to do something to help someone else, in return she had forged a relationship that filled a place in her life and heart that she hadn’t even realized was empty.
Jaye looked up. “You’re not imagining things. This guy’s bad news.”
Anna’s stomach sank. “You’re sure?”
“You wanted my opinion.”
“When you say bad news, what do you mean…that he’s—”
“Anything from a major A-hole to a pervert who should be behind bars for life.”
A bitter edge crept into Jaye’s voice, one that made Anna ache. “That’s a pretty broad spectrum.”
“I’m not a psychic.” Jaye shrugged and handed the letter over. “I think you should write her back.”
Anna pursed her lips, less certain than her young friend that she should continue the correspondence. “I’m an adult. She’s a child. That makes communicating with her tricky. I don’t want an accusation of impropriety to come back from her parents. And I can’t very well just ask her about her father.”
“You’ll think of something to say.” Jaye wiped her mouth with her napkin. “This kid needs a friend.”
Anna frowned, torn. A part of her, the part that had always played it safe, urged her to toss the letter and forget all about Minnie and her problems. The other part agreed with Jaye. Minnie needed her. And she couldn’t turn her back on a child in need.
“Are you going to eat the rest of your cookie?” Jaye asked, interrupting her thoughts.
“It’s all yours.” Anna slid the plate across the table. “You’ve been really hungry lately, isn’t Fran a good cook?” she asked, referring to Jaye’s foster mother.
“Good cook?” Jaye made a face. “She’s like the worst cook on the planet. I swear, she must have studied at the Cordon-ralph.”
Anna laughed, then sobered. “But she is nice, right?”
Jaye lifted a shoulder. “She’s okay, I guess. When she’s not riding her broomstick and sacrificing small children and stray dogs under the full moon.”
“Very funny, wise apple.”
Anna supposed she liked Jaye’s new foster mother well enough, but something about her didn’t add up. She always seemed to be trying too hard. As if her heart wasn’t really into fostering so she had to pretend. Anna had been unsettled from the moment they’d met.
Still, she had been hoping Jaye would like Fran Clausen and her husband, Bob.
They left the CC’s coffeehouse minutes later, making their way out onto the French Quarter sidewalk. “So, how is everything going?” Anna asked.
“School or home?”
“Either. Both.”
“School’s okay. So’s home.”
“Next time, don’t bog me down with so many details. I’m overwhelmed.”
The girl grinned. “Sarcasm, Anna? Cool.”
Anna laughed and they continued to make their way along the busy sidewalk, pausing occasionally to ogle a store’s display. Anna enjoyed the scents, sounds and sights that were the French Quarter: a blending of the mostly old and sometimes new, of the garish and elegant, the delectable and offensive. Populated by both tourists and locals, street performers and street people, the place had captivated Anna on sight.
“Look at that,” Jaye murmured, stopping to peer in at a display of faux-fur jackets in a shop’s window. She pointed to a zebra-print coat in a bomber style. “Is that cool or what?”
“It is,” Anna agreed. “You want to try it on?”
She shook her head. “Only if they’re giving it away. Besides, it wouldn’t go with my hair.”
Anna glanced at Jaye. “I’m finally getting used to you being a redhead. The best part is that we look like sisters now.”
Jaye flushed, pleased. They continued on their way.
After a couple of moments, Jaye glanced at Anna. “Did I tell you about that creep who was following me?”
Anna stopped and looked at her friend, alarmed. “Someone was following you?”
“Yeah. But I gave him the slip.”
“When did this happen? Where?”
“The other day. I was on my way home from school.”
“What did he look like? Was it just that once or has he followed you before? “
“I didn’t get that good a look at him. From what I did see, he was just another old pervert.” Jaye shrugged again. “It’s no big deal.”
“It’s a very big deal. Did you tell your foster mom? Did she call—”
“Geez, Anna, get a grip. If I’d known you were going to flip out, I wouldn’t have told you. “
Anna took a deep breath. If she overreacted, Jaye would clam up. And that was the last thing she wanted. Jaye was a street-savvy kid, not an innocent who would be easily tricked by a stranger. She had even lived on the street for a time, a fact that never failed to make Anna shudder.
“Sorry for getting so intense,” she murmured. “Old people are such worrywarts.”
“You’re not old,” Jaye countered.
“Old enough to insist that if you see this guy again you’ll tell me and we’ll go to the police. Agreed?”
Jaye hesitated, then nodded. “Agreed.”
3
Thursday, January 11 The Irish Channel
Detective Quentin Malone entered Shannon’s Tavern, calling a greeting to a couple of his fellow officers. For many New Orleanians, Thursday night represented the official kickoff of the weekend festivities. Bars, restaurants and clubs all over the Crescent City benefited from the laissez les bon temps rouler attitude of the city’s residents, and Shannon’s Tavern was no different.
Located in the area of the city called the Irish Channel—named for the Irish immigrants who had settled there—Shannon’s catered to a working-class, local crowd. And to cops. The Seventh District of the New Orleans Police Department had adopted Shannon’s as their own.
Shannon McDougall, the tavern’s proprietor and namesake, a former bricklayer with hands the size and shape of meat hooks, had no problem with that. Cops kept the rougher crowd away. They kept the drugs, brawls and hookers out of his place and out on the street. As a way of thanking the boys in blue, he refused to allow any of the more seasoned officers to pay for anything. The rookies, however, were a different story. Just as in the force, the new kids on the block had to earn their stripes. Even so, tips
