Out of Mind

know she was on her way to a job. “And Ben? What did you do to him? He hardly said a word when he came through on his way out.”

“I’ve got to get to that job,” she said, avoiding his questions. “I’m helping out at a party.”

“You’re angry, too,” Pascal said.

“No,” Willow said. “I’m not. And I’m only letting you know I’m leaving because everyone’s so upset at the moment.”

“But you’re not upset?”

“No. Bye.”

“Where are you going?”

She wanted to say she didn’t owe him a schedule. Instead, she said, “Uptown. Right off St. Charles Avenue. Near Bordeaux Street. The people’s name is Brandt, Val and Cleo. They’re very well-known in New Orleans— socialites.”

“I never heard of them,” Pascal said.

Willow planted a kiss on his cheek. “You only hang out with old money, Uncle. The Brandts don’t even have one important generation behind them, so they aren’t your kind.” She gave a mock shudder.

He shook his head. “Probably vulgar. And you shouldn’t be waiting on them, either.”

She laughed. “I run a housekeeping and all things domestic business. I should be picky about who I work for? ‘We are Mean ’n Green—you need it, we get it, or do it or fix it.’”

“Of course you can’t be calling me a snob—nothing could be further from the truth.” He shook his head. “So why is Ben mad at you?”

“He doesn’t have any right to be mad at me,” she snapped. “I’m nothing to him.”

“Is that a fact?” Pascal looked at the stairs to see his trainer, Anthony, coming down with a tall, green drink in a frosted glass.

“I can hear you getting excited from three stories up,” Anthony said. No one looked better in a muscle shirt, than blond, tanned Anthony. “You know how bad it is for your blood pressure, Pascal. Sit down and drink this. It’ll settle your nerves.”

Pascal grimaced and Willow took advantage of the moment to slip back into the courtyard and make her way through to the storeroom where she kept her scooter and trailer. Her office was in the Warehouse District, and the other vehicles were parked there, but she couldn’t see herself wasting money on something frivolous to drive to and fro—or wasting an opportunity to advertise Mean ’n Green on the trailer at all times.

Ben hovered nearby, trying to feel guilty. He failed. If Willow wouldn’t look after herself, he’d just have to do it for her. That was what Sykes wanted him in New Orleans for anyway. The only puzzle was why Sykes didn’t do the job himself.

Stand-in hostess for some man’s pool party? Was she insane? She couldn’t really think all the guy wanted was for her to stand around offering canapés.

Willow swung open two heavy green doors to a crowded space where bicycles and her scooter, complete with trailer, were stored in front of boxes stacked to the rafters.

He could follow her at a distance, but why bother when he would rather be as near to her as possible?

Ben settled his presence into her trailer and grinned at the odd expression on her face when she noticed a change in the balance of her “wheels.”

She looked cute in her little yellow dress, brown sandals, and wearing the green-and-white crash helmet complete with oversize rearview mirrors. Her skirt hiked way above her knees—something else he enjoyed.

The kiss had been enough proof for him. He wanted Willow more than ever.

This was the first close-up look he’d had of the scooter. It was well equipped enough to satisfy a long-distance motorcyclist, complete with GPS, a mount into which she slid a cell phone before adjusting an earpiece beneath her helmet, and a radar scanner.

The scanner made him grin. He wondered about the top speed on a scooter pulling a trailer— even a very small trailer.

With obvious increased effort, she wheeled the scooter into the passageway between the shop and one wing of the Millets’ flats. He did feel a bit bad about the way she had to strain, but he wasn’t happy with her at the moment.

Willow hoped she wasn’t developing a problem with the scooter. Steering or something. The company’s small truck had cost a fortune in repairs lately and she needed to pad the bank account again.

Sometimes Willow thought it would be faster to walk shorter distances than try to maneuver through city traffic with the scooter. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to carry everything she needed in her arms.

She set off for St. Charles Avenue.

Honking on all sides. Vendors with carts on all sides. Screaming people on all sides. Usually when she was out here, she felt more alive than she did anywhere else. This evening she was steaming and everything annoyed her. Steaming, and so sad she kept blinking back tears.

The only really important thing to worry about was that Billy Baker was dead. After the abrupt way Nat Archer left, she didn’t know if there was something she should be doing. Nat said he’d been told to back away from the case.

When she reached St. Charles Avenue it wasn’t so busy. Willow could feel grit spitting against her bare legs. She should have taken the time to put an overall on top of her dress. Riding around like this had to look wacky and it wasn’t comfortable.

The scooter was giving all kinds of signals suggesting it found the trailer too heavy. She had made the mistake of overloading it before.

Billy’s death was unbelievable. His excitement over his own business rubbed off on her. He could make her grin with his ideas for whimsical sweets.

That should be past tense now. Willow sniffed and her eyes burned.

Too bad she had to do this job tonight. She was concerned about money right now. Business hadn’t been so great lately. If it had, she wouldn’t have agreed to do this job for the Brandts—she didn’t like the uncertainty of it. Cleo Brandt had told her to get there at eight to have time to talk to her husband, Val, before guests arrived. A pool party starting so late didn’t make sense to Willow.

The Millets had their rules. Willow grimaced; she also had rules and the main one was that she was completely independent. She had to be vigilant because finance wasn’t her strength.

Her cell rang and she turned it on. “Willow here.” She wished she didn’t have to be connected to all callers at all times, but she did.

“Zinnia’s pissed,” a male voice said and she frowned. “It’s Chris. I didn’t want to bother you so I tried Zinnia at home and you should have heard that bitch.”

Chris was one of Willow’s three supervisors. Zinnia ran the office.

“You know she doesn’t work when she’s not being paid,” Willow said, checking her mirrors. They really gave her a great all-around view. “What’s the problem?”

“I dunno.”

She winced. Chris was good at his job, but there were definite gaps in his communication skills. “Okay, Chris, why are you trying to reach one of us?”

“We’re not catering the Brandt job, are we?” Chris said.

“No,” she said, competing with a lot of noise at Chris’s end.

That was something she had not told Ben. Her job tonight was to play the hostess and nothing more. Not even hand out canapés as he snidely mentioned. Cleo Brandt had called at the last minute and sounded embarrassed when she said Willow didn’t need to worry about anything but making sure the evening went smoothly. In other words, Mean ’n Green hadn’t gotten the most lucrative parts of the event.

“Why wouldn’t they want us to do everything?” Chris asked.

Willow’s patience thinned. “I don’t know the answer to that. You know we’re picking up all the business we can right now. We can’t be picky.”

Chris was quiet for a few moments, then he said, “No. I just don’t like it if I think you’re being taken advantage of, boss.”