Down the Hatch Page 8

  “You’re a gentleman, aren’t you?” I asked Eric.

  “Indeed, I am, but Jenny should survey the field for a bit, don’t you think?”

  “I’m in no hurry,” Jennifer said. “But Eric would be quite a catch. He’s so handy with things.”

  They traded a look that could have interpreted as a secret between lovers. Were they? Had Eric fallen for her?

  “Did Thomas know it took the two of you to get him home?”

  Jennifer eyed me. “What are you trying to say?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “I was just wondering about what Thomas might have known.”

  “No, you’re prying,” Eric said. “And I, for one, don’t like it.”

  “You should leave,” Jennifer added. “I get the feeling you’re fishing for information that you don’t deserve to have.”

  I held up my hands and backed away. “Honestly, I was just wondering, but I can take a hint. I didn’t mean to upset anyone.”

  They glared me out the door, and I wanted to kick myself. I hadn’t had a chance to quiz Eric about bowmakers. And I certainly hadn’t ascertained if Eric had tried to match Thomas with someone, so “Jenny” would be free. I wondered if it had been Eric who suggested to Jennifer that a divorce might be a good thing. I wondered how much Eric knew about the insurance policy. Even a fey spirit could use money.

  Gwen steamed past me as soon as I entered the store.

  “If you don’t do something about that, that weeper, I’m going to do something. And it won’t be pretty.”

  With that, she was out the door, before I could even answer. But I knew what she meant. Roxanne, no doubt, had come down with a touch of melancholy, and that had driven Gwen to distraction. I had wanted to inform Gwen of my latest suspicions about Jennifer and Eric. Gwen was often a solid sounding board for my theories. And, I would have suggested that she stop by the flower shop and get a read on Eric’s feelings. If Gwen found a strong desire for Jennifer, I had my killers. Eric wouldn’t be the first man to fall for a pretty woman—or the last.

  Since Gwen was not available, I called Jacob. He needed to know about Eric and Jennifer. He had access to more information than I did. He might be able to link them in ways I couldn’t find. But Jacob wasn’t answering his phone. I left a cryptic message asking him to call me back. I didn’t leave anything too telling, which I hoped would stoke his interest. Still, I was pretty proud of myself. With some official digging, Jacob might well solve the murder. I would see Jennifer and Eric in jail, although Eric would probably disappear before any trial. As a Cupid, he could modify himself at a whim. And he could find work anywhere. There were always couples who needed to be nudged into a relationship. And Eric was a well-versed nudger.

  At that moment, Orchid and Zephyr arrived, and they were beside themselves.

  “You should not have left Gwen in charge,” Orchid said.

  “She banished Roxanne to the second floor—indefinitely,” Zephyr added.

  “You should know this,” Orchid said. “Roxanne took it quite hard.”

  “I do hope you will remember this in the future.”

  Orchid and Zephyr did an about face and marched away, leaving me with the message but with no method to give them what they wanted. The only cure for Roxanne was her necklace, and the chances of finding that were not good. I told myself that I would solve the Roxanne problem once I had solved the murder problem. If I didn’t find the real killer, the Roxanne problem would solve itself, as I doubted she would visit me in prison.

  Despite Orchid and Zephyr, I was not going to chase down Roxanne and apologize for Gwen. I knew that Roxanne would soon drift down from the second floor and boo-hoo her way to me. For the moment, I was content to leave well enough alone.

  The man who walked through the door was short and stocky and in his 40s somewhere. He took off the straw hat that covered his baldness and grinned as he approached. I could tell he was a native, not a tourist. He was on a mission, not a fishing trip.

  “Excuse me,” the man said. “My name is George Ross, and I’m looking for something special.”

  “What might that be?” I asked.

  “A ring, an antique ring. Would y’all have something like that?”

  “Indeed, I do,” I said. “I have a whole display of them. Follow me.”

  I led him across the floor. “Is this for a special occasion?” I asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “I am celebratin’ the demise of Thomas Jamison.”

