Maria Almadovar-Gonzalvez finished drying the wine glass and hung it upside down in the wood wine rack over the large center island. It was a beautiful kitchen; white and black marble tiled floor, genuine maple cabinets along two walls topped with a dark granite countertop. Elegant chrome fixtures gleamed under the subdued lighting over the sink, and the stainless steel refrigerator and freezer reflected the same light in dull, hazy patterns.

Maria pressed her lips into a thin line as she regarded the spotless kitchen. The Señor, he would be pleased. Too bad she was giving her notice tonight. Her employer was an unusual man, but not unkind, always asking after her family. He didn’t seem to have any of his own, and Maria, a child of fruitful parents, thought he might be lonely. She straightened her back and raised her chin. He would have to find another maid with a large family with whom to discuss the proper way to make paella or steak au poivre. Maria had to think of her children. She had to leave New Orleans, the sooner the better.

She left the kitchen, careful not to let the door thump behind her, and walked down the...   read more »

I was resting in a very large bed, with several large pillows, a newspaper and a glass of spring water on a bedside table. None of it was making me feel any better, however, and in fact I was becoming greatly frustrated by the whole thing. It had been two days since Aloysius Pendergast had saved me from the clutches-greatly skilled and terrible though they be—of his brother. In that whole time, I had been salved and soothed and treated like a queen on her throne. By his servant.

Not once in the entire two days had Pendergast himself been within spitting distance of me. He’d carried me to a hospital, whisked me off to a private flight, physically carried me from plane to car to apartment, laid me on the bed and then—poof! Vanished. It was enough to give a girl a complex, considering what we’d been through and how we’d celebrated our survival together.

Granted, I could see where he might not regard me as the sort of guest he’d want to pay personal attention to, what with me being a lounge singer and all; certainly no New Orleans debutante, but I thought we were getting along quite well. Perhaps...   read more »

I didn’t have long to wait. I’m sure Aloysius’ (how funny to think of him with a first name!) cell phone is in a single-digit dial position on his brother’s phone, because that’s the only explanation for why those two didn’t trip over each other in the lobby. I’d just gotten the sheets changed, mangled ones in a trash bag—not even I was sure I’d try to bleach those clean—when a soft knock sounded at the suite’s door.

After a final check of the bedroom to make sure everything was reasonably tidy, and deciding to leave the comforter where it was on the floor, I gingerly made my way out to the mini-foyer. Not being quite the fool I seem at times, I checked through the peephole before removing the chain and turning the doorknob. Tall, pale and handsome, Pendergast lounged against the frame, face blank of any emotion beyond well-bred ennui, computer bag dangling from his shoulder.

“Good...morning.” I said, casually checking over my shoulder to see what the clock on the end table said. “Imagine meeting you here.”

Gracefully, Pendergast straightened from the door and slid past me like a ghost. Pausing only to drop his bag on the table...   read more »

I was lying in wait in my parlor, like the spider for the fly. It was a hot, sultry day, but the breeze off the river was gently cooling the house as day faded to evening. I had been waiting all day; no, all week for Special Agent Pendergast to wander into my trap. The wait was so exquisitely painful for me, I was beginning to hope he’d never come. But, alas, the hour came when I heard the discreet rumble of his Rolls. Not the flashy one he drove up North, but the nice black one he kept for his infrequent visits home.

Home. Not entirely home, as he came from the city and the house he kept now was out Metarie way. It was the family’s summer home, the one they would retreat to every summer to escape the heat and poor air in New Orleans proper. Granted, it’s really no cooler out on Grand Tanton Bayou than in the city, but at least there are the breezes from across the water, and fewer people to press on you as you try to get from one place to the other.

I had grown up here, and had known Aloysius since...   read more »

It was an exceedingly dull party. All the rich people of New Orleans were dragging around Old Man Caprian’s garden, celebrating the wedding of his youngest to the youngest of some other wealthy, boring person; drinking expensive wine and whiskey and trying to forget themselves. I was circling the outside of the main body of people, doing my damndest not to fit in, and feeling the bodice of my dress getting tighter and tighter and tighter, until I simply couldn’t take it anymore. I dropped my glass on a waiter’s tray and hurried into the house.

There were crowds there, too, in the main hall and the formal front parlor. Feeling pressed in, I kept moving on, seeking an empty room. Finally, in desperation, I asked a servant where I could go for a moment of privacy.

“Oh, upstairs, Ma’am. Feel free to use anyone of the guest rooms. Top of the stairs, turn right. Left is the family’s quarters.”

Thanking the kind gentleman, I began climbing the dramatically sweeping staircase. Seeing the opulence of the front hall made me miss my much smaller, more intimate cottage outside Tupelo. As if a twenty room mansion could be called a cottage. Still,...   read more »

The blow came from above. It was relatively painless, at first, more a physical shock than pain. Pain came later; right on the heels of it, actually, as if my head needed a moment to accept it was being assaulted. I was not totally surprised by the attack; I had been warned after all.

As the pavement rose toward my face, all I could think was, “Well, hell.”



The call came on a Saturday, around 11:30. I had just finished my last set and was in my dressing room removing my make-up when the phone rang. I paused, washcloth to my chin. No one knew that number except my agent, Tommy, and the owner of the club. I had just seen Tommy not ten minutes before, and Derek was on the floor. I looked into the mirror and met my own eyes. The anxiety might never pass. Several years prior, I had been... involved in a drug running case while passing through New Orleans. It had not been a good time in the Big Easy, and despite constant reassurances from the agent in charge of the case, I had been fairly certain I would end up dead or in prison. If...   read more »