Down the Hatch Read online

  Chapter 7

  The man who flew past me tumbled in the street and stayed flat for a few seconds. Then, with a chuckle, he stood and started off. I didn’t know him, and that was a good thing. I did know the woman who threw him out. Gigi was the bartender and the force behind the eviction. She had a bit of a temper, but I respected her for doing a hard job. There were more than a few New Orleans’ drunks who needed to be tossed out of a bar now and then. I was happy that the SHIFTY BEAR had a bartender that would take care of the customers—good and bad.

  Gwen and Penelope were sitting at table in the back. They had mint juleps in front of them, and there was a third for me. I slid onto the padded seat and sighed. It had been a long day.

  “You look as if you’ve been through the wringer,” Gwen said.

  “Drink, drink,” Penelope said. “You need a bit of liquid comfort.”

  I did need comfort, and a decent meal, which was a feature of the Shifty Bear Bar. The food was as good as any in the quarter, the bar wasn’t packed with tourists. Not that tourists were bad, just everywhere. There were always a few in the bar, but most of the seats belonged to regulars. That was a very good thing. I sipped the mint julep, which was one of my favorite drinks. Mint always refreshed. And the whiskey, well, the whiskey was the heat that needed the mint cooler. And the heat was what put people to sleep.

  “Did you see what Gigi did?” Gwen asked. “She tossed out one of the regulars.”

  “What did the sorry sap do?” I asked.

  “He wanted to know if Gigi missed Thomas, seeing as Thomas was always in here, hitting on all the women.”

  “And she got mad at that?” I asked.

  “It must have been because right after, she grabbed the guy and out the door he went.”

  “I’ve never seen her so angry,” Penelope said. “I thought she was going to have a stroke.”

  While I had been in the Shifty Bear a number of times, and seen Gigi handle a drunk or two, I couldn’t fathom her being so angry. She was generally of even temper.

  “Sorry about that,” Gigi said, as she delivered menus. “Sometimes, my temper gets the better of me.”

  “Quite understandable,” Gwen said. “Some people deserve to be tossed out on their ear.”

  “Yes, well, you know how it is. If it’s not some drunk hitting on the women, it’s some drunk hitting on the women.”

  We laughed, and Gigi smiled. At least, her temper didn’t seem to last. That was a good thing.

  “So,” Penelope said. “I am so sorry about this afternoon. I had no idea Dalmer was going to go off on you.”

  “You can never please Dalmer,” I said. “I wonder if she’s ever been happy for more than a nanosecond.”

  “I know what you mean,” Gwen said. “Dalmer gives a bad name to witches. I should work up some sort of spell to lighten her dark moods.”

  “I doubt you can find that spell,” Penelope said. “Some things are impossible.”

  “Oh, you could find it, if you put your mind to it.”

  “Now, ladies,” I said. “Tonight, we will not engage in any backbiting. Is that understood?”

  I stared at them, and they seemed to understand that I wasn’t going to referee their debates, and they did debate. Gwen was forever chiding Penelope about her work habits, which, I had to admit, weren’t exactly stellar. Penelope always fought back by pointing out that Gwen was more than a little stiff and given to dictatorial pronouncements, or a unwelcome nudge.

  “Besides,” I said. “I want to enjoy my last night out of jail.”

  We laughed, and I started to feel better. I was still behind the eight ball about the murder. I knew Jacob considered me a prime suspect, and that produced a discomfort I’d rather not feel.

  “So,” Penelope said to me. “Have you solved the murder yet?”

  “Of course, she has,” Gwen said. “She just won’t tell anyone.”

  “Except Jacob,” Penelope added. “So, he can get the credit.”

  “No, no, no,” I said. “I don’t have clue, and trust me, I would give almost anything for just one good clue. Like I said, I’m staring at a jail cell.”

  “No cell can hold you,” Gwen said. “Not if you want out.”

  “And how does magic help?” I asked. “I disappear, and all sorts of problems erupt.”

  “No one believes,” Penelope said. “People will think you just managed to escape.”

