“My boyfriend threw me out and said not to come back without some cash.” Erica shook her head to get the strands of dark brown hair out of her face. “No biggie, but these days it’s dead out here after nine.”

  “You need that idiot in your life like you need cancer. How about you stay with me and start again tomorrow?”

  Erica put her hands in Sept’s back pockets. “You condoning breaking the law, Detective?” She laughed when Sept slapped her backside again but started walking.

  After they made it up the stairs and into her apartment, Sept pointed toward the bedroom. “The bathroom’s through there.”

  “You lost a lot of stuff in the storm?” Erica asked, her eyes slowly scanning the main room.

  “The more stuff you own, the more you have to clean, so I just got what I needed.” Sept opened the refrigerator, which held only two beers and an empty pizza box.

  “Yeah, I can see you’re a big fan of cleaning,” Erica said, staring at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

  “Who are you, Merry Maid?” Erica laughed, and Sept unbuckled her pants on the way to the bedroom. When she dropped them in the hamper she noticed the multitude of food stains, including some of Donovan’s last effort. Shout probably wouldn’t do the trick. She grabbed a fresh T-shirt and slipped it over her underwear.

  “Mind if I shower?” Erica asked.

  Sept had never seen Erica under a good light. She had started hooking after the storm, when her boyfriend had lost his job, so she still had that young, fresh look. A few more months and that brightness in her face would disappear.

  “Sure. Take your time.” Once the bathroom door closed, Sept searched the top of the closet for the metal box she seldom used to lock away her gun and badge. Then she lay down, ready for another sleepless night.

  The tune Erica was humming in the shower and the running water were the last things she heard until four, when Noel appeared, begging her to help find Sophie. Sept dove under with that now-familiar sense of panic that she was already too late.

  When the two turned into the water-bloated images Sept’s dream always dredged up, she woke up gasping and covered in sweat. Only this time she wasn’t alone. Erica hovered over her with her hand above Sept’s chest.

  “You’re okay, it’s just a dream.” Erica rubbed her hand in a circle. Sept screaming “No” over and over had woken her. “You’re okay now,” she repeated, trying to ease the look of fear on Sept’s face.

  “Thanks,” Sept said as she kicked the sheet off and sat up.

  “Wait.” Erica sat up behind her and put her arms around Sept’s neck to keep her from standing. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “It’s nothing—just a bad dream.”

  “My mama used to call those the night terrors. Said there’s only one way to keep them away.” Erica ran her hands along Sept’s shoulders, down her arms, and up along her back so she could repeat the motion. “Want to give it a try? We had too little sleep for you to get up now.”

  “What’s the cure?”

  Erica edged closer and kissed her neck, then her cheek. When Sept didn’t push her away she got up and sat on her lap so she could reach her lips easier. “The cure is to have someone love you,” Erica said as she traced Sept’s lips with her fingers. She could read the fatigue in the dark circles under Sept’s eyes, so what she decided next was partly for that and also because she wasn’t ready to go back to her asshole boyfriend. “Lift up,” she said, tugging on the elastic band of Sept’s underwear.

  “You don’t have to go that far,” Sept told Erica, who was now on her knees between her legs.

  “Let me, please.” The underwear came off easily and she smiled up at Sept before she put her mouth on her. That’s all she used as she licked and sucked Sept’s clit until it was hard against her tongue. Sept barely made a sound, but Erica could tell by her breathing and the wetness coating her chin that she was close. The moment Sept put her hand at the back of her head, Erica sucked as hard as she could until Sept bucked her hips a couple of times, then lifted her off the floor.

  “If that’s what your mother had in mind, you two must’ve had an interesting relationship,” Sept said as she lay back with Erica plastered to her side.

  “That’s disgusting,” Erica said, and kissed her shoulder. “After she kissed away the bad feelings, she would sing to us.” Erica started to hum, and the tune she picked made Sept’s laughter gradually give way to deep, even breaths, a sign she was asleep.

