“Do you drink wine, or do you stick with vodka for all occasions?” Keegan splashed some into her glass and tasted it before pouring a glass for Sept. She was surprised when Sept took the bottle after she finished, then pulled out her chair. When Keegan sat, Sept poured her a glass of the pinot.

  “I do drink wine, but I compliment you on your observation skills. I thought I was the detective.”

  “It’s the first mark of a good restaurateur to know what her customers like.”

  Sept cut a piece of the veal chop and put it in her mouth, and Keegan rested her chin on her laced fingers when Sept closed her eyes and chewed. “How’d you know I like veal?” Sept asked when she swallowed.

  “You mean you don’t?” Keegan bypassed her plate for the wineglass, content to watch Sept eat. “You can try to lie, but that wasn’t the face of someone who doesn’t like veal.”

  “Actually, I don’t get to eat it often, but this is the best I’ve ever had. As for my reaction, usually only my mama brings that out in me on Sunday afternoons when I go over for lunch.”

  “Thank you for the compliment, Detective, and now that I’ve proved that I can cook, what have you done to catch Donovan’s killer?”

  It didn’t take long for Sept to tell Keegan what she could. She even asked if Donovan ever walked near the park where they’d found Robin Burns. That conversation was so short that Keegan had gotten through only a fourth of her dinner, so Sept engaged her with other questions.

  “So was the infamous Della Blanchard I’ve heard so much about the founder of the Blanchard empire?”

  “I dare you to call her infamous to her face, and no, she wasn’t. Her father opened Le Coquille D’Huîte in the French Quarter. Gran started working for him when she turned twenty-two, and from the stories I’ve heard it didn’t take her long to persuade him to buy this place.” Someone came and cleared their dishes and brought out coffee with two servings of the restaurant’s famous bread pudding.

  “If Blanchard was your grandmother’s father, how’d you all end up with the name?”

  “Della married into another Blanchard family. You know the name is as common here as Smith is in other places.”

  The old house around them creaked every so often when the wind outside picked up, but the remaining staff quietly prepared the place for the next day’s diners. Sept closed her eyes again when she tasted the first spoonful of bread pudding.

  “Your mother lucked out and did the same thing, or was your daddy the Blanchard?” Sept asked as she poured the rest of the rum cream sauce on her dessert.

  “Nope, my mom was born the Blanchard, and I’ll save the story of how Jacqueline and I ended up with the name for our next meal. The only other Blanchard cook in town is our cousin Mackie.”

  “Sounds like a fattening family to be a part of,” Sept said, then finished her dessert. “Are you done for tonight?”

  “I just have to call Jacqueline and I’m done.”

  “You need a ride?”

  “My car wouldn’t start this morning so I walked, but I promised Jacqueline I’d call tonight so I wouldn’t be out after dark alone.”

  “Tell her I’ll take you. I can’t cook, but I’m a great driver and escort.”

  Having Sept take her home wasn’t what Keegan had in mind for the end of her day, but despite their first rocky meeting she’d found their evening enjoyable. Sept had an easy manner that made Keegan want to relax and enjoy the moment. Their meal wasn’t a date, but she couldn’t remember a night when someone wasn’t trying to impress her with their culinary expertise or their incessant chatter about why they’d be a perfect companion for her and her family’s money.

  The silence they shared as Sept drove toward St. Charles in her beat-up Mercury sedan made Keegan think that her escort, as Sept had referred to herself, was a person comfortable with who she was.

  “It’s the one on the corner,” Keegan said, and pointed to the white house. “Can you go around back? I’m sure Jacqueline locked the front gate.”

  “You live with Jacqueline?”

  “She seldom picks up after herself, can’t boil water, and loves to dish out advice, but she’s a good roommate.” Keegan peered out the front window of the car and could imagine what Sept was thinking. “It’s not ours, you know,” she said in an effort to diffuse what message the colossal structure sent.

  “That’s a shame.”

