Priceless (16 page)

Kat lowered her voice. “Charlotte, my reputation is formidable in this city. If you knew who you were dealing with, you’d be too scared to sit there.” She grinned. “Besides, you owe me, I got you a job.”

Suddenly, Charlotte grinned back and tossed down the rest of her cocktail. She got to her feet and tugged her dress into perfect alignment.

“I have a feeling you’re a force of nature, Kat Karraby.”

“Hurricane Kat, that’s me.”

Charlotte let the applause wash over her as she crossed the dance floor, the bright spotlight making it impossible for her actually to see anyone. Jackson reached down to help her onto the stage, and as she stepped into the spotlight he hesitated, just briefly.

“Well, hello again,” he said softly. “I guess you and I are going to jam together whether we like it or not.”

Charlotte felt the effects of the cocktail and smiled broadly at him, making him raise his eyebrows.

“Jackson, let’s bury the hatchet for one song, OK? Your band is awesome, and I promise I won’t embarrass you.”

Suddenly, he grinned back. “All right. What do you fancy? We have to stay in period, so pick something you know.”

“How about ‘I’ve Got News for You’?”

“Ray Charles?”

She nodded. It was a classic blues song, and the lyrics struck her as particularly appropriate for that night. Jackson shrugged and turned to face his band, baton raised.

Vamping chords, then a wailing sax introduced the song.

“You said before we met,”
Charlotte crooned into the vintage radio mic, starting low, her voice like velvet,
“that your life was awful tame. Well, I took you to a nightclub and the whole band knew your name.”
The audience burst out laughing, and Jackson got into the spirit of the thing, slowly turning and fixing her with a glare. Swinging gently at the mic, she sang the song to him.
“Well, baby, baby, baby, I’ve got news for you, somehow your story don’t ring true. Well, I’ve got news for you.”

With each verse, she turned up the volume and the ache in her voice, and soon her passion and love of the music infected everyone in the club. It was an amazing moment, with hundreds of people all listening intently, smiling, swaying to the blues, and watching this tiny white girl lay into the song as if she’d been born to it. The band caught it, too, and the solos were inspired, the sax player in particular loving it. While the musicians played, she danced slowly with her mic stand, her eyes closed, her beautiful face looking relaxed, occasionally adding some harmonies.

Jackson was thrilled to hear her sing, not that his face showed any emotion at all. A big band like his worked superbly with a featured singer, and he’d been looking for the perfect voice. How ironic that it would belong to someone he didn’t particularly respect, and a northerner at that.

When the song was over, the room exploded. Whistles, cheers, stomps, and yells filled the air, and Charlotte beamed. Jackson shook her hand sedately. Charlotte leaned into the mic.

“Thanks for the chance, guys, and if you’re looking for the perfect dress for next time, Noblesse N’oubliez has just the thing.”

Kat was still laughing when she got to the table. “OK, now we’re quits for the job. That was awesome! You’re amazing!!”

Charlotte shrugged. “I love singing, I really do. I wish I could do it for a living, but there just aren’t that many jobs out there, you know.”

Kat pointed at her. “Hey, let’s have a positive attitude, OK? If there’s any city in the world where music is as accessible
as water, it’s this one. Let’s finish getting drunk, and we’ll put together a plan for world domination.”

Charlotte nodded and signaled the waitress for more Manhattans.

When Charlotte arrived back at Miss Millie’s house late that night, she found a note taped to the kitchen table.

“Hope you had fun discovering the city,” the note said. “I’ve gone to see my sister in Texas for a couple of days, but I’ll be back on Sunday. If you need anything, just ask Jackson.”

Jackson came into the kitchen while she was reading the note and looked at her in her gorgeous dress, her arms full of shopping bags. He had clearly just come in himself.

“Well, that was an interesting evening. Did you know Kat Karraby before you came here?”

“No, we just met today.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Well, you are one lucky girl. Kat and her family know everyone in this town.” He paused. “She’s awesome, actually, I really like her. We were at school together, and she was in my mom’s history class for a while.”

He still hadn’t mentioned the music.

“Uh … your band is incredible.” Charlotte really wanted him to like her, and besides, it was true.

Silence.

“Thanks for letting me sit in.”

He shrugged. “You sing well.”

More silence.

“OK, well, I’m going to bed now. I’m starting work tomorrow.”

“You got a job already?”

She nodded. “Waiting tables at Kat’s dad’s restaurant.”

His mouth twisted a little. “Proving yet again that being connected is all you need in life, right? Well, good for you.” His tone was sour. “I’m off to bed, too.” He paused at the door and turned back, looking reluctant. “Maybe tomorrow if we run into each other, we could talk about more gigs.”

She frowned. “Gigs?”

“Yeah, well, the band really liked you, and clubs love a singer, and well …” He trailed off.

“Are you asking if I want to sing with your band sometime?” Her tone was neutral. She didn’t want to piss him off, and truth be told, she was overcome with excitement at the thought of getting to perform again.

