Orleans, after all.”

“What did he bring?”

“Wine.”

“And everyone praised your food.”

“Yes.”

She dragged in a breath and let it out. “He didn’t cook.
That’s not his thing.”

“I’m confused.
How does he have a restaurant and not cook?”

“He hires a chef.
He’s been through three different ones in four years. He gets into arguments with them about the cost of food.”

“How does he think he’s going to make it in a town with a very competitive restaurant scene?”

“He’s got charm. He makes people feel welcome.”

“Maybe that’s not good enough.”

“It could be—if he has the right person in the kitchen. There are tourists who don’t know a lot about fine dining. They get a meal from him that’s good enough. Or they can’t get reservations at one of the top places, so they settle. Actually, I’ve gotten customers that way.”

“And you know all this about him—how?”

“The foodie community here is like a small town. Word gets around. But the tourists don’t hear the rumblings.”

Rafe nodded.
“It sounds like he’s going about this completely differently from you.”

She nodded.

“He’s a couple years older than you are?”

“Yes.”

“And he started before you?”

“Yes.
He got a good deal on a restaurant, in an excellent location.”

“He could afford it?”

“His part of the family was better with money.”

“What else do you consider significant about him?”

“My mother likes him. She used to compare us unfavorably.”

“Nice of her.”

She laughed. “Mom has high standards. I didn’t necessarily meet them.”

He wanted to say, “like hanging out with the handyman’s son.” But he kept the comment to himself.

oOo

Eugenia had never been to Café LaBret and was interested to see it.

Rafe slowed as he approached the restaurant, which was on a side street off St. Charles. He found a parking space down the block, and they both walked back. The interior was a relentless homage to the fifties, with Formica and chrome fixtures and black and white vinyl tile on the floor. Instead of big flat-screen TVs with sports events, there were a couple of clunky old television sets showing I Love Lucy segments. You could eat at the counter or at one of the booths or tables in the back, and the waitresses all wore pink uniforms with white aprons.

When they walked in, Rafe nodded to a man who was already sitting at a table for two.
He looked up, saw Eugenia and gave Rafe a questioning look. He answered with a small shrug.

As they walked back, Eugenia saw that his police detective friend was about Rafe’s age, with light brown hair cut almost military short, blue eyes and a solid build.
He was wearing a blue sports jacket and gray pants, an outfit considerably less grand than what Cumberland had worn the night before.

“Pete Grady, this is Eugenia Beaumont.”

Although he obviously wasn’t pleased to see her tagging along, he said, “Nice to meet you—although I wish the circumstances were better.”

She nodded.
“Nice to meet you, too. I understand you’re an old friend of Rafe’s.”

“Yeah, we got in trouble together back in the day.”

He picked up his coffee cup and carried it from the smaller table to a nearby booth that could accommodate all of them. When he sat down, Rafe and Eugenia sat opposite him.

He gave Eugenia a considering look.
“When Rafe and I arranged to get together, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

The blunt words made her realize that perhaps she’d made a mistake in insisting on coming along. Her presence definitely made this a business meeting.

“So are you here to make sure I’m not telling Rafe anything he doesn’t want you to find out?”

“I guess you could talk on the phone for that.”

The detective nodded. Shifting in his seat, he looked at Rafe. “What is it that you want—exactly?”

A middle-aged waitress with dyed yellow hair came over.

“Coffee?”

“Yes, thanks,” Rafe said.
He picked up the menu and studied the selections.

“The blueberry pancakes are good,” Pete said.

“Sold.”

When the waitress came back with their coffee, they all ordered breakfast, with Eugenia opting for, “two eggs over with wheat toast and bacon.”

Once they were alone again, Pete gave Rafe a questioning look.

“I was hoping you could keep me in the loop on the investigation,” Rafe said.

The detective waited a beat before answering. “I could lose my job if anybody found out.”

“Yeah,” Rafe agreed.

