He shifted into drive and headed out. She waited until they’d turned and left the warehouse behind before asking, “What are you going to do now?”
“Once we’re done at the station, talk to Della, find out what she can tell me about what she saw. Assuming what she sees is even real.”
Perry knew he wasn’t going to like it, but tossed out the challenge anyway. “There’s one way to find out, you know.”
He cast her a wary glance. “What’s that?”
“Test her gift for yourself.”
“And how do I do that?”
“Have her do a reading.”
11
AFTER PERRY CHECKED in on Della, Jack gave in to the insistence of both women that he schedule the reading for midnight. Della was confident she’d be feeling better by then, and Perry didn’t want to wait because, well, he wasn’t sure why except that she was intent on proving a point.
He wasn’t thrilled with the idea. Neither was he thrilled to admit that Perry did have a point, but there really wasn’t any way around it.
If Della could pick up enough vibes in his aura, or fluctuations in the cosmos, or woo-woo type echo things to see the truth of his past, then maybe he could get this case rolling again. And maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t feel like such a putz for partnering up with a psychic.
Because that’s exactly what he felt like. A putz.
His investigator’s nose had brought him to New Orleans to look into Eckhardt’s roots, and his instinct for survival had led him to Café Eros.
His belief that he’d spotted a scam had taken him to Sugar Blues, his certainty that all trails went somewhere to the Times-Picayune.
Refusing to believe in coincidences had sent him to Eckton Computing’s warehouse, which had turned out to be the end of his line.
He’d been able to run the investigation on his own as long as the official case was still in Texas. But now that it had crossed state lines, he had nothing left to go on but instinct.
Instinct, and a psychic. And if that didn’t define a putz, he didn’t know what did.
Leaving Perry at Sugar Blues once they’d finished giving Detective Franklin their statements, Jack put in another call to update Cindy Eckhardt, then spent the rest of the day tracking down friends of Bob and Dawn Taylor, as well as Eckton employees who had worked with Taylor.
What Jack found out was that the co-workers weren’t surprised Taylor hadn’t found work after the Eckton layoffs. His reputation as a hard-assed, hardheaded, hard-drinking bastard had made the industry rounds.
What had bowled them over was his suicide. No one thought a man that mean had it in him to take himself out. Nor did Jack get the sense that any of them mourned the man’s passing.
If Taylor were still alive, several had said they could see him scheming to get back at Eckhardt, but since he wasn’t around to sever fingers they really couldn’t help.
The couple’s personal friends Jack had managed to catch up with repeated what he’d already learned. Everyone was sorry for Dawn. The men were anxious to do anything they could to her, uh, for her. The women knew that, and felt she would do better if they all gave her time to grieve. Twelve months’ worth of time.
Right. With friends like that…
By the time Jack returned to Sugar Blues, it was close to ten. He had no idea if the women had eaten, so he brought a bag of burgers and fries for three just in case.
He parked in the alley behind the shop and knocked when he reached the new back door. He saw Perry through the window over the sink, and seconds later she pushed the curtain aside to see who was there.
She was smiling when she opened the door. “You ought to give me your cell phone number. I just realized that I don’t have a way to get in touch with you.”
“You thought I’d skip town before you got the results of my reading?” he asked, setting the food on the table and thinking that he kinda liked the idea of being nagged if Perry was the one doing the nagging. She was sweet. She was cute. He could get used to having her around.
“Of course not,” she said as she closed the door. “Whatever happens tonight is between you and Della.” And then she sighed. “Mmm. Onions and mustard and grease. It smells wonderful.”
He gestured toward the seat next to his. “Pull up a chair. I brought plenty.”
“Ooh, thanks.” She beat him to tearing open the bag. “Della’s still sleeping, and Kachina had appointments until eight. I just finished closing up and I’m starving.”
