What She Doesn't Know (17 page)

“He took Mardi Gras off? Isn’t that the busiest time of the year?”

“He made sure we were covered.”

“Where did he go? It must have been important. Or did he just want to party?” But even as she said it, it didn’t make sense. She knew enough about Brian to know he wouldn’t be so cavalier about his responsibilities.

Trent shrugged. “He never said either time.”

“He did it more than once?”

“Twice. And probably this year, if…” He rubbed his nose and glanced away for a moment. “Actually, it’s not all that busy in the evenings, not as much as you’d think. We don’t let anyone but guests into the hotel, and most of them are out. Even Tammy escapes for a while to check out the crazies.” He gave her a faint smile. “All the crazies come out on Mardi Gras. The rest of the time they hide what’s underneath. But it’s always there. You know what I mean?”
 

“No, explain.”

He glanced at his watch. “I’d better get going.”
 

She wasn’t sure what to make of Trent. He seemed odd in his own right. Brian wasn’t much help, giving no indication of being in his body. “Come back, Brian. I need your help. You haven’t left nearly enough clues to figure this out.”

As she talked to him, she kept the doorway in her peripheral vision. Aris was keeping a low profile. Rita had looked for her coming in, and when she left Brian’s room an hour later, she kept an eye out for her. Aside from the green eyes, though, she recalled few details about the woman.
 

She bid Brian goodbye and left. On the way to the car, she called Tammy Rieux at the LaPorte to see if she had time to talk.

“About what?”

“Brian. I’m trying to put the puzzle pieces together. I think you can help.”

“I don’t have…” Tammy seemed to reconsider. “Yeah, sure, we can talk. But not today. I’ve got two temporary desk clerks starting, three overbooked rooms, and two employees to reprimand. Don’t they know there isn’t
time
for a bootie call during Mardi Gras? Between that and disappearing employees, I’ve got my hands full. If you want to talk, come tomorrow at noon. We can get a quick bite.”

Rita drove back to the Garden District, relishing the shards of sunshine peeking through the clouds. A teal bicycle was parked outside the house. She wondered if she should knock on the door first. She opted for knocking, then entering. The scent of pine cleanser nearly knocked her over with memories of helping her mother clean houses on Saturdays.
Hand your mama that bucket, would you? Don’t spill it. I know it’s heavy, just take your time.

A woman’s Cajun-spiced voice floated from the kitchen, breaking into her thoughts. “Well, baby, it ain’t the place to be anymore, let me tell you.”

The voice belonged to a sleek woman of about twenty-five who wore tight jean shorts and a pink T-shirt knotted in front. Bountiful curls bobbed from the top of her head where they were bound with an elastic. She wore too much makeup for this early in the day, especially for the task she was undertaking: cleaning the stove.
 

Although Christopher’s laptop computer sat open on the table with a screen full of codes, he was obviously more interested in watching the woman lean over the stove and lovingly rub a sponge over the surface. They both looked up when Rita walked into the kitchen.

That’s when she saw the woman’s eyes. She couldn’t help but flinch at the oddity of two yellow smiley faces staring from beneath fake eyelashes.

“Why,
coo-zahn
, you didn’t tell me your girlfriend was here,” she said, turning from him to Rita. “Where y’at, baby?”

Rita smiled uncertainly, not sure how to address any of that.

He answered for her. “She ain’t my girl, she’s a friend of Brian’s,” and to Rita he said, “Where y’at means how are you, hello, whatever. You’re supposed to say awright. Emmagee is Brian’s—what’s the politically correct term?”

Emmagee grinned, showing off a thick, lush mouth set in a delicate frame of honey-colored skin. “Hell, you know I ain’t politically correct. I’m his house girl.” At Rita’s confused expression, she said, “I clean his house twice a week. Everything but his bedroom; he always was a private boy.”

“How long have you been doing that?” Rita asked, wondering how she cleaned anything wearing five-inch heels.

“‘Bout four years, after his last house girl died, poor thing choked on a raw hot dog, don’t even want to know what she was doing with the thing down her throat all one piece.” Emmagee shuddered dramatically, holding out a hand ensconced in a pink rubber glove. “‘Round N’awlins, nothing surprises me anymore, but I don’t want to know no details, if you know what I mean. You’ll find out why, you stay ‘round long enough.”

“How do you know I’m not from around here?” Rita asked.

