Down & Dead In Dixie (Down & Dead, Inc. Series) Page 5

  “No. I was knocked out and he got away.”

  “Sorry to hear that.” Mark rubbed at his neck. “Your ankle got messed up and your face is scraped. Are you okay, or do you need a doctor?”

  “Oh, no. I’m fine. But thank you.”

  “She’s fine for a woman with an ankle the size of her thigh.” Rachel returned, interjecting her opinion.

  Mark waited for her to set the tea cup down in front of me on the edge of his desk, then told her, “We’re going to have dinner. Can you set up the private dining room and let me know when it’s ready?”

  Rachel smiled. “Absolutely.”

  Cute. Compassionate. And comfortable in his skin. I liked all those things about him, and more. “Very kind of you, Mr. Jensen.”

  “I can’t have you think we’re all barbarians.”

  “I appreciate it.” Okay, he’d surprised me, too, in a most attractive way. I admit it. I guess I’m used to being mugged and having my apartment trashed and my TV stolen, but when it comes to being hungry and someone caring enough to feed me, well, I don’t have a whole lot of experience on that front. I know how to watch out for unspoken needs in others. Jackson. Lester. But someone else looking out for me? Honestly, I didn’t know how to act. Grateful, of course, but help without groveling? Totally new to me.

  “So you’ve been a hostess. At a restaurant comparable to Jameson Court?”

  “Is there a comparable restaurant? I can’t peg what it is, but there’s something special about Jameson Court.” My face heated. “My restaurant was a four-star, but the atmosphere was more relaxed and less . . . whatever that special something is here.” I sent him a level look. “The food did smell almost as good.”

  “It’s love—the something special. That’s what my mother used to say, anyway.” He smiled, bittersweet. “So tell me about yourself.”

  I sipped from the fine china cup to buy time. I should have thought more about creating a new life history, but I’d been so intent on getting out of Biloxi with my life, I hadn’t thought beyond the immediate. “What would you like to know?”

  A lovely twinkle lit in his deep brown eyes. “Your name would be nice.”

  That whack in the head must have been worse than I thought. “I didn’t tell you my name?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’m sorry. Honestly, I’m not quite myself today.” I flushed again, deeper, and thought of all that had happened and of Lester. “Lily,” I said. “Lily Nichols.”

  “That’s a start.”

  He was going to ask where I was from. I just knew it. So I beat him to it. “I used to live in New Orleans—before Katrina.”

  “You were here before the storm?” His face turned dark.

  “Before and during.” I nodded, still haunted by the memories. “My brother and I were evacuated to Houston. About a year ago, Craig Parker gave him a job and I went east.” I swallowed a knot of fear. Had I lost my sense? Telling him about Jackson? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Now he’d ask about my brother. Stupid. I shifted the focus, and hoped Mark veered with me. “Craig used to talk about you all the time.”

  “So you know Craig?” Mark asked. “That’s why you came here?”

  “Yes.” I let him see my trouble in my eyes. “I really had nowhere else to go.”

  Rachel appeared at the door. “Dinner is served.”

  “Thanks, Rachel.” Mark stood up. He towered over me, at least a head taller and broader. I’m no shrimp, but I felt like one standing beside a mountain. “Ready?” he asked.

  I nodded and followed him down the hallway, around a bend, and then up a narrow flight of stairs to the second floor.

  The private dining room felt cozy. A fireplace filled with twinkling lights that burned amber winked from behind a stained glass screen, and a white cloth-draped round table stood before it with two stuffed chairs trimmed in intricately hand-carved wood. “Beautiful.”

  He smiled. “The chairs are about the only things left from my pre-Katrina home. I’m glad you like them.” He motioned for me to sit.

  I eased onto a chair. “We were totally wiped out, too.”

  “So many were.” He sat down across from me then paused. “It’s not the stuff I mind losing so much. It’s the people.”

  “You lost family?”

  He nodded. “Both parents and my brother and sister.” He unfolded his napkin. “It’s just me now.”

  My heart squeezed and my eyes burned. “Mark, I am so sorry.”

  “Did you lose family, too?”

