Rue Toulouse (3 page)

He’d caught up in time to see the bastard grab her arm. Before he’d had a chance to knock him on his ass, she’d given the jerk a good slap. Remi smiled to himself.
Good shot.
At that point, he should have walked away, but he hadn’t.

Now, the two women had left, and here he stood facing off with some angry asshole he didn’t even know. Considering the fire in the guy’s eyes, if Remi couldn’t defuse the situation, he still might have to straighten him out. “Buddy, I have no problem with you. My concern was with the lady. She’s gone, so it’s over.” Remi turned to leave. Then the fool grabbed his arm.

“No, this isn’t over. You interfered in something you shouldn’t have. Someone needs to teach you to mind your own damn business.”

Remi smiled. “And are you that someone?”

He narrowed his eyes. “I could be.”

Remi pushed the guy’s hand from his arm and leaned close. “Listen to me, you uptown preppy asshole. I’ll do more than slap your face. I’ll pound the shit out of you. So I suggest you get the hell away from me.” Remi could see the indecision in his eyes before he turned and walked away murmuring, “Fucking Cajun swamp rat.”

Remi thought about going after him but decided it wasn’t worth it and headed back the way he’d come. He made his way around the end of the parade, his eyes automatically scanning the crowd. Old habits die hard.

After Hurricane Katrina had brought to an end any illusions that the NOPD would clean up its reputation, Remi and his partner, Paul LaBeau, had quit and opened their own private security company. That was six months ago and things had been going fine, until now. He frowned.

Tonight Paul and his wife, Elaine, were throwing some fancy costume party and expected him to attend. Since the day they had partnered on a drug bust over in Algiers, Paul and Remi had hit it off, even though their backgrounds were as different as those of a lobster and a gator. But, compared to working the street busting lowlifes, a high-class Garden District party was a whole ’nother kettle of boiled crabs.

When he reached for his pack of cigarettes, his pocket was empty.

“Damn.” Would the cravings ever quit? As he waved at a group of teenagers dressed as shrimp riding a large po-boy float, his cell phone rang.

“Michaud.”

“Hey, Remi, it’s Paul.”

“Yeah, man, where y’at?”

“Awright. How about you?”

“Doing fine.”

“Elaine insisted I call to make sure you were coming tonight. I still can’t believe that, as long as we’ve been together, there was never an opportunity to introduce you two.”

“I don’t imagine she spent a lot of time hanging around the Eight District, but tell her I’m looking forward to meeting the one woman who can keep your sorry ass in line.”

Paul laughed. “That she does.” He hesitated. “By the way, I wanted you to know that, unless she comes with someone, Desiree wasn’t invited to the party.”

A familiar stab of humiliation shot through Remi at the mention of the woman he had once thought he loved. This boy from the bayou had been fun as a plaything, but not good enough to marry. The revulsion he had seen in her eyes still gnawed at his insides like the constant craving for a cigarette. Well, he could kick the craving for Desiree as well as for nicotine.

“I was over her a long time ago, but thanks for letting me know.”

“I want you to have a good time,” Paul continued. “As a matter a fact, there’s someone I’d like to introduce you to. She’s a friend of ours. She’ll be here tonight and I could set it up.”

Remi scowled. “You playing matchmaker now,
cher
?”

Paul chuckled. “Someone has to help you out.”

Visions of the blonde automatically passed through Remi’s mind, and he mentally shook it away. “Yeah, well, I’ll do just fine on my own.”

“Oh, come on. It’s time you got back out among the living. It can’t hurt to meet the lady.” Without waiting for Remi to reply, he asked, “What are you dressing as?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”

“Well, I’ll be Bluebeard, so look for me.”

“Later.” Remi placed his phone back in his pocket and paused to catch a string of silver beads tossed his way. Paul’s party was becoming more complicated by the minute. He’d make an appearance, meet Elaine, then leave. He knew Paul meant well, but the last thing he needed was to get involved with another uptown spoiled snob.

He slipped the beads over his head, tossed coins into a street musician’s open guitar case, and headed toward Toulouse Street and home.