  Erica was still awake at seven, and she carefully extracted herself from Sept’s side and picked up her wallet. Sept had left it on the nightstand next to her keys and cell phone the night before. She dressed and left without a sound, cash in hand.

  At seven thirty Sept’s cell phone woke her and she groped for it, feeling drugged from all the sleep. “Savoie,” she barked. The light streaming into the room made her put her other hand over her eyes as she fell back into her pillow.

  “Where are you?” Royce asked.

  “Getting some sleep, like you told me to.” Sept held the phone to her ear, the short silence on the other end giving her the chance to listen for Erica, but the apartment was too quiet for her to still be there. “What’s up?” She turned her head and noticed her wallet wasn’t in the same spot she’d put it down. A hundred dollars was missing.

  “You’ve got another one.”

  “Am I the only homicide detective left in the city? I’m already working a case.”

  “Cut the whining and get going. I already sent Nathan out there and he asked me to call you.”

  She stepped on her discarded underwear on the way to the bathroom, a reminder of her early morning activities. “He did this from his years of experience in the field?”

  “Just call the kid and get the details, then phone me when you know something.”

  He hung up before she could add anything else, so she threw the phone on the rumpled bed and headed for the shower. When she finished she walked naked to the closet to grab something to wear and found Erica sitting on the bed with her legs crossed.

  “Are you mad?” Erica asked.

  “Should I be?” Sept said as she kept her course for the closet in consideration of time and not because she was uncomfortable naked.

  “You were sleeping when I left and you looked like you could use the rest. I wanted to do something to thank you for last night, but I’m broke.”

  A dark blue pair of pants was next in the lineup, so Sept chose a cable-knit fisherman’s sweater to go with them, since she figured she’d be outside in the damp cold for most of the day again.

  “No need to explain, but I’d appreciate if you asked first.” The bed bounced when Sept sat next to Erica to put her shoes on. “You want to hang out longer? You can, but I’ve got to go.”

  “Can you take five minutes first?” Erica took her hand and walked her into the small kitchen, where a pot of coffee and an omelet in the frying pan were ready to be served. “Your change’s on the counter.”

  “You didn’t have to go to the trouble, but I’m glad you did. I’m starving.” Sept cut the egg dish in half and found plates and mugs so she could serve Erica.

  “You really don’t mind if I hang here today?” Erica ate like someone who hadn’t in a while.

  “Watch TV and relax, and when I get back we can talk about your next move. But try and think today whether you still want this guy you’re living with. I can’t choose for you, but you stay with somebody like that and it won’t end well.”

  Erica pushed her last bit of omelet around her plate and lowered her head. “It’s either him or the street. I got no place else to go.”

  “If you have friends, that’s never true.” Sept finished and gathered up the dishes and deposited them in her now-empty sink. “Take another shower if you want, and a nap later. Call if you need anything.” She handed Erica her card.

  “I bought some other stuff so I’ll cook, if you want.”

  “I’m not sure when I’ll be back, so hold off on that.” Sept hugged her before she strapped on her gun. “Lock yourself in.” Erica smiled and waved as Sept closed the door. “What the hell am I thinking?” she asked herself as she descended the stairs. “You don’t have time for strays.” But Erica was only nineteen, so it wasn’t too late to make a positive difference in her life. If Sept’s life was built on anything it was that—trying to make a difference.

  Chapter Five

  The park in the uptown section of St. Charles Avenue had made Gambit Weekly’s list of bests for “Best Park to Take Your Kids” for ten years straight. The yearly list compiled locals’ opinions on best restaurants, happy hours, movie houses, clubs—five hundred things that made New Orleans unique. Sept was sure the scene she drove up to wasn’t what the Gambit voters had in mind.

  “I stopped for coffee,” Nathan said, and held up a cup. He took a sip out of the one in his other hand, only to miss the sip hole and spill some down his coat.