  “Cameras, Penelope, cameras,” I said. “I’m certain the cells are recorded twenty-four hours a day.”

  Penelope frowned. “That does present a problem. So, you put a spell on the cameras.”

  “Which adds another layer of complexity to the issue,” Gwen said. “How did she manage to escape and disable the cameras?”

  “Help,” Penelope said. “She had help.”

  “Which adds yet one more item that must be explained. No, I don’t think going to jail is the answer.” I looked up. “Get ready to order, here comes Gigi.”

  Gigi was all smiles as she took our order. I was sure a waitress had been assigned to our table, but it seemed Gigi wanted to take care of us personally. We ordered our favorites and another drink. A mellowness washed over me. I wasn’t as anxious as before. The world didn’t look quite so jaundiced.

  “What you need,” Penelope said to me, “is a makeover. I’m thinking some red highlights in your hair and maybe a pink streak.”

  I laughed. “I need a makeover, but not like that. I was thinking a massage and a pedicure.”

  Gwen laughed. “That’s my sister. Always the practical one. No wonder dad left her Richardson’s Antiques.”

  “You didn’t want it,” I said. “Remember? Dad offered it, but you turned him down. You preferred therapy.”

  “I have no regrets there,” Gwen said. “If I had to sand and repair and stain and polish all day long, I’d go crazy. I prefer to counsel the crazies than become one of them.”

  Penelope laughed. “You should open a beauty shop. You could counsel people while you did their hair.”

  “I can see it now,” Gwen said. “I get a bit upset, and that brunette suddenly becomes a redhead.”

  “Or an orange-head,” I added.

  “You’re right,” Gwen said. “I would make a lousy stylist.”

  “THERE YOU ARE!”

  I didn’t have to turn to recognize the voice. Dalmer had found me. And I knew her loud voice had warned all the other patrons, who were, no doubt, watching and listening.

  “What are you doing here?” Gwen asked.

  Dalmer arrived at our table, and I could tell she still was still bristling from the beauty shop earlier.

  “I don’t get you,” Dalmer said. “Jennifer is home, crying her eyes out, and the murderer is out painting the town.”

  “She didn’t murder anyone,” Gwen said.

  “Helga would never kill anyone,” Penelope added.

  “Are you sure about that?” The voice didn’t belong to Dalmer, but came from another table.

  “We’re sure,” Gwen said.

  “It’s a bit cheeky to be out and about,” someone else said.

  Dalmer smiled, and I knew she had started the ruckus on purpose. She knew people would join in.

  “Hear that?” Dalmer asked. “No one believes you.”

  “You’re not welcome here,” I said to Dalmer. “So, why don’t you move on.”

  “Are you going to kill me if I don’t?” Dalmer asked.

  “She won’t, but I might,” Penelope said.

  Dalmer laughed. “You’re going to fight her battles?”

  “I’ll help,” Gwen said.

  “Why don’t you take it outside,” someone called out.

  I knew the crowd was stirring, and that was not a good thing. It wasn’t as if anyone would actually do anything, but if it came to a shouting match, the entire bar would be in a bad mood.

  “I think it’s time for carryout,” I said.

  “At least, you can take a hint,” Dalmer
said.

  I stood and faced Dalmer. “Don’t get the idea that you made me run,” I said. “I’m leaving because I don’t want to ruin the evening for all the others here. Remember that the next time you try to bait me.”

  Dalmer laughed. “My dear, I don’t need to remember anything. And we both know it.”

  Arguing with Dalmer was a fruitless task. I breezed past and went to the bar, where Gigi stood next to a man I had seen before. For a moment, I couldn’t place him. Then, I remembered that he worked at the flower shop, although he wasn’t the owner. More, there was something just a bit off about him. I had the feeling that he was disguised in some fashion.

  “I don’t know about you,” the man said to Gigi, “but I, for one, am glad that Thomas won’t be hanging around, hitting on anyone that couldn’t grow a beard.”

  Gigi laughed, and I smiled. At least, I had some sort of ally in the place, even if he wasn’t what he looked to be.

  “Gigi,” I said. “I think you should make our meals carryout. That way, the rest of your customers can eat in peace.”