  Keegan stared at Sept. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a beautiful house,” Sept said, her thumbs drumming the steering wheel. “You look like you belong there, so it’s a shame it’s not yours. People don’t put that kind of details into new construction”—she pointed to the ornate woodwork on the façade of the house—“and you’re the kind of person who seems to care about the details that make something special. Why, did I say something wrong?”

  “The house belongs to Della. She grew up there, and most people only see the bank account it must take to own it.” Keegan tried to sound as apologetic as possible.

  “When I first came out of the academy I used to patrol this area. You want to know what I always thought when I saw these places, especially this one?”

  Keegan shook her head. “You remember this one?”

  “It was the best-looking one on the avenue, but I wondered how much it would cost to heat and cool it.” Sept smiled. “People don’t understand that the folks inside places like this may have more money, but they share some of the same problems as everyone else. As a beat cop I still knocked on the doors around here because some of these guys beat their wives, their kids are on drugs or in some other kind of trouble, and sometimes they’re just nice folks that something bad happens to.

  “Keegan, you might have more money than me, but it doesn’t define who are you, unless you’re the kind of person who lets it.”

  When Keegan was growing up, her mother Melinda had told her that repeatedly. “What kind of person do you think I am?”

  Sept smiled again but didn’t answer. Instead she got out and walked around to open Keegan’s door. “The way you outwork everyone in the kitchen means you’re no snob who uses her name to make her way in life.” She held out her hand to help Keegan but let go as soon as she was on her feet. “Considering how you treated me the day we met, you’re no pushover, and the way you mourn Donovan’s loss means you’re a good friend.”

  “Did they teach you how to be so complimentary in detective school?”

  “Camille Savoie taught me my manners, and the academy taught me to put you in a headlock you can’t get out of.”

  When they reached the back door that led into the large kitchen, Jacqueline was drinking something out of a mug. “Thanks for tonight. It’s not often I get a police escort to my back door.”

  “Not an even trade for the meal you made and for the company. Thanks for both.” Sept took her hand again and squeezed her fingers. “Have a great night.”

  “You too.” Keegan wracked her brain for something else to say to extend the conversation, but not in time to keep Sept from walking away.

  “Hot date?” Jacqueline asked as Keegan locked up.

  “No, and before you give me a hard time, for once I’ll admit that I wished it had been. Sept Savoie is as comfortable as a favorite old sweater, but as exciting as cayenne pepper, I imagine.” She took a sip of Jacqueline’s steaming chocolate and kissed her cheek. “I’d love to be out on a hot date with her, but I don’t think she sees me as hot-date material.”

  “Then the next time you find some reason to see her, try not to look like Chef Boyardee. That outfit is great for the kitchen, but it’s as flattering a muumuu.”

  “Shouldn’t we be sure she’s gay before we plan my grand seduction?”

  “If Sept is straight, I’ll be happy to give her some fashion tips to soften her appearance, and she didn’t ravish you at the door because she thinks you’re too girlie to be gay, despite the unflattering outfit.”

  “Thanks for the critique, but you should know that spandex chef outfits aren’t an option, and silk invites stains.”

  Jacqueline stuck her tongue out at her and took her mug back. “Forget about the clothes for now, sunshine, and let’s work on your snaring techniques. Because if I’m right, you’ll have to make the first move.”

  “How about we wait and see if she’s as good at picking up on signals as she is at finding clues?”

  “Why the change in your opinion, or have you just realized how hot she is?”

  “There’s more to life than hot,” Keegan said, then yawned. She was ready for a shower and bed.

  “Yes, there is, but you’re the one who keeps telling me dishes with heat and stirred with excitement are the ones that get you noticed. All this time you’ve settled for the sorbet served in between courses to cleanse the palate, so why not for once try the course that makes you close you eyes and savor the unique flavor that’ll not only taste good, but has presentation?”

  Keegan had to laugh. “No wonder you’re so good at marketing. You can’t cook, but you sure can talk someone into trying anything.”

  “Does that mean you’ll try?”

  “It means I’ll think about it, but I’ll at least call her again. With everything going on right now, Sept has enough pursuits on her hands without me throwing myself at her.”