  “Only your second day and you’re already sucking up? What’d you do wrong so early? Hell, I got down here in less than an hour after talking to you.” Behind Nathan the left corner of the park was taped off, and the uniformed officers were keeping the press across the street on the grassy center of the avenue.

  “I was just being nice because you won’t like what’s behind door number two. If you want to guess, think of something you’ve seen recently and go from there.”

  The traffic slowed as it came even with them, and almost everyone was rubbernecking. She called over one of the uniforms to control the flow.

  “Let’s see what we got, Detective,” she told Nathan, and flicked him behind the ear.

  An older woman was on her back, her eyes and mouth open, her arms spread out like she’d been posed. The stab wound in the center of her chest was noticeable because the killer had ripped open her coat and sweatshirt this time. The blood pool was more compact because it had seeped into the dirt surrounding the merry-go-round where she’d fallen. Along the top of her chest were two lines of smears that the bleeding hadn’t caused.

  “Tell me what you know,” Sept said to Nathan as she put on a pair of gloves and booties.

  “No ID on her, so I have some guys canvassing and asking if they know her. A couple of joggers found her at six thirty this morning on their way to Audubon Park. The older of them checked for a pulse, so those are his shoeprints next to her head. Other than that, she was stabbed and robbed like Donovan Bisland from Blanchard’s.” His rundown was numbered in his notebook, and Sept smiled when he checked off each item as he said it.

  “Here’s a tip that’ll keep the brass from ripping your throat out.” She stepped closer to the body but kept to the grass for now. “Don’t let the media vultures hear you say one crime scene is like another one, that there’s a pattern.”

  “You don’t think there is?”

  “There are definitely similarities, but they don’t need to know that yet.” She pointed to the mob across the way. “They catch a whiff of that and the headlines will scare the shit out of even you.”

  “Thanks,” Nathan said from right behind her. “Tell me what I missed.”

  To Sept the scene was too open for a robbery, even if the usually busy avenue had light traffic after dark. This section of St. Charles had sustained more wind and fire damage than flooding, so it was more populated. A thief with a taste for murder who chose this spot was begging to get caught.

  “Did they find any other footprints?”

  “You beat the forensics team here, but those were the only ones I saw,” Nathan answered. “The only cover he had was the merry-go-round, yet I didn’t see much in the dirt around it as far as evidence goes.”

  Four feet of dirt surrounded the playground equipment, and as Sept made the complete circle, she didn’t discover another footprint. This children’s play area should’ve been covered in a variety of prints.

  “The killer evidently wiped the entire area clean.” Sept knelt in the grass right where it gave way to the play area. “Does someone who does that strike you as a person who’s only after small change?”

  Nathan crouched down next to her. “What do you mean?”

  “Donovan was a victim of convenience. He was in the right place at the right time.”

  When she stopped talking he stared at her. “Yeah, so?”

  “His wallet and watch were gone, but what about that scene, and this one, makes you think someone didn’t take that stuff for the usual reasons?” Sept was thinking out loud when George and Alex arrived.

  George said, when he was close enough, “Could you tell this creep he can take a day off between this shit?”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Sept answered like she always did when he complained. “I doubt you’ll find anything, but work the whole circle. And get some of the uniforms to walk the area and find what was used to sweep that dirt clean. That might be the only thing you’ll find evidence on.”

  “You heading out?” George asked.

  “Nathan and I have a stop to make, so do me another favor and turn the body over to the coroner’s office. I need Gavin to look at that wound.” Sept was talking about Gavin Domangue, the coroner.

  “You got it, darlin’.”

  As they walked toward the cars, Nathan said, “You don’t strike me as the type.”

  Sept stopped and grabbed him by the back of the collar. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know.” He laughed, but stopped when she didn’t join in. “You’re not the type to let some old guy flirt with you.”

