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Chapter One
Chapter One
Everything was all right until the photograph showed up in my mailbox
Actually, that isn’t true Nothing had been all right since my sister vanished into thin air
I’d never known people could disappear so completely that no trace was ever found Isn’t this America?
Land of the free, ho more often than we think
Unfortunately, he’d been asleep at the switch when Katie went AWOL
For three years there hadn’t been a sign of her despite all the pictures I’d plastered on signposts, store s, and everypersons Internet site I could find
Then I’d gone into the office, started sorting through my stack of mail, opened a five-by-sevenoutside a building na Moon
It had taken me all of three minutes to determine the place was a j azz club in New Orleans I’d shoved a few changes of clothes and my toothbrush into a backpack and boarded the next available flight
A few hours later, I stood on a street called French how it could be so freaking hot in the otten on the plane in Philly, fat snowflakes had been tu down
I’d never visited New Orleans, never wanted to I wasn’t the party type; I wouldn’t fit in However, I didn’t plan to stay I planned to get Katie and get gone
I forcedthe smoke, the noise, the people The inside was sparse, narrow, nothing like the big, airy taverns at home, which boasted lots of tables, lots of space for billiards, darts, and other a Moon was all about the music
I knew nothing about j azz Give me some Aerosh day But j azz? I’d never understood the attraction
One look at thethe saxophone near the front of the room and attraction took on a different twist
He was tall and slilasses that covered his eyes—was dark
I glanced at the ceiling Not a spotlight to be had
“Weird,” I lares froet
There wasn’t any stage He just stood in a corner and played From the microphone, the piano, and the abandoned drue
He held that sax as if it were the only thing he’d ever loved Despite the need to show the picture of Katie to anything that , captivated by a stranger and his music
Even with the dark sunglasses bisecting his face, I could tell he was better than handsome His hair was shorn close, but that only drew attention to the sharpness of his cheekbones and the devilishly well-trioatee
His hands were long fingered and elegant, the hands of an aristocrat in a world where such distinctions were long dead He see
New Orleans had always been n than domestic—a city where lifewere part of every day and every night, where French was as commonly murmured as curse words No wonder I’d felt itchy and out of sorts from the moment I’d stepped off the plane I was a peasant, and I alould be
The tune ended, whatever it was, the last notes drifting toward the high ceiling and fading away The spell over the crowd broke as they clapped, chattered alasses to drink
“Thank you, ladies and gentle as his hands—deep, melodious, with an accent I couldn’t place Perhaps Spanish, with a pinch of the South, a dash of the North, and so mysterious just beneath
The bartender, a tall, ht brown eyes and impossibly short natural hair appeared at et you?”
I wanted to shake my head to clear it of the dopey infatuation with the sax player’s hands and voice I was not the type of wouy for any reason, let alone his looks If I cared about looks I’d be in deep shit My face certainly wouldn’t inspire any sonnets
I laid the photo of Katie atop the polished wood “Seen her?”
“You a cop?” The bartender’s accent was pure Dixie
“No” I could have shown hiator’s license, but I’d discoveredwhen I hteen when she went o”
“Oh” His face went from suspicious to sympathetic in an instant “That’s too bad”
I couldn’t detere—maybe thirty, maybe fifty He seemed both a part of this place and yet reed beneath his dark T-shirt, and the hand that reached for the snapshot would have made two of my own
He peered at the picture so long, I wondered if his tiger-eyes were in need of solasses
Then he set it back on the bar and lifted his gaze “A lot of people goin this city Always have
What with the tourists, Bourbon Street, Mardi Gras, the river, the swaed
I’d have to take his word for it I hadn’t done much research on the city proper before I’d hopped on the plane I’d spent what tiure out where the h I’d had no luck
My address had been typed in both the center and the top left-hand corner There’d been a stamp, but no postmark Which made me think so
But why?
“My sister wentfrom home,” I clarified “From Philadelphia”
“You’ve co way”
I shrugged “She’s my sister”
Sisters can be both the best and the worst—depending on the day, the mood, the sister Mine was no different Still, I’d travel to the ends of the earth twice over for Katie Sure, we’d fought, but we’d also been best friends I’d shared so s with Katie, that without her I felt like only half of myself
“I don’t recognize her” The bartender leaned back, nodding at someone aved for a drink
“Are you the owner?” I asked
“No, ma’am That would be John Rodolfo”
“And where could I find him?”
He j erked his chin toward the rear of the tavern “Should be in the office”
As I headed in that direction, the eoning night
The corner of the rooone
I was surprised ataround and listen to music I wasn’t all that fond of Hell, I didn’t have time to listen to music I liked
My life was my work and I didn’t mind I can’t say what I would have done if I hadn’t becoator Back when I enty, two years into college and no clue on a ood idea to take a little time off and work for Matt Hawkins, the PI my parents had hired to look for Katie He was old, he needed help, and it wasanyway
Well, not technically ht, and she’d walked out I should have gone after her; at the very least, I should have ry; I’d stood her up, and I hadn’t seen her since
I never had gone back to college Matt had left me his business when he’d retired the previous year He helped out here and there—like now, for instance, when I had to leave town to follow a lead I was conveniently between cases, and Matt could deal with anything that one
A door marked private stood between two others marked MESSIEURS and MESDEMOISELLES So where did the “Mesdames” pee?
Most people would hesitate before barreling through a door labeled “private” but not me I’d never been very polite even before I’d applied for my license to pry, so I turned the knob and stepped inside
The roouessed Rodolfo wasn’t holefor a switch
The harsh electric glare leftNot so the lasses
For awhy he was in a dark roohter than the fluorescent lights
He was blind
“Can’t you read?” Thethe edge, showing him the way ” ‘Private’ means just that The facilities are on either side of this door”
“I—uh—sorry”