was welcoming, but beneath the teased pouf of bleach-blond hair, the kohl-lined eyes were piercing.
“Hello,” the woman said as she made her way down the stairs, her drawl low and smooth. She was well into her fifties, and looked as if she’d kicked some ass in her day—and could still cause some serious harm if the situation called for it. In her elegantly manicured hand she held a half-smoked cigar, its smoke plume wafting behind her. At the bottom of the stairs a sign with an arrow pointed to a martini and wine bar on the upper level and Carlotta realized suddenly why the parking places were full and the store empty.
“Hello.”
“Can I help you, darlin’?”
“Maybe,” Carlotta said, suddenly nervous as she reached into her purse and withdrew the cigar. She walked deeper into the store and could hear the buzz of a crowd overhead. “I’m looking for the person who purchased this cigar from your store.”
The woman stepped forward with a little frown between her eyebrows. She set her cigar in one of the dozen colored glass ashtrays lining the massive black bar, then reached for the plastic bag. A young man wearing a waiter’s waist apron came clopping down the stairs and, referring to a notepad, moved from case to case, selecting cigars, obviously filling orders.
A knot of customers came down, businessmen all of them, ties loosened and voices raised. “See you next time, June,” they said to the woman, and she called them each by name when she said goodbye.
When the door closed behind them, the woman handed the plastic bag back to Carlotta, then picked up the cigar she’d been smoking and took a hearty puff. “That is a very expensive cigar, Miss—?”
“Um, Carlotta. Carlotta Wren.”
“I’m June Moody,” the woman said with a slow nod. “May I ask how it came into your possession?”
“I…found it,” Carlotta said, hedging.
The woman’s mouth twitched. “Do you smoke, Carlotta?”
“Not cigars.”
June Moody smiled. “You ever tried?”
“No.”
“Would you like to?”
Carlotta hesitated. “Well…sure.”
The woman’s smile lit her eyes and Carlotta had the feeling that she’d just passed some sort of test. “Why don’t you join me upstairs, and we can talk about how you happened to find such a fine cigar.”
Intrigued and edgy, Carlotta followed the woman upstairs.
“Carlos,” June said as they ascended, “would you please bring me an Amelia when you come up?”
“Sure thing, Miss Moody.”
They walked upstairs, where the furnishings were plush and the air was rich with smoke. The martini and wine bar resembled an old-fashioned parlor, with deep velvet chairs and thick rugs. The bar lined one side of the landing, surrounded by groupings of chairs and couches around low tables. Most of the seats were occupied by businessmen, with a stray woman here and there.
Behind the bar was an older gentleman with a ponytail. He nodded to the women, his gaze raking Carlotta with appreciation.
“May I offer you a drink, Carlotta?” June asked. “On the house.”
“A martini, thank you,” Carlotta said to the man, taking in the art deco barware, decanters and glasses. “Nice place.”
“I’m glad you like it,” June said, nodding her approval when the man dropped two olives in each crystal-clear martini. “Thank you, Nathan. Will you ask Tonia to keep an eye on the shop? Carlotta, let’s take our drinks in here.”
Carlotta picked up her martini and followed the woman into a room where more tables and chairs were situated around a fireplace that, even unlit, was a welcoming feature. It was easy to see why Moody’s was a busy little place and Carlotta wondered with consternation why she hadn’t heard of it before now.
“How long have you been in business?” she asked June as they sat in sumptuous gold-colored club chairs.
“It was my father’s business,” the woman said, taking a sip of her drink. “He passed away four years ago. It’s been my place since then.”
Carlotta surveyed all the men sitting back, cradling drinks and puffing on cigars. “I wondered where all the straight men in Atlanta were hiding.”
June laughed. “They’re right here, darlin’. Bring in your girlfriends sometime.”
Carlotta smiled at the thought of bringing Hannah and Michael to this place. They wouldn’t exactly “blend.”
Carlos appeared and handed June a small, slender cigar about five inches long. June thanked him, then handed the cigar to Carlotta. “I hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of choosing a cigar I thought you’d like.”
“Not at all,” Carlotta said. “But I don’t know what to do first.”
“Some people take off the band, but I like to leave it on so that the tobacco doesn’t stain my fingers, at least until it burns down.”
She read the colorful band: Key West Havana Cigar Company. “Okay.”
“Here’s a cutter,” June said, handing her one of the small guillotine-looking devices that littered the tables next to enormous art-glass ashtrays. “The tapered end is the cap end. That’s the end that you cut and light. See the cut line?”
Carlotta scrutinized the cigar, and saw the faint impression. “Yes.”
“Don’t cut beyond the line or you’ll risk cutting the wrapper leaf.”
Carlotta situated the cutter and severed the cap with surprising little effort.
“Good. Do you have a lighter?”
She withdrew from her purse the trusty mother-of-pearl lighter that she’d unearthed from a bureau drawer yesterday—just in case a cigarette fell into her lap.
“Hold the cigar in your hand and rotate the cigar tip near the flame. It’s best if you don’t actually touch the tip to the flame. Just let it char from the fumes.”
Carlotta did as she was told, fascinated. When embers began to appear, June said, “Okay, now put the cigar to your mouth and draw by pulling in your cheeks, like this.”
She imitated the woman, noting the unfamiliar, but not unpleasant, taste of the leaf upon her lips. She was gratified when the tip of the cigar began to glow.
“Good.” June sat back in her chair and raised her martini to her mouth. “It’s like giving a blow job, only more enjoyable.”
Carlotta inhaled sharply at the unexpected comment and her lungs rebelled, sending her into a coughing spasm.
“Don’t inhale,” June said, laughing. “Take it slow, puffing occasionally to keep it lit.” She smiled.