Pete flicked his eyes toward Eugenia and then away, making her wish she hadn’t crashed this party. There might be things Pete wouldn’t risk telling Rafe in front of her that he’d say if the two men were alone

“Well, if there
is
anything you can share, I’d appreciate it,” Rafe said.

The food came, and the men poured a liberal amount of syrup on their pancakes.

They discussed the case in a general way, with Rafe doing more of the talking, filling in his friend on what he’d observed so far. Probably Grady was thinking that she’d been stupid to get into the voodoo business. But nobody said it out loud.

Toward the end of the meal, the detective forked up a bite of pancakes, chewed and swallowed.

“Cumberland is bucking for a promotion,” he said.

“Oh yeah?” Rafe answered.

“He thinks he’s going to make deputy chief.”

“Will he?”

“He’s not well liked in the department.” He glanced at Eugenia. “If he can crack a high-profile case, that would be another check in his column.”

“And I’m high profile?”

“Not exactly. But Villars has been a power in the business community for years.”

“So he’d have enemies.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Do we know if any of them were at the ceremony last night?”

“Can you tell me who was there?” Grady asked.

Rafe got out his cell phone and went down the list of guests.

“Nobody rings a bell,” the detective said. “But you might want to check out a guy named Sam Gunderson.”

“Why?”

“He and Villars were both interested in a piece of property in the French Quarter.”

“For what?”

“A boutique hotel. Gunderson got it, and Villars was angry.”

“That would make Gunderson go after him?”

“Villars had some nasty stuff to say—like that Gunderson was planning to set up a high-class whorehouse.”

“Nice” Rafe murmured.
“Thanks for the tip. I’ll check him out.”

As soon as they were out of the restaurant, Eugenia said, “Sorry.”

“About what?”

“Barging in.”

“He was being circumspect, but he could help us out later. It’s obvious he doesn’t like Cumberland.” He laughed. “Probably nobody likes Cumberland.”

She switched topics and asked,
“How are you feeling?”

“Okay.”

“You only ate half your pancakes.”

“Pancakes are filling.”

“Then why did you order them?”

“I haven’t had any in a long time. Are you going to grill me on my eating habits?”

“I’m concerned that you may have had a concussion last night, and you’re not feeling one hundred percent today.”

“Maybe not a hundred percent, but close.”

They had reached the car. After they got in, she said, “Maybe we’ll do better with Calista.”

“I think she’s also going to be reluctant to share anything significant, but we have to try.”

He punched in the address, then headed back to the French Quarter, where he found a parking space on Chartres Street. As they walked back to the shop, Eugenia was very conscious of his hand dangling only a few inches from hers.

She’d told herself she’d put away her feelings for him long ago, but the moment she’d seen him, she’d known she was fooling herself.
She still cared about him. The question was, how did he feel about her?

They walked into Galaxy, which featured all sorts of occult paraphernalia decorated in reassuring tones of mauve and silver.

Eugenia remembered her reaction to the shop when she’d first seen it a year ago. She’d thought Calista had cleverly allowed customers to gradually go from the familiar to something more far out. She wondered what Rafe would think about the place.

oOo

Rafe looked around the shop, taking in the decor and the subtle suggestions that there was nothing strange or threatening about Calista’s wares.

“Interesting,” he commented.
“I’d say she knows exactly what she’s doing.”

“I think it makes the middle-class customers who might start with tarot and astrology feel more comfortable playing around with something more edgy,” Eugenia told him.
“You don’t have to admit you’re shopping here for anything but tarot cards. It’s like Voodoo Night at my restaurant. They can say they’re coming for the great food—instead of the ceremony.”

“So you admit you’re a good cook?”

“I know I’m a good cook.”

As they were talking, a curtain at the back of the shop parted, and a petite woman with very light café au lait skin, pretty features, and short-cut, dark, curly hair stepped out.
It was Calista, looking very different from the woman they’d seen last night. She was very much a modern businesswoman in her dark suit and emerald green blouse.