  George laughed.

  Chapter 13

  I stopped and looked at George. “What was that? You’re celebrating his death?”

  “Not directly, ma’am. You see, some months ago, Thomas Jamison flirted my girl right out of my arms. He seemed to have a way with words, something I have never been blessed with. He and that Eric fella chatted up Crystal, and she dumped me. Well, with Thomas Jamison gone to his maker, I intend to win Crystal back, as she is as pretty as a mountain morning and as soft as spring dew. A charming ring will put me back in the runnin’ for her heart.”

  I was almost too stunned to help George. Before he arrived, I was pretty sure I had found the killers of Thomas Jamison. As I helped him decide on a beautiful cameo ring set in gold, I realized that there were probably a dozen jilted lovers who would be only too happy to fire an arrow into Thomas’ heart. With Eric’s help, Thomas had, no doubt, wooed a number of women, women who had husbands and lovers. Those men possessed motive. Some of them would also possess a bow and arrow, or they could easily acquire what had killed Thomas. Since Thomas was a known drunk, it would take little skill to follow him into an alley and free up the woman Thomas had stolen.

  I was back at square one.

  There was a swarm of possible killers.

  I had foolishly settled on the only ones I knew.

  George was grinning, as he left the store. I almost advised him to show the ring to Eric, who might have a valuable opinion. But I didn’t. I was pretty sure that if George gave the ring away inside the bar, he would get a favorable reply. Eric would see to that. Energy depleted, I sat on my stool behind the counter and wondered just how many dumped men I might have to chase down. I needed to start a list, but I didn’t have the energy. Luckily, at that moment, Gigi walked in.

  I stood and smiled, wondering what had brought Gigi to my store.

  “Hey,” Gigi said. “Did you find the craft fair? And did you manage to chase down a necklace?”

  “I did find the fair,” I said. “But the necklace still eludes me. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m in the market for a crafting table, as the one I have has seen better days. I don’t need anything new or fancy, just large. A large desk will do. Sometimes, my work takes up a lot of space. So, if you have something big and cheap, I’ll take it.”

  “There’s nothing on the floor right now,” I said. “But I think I have something upstairs. I tell you what, let me do some searching tonight. I’ll tag what I have, and you can take your pick.”

  “That sounds fair. But keep it on the cheap side. Bartending doesn’t pay all that well.”

  “No big tippers?”

  “Not many. One less since Thomas Jamison passed away.”

  “He tipped well?”

  “He spent well, always buying drinks for the ladies. And he tipped proportionately. People who spend money and tip are always welcome.”

  “I thought he was more of a nuisance than anything else,” I said.

  “He was, as you no doubt remember, since you tossed him out of here.”

  “I was hoping people would forget that.”

  “They have. In another week, I’ll have forgotten it too. It will be harder to forget Thomas and his antics.”

  At that moment, Jacob walked in, and I knew I had to hurry Gigi along.

  “I have an idea,” I said. “How about I take some pics of my tables and email them to you. That way you can look at the inventory without making a trip.”

  “Sounds good to me.�
��

  “I’ll do it tonight.” I led Gigi to the door, where Jacob waited, trying to look interested in an old Waterford vase.

  Gigi left, and I turned to Jacob, who smiled. He had a good smile. He always looked as if he missed me.

  “What have you got?” he asked.

  “For starters,” I said. “I have Jennifer and Eric playing footsie in the flower shop.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Well, not exactly footsie but far too engaged for buyer and seller.”

  “That’s interesting.”

  “It would be very interesting, if George Ross hadn’t stopped by.”

  “George who?”

  “Ross, and he bought a ring to give to the woman Thomas Jamison stole away.”

  “In other words, Ross is a suspect.”

  “Along with every other man robbed of a girlfriend or wife. I hadn’t thought of trying to get a list of those.”

  “Neither did I. That could turn a short suspect list into a who’s who.”