Emmagee rolled her eyes. “Baby, you got Northeast written all over that face of yours. Never-out-in-the-sun skin, uptight blouse buttoned to your chin, no-nonsense blue pants and the pumps to match. And that accent, whoo-ee.”

Accent? She didn’t have an accent, they did. Rita tried not to look down at her outfit, instead remembering the way it looked before she left her room. Conservative, professional. Her fingers automatically went to her collar, not buttoned to her chin, but close.
 

“You like my new contacts? Aren’t they just the coolest?” Emmagee asked, hardly failing to notice Rita’s gawking.

“They’re, uh, interesting.” They made Rita think of Aris’s eyes—phony.

“Got ‘em just for Mardi Gras. Makes me stand out in a crowd.”

Christopher chuckled. “You never had a problem with that,
cherie
.”

What was the deal, him using that term for this woman when he’d used it for her? Emmagee winked at him, then went back to her task, moving the sponge in circular motions while her perfect behind kept perfect time. Rita made a promise right then and there to start using her exercycle on a regular basis.

 
She forced herself back on track. “Emmagee, did you notice anything…different about Brian’s behavior before he fell?”

“Chris asked me that, too. I hardly ever saw the man. Seen Chris here more in the last few weeks than I ever saw Brian. I came in while he was at work. I got the feeling he wanted his nights to himself.” She lifted her hand again. “Like I said, I don’t ask for details, I just do my job.”

Emmagee called him
Chris
. Somehow it seemed intimate.
 

“Did you ever see Brian on Mardi Gras night?” she asked Emmagee.

“Mardi Gras night? I’m sure he was at work.”

“No, he wasn’t.” She looked at Christopher. “Trent from the hotel said he hadn’t worked on Mardi Gras night in the past two years. As far as he knew, Brian had planned to take it off this year, too.”

He said, “That’s odd. That’s the night he’d be the most needed.”

“And as dedicated as he seemed to be to the hotel, it had to be something big.” She hoped Tammy would know.

Emmagee nodded toward the refrigerator. “I made groceries if you’re hungry.”

Made groceries?
 

Christopher sent the file and collected several new emails before closing it down. Then he walked over to Rita and held out his hand. When she looked at him in confusion, he said, “My keys.”

“Oh. Sure, here. Is it okay if I use your phone to make a few calls? My cell phone died and I didn’t bring the charger. I need to let my clients know how to reach me in case of an emergency.”

“Sure.” He backed toward the door. “I’m going to cut for a while. We’re gonna have a crawfish ball tonight. Catch you later, Emmagee.”

“Sure thing, baby. Oh, sheeehit, hate when that happens.” She held up her gloved hand, her long nails poking through the fingertips. The effect was like a cat’s paw—a cat with green, purple and gold nails, that was. “Go through a box of these a week.”

“A crawfish ball? Do I want to know?” Rita asked when she heard the front door close. She hoped the disappointment that he had left her behind didn’t show in her voice.

“That’s what it looks like when there’s a whole pot of ‘em swimming around in the berling water. They’re really not swimming, of course, being dead and all.”

It wasn’t exactly an appetizing thought. “Where he’s going?”

“Maybe to check out the old neighborhood. We was talkin’ about the places that used to be hot way back when, how everything’s gone to hell.” She laughed, a throaty sound. “There was always fights, drugs, too much of everything. But now it’s different. The fights are meaner, the drugs are given to you when you don’t even want any. Guys’ll slip something in a girl’s drink jus’ to get her out of her mind. Can’t leave your juice alone for even a second.”
 

Emmagee stared off for a moment. “He seemed a little blue, you know. All the places we used to hang out, gone, crumbled away. When you stop lovin’ something, it jus’ dies. That’s what’s happening to places round here. My oldest brother Tommy was the first in our group to desert our city. Now most of ‘em are gone. My folks left by default; they died. Can’t hardly blame ‘em for that.”

“I’m sorry about your parents.” Rita couldn’t imagine Christopher looking blue or driving around town steeped in nostalgia. “Did you know him when he lived here?” She sat down in the chair he had vacated, finding it warm from his body heat.