  “I didn’t have any to lose, except for a brother.” I glanced down, avoiding Mark’s eyes. “I never knew my father and my mother deserted us when I was six. We grew up in foster care.” Sticking as close as possible to the truth made remembering what you said easier. I needed easier right now.

  “Foster care.” His eyes clouded. “Were they good to you?”

  “Some were, some weren’t. I learned a lot about a lot of different things. I can change a flat, cook a meal, or grow pot in an attic—not that I ever would.” Pausing to restrain myself, I took a refreshing sip of water. “I checked out of foster care when I was sixteen.”

  “Sixteen?” That surprised him. “Did you finish school?”

  “Yes, I did. School during the day, work at night, on weekends and holidays. I’ve made it to an associate’s degree. I would have gotten my BA by now, but I had to back-burner my education to help my little brother.” Too much information. Way too much. What about this man made me talk so freely? My old boss knew none of this.

  Something flashed in Mark’s eyes. Something that made me fear my instincts were right and he had all he needed to make the connection between Jackson and me. I shouldn’t have revealed all the personal stuff, but in addition to the something about him that addled my brain, I’m new to this hiding out business and having secrets, and all those things entail. Reminding myself everything was different now and I had to watch it or my next bit of jewelry would be a toe tag, I smoothed the napkin in my lap. What if he asked to see my degree? I couldn’t produce it. Daisy Grant was dead and Lily Nichols had nothing but a Grant half-dollar.

  “You’ll be safe here, Lily,” he said, as if picking up on my unease. “We refugees stick together.”

  I swallowed hard. “So you have a job for me, then?”

  “Of course.” He smiled, then sobered. “Provided you like the food.”

  I looked at the plate set before me. “Spinach salad.” I sniffed. “Warm apple bacon vinaigrette dressing with pecans—”

  “Spiced pecans.”

  “Spiced pecans and feta—what’s not to like?”

  “The salad is just a warm up. We’ll see how you react to the main course.”

  “What is it?” I took a bite of salad. “Sweet.”

  “It’s the shaved onions.” He took a bite. “Gulf Shrimp Remoulade.”

  “One of my favorites.”

  We chatted about the city trying to come back after the storm. About the special challenges created in a life-altering event that just can’t be understood unless you’ve experienced it firsthand. Mark was quiet, confident, unassuming and totally charming. I could see the man behind all Craig Parker and Jackson’s stories about him, and it appeared neither of them had been exaggerating. Admittedly, I’d thought he and Jackson were making Mark Jensen seem like Mr. Perfect to get under my skin for refusing so many blind dates with him, but now I wondered.

  Knock it off, Lily. Attracted to your new boss? Crazy. Good way to end up fired before you’re truly hired. Daisy had her chances with him and blew them off. Too late now.

  A waiter brought in the main course.

  My senses exploded. I took a bite, seriously amused at Mark’s expression. He definitely sat anticipating my reaction, and as adorable as he was, he felt uncertain of what the reaction would be. And that, I pegged it, was his magnetism. Exposing his soft underbelly. Strong but vulnerable. Confident but not cocky. I loved that, knowing I shouldn’t.

  “Well?” he
finally prodded me.

  I took a second bite, chewed slowly—and then groaned. I wouldn’t have, but couldn’t help myself. “I think I’ve just glimpsed heaven.”

  His wariness faded and he smiled. The tender skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled. “I guess you’ve got a job, then.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.” He stilled. “I can’t start you out as a hostess, but I can use some help in the kitchen and . . . what I really need is help with the business side of things.” Hope lit in his eyes. “Do you happen to know anything about computers?”

  “Actually, I do.” I’d taken a lot of related courses. “I’ll do my best at whatever you have in mind.”

  We talked through the rest of the meal. By the time we’d finished, my world seemed less traumatic and the nasty business with Edward Marcello’s murder and the organized crime families and Detective Keller and the FBI seemed like a bad, distant memory. I dared to hope they’d all stay distant and, my belly full, I placed my napkin on the table. “Thank you, Mark. Craig spoke highly of you. I see now why he admired you so much.”