  “I’m afraid, it means a whole lot of digging, without any guarantee of finding what we need.”

  He thought a moment. “What do you think, the bow and arrow?”

  “Exactly,” I said. “If it were a shooting, we would have a much tougher time. There are a lot of guns in New Orleans. But since it’s a bow and arrow, we stand a better chance of finding the murder weapon.”

  “Then, we have to devise a way to find the bow.”

  “And the bow maker, if we can,” I added.

  We looked at each other, and I knew both of us were looking for a place to start, that single thread, that if pulled, undid the entire tapestry.

  “The flower shop,” I said. “The bow on the wall. I didn’t have a chance to examine it carefully. I think it starts there.”

  “Because it’s part of the same wood that made the killer’s bow?”

  “I think so. It can’t hurt.”

  “You’re right. But I can’t exactly take the bow, as I don’t have a warrant.”

  “No, but we can use someone with keen eyesight, as I don’t think they’ll let me pull the bow off the wall.”

  “I’ll leave that to you. What’s my job?”

  “To keep Eric busy. A few questions about Thomas Jamison and his reputation with the ladies should suffice.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  I locked up the store, which was the only thing I could do. I doubted that Gwen would want to return, not after her run-in with Roxanne. But I didn’t mind too much. Solving the murder was more important. If I didn’t do that, I wouldn’t have a store to run. We started for the shop, and we hadn’t gone fifty feet before Andromeda showed up at our side.

  “I should have known,” Jacob said. “Your old friend.”

  And you are a friend, Andromeda.

  One must always help a friend in need.

  That is the best friend of all.

  I explained what I had in mind, and Andromeda understood perfectly. That was the beauty of having a sentient cat. They understood perfectly well what was needed.

  Jacob led us into the flower shop, and I was careful to make sure Andromeda had access. Eric was at the counter, and he came around it to meet us.

  “Hello, Helga, Jacob,” Eric said. “What can I do for you?”

  “Just a few questions about Thomas Jamison,” Jacob said. “If you have a minute.”

  “I am busy,” Eric said. “but I can spare some for the police. Fire away.”

  “Can we step over to the side?” Jacob asked. “Just so no one can hear.”

  “That’s fine with me,” I said. “I’ll smell the jasmine.”

  I watched Jacob and Eric move toward the back of the shop. Then, I wandered over to the plants by the front window. That was when Andromeda jumped on the counter.

  My mind connection with Andromeda clicked in, and instantly his vision filled my brain. His acuity was much better than mine. With his next jump, onto a file cabinet right under the bow and flowers, I could see the everything perfectly. I pretended an interest in the plants, as Andromeda studied the bow and arrow. For a moment, his eyes found nothing. The bow and arrow were quite ordinary. Then, he moved slightly to one side, and behind a flower was a signature. I had no doubt that the artist had signed the work. The question was whether or not the signature belonged to the bow maker. But even if it didn’t, the artist might well know who had created the bow.

  Lance DeChambeau.

  It was a fine New Orleans name for an artist.

  “Scat.”

  I turned in time to see Eric waving at Andromeda who jumped down and ran out the door I conveniently held open.

  “How did that cat get in here?” Eric asked.

  “I have no idea,” Jacob said. “And I want to thank you for your time. You’ve been very helpful.”

  “I hope so, although I have to tell you that I don’t think any of those men had what it takes to kill someone. Not over a woman. But then, you can never tell when love is the motive.”

  We waved as we left the flower shop.

  “Did you get what you wanted?” Jacob asked.

  “Partially. Have you ever heard of Lance DeChambeau?”

  Jacob shook his head. “Should I have?”

  “Not really. I think he’s the artist who did the bow and arrow display.”

  “And you’re thinking he might now the origins of the bow.”

  “Are you a detective?” I asked.

  He laughed. “The second-best detective in the Quarter.”

  I laughed. “You’re the one with the badge.”

  “And you’re the one who gets all the leads.”

