the street unsafe.”
“And how is that connected to you specifically?”
“It never happened until I got Chez Eugenia started. And the people who were mugged were my customers.”
“And it didn’t start until after you got successful.”
“Yes.”
“What’s her name?”
“Mrs. Houston. She didn’t tell me her first name.”
“Friendly of her.” He wrote it down before asking, “Who else?”
She took her bottom lip between her teeth, then released it. “I guess I should mention my cousin Bennett. He . . . uh . . . was angry that my restaurant was doing better than his. At Thanksgiving, he’d had too much to drink, and he got me in a corner and threatened to put me out of business.”
“Oh yeah.”
“He was upset. I don’t think he meant it.”
Rafe pulled out his notepad. “His last name is Beaumont?”
“Yes.”
“What’s his address? Home and restaurant.”
She gave them to him, then asked, “What are you going to do?”
“Have a chat with him. And tomorrow we can talk to Calista—after we talk to Pete Grady. But let’s get back to the enemies list.”
“A nice way to put it. I’m not Richard Nixon.”
“Hardly. Did a patron ever threaten you?”
“For what?”
“Charging too much for food he didn’t like.”
“No.”
“What about your staff? Did you fire anyone who might resent it?”
She thought for a moment. “I did fire a kid who was washing dishes for me. But he was working over summer vacation. He’s out of town at college.”
“Okay. If you think of anyone else, tell me.”
Eugenia gave him a considering look. “You look done in.”
“Thanks.”
“You did get hit on the head.”
“And I don’t want to leave you alone for the rest of the night.”
“You don’t think the person who left the gris-gris will come back, do you?”
“I hope not, but I’d rather be here if he does.”
“I’ve only got one bed,” she said, then flushed as she thought about how that must sound.
“The sofa’s fine,” he answered easily.
“It’s not that comfortable. And you need to sleep. You can take the bed.”
“I’m not kicking you out of your room.”
The statement hung in the air between them.
oOo
Calista’s eyes narrowed as she looked at the tall man with coffee-colored skin and high cheekbones who stood in front of her with his head bowed. He was from the Islands, with that soft, lilting accent that she liked so much, but he probably had as much white blood as African. His heritage had combined very nicely to give him a tall, broad-shouldered body and pleasing features. A narrow nose. Sensual lips. Light-colored eyes and the kind of penis that she liked. Not overly long but nice and thick.
His name was Justin. She’d hired him six months ago to be her chief drummer, and he’d done well at that job. But she’d quickly found that he had other attractions.
Now he had added to her problems.
Before the cops had taken them in for questioning, she’d told him to meet her back at her house in Gentilly.
She was angry with Justin, but she knew how to use that anger to her advantage tonight. And tomorrow she’d face whatever else was coming her way from the fiasco at Chez Eugenia.
“You told me Lorenzo was okay,” she said in an accusing voice.
“I thought he was,” he answered in his soft island accent. “You needed another drummer on short notice. I knew he could handle the assignment.”
“You didn’t know he was illegal?”
“I . . .”
“You suspected.”
He answered with a small nod. “But I didn’t know someone was going to die tonight.”
“Are you sure?”
His face took on a look of outrage. “What do you mean? Of course I’m sure.”
“But you brought trouble to me. Where is Lorenzo now?”
“He’s gone.”
“Where?”
He shrugged. “Away from the cops.”
“And you are here. You must be punished.”
“As you wish.”
“Take off your clothes. Fold them neatly and lay them on the table.”
He kept his
“And how is that connected to you specifically?”
“It never happened until I got Chez Eugenia started. And the people who were mugged were my customers.”
“And it didn’t start until after you got successful.”
“Yes.”
“What’s her name?”
“Mrs. Houston. She didn’t tell me her first name.”
“Friendly of her.” He wrote it down before asking, “Who else?”
She took her bottom lip between her teeth, then released it. “I guess I should mention my cousin Bennett. He . . . uh . . . was angry that my restaurant was doing better than his. At Thanksgiving, he’d had too much to drink, and he got me in a corner and threatened to put me out of business.”
“Oh yeah.”
“He was upset. I don’t think he meant it.”
Rafe pulled out his notepad. “His last name is Beaumont?”
“Yes.”
“What’s his address? Home and restaurant.”
She gave them to him, then asked, “What are you going to do?”
“Have a chat with him. And tomorrow we can talk to Calista—after we talk to Pete Grady. But let’s get back to the enemies list.”
“A nice way to put it. I’m not Richard Nixon.”
“Hardly. Did a patron ever threaten you?”
“For what?”
“Charging too much for food he didn’t like.”
“No.”
“What about your staff? Did you fire anyone who might resent it?”
She thought for a moment. “I did fire a kid who was washing dishes for me. But he was working over summer vacation. He’s out of town at college.”
“Okay. If you think of anyone else, tell me.”
Eugenia gave him a considering look. “You look done in.”
“Thanks.”
“You did get hit on the head.”
“And I don’t want to leave you alone for the rest of the night.”
“You don’t think the person who left the gris-gris will come back, do you?”
“I hope not, but I’d rather be here if he does.”
“I’ve only got one bed,” she said, then flushed as she thought about how that must sound.
“The sofa’s fine,” he answered easily.
“It’s not that comfortable. And you need to sleep. You can take the bed.”
“I’m not kicking you out of your room.”
The statement hung in the air between them.
oOo
Calista’s eyes narrowed as she looked at the tall man with coffee-colored skin and high cheekbones who stood in front of her with his head bowed. He was from the Islands, with that soft, lilting accent that she liked so much, but he probably had as much white blood as African. His heritage had combined very nicely to give him a tall, broad-shouldered body and pleasing features. A narrow nose. Sensual lips. Light-colored eyes and the kind of penis that she liked. Not overly long but nice and thick.
His name was Justin. She’d hired him six months ago to be her chief drummer, and he’d done well at that job. But she’d quickly found that he had other attractions.
Now he had added to her problems.
Before the cops had taken them in for questioning, she’d told him to meet her back at her house in Gentilly.
She was angry with Justin, but she knew how to use that anger to her advantage tonight. And tomorrow she’d face whatever else was coming her way from the fiasco at Chez Eugenia.
“You told me Lorenzo was okay,” she said in an accusing voice.
“I thought he was,” he answered in his soft island accent. “You needed another drummer on short notice. I knew he could handle the assignment.”
“You didn’t know he was illegal?”
“I . . .”
“You suspected.”
He answered with a small nod. “But I didn’t know someone was going to die tonight.”
“Are you sure?”
His face took on a look of outrage. “What do you mean? Of course I’m sure.”
“But you brought trouble to me. Where is Lorenzo now?”
“He’s gone.”
“Where?”
He shrugged. “Away from the cops.”
“And you are here. You must be punished.”
“As you wish.”
“Take off your clothes. Fold them neatly and lay them on the table.”
He kept his
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