  “He’s a good man, and the admiration is mutual.” Mark shrugged. “Just so you don’t get the wrong idea, I really can use the help, Lily. I’m lousy with computers—mainly because I hate them.”

  Jameson Court seemed to be running like a well-oiled machine. He didn’t need the help. But I needed the lie as much as he apparently needed to give it. “You fed me, too.”

  “I wanted to know what you thought of my cooking.”

  “Ah, I see. Fishing for compliments.” I grunted. “Men like you don’t need the approval of someone like me.”

  “Need it from anyone? No.” He looked me right in the eye. “Want it from you specifically? Definitely.”

  “Why?” I hadn’t meant to ask. Truly. The question just kind of slipped out of my mouth.

  “Because I think you’ll be honest with me. That’s important.”

  “It’s easy to be honest. The food is fantastic.”

  He smiled, then sobered and let truth shine in his eyes. “I’ll count on you, then. But I want you to know you can count on me, too. You’re alone here and when you get down to it, so am I. Every refugee needs someone to rely on—an ally. We can be allies for each other.” He darted his gaze to the fireplace, as if he’d said more than he intended or wanted to say. “You can start work tomorrow at nine.”

  He missed his family. I missed Jackson, too, and just knowing I couldn’t call him had me reaching for my Grant half dollar and rubbing it hard. “A job and an ally. Fantastic.” Things were looking up. I slid back in my chair.

  “You’re leaving?”

  “I thought we were done.” I stilled. “I’m sure you have a zillion things to do.”

  “Wait. You were mugged. You’ll need an advance.”

  “It would be helpful, but I don’t want to impose further—”

  His eyes kind, he dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “It’s not an imposition, Lily. What kind of ally wouldn’t—am I coming on too strong too fast? Sorry.” He pursed his lips then tried again. “Craig would do the same for a friend of mine. Is that better?” Mark didn’t wait for an answer, but lifted a staying finger. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  I watched him leave the room and disappear down the hall. He too was attracted and feared he was overstepping so fell back to Craig and the friend bit. And that presented problems for me. Craig might do the same to help out Mark’s friend, but likely the person would really be Mark’s friend whereas Craig was Jackson’s friend. Oh, we were friendly, Craig and me, but the friendship bond was between the two of them.

  Guilt snaked through me for usurping it. I gritted my teeth, resigned to bearing it. I didn’t have the luxury of not bearing it.

  Chapter 5

  I GUESS MY luck, while looking up, hadn’t yet changed.

  Mark had given me a check to tide me over until my first paycheck, and while generous, paper did me no good at ten o’clock at night. Knowing it futile, I tried one bank and then another I’d passed on the walk over to the restaurant, but both were, of course, closed. Out of choices, I walked down to the riverfront and into the casino hoping I wasn’t slitting my own throat. Who knew how far the Marcellos or Adrianos’ reach extended? The sixty-odd miles between Biloxi and New Orleans never had seemed a shorter distance.

  The banking services desk sat dead center in the first floor. Risking a glimmer of hope, I kept my head down and stepped up to the U-shaped desk. “I need to cash a check, please.”

  A birdlike woman wearing glasses on the tip of her nose smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

  I slid the check over the marble counter. She picked it up and looked it over. “I’ll need a photo I.D.”

  The glimmer of hope snuffed out. “I don’t have one.” She stared and me, and I added, “I was mugged earlier tonight, and the guy took everything. If you’ll just call Mark Jensen at Jameson Court, he’ll vouch for me.” I said it and knew it was true. A little ribbon of gratitude I had someone to call rippled through me.

  “How awful. I’m so sorry. New Orleans really is a friendly city,” the woman said with conviction. “But I can’t do a thing without your I.D.”

  I didn’t fight her. It wouldn’t do any good. “Thanks anyway.” I took the check from her outstretched hand and left.

  Back on the sidewalk, I had no clue what to do next. Panic threatened to edge in at the corner of my mind, but that’s the last thing I needed. The bottom line was Mark’s check couldn’t do me any good tonight and I couldn’t stay on the street. I’d have to impose on Ruth and pray hard she remained safe.

