“Monty loves his dogs.”
“Yes, I know. But it won’t hurt them to eat twice if he did feed them.”
She headed back into the kitchen, finding the dog bowls she kept for special treats or those times when Monty did ask her to feed them. She filled her bowls with dry dog food and added a small tin of special wet food to each and started to balance them on her arm to bring out, but Dan was there. He took two of the bowls from her and carried them out.
She didn’t think Monty had fed the dogs—they headed right for the food.
“Okay,” she said cheerfully. “I’m happy. We can leave now.”
Dan drove, finding parking on the street about three blocks from the restaurant.
She hadn’t even known it had opened, and she thought that a bit remiss on her part. But apparently it had been open less than a week.
“Lettie and Randolph Rodenberry must have come for opening night,” Dan said.
“Maybe. I’m a guide here. I should have known about this place,” Katie said. That didn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of things and certainly not tonight. She hesitated. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Hopefully, we’ll lead normal lives again and...” Now he hesitated.
“What?”
“I’m not sure what normal is anymore. I spent part of the day conversing with dead people.”
“It’s a new normal,” she told him.
They reached Bourbon and turned toward Esplanade to reach the restaurant. The streets weren’t overly busy, but it was Bourbon Street. And the night life was beginning. They passed a neon sign advertising the best strip club in the city. It was next to a casual pizza joint.
Not far down the street, the French Quarter’s busiest karaoke bar was rocking.
They reached Duffy’s Den. There was a sign in cursive on the arch over the doorway noting the restaurant’s name. Dan opened the door for Katie. She thanked him and stepped in.
The place was beautiful. The hostess stand—mahogany and covered with a red velvet runner—fronted a room full of tables that were set to look like they were in the middle of conversation pits. The seating was all black velvet booths that curved around the tables. Some were large; some were smaller, more intimate.
She quickly discovered Dan had made a reservation as they were greeted by a pretty young blonde in a form-fitting white velvet dress.
They were led to one of the intimate booths. A sommelier arrived at their table with the wine list. Dan glanced at her, and she knew he didn’t want wine but thought maybe they should order some for appearances.
He asked the sommelier for a recommendation. Dan, smiling, accepted his suggestion for a moderately priced bottle of red after consulting with Katie.
She didn’t want wine, either; she wanted to watch. But she smiled and agreed that the body and essence sounded fine.
Their server appeared next. It wasn’t Neil Browne; it was an older man, impeccable in his white jacket, pleasant in his manner.
But even as he described the various specials, Katie tensed.
She wasn’t sure...but there was a waiter back toward the door, speaking with a group of five who were seated at one of the larger pits, and he looked familiar. If it was Neil Browne, he’d changed a lot...but he used prosthetics. No one knew what was real about him and what was not. He was a chameleon.
She fumbled to grab Dan’s arm as he politely listened to their server.
“Excuse me,” she said to the waiter. “Dan!”
She pointed.
But as she did, the man turned to look at her, almost as if he had sensed her watching him.
He dropped his tray on the table, along with the five drinks on it. The group cried out in dismay, jumping up, trying to avoid the spill of beverages, some milky, some clear, all sliding and sluicing across the table and threatening their clothing.
The man bolted out the door. Dan proved his agility, leaping over their table to tear after him with a startling speed. He yelled over his shoulder to her, “Call Axel!”
But near the door, he found himself blocked, colliding with the disgruntled customers in the way of the exit, who were still trying to sop up the liquids staining their clothing, complaining loudly and vociferously. To complicate matters, the elegant young hostess left her stand...and blocked the exit as well as she tried to calm the patrons despite her own confusion.
Dan made his way through. Katie followed, more slowly slipping through the crowd now at the door. She dialed the phone and listened to it ring as she excused herself, pushing through.
A bizarre thought occurred to her.
Luckily, the wine hadn’t arrived. They weren’t running out on a check.
Axel answered his phone, and Katie tried not to stammer. “He was here, saw me looking at him, and took off. Here at Duffy’s Den. Dan is already in pursuit. He bolted out onto Bourbon Street.”
“I’m two blocks away. I’ll send out the info. We’ll send out the troops. What was he wearing?”
“A white waiter’s jacket, but I imagine he’s shed it by now,” Katie said.
“You’re probably right. I’ll use the sketches,” Axel said. “Stay where you are, Katie, in the middle of lots of people.”
“Um...”
She was already outside the restaurant. She doubted she’d be welcomed back in. But she was on Bourbon in front of the restaurant, and there were people milling everywhere. Many were laughing, walking arm in arm and swaying arm in arm, in some cases.
“Right!” she told Axel.
She didn’t want the agent worrying about her, not when he needed to get everyone finding the man she knew as Neil Browne.
She ended the call. She wondered if she should call Ryder, too, but Dan had told her both Axel and Ryder would be on the street peeking into different establishments. She was sure they had a communication protocol established.
She looked down the street, watching a group of thirtysomethings piling into the popular karaoke establishment.
Others