  “There’s the Keegan we all know and love,” Jacqueline said in a way Keegan didn’t take as a compliment.

  “I know you think I’m boring and unadventurous, but ripping someone’s clothes off and sticking my hand in her underwear isn’t the way to build a meaningful relationship.”

  “True, but at least you’re thinking about it.” Jacqueline slapped Keegan on the butt on the way to her room.

  The thought of doing that to Sept made Keegan shiver. What she wanted was what her mother had, but it couldn’t hurt to want the happiness to come wrapped in such an enticing package. Could it?

  Chapter Ten

  On Sunday Sept walked down to the Le Madeline Bakery close to the cathedral to have breakfast and read the paper. An article in the Metro section focused on the two recent deaths, with a list of questions the police hadn’t answered yet. Her name appeared more than she liked, probably because she hadn’t taken any of the reporter’s calls.

  “Did they screw up the croissants this morning?”

  It wasn’t the voice Sept expected to hear so soon, but then maybe her luck in some things was changing for the better. “It could be that, or maybe that meal Friday night ruined me for anything else.” Keegan was attractive, but the blush added “adorable” to Sept’s list of her attributes. “Good morning.” Sept pushed the chair opposite her out with her foot. “Checking out the competition?”

  “More like I was restless, and since City Park is still closed, I opted for a walk in the Quarter.”

  “Save my seat,” Sept said as she stood. She waited in line again to get Keegan some coffee and something from the display case. She added two packs of raw sugar to the French roast and headed back to her unexpected treat.

  “Wow, I thought I was the only one who remembered what people like to drink.”

  “If I hadn’t, you would’ve thought I was unobservant,” Sept said, and smiled. She folded her paper and moved it out of the way. “You look beautiful.” The words slipped out before her brain could engage, and she wanted to slap herself in the back of the head. “I’m sorry about that.”

  “For what? You don’t think I look beautiful?” Keegan leaned back as if to show off her form-fitting cashmere sweater.

  “No, you do. The comment was inappropriate.”

  Keegan laughed and twirled a piece of her hair. “Telling a woman she looks like shit is inappropriate, Detective, but telling her she looks beautiful usually gets favorable results.”

  “I’ll have to write that down in my notebook.”

  “Now tell me why, when I walked in, you looked like your coffee tasted sour.”

  Sept tapped the paper. “This article about the cases I’m working and what an incompetent idiot I am.”

  “You look incredible yourself this morning.”

  Sept put her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her fist. It wasn’t the first time Keegan had surprised her. “Thank you.”

  “I’m trying to take your mind off your bad press.”

  “So you don’t think I look incredible?”

  Keegan brushed the crumbs from her cheese croissant from her fingers and laughed again. “Don’t waste your breath asking questions you already know the answer to.” She watched as Sept picked up her own croissant. “And don’t eat anything else.”

  “What, it’s going straight to my hips?” Sept asked, but dropped it anyway.

  “I don’t want you to spoil your appetite. When are you expected at your mother’s table?”

  “At four, and how do you know that?”

  “You mentioned it last night. You have time to take me to brunch.” Keegan stood and smoothed her suede skirt. It fell at mid-calf and hid the top of her brown stiletto boots. “Shall we?”

  “Sure.” Sept stood and put her jacket back on. She’d planned a casual morning of exploration to see what businesses had reopened, then she’d go home to change before she headed to her mother’s. Those plans, though, didn’t sound better than spending time with Keegan. “Where to?”

  “We can walk. The Le Coquille D’Huîte isn’t that far.”

  “If you can make it seven blocks in those heels, I’m game,” Sept said as she helped Keegan with her coat.

  Their walk was slow and enjoyable, but when they arrived at the landmark, Sept wasn’t expecting the entire Blanchard family. She squared her shoulders and stepped forward so Keegan could introduce her to the two women she hadn’t met.

  Melinda Blanchard, Keegan’s mother, took her hand in both of hers and gave her a welcoming smile, as did Jacqueline. Melinda and her daughters had obviously gotten their hair color from Della, since Sept noticed a little red mixed in with the predominant white. “Sept, this is my grandmother, Della Blanchard,” Keegan said.

