As Sept pressed the bell, Erica asked, “What’s this place?”

  “The friend I was telling you about lives here.”

  The door opened and an elderly African American gentleman stood erectly in the opening. His hair was as white as Sept’s, but while her eyes were almost black, his were a deep, vivid green. He wore a suit that fit the way only custom-tailored clothes do, and when he saw Sept his face relaxed into a smile.

  “I’ll be, girlie, I feel safer already,” Wilson Delacour said, and his voice sounded as if he’d spent his life singing the blues. “Get in here before folks think we’re being raided.”

  “Mr. Wilson, when’s Brandi going to let you retire?”

  “That girl can’t live without me, so I’m here until they carry me out in a pine box.” Wilson took their coats and pointed to the room to the left. “You here to see her majesty?”

  “If she’ll grant me five minutes,” Sept said. The front parlor was furnished with French antiques, but Brandi had re-covered most of them in a leopard-skin material.

  “Pour a drink if you want, and I’ll call her down.” Wilson closed the double doors.

  “This is Brandi Parrish’s Red Door,” Sept said, to finally answer Erica’s question.

  Erica grabbed Sept by the bicep and laughed. “Brandi Parrish the madam? No way. She’s a myth that old guys like the one that just left have created because they like to spin a good story.”

  “I’m a cop, Erica, but you learn certain things fast if you want to stay a cop. When it comes to law enforcement, some addresses don’t exist.” She took Erica’s hand off her arm and placed it in her lap. “I don’t care how much evidence you have—the rules are firm. The Red Door falls into that category, and it’s not myth.”

  “And you’re all right with that?”

  “I do my best to uphold the law, but I’ve never considered Brandi a threat to anyone.”

  “Unless I’ve got a whip in my hand, honey, then I’m plenty threat,” Brandi said from a door that, before she opened it, appeared to be a full-length mirror in a gilded frame. Her black hair was pulled back into a cascade of curls, and the negligee she wore accentuated her large breasts and small waist.

  Brandi had told Sept she’d been the youngest of five children, and she’d always promised herself that she wouldn’t end up cleaning fish or peeling shrimp like most of the women in her family. That drive had paved her way to Bourbon Street as the madam and owner of the Red Door.

  “The stories I could tell about my whip would put some color in that head of hair of yours,” Brandi told Sept.

  “Listening to those stories is what drained the color right out of it.” Sept rose and kissed Brandi on the lips. “I’d ask how you’ve been, but it’s that ‘whole good enough to eat’ thing,” Sept said with a smile.

  “And all those boys in blue wonder why you’re my favorite.” Brandi took Sept’s arm and led her to one of the settees. “Gonna introduce me to your friend?”

  “Erica Median, this is Brandi Parrish.”

  “Your answer to my problem is to bring me to a brothel?” Erica asked, as if the idea sounded ridiculous to her.

  “That’s the biggest favor Sept could’ve done you, so show me some respect or get the hell out of my house. Your sitting in this room doesn’t mean anything yet,” Brandi said.

  “This isn’t a brothel, Erica, it’s a home. That’s what you said you wanted, but you also said this is what you wanted to do. With Brandi you can work, have a place to stay, and have someone to take care of you.” Sept spoke, but she was hyperaware of Brandi’s perfume.

  “What’s this going to cost me?”

  “I have an empty suite available for three thousand a month,” Brandi said.

  “Three thousand? Are you nuts?”

  “That’ll take you six dates. The rest of the month I’ll line up as much work as you want, and you can start saving or spending it on whatever you want.”

  “Or,” Sept said, “you can try something novel, like going back to school.” She sat next to Erica. “It’s up to you, so stay and talk it over. If you decide against it I’ll see you back at the apartment later.”

  “Go on, Sept. We’ll come to terms,” Brandi said. She accepted another kiss from Sept and waited for Wilson to show her out.

  “This is a weird thing for a cop to do,” Erica said.