Chapter Two

Caterine paused on Royal Street in front of Ma Chérie. Pride and love filled her heart as she stared at the quaint nineteenth-century building. When her eyes fell on the arched display window, she blinked in disbelief. There among the elegant dresses was a mannequin wearing a dress of such vibrant yellow it hurt the eyes.

As she got closer, laughter bubbled up in her throat. The hideous dress had so many ruffles it reminded her of a giant puffball. Curious to discover what such an outlandish dress was doing there, she pushed open the heavy oak door and entered the store’s main salon.

Amusement turned to dismay at the scene that greeted her. In the center of the Aubusson rug, her petite grandmother, Miss Dauphine Doucette, stood squared off against her two daughters-in-law and her granddaughters Charlotte and Paulette.

The stubborn set of her Aunt Frances’ pinched mouth and the defiance in her Aunt Hyacinth’s protuberant eyes told Caterine the storm that was about to break would make a hurricane seem like a gentle breeze. She hesitantly made her presence known.

“Good morning,” she said into the heavy silence. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes, there is most definitely something wrong,” her grandmother said, her dark eyes snapping with anger. “Pray tell me, Caterine, what is your opinion of that?” She flung out her arm indicating the yellow dress in the window.

Caterine bit her lip to keep from laughing. Before she could think of a response, her cousin Paulette replied in her usual whiney tone.

“I’ll have you know, Caterine, I designed that dress, and it’s as good as any you’ve done. Just because I didn’t go to some fancy school in Paris doesn’t mean I can’t create beautiful dresses.”

Short and plump, Paulette had curly brown hair, pale blue eyes, and a Cupid’s bow shaped mouth. Pampered by her mother, Paulette was used to getting what she wanted.

Caterine opened her mouth to respond, but her grandmother cut her off.

“Paulette, if I had thought that sending you to Paris with Caterine would have improved your skills, I would have done so. But that . . .” Again Miss Dauphine pointed toward the mannequin. “That shows me no amount of schooling could have refined your idea of fashion.”

“Mama, are you going to let Grandmère speak to me like that?” Paulette said, pouting.

Hyacinth’s face flushed beneath its coating of makeup, and her voice rose high and shrill. “Now, Miss Dauphine, that was uncalled for. You’ve gone and hurt Paulette’s feelings. She has as much fashion sense as Caterine. She just hasn’t had a chance to express herself.”

“Grandmère doesn’t understand my designs because they’re colorful and fun, not stuffy and boring like Caterine,” Paulette said with a pout.

“Actually, Paulette, if my choices are to be boring or be like you, I’ll take boring any day,” Caterine replied.

When Paulette opened her mouth to respond, Miss Dauphine waved her to silence. “That’s enough.” She turned to address Hyacinth. “I don’t care for Paulette’s designs because they’re not her ideas, they’re yours. You have never allowed that girl to have a thought of her own. She’s been influenced by you from day one, and as long as you’ve been in this family you have yet to acquire any decorum or taste.”

Caterine inwardly winced. Her grandmother’s words were harsh, but unfortunately they were the truth. Hyacinth’s blond curls were piled high on her head and her voluptuous body had been squeezed into a dress that would have looked better on a much younger, and slimmer, woman.

“Re-eally, Miss Dauphine, that’s be-neath you,” Frances Doucette admonished in her slow southern drawl. With her perpetually sour expression, Frances always looked as if she’d just bitten into a lemon. Tall and thin, with thick light-brown hair and hazel eyes, she had once been an attractive woman. Time and a disagreeable temperament had carved deep furrows into her once smooth face.

“Hyacinth and Paulette have a valid point,” Frances continued. “It’s time Ma Chérie branched out to accommodate other tastes. Imagine how much income we could generate by the addition of another line of clothing. We could clear out the lingerie room and set up racks to display the new styles.”

Charlotte nodded. “Mother’s right. If expanding our stock will bring in more customers, then it’s just poor management not to do so.” A few years older than Caterine, Charlotte had a low husky voice. She was attractive with dark hair and a pixieish face. On her second divorce, she cared mostly about pampering her perfect body, wearing beautiful clothes, and jet-setting around the world.