  I walked back to the Basin Boutique. Maybe Ruth could cash the check. It wouldn’t put her at risk the way me staying with her would. Feeling calmer now that I had a plan, I picked up my pace, wishing my ankle would miraculously heal. The constant throbbing worked from the ankle all the way up through my knee and truly grated at my nerves.

  The boutique was dark inside. No lights, and no one in sight. When I got close enough to actually read the sign on the door, it confirmed what I already knew. Ruth had closed shop for the night, and surely Jason had closed his store, too.

  Now what?

  Jazz floated on the cool night air. The music wasn’t from one of the many bars in the Quarter. A midnight funeral’s procession made its way down the street. I walked toward it, down Chartres Street toward Jackson Square. The spires of the St. Louis Cathedral stretched up into the darkened sky.

  Its real name was Cathedral-Basilica of St. Louis King of France, or something like that, but the only time I’d seen or heard it called anything other than the St. Louis Cathedral was on a sign in a convent’s gift shop when I’d taken Jackson on a field trip one weekend a very long time ago.

  A church would be about the safest place to pause and regroup—if it was open. It should be. When I’d taken Jackson to see it—the ceiling paintings alone were worth the tour—we’d been told it was the oldest cathedral in continual use in the entire nation. Hopefully, Hurricane Katrina hadn’t changed that but I wasn’t betting on it. For so many people and places, the storm had changed everything.

  Mark flitted through my mind. Guilt followed. Not for usurping Craig’s friendship; at least, not this time. Because I’d griped myself breathless about losing our home and stuff in Katrina. Mark had lost his family. The guilt in me sank deeper. How petty I’d been. How ungrateful. Jackson and I survived. We had the chance to start over. Mark’s family . . . they’d paid the ultimate price, and he’d go on paying it all the days of his life.

  Feeling small and shallow, I hobbled past the statue of Andrew Jackson on his horse and made it through the black wrought-iron gate, then kept moving toward the cathedral’s door, daring to hope I’d find it open.

  It was locked up tighter than a drum.

  Deflated, the pain in my ankle shooting all the way up through my thigh and hip now, I spotted a bench near the main entrance and sat down. At a
total loss, I rubbed my Grant half-dollar and closed my eyes. God, if you can forgive me for faking my death, lying, and everything else wrong I’ve done . . . well, forever, and You’d cut me a little slack here, I’d appreciate it. I’m out of ideas, my ankle’s killing me, I’m worn to a frazzle, my nerves are shot, and I’m just too tired to move another inch.

  Silence settled over me in the stillness, and the tension knotting me up inside began to ease. A gentle gust of wind blew across my face, almost caressing and somehow comforting, and I permitted myself to enjoy it. It’d been a long time since I’d felt comforted, and I couldn’t make myself give it up just yet. Drifting in it, I flirted with sleep, and knowing I should shake myself awake, I didn’t. Since I’d walked out of work and seen Edward Marcello get shot, I had been riding an emotional roller coaster. Scared. Panicked. Stunned. Terrified. Relieved. More terrified. This dying business was hard work, but trying to live after it? Alone, mugged, losing everything . . .

  Mark popped into my mind. Well, almost alone and almost losing everything. Still, I needed a respite. “Just for a second,” I told myself. Surely I wouldn’t be arrested for loitering if I rested just a second. “Relax so you can think . . .”

  * * *

  “LILY, FINALLY!” MARK plopped down on the bench beside me, startling me awake. “I’ve been looking all over the Quarter for you.”

  “Mark?” What was he doing here? It was still night. I couldn’t be late for work. I gave myself a second to clear the lingering cobwebs of sleep and then asked, “Why were you looking for me?” Had he changed his mind about the job?

  “It occurred to me the banks were closed and you wouldn’t be able to cash the check. But you were gone, and I had no idea where to look for you.” He sent her a look laced with apology. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking, Lily.”

  “I tried the casino. But no cash without a photo I.D.” Her mouth went dry.

  “I really am sorry. I’ve been all over the Quarter, looking for you.” He stood up and offered her a hand. “Come on. You’re obviously dead on your feet.”