  “Sept knows that you can try to change things for the better, but if you’re schlepping all by yourself you can’t change anything at all.”

  Erica stared at her for a long minute before she said what was on her mind. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m a whore, so I should be a good one?”

  “Actually, you think you’re just a whore, but she put you somewhere that’ll give you the opportunity for something else. Trust me, there’s a difference.” Brandi stood and opened the double doors. “Would you like to see your new place?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Brandi slightly curled her lips up in a smile before she nodded. “You’re off to a good start.”

  *

  “There’s a forty-minute wait,” the hostess at Mackie Blanchard’s told Sept. “You can sit in the bar if you like.”

  The place was full, and Sept figured people were anxious to get away from their forced rebuilding. She gave the woman her name and headed for the bar behind her.

  “Vodka on the rocks.” Sept pointed to the brand she wanted. She wasn’t interested in eating, but she didn’t feel like going home yet, so she used the excuse of seeing Keegan to stay out. She twirled her glass on the oak bar and let the bits of information from the last two days swirl around her mind. Lost in that process, she relaxed, knowing that sometimes something would pop out.

  After Keegan saw Sept in the bar with her head down, she stopped halfway in taking her coat off.

  “What’s wrong?” Jacqueline asked as she helped her and followed the direction of Keegan’s eyes. “Friend of yours?”

  “No, I’m just surprised to see her here.” Keegan watched Sept’s idle movements.

  “You’ve got that look,” Jacqueline said, her voice singsongy.

  “I do not, that’s Detective Savoie.”

  Jacqueline handed off their coats and put her arm around Keegan’s shoulders. The way she hummed made Keegan glance up at her. “You know, sis, if anyone who looks like that accuses you of something and you could end up in handcuffs—I say go for it.”

  “Are you totally insane?”

  “Hardly, and don’t play Miss Innocent with me and tell me you didn’t notice how good-looking she is. If that’s your story, then try telling it somewhere else, because I’m not buying. She could almost make me forget Adam.”

  “Ha,” Keegan said louder than she meant, and it carried across to the bar. “You’re not gay, and you’d shave your head before you’d let anyone handcuff you.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, sweet pea.” Jacqueline pressed Keegan closer and winked at her. “Look, your date has spotted us.”

  “She’s not my date,” Keegan said in an exasperated whisper. “And if you say anything like that in front of her… Detective, it’s nice to see you again.” Keegan’s voice cracked at the end. “Do you eat here often?”

  “Ms. Blanchard.” Sept held out her hand. “It’s nice seeing you too, and no, I don’t. The closest I’ve come to a Blanchard establishment was the Dumpsters at your place.”

  “You have something against good food?” Keegan asked.

  “My mother’s an excellent cook, so no, but I work for the city. Your family’s out of my league. Are you going to introduce me?”

  Keegan hesitated when she saw the size of Jacqueline’s smile. “This is my sister Jacqueline.”

  “How about we treat you to dinner for all your loyal service?” Jacqueline suggested as she waggled her fingers at the hostess.

  “That’s okay. I just need to ask Ms. Blanchard a few more questions.”

  The hostess waited with three menus in her hands.

  “You can ask whatever you like, but is there a rule that says you can’t do it over barbequed shrimp?”

  “Resistance is futile, as they say, so you should surrender while you still can,” Keegan said. Sept nodded and followed the two down the steps to the main dining room. “You can order off the menu or leave it up to Jacqueline,” Keegan said to her when they sat down.

  “How does Jacqueline know what I like?”

  “A challenge, I love it.” Jacqueline took her menu and left the table for the kitchen.

  “It’s her way of making up for being the only Blanchard who can’t cook.” Keegan shrugged. “What’d you want to ask me?”

  “I know we had some problems when I asked if you socialized with Donovan.”

  “You didn’t ask me that, you accused me of sleeping with him. Not quite the same thing.”

  Sept accepted her new drink. “I did apologize for that, Ms. Blanchard.”