  We bantered as I found the trade fair organizer. I called Evelyn Dubois, who did, indeed, know Lance DeChambeau, a magnificent man with an eye for juxtaposing the beautiful with ordinary tools. I got Lance’s number and immediately called. It was my lucky day, as he remembered the bow and arrow piece. With a bit of flattery and some cajolery, he remembered the bow maker.

  “Arthur Rogers,” Lance said. “The best bow maker in all of Louisiana.”

  “That’s fabulous,” I said. “And have any idea where I might find Arthur?”

  “Of course, but you won’t like it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Arthur Rogers died some years ago. He’s buried in St. Louis cemetery.”

  At that moment, I could find no words to say. I had been so hopeful.

  “Are you there?” Lance asked.

  “Y...yes,” I said. “I was hoping he was still alive.”

  “Yes, he was a great loss.”

  A few words later, we said goodbye, and I turned to Jacob.

  “Not good news,” I said. “Rogers died years ago.”

  “End of the road. Without Rogers, we have no idea who might have one of his bows.”

  “But we have a possible source.”

  “His records? I doubt that they are still available. He’s been dead for years.”

  “I’m an expert on old stuff,” I said. “But I think you’re right. I doubt his records were saved. I was thinking of something else.”

  “What else is there? An assistant? How good a memory would an assistant have? No, Helga, this is end of this path. We have no place to go.”

  “But we do,” I said. “We have the cemetery.”

  “Cemetery? What are you talking about, a ghost?”

  “Exactly. Perhaps Rogers’ ghost is attached to the grave. If that’s true, we can find out what we need to know.”

  “You’re grasping at straws. Even if there is a ghost, it’s more than likely that he won’t remember all the sales. You’re chasing rainbows.”

  I knew I had lost Jacob, as far as the bow was concerned. He wasn’t going to head for the graveyard. That would be my job.

  Jacob’s phone chirped, and he looked at it.

  “I have to go,” Jacob said. “You can make it home?”

  “I’ll be fine. Go. Take another criminal off the streets
.”

  He grinned and walked away. I watched, knowing that he would do whatever he could to help as many people as he could. I felt a certain pride. Jacob had come a long way since high school.

  At home, I ate some dinner and waited for dark. If there was a ghost to conjure into existence, it would be easier in the dark. There wouldn’t be people around, who might think I was some kind of weirdo, talking to the moon. I told myself not to expect anything. If there was something in the cemetery, good. But there probably wouldn’t be. I had to be all right with that.

  It was full dark when I left the house for the St. Louis Cemetery.

  Lazy clouds drifted across the half moon. The light wasn’t constant, and the walk to the cemetery was only a bit scary. While the tourists flocked to the cemetery during the day, they stayed away at night. With many caskets and monuments above ground, the shadows at night made the place more than a little spooky. Being old, the cemetery was filled with ghosts and spirits. Some of them eyed me as I slipped among the headstones. I didn’t engage them. I didn’t want to talk to them, although I wouldn’t have minded discussing Roxanne with them. That was wishful thinking.

  I had looked through the cemetery map, so I knew the way to the grave. As I neared it, I paused. There was someone at the grave. In the semi-dark, I could tell that the person wore a hoodie, one of those sweatshirts that hides the face. And the person was doing something at the grave, but I couldn’t tell what.

  “Excuse me,” I said.

  The person turned to me, the face hidden in shadow. But I wasn’t looking at the face. My eyes were locked on the sharp knife in the person’s hand.

  Chapter 14

  The moonlight glinting on the knife was all I needed. In an instant, I turned and ran. I didn’t care who was chasing me, and I was certain someone was chasing. Dodging through the monuments, I had the feeling I was going to be caught, as I was never the fastest runner in New Orleans. So, as I ran, I whispered a cloaking spell. In an instant, I felt the change. I was invisible. Well, I was pretty sure I was invisible. So, I dived behind a huge pillar and stopped, trying to keep from panting.