Out of Mind

hear what he said, but the Potted Ladies disappeared back the way they’d come.

Preston gathered himself visibly. “Let’s calm down. Vanity, sometimes we have to put up with being just like everyone else. Follow the rules, dearest, and go answer their little questions.”

Nat actually smiled warmly at the man. Bucky was already in the sitting room setting up recording equipment, and Vanity started to follow, very slowly, very reluctantly.

The kitchen door slammed open and banged against the wall this time. Rock U., sans shirt, his multihued and muscular torso glowing with sweat, swept in, his black leather pants clinging even tighter in the heat.

“Are the cops bothering you?” he asked Willow.

She almost laughed. When had she gathered such an army of sympathizers? “I’m fine,” she told him.

“They’ve been spreading the so-called news about Vanity,” he said as if the woman weren’t standing there. “Apparently, she was at the dance hall and at that bakery shop, too. Billy Baker’s.”

“This is bloody wonderful,” Nat said. “We’re going to have to take this downtown.”

“Zinnia called me,” Rock said. He looked around until he located Vanity. The big breath he took suggested he didn’t relish dealing with her. “Zinnia’s Willow’s office manager. She’s somethin’ else—a really good woman. And she knows a load of crap when she sees it.”

Vanity’s lips curled a little, but she struggled to obliterate the disdain. “Does she? That must be useful.”

“That chief of police is a publicity hound. He’s afraid of losing his job so he’s looking for a patsy, and you’re it.”

Vanity seemed about to have hysterics.

“There, there,” Rock U. said, as if she were a sad child. “You’ve got sensible friends all around you. We’ll take care of you.”

“Why would Vanity be at some dance hall anyway?” Preston Moriarty said. “When was that supposed to be?”

“The night of the party here,” Willow said, remembering her last conversation with Chris, and meeting Vanity for the first time a while later. “You got held up at a shoot, Vanity. You said that.”

“Oh, my.” Vanity’s face cleared a little, but her eyes were troubled. “Of course. I talked to Val and Willow when I arrived. And you, Preston. I got here late and felt so bad because I’d told Chloe I’d watch over things. Not that I needed to with Willow here.”

Willow gave a weak smile of thanks.

“The shoot was at the dance hall, not that I knew something awful was happening in the building,” Vanity said. “Isn’t that the pits? We use all kinds of backdrops. It was one of those funky collections—Saber Song— everyone knows Saber Song’s designs. They did a lot of poses on the bar. It went beautifully. Tear-away stuff. Very sexy. It’s all about the underwear—what there is of it.”

Preston laughed. “It’s all about license for public nudity, Vanity, baby. I bet the house was packed.”

She glowered at him.

Nat puffed up his cheeks and stared at Willow, then Ben. “Think we could meet for dinner later?”

The invitation struck Willow as bizarre, but she heard Ben agree, and felt him squeeze just above her elbow.

“The marquee’s finished, ma’am,” Rock said to Vanity. “They need your advice on the swags of red velvet, Willow.”

If I can make it until the day after tomorrow, I may not lose my mind. Willow said, “Yes.”

“I told the guys from the prop shop the space is big in here, but not that big,” Rock said. “They want to know if they can set up the bridge and the palace facades in the garden. The fence is going to have to come down anyway to get everything in, but they’ll make sure it all goes back. You won’t even know anything was different afterward.”

“Thanks,” Vanity said stiffly. “Will you be here tomorrow evening?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Rock said, showing all of his strong teeth. “No way would I miss seeing the gondola put into the pool.”

Chapter 28

Sykes avoided his uncle Pascal’s probing gaze.

They were behind the shop, in the Court of Angels, and Sykes was doing mental jumping jacks trying to sort out the mess he had made for himself. He should have dealt with it before leaving the Brandt house. Ben was not going to understand that impulsive decision.

Sykes looked at the square of very blue sky over the courtyard. I multitask really well. He thought about that one and tried it again: I multitask really well. I didn’t need to stay at the Brandt house to know what’s going on there.

How would that sound to Ben? “I knew you could handle it, Ben, and I could always get there fast. Seriously, I knew you’d rather I got back to Royal Street and tried to figure out what that key is for.”

One glance at Pascal and he knew he shouldn’t have practiced his speech aloud.

“So that’s it?” Pascal said in a voice loaded with disbelief. “One of your sisters is stuck being grilled by the police, so you decided you’d slide out and come back here to play sleuth. You like the idea of working it out on your own, don’t you? Why is everything a contest with you?”

“Give me some credit. I got bored hanging around is all.”

Pascal didn’t look convinced. “You want to find out what that key fits. You’ve admitted it.”

“If it fits anything at all,” Sykes said. He’d had a hell of a day and felt reckless. “But okay, I’m guilty. I’m a curious guy—who wouldn’t want to figure the thing out?”

His decision to return to the Court of Angels was partly for self-protection—his mind had been about to explode with the inane babbling Uptown—and partly because he couldn’t think of anything for long except the key.

“I’d better get over to that house,” Pascal said. “Ben must have had a reason for wanting you there. I’ll take your place.”

Sykes inclined his head and counted slowly and silently to ten before he said, “No, Uncle, that’s a lousy idea. There are too many people there already. It’s a crowded scene. And I’m still watching and listening.” Which he was. “Ben asked me to stay until he got there himself. He’s there now.” Hey, that was true. Just showed you how the simplest explanation was usually the best.

Pascal and Sykes stood in the planting bed where the little red griffon had hidden so well for a century or so. Sykes doubted they could be seen from the shop and only someone on one of the high balconies around the flats would have a chance to catch sight of them in the dense foliage.

Marley’s Winnie and Willow’s Mario sat, side by side, like two more conspirators in conference. Winnie kept staring at Mario, whose concentration on the griffon never wavered.

Persuading Pascal to stay in the shop and let Sykes deal with his search on his own had gone nowhere, and now Sykes was really frustrated with the audience.

“Anthony isn’t happy about all this upheaval,” Pascal said. Anthony was his personal trainer. “You know how he worries about my blood pressure.”

“Yeah, I do. So let me do the worrying for all of us. It was supposed to be my…job,” he finished weakly and bent way forward to look at his feet. Damn his big mouth. He had always avoided showing any bitterness over being usurped by Pascal, but now he had carelessly hurt the man.

Pascal’s big hand descended consolingly on Sykes’s shoulder, and he breathed more easily again. He was grateful for this understanding uncle.

“You know I think it’s garbage, don’t you?” Pascal said. “The curse. I know all about the old stories, the disasters that happened in Belgium and London, the fear that the family could lose everything here in New Orleans and be forced to move on and start over again. Bunk. We’re not in the seventeen hundreds anymore—if it was even relevant then.”

Sykes shook his head slowly. “I don’t think we should go into that. You’re in, I’m out and that’s the way it’ll