He nodded.

“Well, sure, that would be great. We’ll talk tomorrow, OK?”

He nodded again and walked off. She stood for a moment until she heard his door close, and then she let out a quiet cheer. Two days in New Orleans, and she had a friend, a job, and now a chance to sing with an amazing band. She pulled off her clothes and climbed under the blanket on the sofa, hugging herself and smiling as she fell asleep.

Maybe things were starting to look up for her.

Or maybe not.

AFTER A RESTLESS
night and a slightly hungover day wandering
the city, Charlotte got ready to go to work for the late-afternoon and evening shift at the restaurant. Simple black pants, a white shirt, and the ugliest yet most comfortable shoes she’d ever owned. She pulled her hair back into a long braid, her one concession to her own style being vintage barrettes with black pearl butterflies. Simple makeup and clear nail polish, and she was just like every other young girl heading into the Quarter to wait tables. She had nearly a thousand dollars’ worth of French silk underwear on, but no one would see that. She smiled, despite her nerves. It was exciting having a job.

Jackson was in the kitchen, looking tired. “Hi there,” he said softly. “Off to work?”

She nodded. “I’m nervous.”

“Your first time?”

“Yes. Silly, right?”

He shrugged, pushing his chair back and starting to make himself a cup of coffee. “I was nervous the first job I had. I think everybody is. It would be kind of weird not to be, actually.”

“What was your first job?”

He smiled as he spooned sugar into his cup. “Fill-in piano player for the Quincy Jones Orchestra.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. I think I lost three pounds that night, just from sweating. But it was fine.”

“Did he invite you to join the band?”

Jackson snorted. “Are you joking? He never even spoke to me. There was another orchestra runner, the lead sax, who hired
me for the one night, paid me after, and never even remembered my name. Quincy Jones is a god, though. It was an amazing honor just following his baton.” He peered over the rim of his cup at her. “You’re really a good singer.”

She smiled. “Thanks. You’re really an amazing bandleader.”

“You need to loosen up a bit, though.”

A pause.

“How do you mean?” She leaned against the doorframe to look nonchalant, but actually her heart was racing.

“Well, you’ve got a very bluesy voice, particularly for a Northern white chick with classical training, but you might want to relax a bit, stylistically.”

“I was singing the blues and knocking it out of the park, I thought.”

He shrugged. “Look, don’t get all freaky. All I’m saying is you’re a good singer, but you could be great. It’s hard to really sing the blues and mean it if the worst thing that ever happened to you was Barneys running out of size two.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m a zero.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“A size zero, you idiot.”

“How can you be a size zero? Does that mean you don’t exist on a physical plane?”

“We were talking about music, remember?”

He stood up. “Look, crazy lady, I have to go get ready for work, and you’re going to be late for your first shift.”

She looked at her watch and cursed, grabbing her bag, which immediately tipped over, dumping the contents on the floor. Jackson knelt to help her, and for a moment, they were very close together. He put his hand on hers.

“Look, Charlotte, really, you’re a great singer, and you’re going to be amazing. I’ll help you, OK?”

She frowned at him. “I’m not a charity case, thanks.”

He grinned at her. “OK, princess, keep your hair on. Have a good time at work, ya hear?”

She snorted at him and left.

Standing there, thinking carefully, Jackson heard a phone ring somewhere near his feet. Looking around, he finally spotted it. Charlotte’s cell phone, under the chair. It must have dropped from her bag.

“Hello?”

“Hello there, you whore.”

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

The voice on the other end laughed. “Sorry, asshole, I was looking for your girlfriend. Fuck her while you can, dude, because I’m going to cut her heart out and watch her bleed to death.”

As Jackson snapped the phone shut, he could hear the guy still laughing, and as he grabbed his jacket and raced out the door, he was just glad she’d told him where she was working.

AS IT HAPPENED
, Agent Scarsford had arrived in New Orleans that morning, and he was sitting at a café across from Captain’s House, waiting for Charlotte. As he waited, he flipped through the FBI field reports on Kat Karraby and the Pearl family. The Pearls were totally clean legally, but Kat Karraby’s file was thicker. How likely was it that these two had just met? Was it possibly just coincidence, or was their connection much older? Kat’s grandfather had … wait, there was Charlotte now. Scarsford
lowered the brim on his baseball hat, keeping a low profile. He’d been surprised to learn she’d gotten a job. He strongly suspected she had access to the money Jacob had stolen, but maybe it was all part of her cover. It wasn’t as if she didn’t realize she was being watched; she could hardly buy herself a Maserati. Assuming she could even drive, he doubted she’d ever needed to.

Scarsford was still angry, with himself and with her. But as he watched her following another waitress around, learning the ropes, smiling and doing her best, he felt a little touched. Maybe she wasn’t involved. Maybe she was innocent. She looked young and fresh in her simple white shirt, and if he wanted nothing more than to take it off her, then that was his problem to deal with.