Not then. Maybe now,Craig answered.
You’d bet your life on that?
No. That’s why we’re practicing.
We’re just playing games,she shot back.
That’s all we can do—unless you want to get someone in town to rob a bank. It’s got to be stuff that’s within the bounds of the law.
I don’t think you’re going to get that guy to jump in the bayou. And I don’t want to suggest something that would get him fired—like tossing the buffalo wings over the railing. What if we see if we can get him to deliver them to the wrong table?
Okay.
They relaxed at their table, sipping their iced tea. When Stephanie saw the waiter come back with the wings, she sent Craig a silent message.He’s here.
Craig let her direct the next part, but she felt him lending her energy. She told the guy to deliver the appetizer to the table behind them, and she saw his face take on a confused look. He stopped for a second, then walked past them to the next table.
Behind her, she heard the couple telling Julian that they hadn’t ordered the wings. In fact, they were waiting for their dessert.
He did a quick about-face and came back to Craig and Stephanie, his cheeks flushed.
“Sorry about that. I don’t know how I got mixed up.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Craig said.
We have to stop playing with him, Stephanie said when he’d left the food and departed.
Yeah, poor guy.
They ate the wings and ordered shrimp étouffée and grilled snapper, which they shared before returning to their cottage for some more intimate practice sessions.
Worn out, they fell asleep, but the events of the day had taken their toll.
John Reynard picked up the phone. The police detective on the other end of the line said, “I have some information for you.” The caller was the guy he’d sent over to the dress shop earlier who took substantial amounts of money under the table to keep Reynard informed on police department business.
“Go ahead.”
“I have a fingerprint report on the man who called himself Craig Brady.”
“That’s not his name?”
“He’s Craig Branson. He’s a private detective out of the Washington, DC, area.”
“What the hell is he doing here?”
“I’m working on that. He made an inquiry about a body that turned up in the bayou. A guy named Arthur Polaski.”
John felt a frisson go through him. How did Branson know aboutthat?
“You think Branson is in New Orleans investigating Polaski’s death?”
“Or what he did before he was killed.”
“Yeah, thanks for the info.”
The cop hesitated. “I think one of the other guys in the department gave Branson the heads-up about Polaski.”
“Why?”
