“How did they get into the house? I saw cameras—”
“Amazingly, there was a blackout in the footage around the time Lena was killed. And according to the board, they were all together at the offices in the CBD when Lena died. Except for Justin, who came over early to warn Lena about what the board planned to discuss at the meeting. And he and Gail Reeves, the housekeeper, ran into each other at the bookstore in the Garden District. Justin gave her a ride back to the house. It was her afternoon off.”
“Is Gail still there now, with Stephanie and the baby?”
He nodded. “Don’t worry. Her alibi was airtight. Her book club had a meeting. Three people let me know she was there the entire time. One problem, of course, is Justin. I don’t know if he’s outright guilty or guilty of collaboration. Or if he’s in danger.” He shrugged. “I have a full-time security guard at the house. I hired a few retired agents. I know three of them, and they’re on duty twenty-four-seven.”
“Good,” Casey murmured. “But back to me—”
“I saw Barton Quincy staring at your shop today. He and Justin were together at the coffee shop by your place. It seemed a distance to go for coffee from the CBD. Barton said something about needing something in the French Quarter.”
“Well, that is feasible.”
“It is.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’m sorry. I do believe everything you’ve told me. I had to be...sure. You’d be surprised by the number of naïve people who need money and get suckered by criminals. And while you might have had a run-of-the-mill peeping Tom back there, burglar or whatever—you may be in danger.”
They were both quiet for a minute.
“Aren’t you going to tell me you can take care of yourself?” he asked her.
Casey laughed softly. “No. I’m good at a lot of things. My best defense against anything bad is screaming like a banshee. I’ve never taken Kung Fu, and I’ve never been to a shooting range. I don’t even like carving up meat.”
He smiled at that. “Okay. Good.”
“That’s good?”
“Yep. You won’t give me a hard time when I want you protected.”
“And what is your plan here?” she asked.
“I’m not sure yet,” he told her.
“Okay.”
They sat in silence for another few minutes. He was thinking—obviously. But she was beginning to feel a bit awkward.
“Uh, would you like some coffee?” she asked.
A slow smile crept onto his lips. When he wanted to be, he could be nice. And that slow smile of his was almost...charming.
Maybe charming wasn’t the word.
Seductive.
“You would like coffee, right?”
“Dinner,” he said.
“Oh, well, I’m not sure what I have—” She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and licked her lips. His eyes followed the movement, and she could have sworn she saw his eyes darken.
“This is New Orleans. Restaurants abound. Let’s go to dinner.”
“Dinner. Oh. Okay. It’s getting a bit late—”
“This is New Orleans,” he repeated.
“Are you asking me out to dinner?” she asked.
“I am.” He winked.
“I’m not dressed—”
“I do believe you’re one of those people who could wear a potato sack and still look fine,” he said lightly. “We won’t go anywhere fancy. Just out. There’s a place off Magazine Street—”
“Hmm, people sometimes dress up on Magazine Street.”
“I said off Magazine,” he told her. “Family place. The owners are friends. He’s first-generation Italian, and her family is Creole. Great, casual food.”
“You sold me,” Casey said.
“Make sure to lock up.”
She locked her door, and as they were leaving through the main entrance, Miss Lilly came out of her apartment, smiling as she saw them.
“I see you found Casey okay, Ryder,” she said.
“I did. Thank you for sending me through, Miss Lilly. As much as I appreciate your help, please don’t let anyone else in. There have been some break-ins in the neighborhood.”
“Oh, my! Well, thank you for telling me. I’ll make sure the place is locked. And I’ll tell the others. My, my, what a pretty couple you two make! Good to see you going out, Casey.” She looked at Ryder. “This girl just spends too much time working. Not that I don’t love the shop. I do. Anyway, you two go on out on your date. I’ll see we all know we need to keep the main doors locked up good and tight.”
“Oh, Miss Lilly, we’re not—” Casey began. But she was going out on a date...
“We’re really just friends, Miss Lilly,” she corrected.
They weren’t even friends.
Miss Lilly waved a hand in the air. “Get on out so I can lock up and get back to my program.”
“Will do. A pleasure,” Ryder told her.
They walked down the path to the street. Casey automatically started toward her little hybrid car, but Ryder said, “Mind if I drive? I know where I’m going.”
“Ah, fine.”
He opened the passenger door for her, and she slid in. Her arm grazed his as she did, and she felt a current of sensation rush through her, nearly causing goose bumps. He walked around to the driver’s seat and was quiet as he pulled out onto the street.
“So, hmm. How long have you been an FBI agent?” Casey asked him.
“Four years. Before that, I was a detective in Baltimore.”
“Baltimore? I got the impression you were from Louisiana.”
“I am. But I went to college up there and stayed and became a cop. And then a detective. And then I went to the academy and right into the Krewe.” He was watching the road, but he shrugged and looked at her quickly. “I saw my first ghost when my grandfather died. We were close. My dad was a cop, and one day, my grandfather’s ghost warned him that one of their supposed snitches was in on the hard stuff himself. Since my dad was suspicious, the snitch arranged for an accident. Because he knew, my dad avoided the shootout intended for him in an alley. The problem when I worked as a detective in Baltimore is a lot like the problem we have here. You can’t go to court, claiming a ghost told you what happened.”
“No, I read somewhere that they ruled out spectral evidence after the witch trials in the Massachusetts Bay Colony,” Casey said.
“And it’s a good thing. People can make up anything.”
“But you don’t think I’m making anything up.”
He glanced her way again.
“I know you’re not.”
They’d reached the restaurant.
It was off the main street, rustic and charming with picnic tables outside and nicely manicured foliage. Casey couldn’t believe there was a restaurant she hadn’t been to in the city, but New Orleans was filled with quaint little neighborhoods within neighborhoods, and she believed the restaurant catered to locals rather than tourists.
A middle-aged woman met them at the hostess stand and greeted Ryder warmly, clearly delighted to see him. She seemed happy to meet Casey, as well.
“So, you finally bring a beautiful girl to my restaurant,” the woman said. “I’m Felice Barone—Felice Beauchamp Barone since we are Creole and Italian. The best of both, I believe! My husband and I, we are the owners. Owners and operators, cooks, busboys, and bottle washers,” she said cheerfully. “I am delighted to meet you,” she told Casey. She grew serious, looking at Ryder. “I thought you went back north. Back to work after...I am still so sorry, cher.”