  “So you did.” Keegan lifted her glass of pinot. “How about you call me Keegan and I’ll call you Sept.”

  “That sounds good, but I’ll give you the right to change your mind once I start asking questions.” The answer bordered on flirting, but Sept just wanted to keep up with Keegan. She held her glass up and waited.

  “Sounds like you might be seeing the error of your ways, but I’ll only drink to that if you answer one question for me.”

  “I’ll give it my best shot.” They touched glasses, and the atrocities of the day slipped into the box Sept kept in the back of her mind. “What would you like to know?”

  “Actually, two people asked me today who names their child Seven? That’s what your name means, right?”

  The question wasn’t original. Sept had spent a lifetime answering it, but the way Keegan phrased it made her sit back and laugh. “A woman who had six children and was surprised with a seventh. Since my mother definitely didn’t want any more surprises, she considered me her lucky seventh. We’re French, so she thought Sept was more acceptable than the English version, and she put it on my birth certificate.”

  “Your mother sounds like an interesting woman.” Keegan sat back as well and held her glass with both hands. “She didn’t per chance name the other six Un, Deux, Trois, Quatre, Cinq, and Six, did she?”

  “Camille Savoie showed more imagination than that with Gustave, François, Alain, Jacques, Joel, and Noel.” The door of the kitchen opened, and Jacqueline walked out a few steps and stopped. She stared at Keegan, then turned back again. “Is it just you and Jacqueline?”

  “Yes, just the two of us.” When Keegan took a sip of her wine, Sept noticed how good her lips looked moistened. “Now, what did you want to ask me?”

  “If you ever did socialize with Donovan, did he ever mention a woman named Robin Burns?”

  Keegan closed her eyes as if to give the question her full attention. “We’d go out for drinks every so often, and we worked together so I knew a lot about his life, but that name doesn’t sound familiar.”

  “She was blind. Does that help?”

  “That I’d remember. He might’ve known her, but he never mentioned her in our time together. Who is she?”

  A waiter came out and set two plates of shrimp down. The appetizers made Keegan turn and glance toward the kitchen. “Jacqueline must still be coordinating the rest of dinner,” she said. “Sorry, I’m being rude. Who’s Robin Burns?”

  “Another case I’m working that has some similarities. I thought you could help me make a connection, if there’s one to make.”

  The forkful of shrimp stopped midway to Keegan’s mouth and she put it down. “Someone else got stabbed like that?”

  For the first time since they met, Keegan showed the normal emotional reaction Sept was used to as her eyes watered and fat tears rolled down her cheeks. Without thinking, Sept wiped them away with her thumb. Her mother always said that people became good at something like cooking because they had a passion for life in general. To Camille you couldn’t be truly passionate unless you took things to heart. Keegan wasn’t just a good chef, but obviously a good friend.

  “Donovan might’ve died early, but he was a lucky man,” Sept said, and moved closer. “He lived his dream and he had one good friend that I know of, and I’m sure you’ll never forget him. I might not have known him, but I won’t forget him either. Whoever did this will answer for it.”

  “They killed someone else, though, didn’t they?”

  “Ms. Burns was found this morning, and while the crimes were similar, they were different too, so I can’t really give you a definitive answer yet.” To try to cajole Keegan back into a good mood, she lifted Keegan’s fork and offered it to her. “I know it’s hard, but try and forget about it right now. If some irate guy comes out of the kitchen complaining about wasted seafood, I’m not running interference for you.”

  “You think you’ll find who did this?”

  “There have been some perfect crimes, but usually something of the killer is left behind. My father always says there aren’t any ghosts, because only a ghost leaves no tracks to follow. My job is to find that little bit of the killer he leaves behind, and no one’s better at it than me.”

  Keegan took a bite of her food and nodded as if approving of the flavor. A taste of wine followed before she returned the favor and pushed Sept’s plate closer. “To anyone else, what you said would sound boastful.”