Seeing her grandmother’s cheeks flush with anger, Caterine reached for her arm.

“Grandmère, do you need to sit down?”

“No, Caterine, I do not.” She glowered at Frances. “I would have thought you, at least, would show more sense. Do you honestly believe I would compromise Ma Chérie’s reputation by offering our clientele clothing such as that disgrace on display? As for our silk lingerie, it’s exquisite. I shudder to think what you’d have me replace it with.”

Charlotte stiffened. “There’s not a damn thing wrong with sexy underwear. In case you’re not aware, Grandmère, lace bloomers went out a long time ago.”

Caterine’s own temper was beginning to rise. “Charlotte, I don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve seen our lingerie, but we haven’t sold lace bloomers since our great grandmother owned this store.”

The icy stare Frances gave Caterine could have frozen Lake Pontchartrain.

“Caterine, contrary to your belief, you do not own Ma Chérie. So I would ask you to keep your opinions to yourself.”

Caterine glared back. “You don’t own it either. That’s the point.”

“Now, Miss Dauphine,” Frances continued, ignoring Caterine, “Charlotte’s right. We can’t reach out to young women with stale designs. We wouldn’t be compromising our regular clientele. We’ll still be offering elegant clothing.”

“That’s right.” Hyacinth nodded. “We’ll just be adding a little pizzazz to the place.”

“
Pizzazz?
” Miss Dauphine’s posture became more erect, and she balled her hands into fists. “All of you hear me and hear me well. I will close Ma Chérie’s doors before I allow greed or tastelessness to lower the quality or standards this establishment is known for. Now, I will hear no more of this.” She pointed to the display window. “Remove that horror immediately.”

“Caterine, I have a dreadful headache. I’m going to call for Thomas to drive me home.” She turned to Frances and Hyacinth. “In my absence, Caterine is in charge.” With one more disgusted look at the mannequin, she swept from the room.

The women’s venomous scowls had Caterine bracing for what she knew was about to come. Charlotte didn’t disappoint her.

“You may be in charge while Grandmère is still alive, but remember this, Caterine, someday I’ll inherit Ma Chérie, not you. And when that happens, there will be some big changes around here.”

Paulette walked toward Caterine until their faces were inches apart. “That’s right, and after Charlotte comes me. And if she hasn’t already done so, I’ll throw your uppity little ass out on the street.”

“Get out of my face, Paulette,” Caterine said. “Trust me, if you were ever in charge of Ma Chérie, you wouldn’t have to throw my uppity ass out. I’d leave.”

“Yes, well, that might be sooner than you think, you little bitch,” Paulette snarled.

“Stop it,” Frances demanded, glowering at Caterine before turning her attention back to Hyacinth. “Your ideas make sound business sense. Miss Dauphine is still living in the nineteenth century, and it’s time she moved into this one.”

Hyacinth nodded. “I wonder if Markus would have any influence over his mother?”

“I don’t know, but it’s worth a try. I’ll speak with Jules as well,” Frances added. “Perhaps between the two of them, they’ll get her to see reason.”

“See reason in regard to what?” Caterine asked, no longer able to control her temper. “Don’t you understand how much this shop means to her? If you think for one minute Grandmère is going to turn Ma Chérie into a ‘Tacky R Us’ department store, you’ve all lost your minds. She will fight you on this, and she will win. Nobody’s influence, including her sons’, will change her mind. And as long as I’m able, I will fight you as well.”

“One of these days, Caterine, you’re going to get your comeuppance and learn you aren’t as important around here as you think,” Charlotte said.

“I told Jules that after your parents were killed Miss Dauphine made a big mistake coddling you the way she did, and see what’s come of it,” Frances said.

Hyacinth crossed her arms over her well-endowed chest. “Frances is right. You’ve always been a spoiled brat and Miss Dauphine’s little pet. Well, missy, if I have anything to say about it, there are going to be big changes around here whether you like it or not.”