  “Already done,” Gigi said. “I thought things were getting a mite uncomfortable. I’ll bring them right over. Drinks too?”

  “Absolutely,” I said. “I can’t forego the best mint julep in New Orleans.”

  Gigi winked, and I returned to the table. Luckily, Dalmer had moved on—but not too far.

  “We’re doing carryout,” I said. “Drinks included.”

  “We don’t have to,” Gwen said. “I can nudge these people a bit.”

  “No, you can’t,” I said. “It’s time to go, we all know it.”

  We picked up our food and three new drinks at the bar.

  “The drinks are on the house,” Gigi said. “And you know you’re welcome here any time. If that other lady raises a fuss, I’ll kick her out. You three are better customers.”

  After paying, we said good-bye on the sidewalk. Penelope was giving me a ride. Gwen was headed in another direction. We hugged and kissed and promised to see each other the next day.

  “I hate to turn tail and run,” Penelope said as she drove me home. “There is something in me that just wants to fight.”

  “I understand,” I said. “But battling Dalmer isn’t worth the energy. I’m sure we’ll have sufficient opportunities to turn the tables.”

  “Well, at least, we got our food...and a drink. I can hardly wait.”

  I waved good-bye from my porch before I went inside to eat dinner. I found myself starved. I had just settled at the kitchen table when Andromeda wandered in. How he got in and out of places baffled me. I might have asked him, had I really needed to know. I was pretty sure that if the house or Richardson’s Antiques ever caught fire, I would follow him.

  Andromeda, are you hungry?

  I have eaten already.

  What do you think of the murder?

  Few are slain by arrows.

  Why do you bring that up?

  Arrows are not as certain as bullets.

  So, you’re saying we’re looking for some kind of expert?

  Anyone can get lucky once.

  But if you’re looking to kill, why trust an inefficient weapon?

  Because, for some, it’s not inefficient.

  I thought for a few minutes. Andromeda had a point. If someone was going to kill, why would they opt for an arrow when a bullet would be vastly more reliable? So, the police (and me) should be looking for an archer, someone handy with a bow and arrow. I didn’t know many people who shot arrows on a regular basis. Although, there might be more than one fairy or cupid with the requisite skill. Did that mean I was looking for someone magical? New Orleans had its share of magicals. Could one of them have shot Thomas? And why? Did Thomas know something he shouldn’t have known? Too much knowledge could be a very dangerous thing.

  Would you like to snoop?

  Andromeda looked at me a moment.

  Snooping is when you have no need to know.

  You have a point, Andromeda. I have a need to know. I think we need to pay someone a visit.

  Chapter 8

  That I didn’t know the address of Jennifer’s house was not an obstacle, since she had bought several items from the store. A simple lookup, and we were on our way—Andromeda and I. We were lucky Jennifer lived in the quarter, where no house was too far away. Yes, it was off the tourist route, but that was a feature. We wouldn’t have to worry about being closely observed. It was an easy walk, as the hot sun was gone. Andromeda drifted away as we walked, but I was certain he would show up again at the house. Cats are like that. They don’t walk by your side like dogs.

  Jennifer’s house was nothing special. Despite several lights, it looked almost deserted. I hesitated, wondering just that to do. I didn’t dare break in if someone was home.

  Knock on the door.

  Andromeda made perfect sense. If Jennifer was home, I’d make up some excuse about the antiques she had purchased. If no one was home, I would break in, although I wouldn’t break anything. There are some simple lock spells that would work, especially since the locks were probably old. As I stepped onto the porch I stopped to look around. I didn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean no one was watching. People are nibby no matter where you are. I was thankful that she hadn’t installed one of the modern camera doorbells. I’d hate to be seen on someone’s phone.

  I rang the bell and waited. It wasn’t a particularly loud bell, so I rang it a second time. When no one appeared, I examined the lock a moment. It was newer than I had expected, but that didn’t make it impossible. A simple spell, and the lock obeyed, unlocking itself. I pushed open the door, letting Andromeda slip past. He loved looking around houses, truly the curious cat. Closing the door, I relocked it. For a moment, I wondered if Jacob was the only detective around who would suspect a magical if he came across a crime committed on the other side of a locked door. That would be another solution for a locked-door mystery.