  “A lot of people do think I’m an egomaniac.” Sept started on her appetizer.

  “If they think that, they obviously haven’t taken the time to talk to you. To me you’re more than passionate about your job, as I am about mine. You come off as a bitch—”

  “But a really caring one?”

  “Sorry. That came out wrong.”

  “I’d agree with you, but considering our first meeting I don’t blame you at all.” Sept had Keegan smiling again, so she was about to say good night when Jacqueline showed up holding two plates. “I hope you brought some of these out for yourself,” Sept said, and pointed to the last bite of appetizer in front of her.

  “I take it I guessed right on your first course?” Jacqueline held the plates high enough so Sept couldn’t see what they were.

  “You’d have to be an idiot or have a severe food allergy to shellfish not to,” Sept said.

  Keegan hid her smile behind her glass, but Sept saw it and joined in.

  “Care to make it three for three?” Jacqueline asked.

  “If you guessed any kind of liver, you’re going to have to admit defeat.”

  Jacqueline put the medium ribeye down first and followed it with garlic-butter mashed potatoes. The waiters followed with the rest of the food as Jacqueline sat down. “Well, is it to your liking?”

  “If you’d brought out a bottle of ketchup you’d have hit the bull’s eye,” Sept said as she picked up her knife and fork. She laughed when she glanced up at two startled faces. “Don’t worry. I only douse my fries in the stuff. I wouldn’t dream of putting it on steak.”

  “Good thing,” Jacqueline said as she cut into the same order as Sept’s. “I’d hate to ruin a good meal when Keegan cracked you over the head with the bottle.”

  “You find ketchup unacceptable, Ms. Blanchard?” Sept asked.

  “It’s Keegan, remember?” She nodded to the waiter when he placed her steak before her. “And there’s nothing wrong with ketchup.”

  “Except?” Sept took a bite, amazed at the tenderness of the meat.

  “Except if you put it on perfectly aged meat that Mackie uses his special blend of spices on, then cooks it the way they serve it here. You can do it if that’s how you like steak, but it’d be like adding Dogs Playing Poker in the background of the Mona Lisa.”

  “She’s loads of fun when you take her to Burger King,” Jacqueline said in a deadpan voice.

  They spent the rest of the meal in easy conversation, mostly about Sept’s family and stories of growing up the granddaughters of Della Blanchard. After traditional bread pudding and coffee, Sept felt like taking her pants off, but she had enjoyed the dinner.

  “Whenever you’d like to play again, give me a call,” Jacqueline said as they left.

  “Play?” Sept asked, confused.

  “The ‘guess what you like’ game,” Jacqueline clarified. “Only next time we’ll play for money.”

  “You shouldn’t have given away your dislike of liver,” Keegan said. “Slips like that make you lose your advantage.”

  “Noted.” Sept helped them on with their coats and opened the door. “Thank you both for dinner and for the company.”

  “It was our pleasure,” Jacqueline said, her voice an octave lower, but her jaw clicked shut when Keegan shoved her elbow into her side.

  “Keep in touch,” Keegan said.

  “Will do, and be careful.” Sept shook hands with both of them and headed to the car.

  “She’s not what I imagined after I talked to you this morning,” Jacqueline said.

  Keegan watched the taillights of Sept’s car as it took a right at the corner. She was headed uptown, perhaps for home. “What were you hoping for?”

  “I wasn’t hoping for anything.” Jacqueline handed her parking stub to the valet. “I was more curious than anything. That look you had made me believe you’d found another plaything.”

  The comment was typical of Jacqueline’s forthrightness. “Gosh, you make me sound like a slut.”

  “Please,” Jacqueline said, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her coat. “Not even close, but you have to admit you like them either self-centered or flighty, though I can relate to that.”

  “Go on,” Keegan said, waving her hands at Jacqueline. “This is so fascinating I can’t wait to hear more.”

  “It’s the same inclination Mom and I have, and it’s the best way to keep them all at arm’s length.”