  “Mrs. Blanchard, it’s a pleasure, ma’am.” Sept held her hand out and waited what seemed like a good five minutes before Della accepted it. “Thank you for having me.”

  “Tell me, Detective Savoie,” Della said, and the three other Blanchards physically cringed. “What the hell were you thinking when you treated my granddaughter so badly? Keegan is many things, but she’s no killer.”

  “Gran, Sept was doing her job,” Keegan said.

  Sept winked at Keegan. “Thank you, but I’m sure Mrs. Blanchard would rather hear what I’ve got to say about this. I was eliminating her as a suspect, ma’am, and I did apologize after I concluded she was innocent…of that at least.” Sept met Keegan’s eyes with a smile she hoped conveyed what kind of trouble she was in later.

  “She mentioned you did, but I want your word it won’t happen again.”

  “Unless more people are killed in Blanchard’s backyard, you don’t need to worry.” Under the table Sept squeezed Keegan’s knee gently and hoped Keegan didn’t pour her mimosa over her head. “She’s in good hands.”

  Keegan had her glass pressed to her lips and choked the moment Sept touched her. “Sorry.” She held her napkin against her mouth. “I swallowed wrong.”

  “I’m sure that’s all it was,” Jacqueline purred.

  The meal lasted until two, with Sept answering questions from everyone but Keegan. The more the Blanchard women asked, the more Keegan blushed, but Sept didn’t falter. Della was tough, but Sept enjoyed her cutting wit.

  At two Della stood and extended her hand to Sept. “You and Keegan were ten minutes late today.”

  “I apologize, Mrs. Blanchard. I insisted on walking and it took longer than I thought.”

  “Next Sunday remember to get here no later than eleven.”

  “I appreciate today, ma’am, but I don’t want to intrude again,” Sept said, now that she knew this was the Blanchards’ equivalent of her mother’s Sunday tradition.

  “Eleven, or there will be hell to pay,” Della said before she kissed Keegan and led Melinda and Jacqueline out.

  “I’m sorry about all this,” Keegan said.

  “Great food, four beautiful women to enjoy it with, and the opportunity to share my life story,” Sept said, her eyes on the white tablecloth. “What’s there to be sorry for?”

  “At least you’re a good sport.”

  “You think you’re getting off that easily, Ms. Blanchard? Think again.” Sept pulled out Keegan’s chair for her and, once they were outside, put her hand on the small of her back to point her toward Royal Street.

  Sept opened the passenger-side door of her car and helped Keegan in, and she didn’t talk until she got behind the wheel. “Are you up for some retaliation, or do I take you home?”

  “Should I be afraid?”

  “That depends on how easily you scare,” Sept said, and started the car.

  *

  Novice stood in the yard of the abandoned house with his eyes closed, his head cocked to the side, and his breath held, checking if he could hear any signs of life in the area. Two finches were moving in the branches of the dead oak tree that was lying on its side, the larger branches not visible since they had crashed through the neighbor’s roof. When he was sure he was alone, he moved forward and pressed his gloved hands to the window, but the panes were so dirty he couldn’t tell if this place would do. For the first time in the past week he felt like smiling, since it wouldn’t be long before he could put all his planning into action, and he wanted his location to be perfect.

  He tried to find a spot in the window so he could see how badly damaged the interior was. “Break the glass, but don’t touch it,” the voice said, and Novice thought it sounded almost giddy.

  “I know,” he said out loud. “I won’t do anything stupid and get caught. This is too important.”

  Novice turned the corner, and at the side of the house he found the entry he was searching for. The owners had probably enjoyed meals in front of the bay window off the kitchen that at one time likely had a dining-room set in front of it, but now a sofa perched on the ledge covered in broken glass. The storm had been like filling all the homes with water, then turning on a blender. The furniture had floated from room to room looking for a place to land, or get out, so when the owners returned, even the refrigerator that had taken two large delivery men to wrestle into place was now a lawn ornament.