“But anyone could wander in off the street and overhear us. I’m hoping that you’ll make an exception for me tomorrow tonight.” She paused, apparently considering her next words carefully. “It could be significant for you.”
“A business contact?”
“Please. I’m not going to talk about it here. Just give me the benefit of the doubt.”
Rachel nodded. This woman obviously had something important to say. She didn’t want to say it in public, but she was holding her breath, waiting for Rachel’s answer.
“All right,” she agreed, wondering what she was getting into. Because she had the sudden conviction that Ms. Morgan was telling the truth about the information being important to Rachel. Or at least that was part of the truth. The rest of it she was struggling to keep to herself.
They made an appointment for eight at the Bourbon Street Arms.
She stood and took a few steps, and Rachel noticed what she’d seen when the woman had first entered--that she walked with a slight limp.
A sudden image flashed into Rachel’s mind of a much younger Evelyn Morgan leaping off a bridge just before it exploded. And shattering her leg as she landed.
Dressed in a black polo shirt and faded jeans, Jake Harper was sipping a mug of strong, chicory-laced New Orleans coffee as he looked over the receipts from Le Beau, a restaurant he owned in the French Quarter. It wasn’t his biggest business interest in the city, not by a long shot, but he liked working in the office at the back of the restaurant because the chef served him his favorites, like crawfish étouffée and Oysters Bienville for lunch.
Acquired tastes for a kid who’d run away from a dysfunctional foster home at the age of fifteen. In the intervening seventeen years, he’d carved out a niche for himself in the city’s business community. Starting at the bottom, scrounging junk from back alleys and selling it to antique shops and dealers with tables outside the French Market. With his initial earnings, he’d graduated to garage sale purchases and then estate sales. He’d bought his first antique/junk shop five years later–the same year he’d gotten his GED.
He might lead a comfortable life now, but the early experiences on the streets had made him tough and cautious. And always prepared for violence. In his experience, a situation could spin out of control with very little provocation.
He looked up as Salvio, the headwaiter, knocked on the door.
“Yes?”
“A lady wants to speak to you.”
“About what?”
“Says it’s personal.”
“Young or old?”
The guy grinned. “Past her prime but keeping up appearances.”
Well, it probably wasn’t some chick trying to claim he was the father of her child. Not that he was ever careless about sex. He knew it could get someone into trouble faster than anything else.
Jake leaned back in his seat, wondering what the woman wanted. Maybe a donation for one of the charities he gave to on a regular basis? He’d slept in some of the city’s shelters after he’d left his foster family, and he knew what it was like to live from hand to mouth, which was why he regularly gave back to the community.
The woman who walked in had a slight limp. She appeared to be in her mid to late sixties with dyed brown hair and afully made up face. She was nicely dressed in a summer weight black suit and low heels.
She gave him a long look, as though she had been studying him and was interested to find out what he was like in person.
“Thank you for seeing me. I’m Evelyn Morgan.” Her accent told him she was from somewhere in the mid-Atlantic region. Obviously not from a local charity, unless she’d just moved to the city and thrown herself into community activities.
He stood and shook hands. “What can I do for you?”
She half turned and glanced over her shoulder. “I’d rather not talk about it here.”
“Uh huh.” He waited for more information.
“There’s someone I want you to meet.”
“Who?”
“It has to do with your . . . past, but I don’t want to say any more.”
He tipped his head to the side, studying her. “That sounds mysterious.”
