I closed my eyes.
***
I woke up before Luca. I got up carefully and moved through the house. Ground floor first. The French doors were latched. The courtyard gate held when I tested the latch with both hands.
Nothing out of place.
I came back to the kitchen and stood at the counter, listening to the house breathe. The fountain ran in the courtyard while a streetcar rattled along St. Charles Avenue.
I started the coffee.
Dominic appeared on the back stairs at five fifty, wearing dark trousers and a cream linen shirt, his silver hair already in order. He looked at the coffeemaker, pulled two cups from the cabinet, and settled into his chair with a slim book.
When Luca came downstairs, he was dressed but not yet assembled. His shirt remained untucked, and he had a head of disheveled hair.
Dominic stood, retrieved a third cup, and filled all of them with fresh coffee. Returning to his seat, still reading, he said, “The lemon trees will want water. The heat has still not broken.”
Luca reached for a mug. I took the last one. We stood at the counter while Dominic read, slowly waking.
Ten minutes later, Eamon arrived, fully dressed with nothing out of place. His shoulder was bothering him, visible in the asymmetrical tension of his body. He’d sustained an injury playing football in college, and it never fully healed. The New Orleans heat caused it to flare.
He looked at the four of us arranged around the kitchen, poured coffee, and sat across from Dominic.
“Michael called at six,” he said. “The payment chain. Eight hundred dollars, thirty-day intervals, eight months running. He’s been working the shell entities.” Eamon wrapped both hands around the cup. “What he has is the origin account. Traces directly to Henri.”
“Henri never hid that he was paying,” I said.
“That’s true. He doesn’t care who knows he’s paying. He wants to stop anyone from finding out who’s receiving the payments.”
“Devereaux,” I said.
“Michael’s investigating that angle. Micah is a possibility, too.”
“Henri’s secret payroll,” Luca said from the counter.
I reported on my morning checks. The gate was secure. No doors or windows were disturbed.
Eamon listened, writing nothing down. He leaned back. “I want to commend you and Dominic on getting the podium moved, and the sightline disrupted. Good work. Unfortunately, it may not be enough.”
“I know.”
“If the plans you expect are in place and show Dominic at the original position, whoever holds the weapon will have to correct when the positions don’t match. That gives us a fraction of a second.” He looked directly at me.
“I know that, too.”
He nodded once.
Dominic closed his book. “Mr. Price, the Armagnac from last night is still on the counter. Luca will find you something appropriate to pour it into.”
Eamon looked at the counter. Then at Luca.
“It’s six-thirty in the morning,” he said.
“He’s not suggesting you drink it now,” Luca said. “He’s suggesting you give it a proper glass and let it breathe.”
Eamon considered the comment. “We don’t do that in Seattle,” he said.
“No,” Luca said. “I suspect you don’t.”