He unfolded the waxed paper around his burger and dumped out his fries, then reached for a squeeze packet of ketchup. “I’m surprised you have enough business to work the hours you do. And that it’s enough for the two of you to live on.”
“Three,” she said, dragging a fry through his ketchup and shoving it into her mouth.
“Three?” he echoed, because there was something about a woman with an appetite that made him forget his worries.
“Kachina makes three.”
“Hmm. I’m not sure I can afford your services.”
She sputtered. “For you, cher? No charge.”
His cares went the way of his worries with the Cajun flavor she added to her offer. This was the first time all day he’d been able to relax, and damn if it didn’t feel great. “Thanks. I think.”
“What, you need client testimonials?”
“To prove I’m getting my money’s worth?” He took a bite of his burger, sat back and chewed.
“I was thinking more along the lines of proving that you’re not wasting your time.” She picked up another fry, attacked his ketchup again.
He frowned. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Only because it’s too late to bother any more of the Big Easy’s fine citizens. And,” she added, wrapping both hands around her hamburger bun, “because Book warned you to keep your nose out of his business.”
Yeah, it was his business all right. “He wouldn’t have half of what he does if I hadn’t given it to him.”
“And that just grates, doesn’t it?” she asked, a tad too smugly.
He reached over while her hands were full and filched a half dozen of her fries. “Only because Detective Franklin’s working with some sort of chip on his shoulder.”
“Oh, what? And you’re not?”
“Not really,” he said, and chomped down.
“Jack Montgomery.” She turned in her chair to face him. “Do I need to get you a mirror?”
Chewing, he glanced over, surprised by her incredulous tone.
He had baggage; who didn’t? But to call it a chip? Did he really heave his past around as if it might fall and crush anyone he allowed to get close?
He shrugged. “Maybe I am. It’s not such a big deal.”
“If you say so,” she said, and went back to eating. “Though you might want to make sure it doesn’t get so heavy that you end up getting hurt.”
He wondered what she knew about hurt. Then he remembered the death of her parents and wanted to kick his own insensitive ass.
Still, insensitive or not, he was curious. And so he asked, “Is that what happened to you? You carried a chip for too long?”
She gave a sharp, unladylike snort. “You mean why did I decide to sleep with you after six years of sleeping with no one?”
Well, there was that. He had to admit he was curious. “Sure. We can start there.”
“Okay, fine.” She reached for a napkin, wiped her mouth and hands, then got up to get two sodas from the fridge. “Because of that chemistry thing. And because I like you. A lot. A whole lot,” she added softly, as if speaking to herself. “I like your honesty. Your integrity. You’re sexy as hell. Then there’s the fact that you’re good around the house.”
“Next, you’ll be saying I’ve got a super personality,” he said, though he couldn’t help but get a nice buzz from her comments.
She handed him his can and popped the top on hers before she sat back down. “I’ve spent most of my life in the company of women. And all of my formative years when I learned the differences a Y chromosome can make.”
Him? He liked the differences, and started to say so.
But she quickly cut him off, waving one hand, her other wrapped around her soda. “And I don’t just mean the differences in the equipment. I mean the differences in what using the equipment means.”
Oh. That. “So, that was the reason for your trip into the closet this morning?”
“No. I was just waiting for you to make coffee.”
“Right.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes. I was angry.”
“With me?”
“With both of us.”
“The crack about conserving water—”
“Wasn’t any worse than mine about rings.” She breathed deeply, then took a drink. “I was frustrated. And, yes. I was hurt. I wasn’t sure what to expect from you the morning after. And I didn’t understand the one-night-stand vibes you gave off.”
He was an ass. Seriously. An ass in over his head with this particular gypsy woman. To be honest, she’d scared him shitless. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“But you did. We spent an amazing night and an amazing morning, and the first thing you say to me is that it was only sex.” She sighed, shrugged, sipped. “And maybe it was for you. But I let my emotions get in the way, and ended up with a big ‘what the hell am I doing?’ moment.”