  “Again, what did you promise my father for this job? Because you’re an idiot.” She smacked him in the back of the head as George cracked up behind her. “The old guy’s my uncle, so you’re not only an idiot but a sicko.”

  “Sept, I’m sorry. How was I supposed to know he’s related to you?”

  “First off, the old shield they fished out of the candy jar should make you more observant. Second, I didn’t rip his balls off and hang them from his ears. Keep that in mind should you have an overwhelming desire to call me some pet name.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Only after Nathan swallowed visibly did Sept laugh and start walking again. “Leave your car. We’ll come back for it later.”

  “You sure you want me riding with you?”

  Sept stared at him over the roof of the car. “You’re an idiot, Nathan, but you’re mine, so get in.”

  *

  “Have you heard if Norman and his boys are back in business?” Della Blanchard sat on a stool in the middle of the kitchen at Blanchard’s as the staff prepared for the lunch rush.

  “Their fields were ruined, so we’re using Monty and his brother as our oyster suppliers,” Keegan said.

  “It’ll take forever to recover from this damn storm. Our family’s been buying oysters from Norman for years.”

  “Gran, remember your blood pressure,” Keegan said gently, and stirred in the ingredients for the cream sauce they used on their crab cakes while Della ranted. “About half our suppliers were set back, but we assured them we’ll take them back when they’re ready.”

  “Because of you, I don’t worry about our future, sweetheart. It takes more than good food for this business to be successful. You’ve learned not only that, but how to treat people.” Donovan’s assistant handed Della a piece of pecan pie. As her fork went up the hum of the kitchen quieted, since the employees knew this was a test. “Almost, but still very good. Try more butter in your crust next time.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Please, you’re part of our family, call me Della. Let’s try the bread pudding next.”

  “You got it.”

  Della took another bite of pie before she handed the plate back. “Any repercussions in our numbers from Donovan’s death?”

  “The detective in charge kept the madness out back so I doubt anyone noticed, and the paper did a decent job with the coverage.”

  “Is that the idiot who considered you a suspect?”

  Keegan laughed more easily now that she knew she wasn’t, but she still hadn’t figured out why. “She was just doing her job, Gran, and she promised she’d keep me informed.” Keegan took a small spoon and tried her sauce, then took it off the fire. “Promise me you won’t start making calls.”

  “Friend of yours?” Della asked. She accepted the tureen of bread-pudding soufflé with warm whiskey cream sauce and took a bite. This one was sacrosanct—no matter who made it, they followed the recipe. “Perfect, thank you.”

  “Actually, Detective Sept Savoie is more like finding a roach on your plate, but she’s determined to hunt down whoever did this.”

  “Sept? Who names their child ‘Seven’?”

  “The next time I see her I’ll ask.” The clock in the kitchen chimed eleven times and everyone took a moment to meticulously clean their station.

  “You do that, and I’ll see you in a couple of days at brunch. Good luck, everyone.” Della kissed Keegan good-bye and gave everyone a short wave before she pushed through the swinging doors.

  Keegan still had a little time before the lunch crowd started, so she closed the door of the chef’s office and scanned the résumés she’d received. They needed someone to replace their last chef, who’d relocated to Arizona after the storm. So Keegan was trying to find the next Emeril Lagasse. Until then, she was in charge here, with Della’s blessing.

  From the door, Jacquelyn Blanchard said, “I hardly recognize you since you’re not chopping the crap out of something.”

  “At least one of us learned to cook, princess,” Keegan shot back at her older sister.

  “Be nice. I came to tell you how sorry I am about Donovan. I would’ve come sooner, but I’ve been stuck in city hall with the economic development committee, and you were sleeping by the time I got home.”

  “It was one of those ‘long baths with a large glass of pinot, then off to bed’ nights. Sorry. Yesterday was hard enough when the staff found Donovan and called me, but add all the commotion that followed and I was numb. I don’t mind news coverage of the restaurant, but not because of this.”