Double Danger

Chapter 2-2

are“Are you coming up with me?”

“You know a hostess never leaves the party. But, darlin," you sure make a girl think twice.”

“I"ve been waiting since I was sixteen,” he teased.

“That"s back when I was an old lady of twenty-one. I"m ancient now, so I"m only being merciful. I"ll send in Madsen. I told her to expect you.”

“Apparently everybody has been awaiting my arrival. I get more press than the Pope.”

“You"re more important, so no charge for you. He"d have to pay.”

He"d“That"s why you"re a successful businesswoman. Speaking of charge, Maire. I have another girl in my charge. She"s in the car. May I bring her in?”

“You getting kinky in your old age?”

“I"m not getting anything in my old age.”

She shook her head as she traced his square jaw with a delicate finger. “Such a loss. Show her in, chere.”

When Sam opened the door and whistled, Beatrice sat up, jumped out the car window, and ran for the veranda. Maire let out a sultry chuckle before leading Sam and Beatrice up the curved staircase to the one place where he could still find comfort.

* * *

Sam stepped out of the shower off Madsen"s room, grateful to be somewhere familiar. Beatrice, who had crawled under an altar set with religious offerings, was eyeing a voodoo rattle-doll somewhat suspiciously. Sam remembered only enough of Mammy Jem"s teachings to recognize a veve symbol that was painted on the wall, and a small table with divination cards that was set up in one corner. As accustomed as he was to Jem"s voodoo practices while growing up, Sam still found the various objects and idols very foreign. But tonight he was too exhausted to give them a second glance.

The full length shuttered windows were open, allowing bits of conversation, blues rifts and laughter to drift his way from the garden below. On the ceiling above his head, a fan turned slowly, folding the sounds and fragrances into the night air.

When Sam peered down into the courtyard below, one patron, obscured by fingers of shade from a large magnolia tree, looked up at him and nodded. Blonde Celeste, who was now outstretched seductively on a wrought iron lounge, followed the man"s gaze. When she spotted Sam, she languorously adjusted her pose then stroked her pale legs, pausing to circle the fleur de lis tattoo on her calf with a red long fingernail. The patron cordially lifted a glass to Sam before continuing his social call with Celeste.

Sam closed the shutters and glanced around. He was already forming a profile of the young woman who inhabited the comfortable room. After years of detective work, he was the master of the fifteen-second profile. This Madsen was a loner he figured–no family photos or memorabilia. On her vanity there were several scarves, various ropes of plastic carnival beads, and a plastic baby Jesus from a Mardi Gras King Cake.

She also owned several hair brushes, including a brush with a bone handle that had been repaired with glue. Next to the brush was a bottle of fragrance–Dolce & Gabbana Velvet Desire, which he recognized as an expensive designer brand. A wooden fruit bowl with a lone fruit fly feasting on a bruised peach completed the arrangement.

It was the tiny stuffed canaries in the room, however, that held Sam"s eye. Madsen had strategically placed lifelike pairs of yellow canaries everywhere. The birds stared at Sam curiously as he walked about. One pair was perched next to a little plate of sesame seeds, and several were nestled in plants. Sam figured the girl was either superstitious, or perhaps very lonely. However, his experiences in homicide had revealed more peculiar interests than a collection of stuffed canaries.

Reminding himself that he was no longer a detective, Sam finally crawled between the sheets and reached for the chime. A few moments later he heard the knock.

“Come in, chere,” he said, unconsciously slipping back into the Cajun dialect he had worked so long to lose.

Madsen stepped into the room. She was young–twenty-two at most he"d guess. Her skin reminded him of buttered toast, and her eyes tilted upward in a small face accented by full lips. A fuchsia and yellow colored chiffon scarf was tied at the waistline of her strapless black dress; and she had chosen lipstick to match the pink of the scarf. Sam smiled with pleasure. He loved to look at beautiful things; and to him, all women were beautiful.

“Sam Lerner?” she said softly. As he nodded his head, her tentative smile grew larger. “Would you like to talk for a while. Maybe about California?” The expectant look on her face was almost childlike.

“I don"t think so, thank you. I"m exhausted–I"ve been on the road a long while.”

“You"ve had plenty to eat?”

“No appetite.”

“Would you enjoy a libation?” she offered.

“I"ve had a libation, thank you, Madsen.” Sam smiled at the word, which she had mispronounced. She was delightful, and very small town–just the way he had been on his first solo trip into New Orleans as a sixteen-year-old looking to become a man. In some respects, he figured, he was still trying to become one.

“Would you like me to join you for a libation, Madsen?” he asked, remembering his manners.

“No, thank you, I don"t drink. Is your dog friendly?”

“If she were any sweeter she"d need insulin.”

Madsen giggled before she methodically began to undress, humming unconsciously as she hung each garment. The only thing Madsen did not remove was an oblong silver pendant, which was hanging from a long chain around her neck. She slipped into a chenille robe and tied it at her waist, still humming.

Sam closed his eyes and listened. Her voice was so damn sweet it made him ache. When she moved closer, he noticed that her scent was sweet also, like wet flowers.

“Maire told me what you need,” she whispered as she crawled into bed, keeping her robe wrapped around her. “You"re sure this is all you want, Mr. Lerner?”

“I"m sure, darling.” Sam"s breathing grew deep and steady. The notes of Louis Armstrong"s version of La Vie En Rose drifted up from the garden, slowing forcing his pain to loosen its tenacious grip from his chest.

La Vie En RoseMadsen lifted her hand to stroke Sam"s forehead. “You have pretty blue eyes.”

“Thank you, Madsen.”

“I like blue eyes with black hair. I wish I had that.”

“You"re perfect just the way you are,” he assured her.

“That"s very kind of you.”

Sam made an unsuccessful attempt to continue the conversation, but his exhaustion was pressing him deeper into the soft down pillow.

“Shhh.” Madsen traced her fingers down his face and caressed his lips with the back of her hand. Using her finger tips, she gently applied pressure above Sam"s brow, pausing occasionally to smooth the hair back from his forehead. Her hands were soft and nurturing, allowing him to drift to some safe place from long ago.

As his body sunk into a long-forgotten state of calm, he felt her fingertips brush away the moisture from his cheek. He had allowed his long-suppressed sadness to surface, but he was too tired to give a damn. He just wanted someone near him so he could finally sleep.

Unfortunately, it would be the last good sleep Sam Lerner would have for a long time.