“He would hang out with Tommy, go to the blues clubs. I used to tag along, back when they weren’t cardin’ everyone. Chris would sometimes dance with me. Was before I had these.” She gave her small breasts an affectionate squeeze. “I was jus’ a skinny kid back then, bit of a tomboy. I knew he was jus’ being nice, dancin’ with me ‘cause no one else would, but…” She fanned herself. “He was the thing, you know. I was too young, that’s what he always said. But when I was around him, I didn’t feel too young, know what I mean. He didn’t act like he was too good for anyone. He had it, f’sure, but he didn’t flaunt it.”

Rita poured herself a cup of coffee and sat back down. He still had it. She wasn’t sure what
it
was, but he had it. “What was he like back then?” He was Chris back then.

Emmagee stopped wiping down the inside of the refrigerator door for a moment. “He was tough and sexy and into trouble, but he had a good heart. Always help out a woman in need, no matter if she was trash or not, know what I mean? I used to think he was lucky, living in the Garden District and all.” She shook her head, making her ringlets bounce. “But he never seemed to want to go home. Something happened there, when he was younger.”

“You mean before Brian was supposed to be king?”

“Long before that. A boy died here. I don’t know much about it. It wasn’t something that came up in conversation. But he always had a shadow in his heart. Wish he’d move back to N’awlins. Ain’t been the same round here without him.” She dropped her sponge in the bucket of soapy water and picked up the bucket. “But something happened to him after he left here, too, something that took the life from his eyes. Maybe Carnival can heal him. It has a special kind of magic, you know. It can make a sensible person wild and free, and sometimes it can bring back the dead.” She shrugged. “I see Elvis every year. Worked for him, maybe it’ll work for Chris, too.”
 

“You said Carnival could work its magic on Christopher. Is…there anything I could do. To help?”
 

Emmagee looked her up and down. “Maybe. Depends on how far into the dark you want to go. It’s okay to sacrifice yourself, as long as you know what’s in it for you.
Lache pas la patate.
”

“What does that mean?”

She waved her hand. “It’s a saying, means, don’t forget what’s important.”

“And what’s that?”

“It’s different for everyone.”

Rita thought she knew. Her job. Image. Friendship with Marty. None of that factored into her situation here. And yet, she couldn’t leave. For better or worse, a voice whispered in her head.

After Emmagee packed up her supplies, hung the bucket on her bicycle, and went home, Velda started her nightly ritual of music. Rita walked up to the trees separating the houses at the far right corner and tried to peek through the leaves. Velda also had a courtyard surrounded by trees, with lots of unkempt bushes and a weedy yard. Dark mildew washed down the graying paint of the house where a gutter was broken. The French doors in back were open, letting the music drift out to tantalize her. That was as far as she could see, though. Inside, the house was cave dark. Still, she waited, hoping for a glimpse.

Something touched her shoulder, and she turned. A red creature with pinchers and antennae looked back from the proximity of her nose, and she screamed.

Christopher laughed, and if she hadn’t been so startled, and annoyed at getting caught spying, she might have gotten caught up in that magnificent smile of his.

“What
is
that thing?”

“It’s a crawfish.” He tipped a paper sack toward her that was filled with the things. “Our dinner.”
 

She followed him as he walked back into the kitchen. “How long had you been standing there?”

“Long enough to watch your Peeping Tommette antics.” And long enough to have filled a pot with hot water and set it on the stove.

“Hmph. Sounds like we’re both peepers.” A few minutes later, she watched him dump the bag of critters into spicy boiling water.
 

She watched the crawfish “swim” around, not feeling much different than they, swirling helplessly around in hot water.

A short while later they were seated at the table, which was covered in newspaper. He demonstrated, picking up a crawfish, snapping off the tail and peeling away the outer skin. “See, easy. And then if you’re into eating the brains, you just suck da haids right out of ‘em. Or you can scoop it out with the back of your nail if sucking don’t appeal.”

“Augh.” The greenish ooze wasn’t at all appealing. She walked outside. That’s when she heard the sounds of a parade again. “I’m going to catch this parade. I missed the last one,” she told him as she passed through the kitchen to the front door.

She didn’t bother to ask if he wanted to come along. He was busy cracking tails. She pulled on her coat as she stepped into the cool evening air, this time going with the flow of people instead of against them. She found a spot three people deep at the corner of St. Charles and Napoleon and watched the floats go by. People had ladders equipped with baby seats and virtual campgrounds set up along with boxes for their treasures. Someone grabbed for a pearl necklace that whizzed by her head. Everywhere she looked, people lunged for goodies and called out, “Throw me something, mister!”