“Your point?” the judge asked.
“Felipe is a flight risk and shouldn’t be out on bond.”
Esterman scoffed. “She saw a man in a red shirt run down an alley. How far away was she from the man?”
“Enough,” the judge said. “Take your seats.” He looked at his calendar. “Trial starts in three weeks. Mr. Cruz will not leave town and will turn over his passport. He will remain out on bond.” The judge’s gavel slammed down. “Court dismissed.”
The argument the DA had prepared went down the drain without any consideration. Afterward, Cooper met with Lucy and Zack. She was at risk and needed protection until the court date.
“If you put the word out that I’m not testifying, what happens?” Lucy asked.
“Esterman will be at the judge’s door wanting the charges dropped,” Cooper said. “You’re our only shot at getting Felipe convicted.”
Lucy smiled. “Let him roam the streets as a free man.”
“He’ll kill you,” Zack said. “Just in case you change your mind.”
“I’ll take my chances.” Lucy took a deep breath, composing herself. “Put the word out—I’m not testifying.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The next morning, Lucy sat at Café Beignet curbside. She’d had a restless night trying to come up with a plan, one to handle Felipe. It was only a matter of time before he came calling on her. She sat throwing pieces of a beignet into the street and watched birds pick at the dough.
Mario had stopped by earlier to give Lucy his good news and to check on her. He’d been promoted to Gang and Drug Enforcement, a division created by the new Chief of Police. He assured Lucy she could call on him any time and gave her a phone number for dispatch. They would contact him any hour of the day or night. He would still be in the area, but now he’d be working as a plainclothes cop. Before departing, Mario showed her two articles in the morning newspaper. Picklehead’s death had been declared an overdose, and a man identified as Ethan Clark had been found dead in Jackson Square of an apparent drug deal gone bad. She didn’t comment and couldn’t help but wonder why Mario had made it a point to show her the articles.
Lucy opened the shop that morning to a jubilant Margo. She waited for Lucy in the kitchen while Lucy cleaned up the salon before the first appointment.
Taking a seat, Lucy poured Margo a cup of coffee. Margo didn’t waste time and opened her Gucci purse and plopped an envelope on the table.
“Thank you. Ethan is out of my daughter’s life.” Then she pushed the envelope to Lucy. “Five thousand, plus a little twenty-five-hundred-dollar bonus.”
“Thank you very much,” Lucy said, opening the envelope and thumbing through the hundred-dollar bills.
Wanda stepped into the kitchen. “Lucy, there’s a lady here for you, a Bernadette Pearson.”
Lucy, not expecting anyone, gave Wanda a hand flip. “See what she wants.”
Margo announced, “That’s my friend, Bernie. I got you some business.”
Lucy put on a smile. “We’re talking maybe a haircut?”
“No, honey.” Margo touched the envelope on the table. “Your other business.”
Wanda escorted Bernie back to the kitchen. Before leaving, Wanda gave Lucy a wild-eyed look. Lucy understood it as what the hell is going on?
The woman introduced herself and offered Lucy her hand. “My name is Bernadette Pearson. Please call me Bernie.”
Margo gave Bernie a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll leave you two alone to talk.” Then she gave Lucy a kiss. “Job well done.”
Lucy’s head was spinning. What had she gotten herself into? Bernie was from the same mold as Margo, just younger, maybe in her late forties. Much like most of the salon’s customers, Bernie was an uptown girl. Though Bernie looked like she could be a fast girl from the other side of the tracks, the kind the boys liked, and the kind who could rope a rich boy into marriage.
“How does this work?” Bernie said. “Do I just tell you who I want dead?”
That’s when Lucy knew things had gotten out of control. “Excuse me?”
Bernie sat back in the chair. “I’m sorry. I don’t know the rules.”
“There are no rules,” Lucy blurted out. “I mean yes, there’s one—keep your voice down,” she whispered, looking into the salon, hoping no one had overheard.
Lucy reached for the tarot cards. Shuffling them, she said the obvious. “I see you’re outraged.” The woman flinched. “A man?” Another flinch. Here we go. Another cheating husband.
Bernie’s eyes welled up as she went into detail. Her husband, Frank Pearson, came from what most people called the wrong side of the tracks. So Lucy had read things wrong; it was Frank who’d married up, not Bernie. When he’d first met Bernadette, he’d been twenty-six years old, never married, living in a lovely apartment off Saint Charles Avenue, and had a great job with one of the top investment brokers in the city. Or so he’d claimed, but most of what he’d said had been a lie.
Frank’s scam had started unraveling the night he’d had dinner with Bernadette’s family at their uptown home. That was the first time Frank and her father had had a lengthy conversation. It didn’t go well when her father had talked about investments. Frank had squirmed in his seat, trying to change the topic, until he’d come up with an excuse to leave.
The next morning with one phone call, her father had learned everything he’d wanted to know about Frank Pearson. Frank had been working for an investment company—as a part-time employee in the mailroom. His fancy apartment had actually been a sofa a friend let him crash on. Her outraged father had told Bernadette, “A man with no real job or direction at twenty-six years old will never amount to anything.”
After a family fight that had lasted for days, Bernie had rented an apartment and Frank had moved in with her. For three years Frank had lived off Bernie, who worked for a lumber company. One of