  I stood in the foyer and looked around.

  Jennifer’s house was standard fare. To one side, a living room had been converted into a family room of sorts—wide-screen TV, couches, a fireplace. On the other side was the dining room. I noted that older homes didn’t strive for the “open” look of newer houses. There was a half-bath and then, the kitchen, which was large, although with new appliances. In all, a nice lower floor. And I didn’t know where to start.

  Upstairs is an office.

  I turned to Andromeda, who had obviously already made a tour of the place.

  That should work.

  The office was a converted bedroom. I could tell from the closet. And it was Thomas’s office. The heavy desk, the leather chair, the bar, stocked with whiskey testified to a “man cave” of sorts. I guessed that Thomas was a drunk at home as well as in the city. That his desk was messy was to be expected. Drunks aren’t neat by nature. Atop the desk, several manila files were stacked atop each other. Supposing that the most recent files were the most important, I opened the file and found what I hadn’t suspected.

  “My darling,” was the salutation, and it didn’t look like Jennifer’s writing, which I was familiar with. I sat and read the letter:

  I sit here at my desk and dream of nothing but being with you. I count the days until I file for divorce and leave her behind. You know who I’m talking about. I can barely stand to be in the same room with her. It causes me a pain I can no longer endure.

  But I will not fill this page with complaints. I will fill it with regard for you, for your beauty and your wit, for the joy you bring me whenever we’re together. You are the sunshine in my day, the moonlight in my night. You are the heaven in my dreams. The mere thought of your beauty excites me in a way that I know will never flag. I live for your kisses. That we will grow old together is my undying wish.

  Do not despair. Our time is near. Wait but a little longer. We shall make the heavens rejoice.

  Your devoted lover.

  That the letter was unsigned surprised me. But then,
an unsigned letter could be used over and over, and while the handwriting could be identified, without names, it could be explained away as just an exercise in prose. I didn’t think that, but I didn’t have much else to go on.

  Was the letter to Jennifer?

  Had Thomas written the letter?

  It was impossible to tell. That Jennifer had a lover wouldn’t have surprised me. Thomas was a wastrel and a womanizer. And if she had a lover, it would have been easy enough to hide. Drunks are notorious for forgetting things, even important things. I supposed Thomas would have been, literally, the last one to know or suspect. Jennifer’s actions in the store told me that her marriage was over. Women often went ahead and lined up the next man before they ridded themselves of the last. That was the prudent thing to do. Had Jennifer been so forward-looking? I sifted through the other letters in the file, and not a single one included names. That seemed very inconsiderate in my view, but it was the best I was going to get.

  I opened the next file on the desk and found a stack of unpaid bills. I didn’t dwell on the amounts or the creditors. I merely noted that they were “past due” and in various amounts. Debt was often a major source of friction in a marriage. Few couples could survive the constant hounding of bill collection agencies. I almost felt sorry for Jennifer and Thomas. But then, another casualty of excessive drinking was reliability. The world was filled with men and women who couldn’t balance a checkbook.

  The next file was Jennifer’s passport and travel documents. I didn’t need to know anything about that. Let people keep their secrets was what I believed. As far as I was concerned, learning another person’s secret was a burden. You had to take care of it the same way you took care of your own secrets. Who wanted to add another rock to the backpack? I was about to look at the next file when Andromeda called.

  Someone is at the door.

  That was not good news, not good news at all, even if it did come from Andromeda. I put the files back in order, although I wasn’t at all certain I had placed the letters in their proper order. That couldn’t be helped. I hoped that whoever was keeping the letters wouldn’t notice.

  I established a direct link with Andromeda, and as usual, I could see what he saw. Jennifer was, indeed, in the kitchen, and from the look of her, she had been partying. Red face, bleary eyes, a giggle in her throat. I would say she had made friends with John Barleycorn, which was fine with me. I was far from a teetotaler.