Max, apparently oblivious to Brent's assessment, glanced at his watch. "Hell, not coffee. It's well past cocktail hour. Let's have a drink. On me. I've got my car, so we'll head back into the Quarter, if that's all right with you two?"
Nikki shrugged, frowning as she watched Brent. She seemed concerned, he thought, shrugging as he looked back at her. "Fine with me," he said.
Max started walking; Nikki did the same.
Brent held back for a few seconds. He touched the tomb, feeling that little stir of pain and nostalgia.
And he noticed the flowers that someone had brought. Nikki?
"Brent?" Nikki had turned back.
He smiled. "I'm with you. Right with you."
Max's car was a Lexus. The inside was clean—a surprise, since the outside of the car looked as if he had been driving through a swamp.
"Sorry," Max apologized. "I had her down to the bayou country. I was meeting with some shrimpers."
Nikki laughed. "Max, it looks as if you took the car straight into the bayou."
Nikki sat in front; Brent in the rear. Max was a good driver. He dexterously made a U-turn to head back to the Vieux Carré.
He caught Brent's eyes in the rearview mirror. "The shrimpers are having a rough time. They need legislation to stay afloat. We're shipping in foreign-caught, frozen shrimp, and families that have been in the industry for years are going to go down if new laws aren't passed. And the thing is, fresh shrimp, caught in our own waters, taste better. That's why you get some of the finest seafood you'll ever have right here in New Orleans. The thing is, I think folks would be furious about what's going on and they'd change things themselves if they were a bit more educated. If restaurants had to tell them where their seafood came from."
"Max, I thought you were in Colorado," Nikki said, mystified. "Don't get me wrong. I'm delighted that you're fighting for the shrimpers."
"What's the deal with the politicians?" Brent asked.
Max flashed him a rueful smile. "They all lie?" he suggested, then shrugged. "Who really knows? I'll say this, Harold Grant has done a lot of work for the industry, but… not enough. Billy Banks claims he's a powerhouse, and that things will get done when he's in office. Are you a local?"
"Yes, and no," Brent told him, leaning back. They had reached the Vieux Carré.
"Oh my God!" Nikki gasped suddenly.
"What?" both men asked.
"I forgot Julian."
"You forgot him?"
"He was in the cemetery with me for the tour," Nikki explained, pulling out her cell phone. Just as she did so, it rang.
"Julian?" Nikki said.
He and Max could vaguely hear the agitated sound of Julian's voice. Then Nikki said, "Okay, okay… okay… okay."
She clicked the phone closed and looked at Max. "Can we take a run back to the cemetery?" she asked.
Max laughed, and turned the car around.
"We have a meeting, a must-have meeting, because Max is back," she said.
"We do?" Max asked.
She frowned at him. "Please?"
"Sure. I'm a vicious boss, huh?"
"For today," Nikki said.
"Are you two speaking another language?" Brent asked.
Nikki turned, grinning. "Julian got himself too entangled too quickly. His sudden roommate found him in the cemetery. He told her that he has an important meeting."
"Ah," Brent murmured.
Julian was waiting at the cemetery gates. Susan had her arm looped through his.
Julian quickly introduced her to Max and Brent. As soon as they reached her hotel, Julian saw her out, disentangled himself quickly, slipped in next to Brent again and said, "Max, step on it."
Making a tsking sound in his throat, Max did so.
Julian leaned back in the seat, closing his eyes. Then they flew open again. "Nikki, how could you do that to me?"
"Julian, I didn't know where you were."
"But you didn't look for me."
"Honestly, Julian, I'm so sorry. Max showed up, and then Brent came and nearly decked Max, and—"
"What?" Julian said, puzzled.
"I didn't know who he was," Brent explained. "I thought he was hitting on Nikki."
"I wasn't almost decked," Max protested.
"I tackled him," Brent said diplomatically. "He was with Nikki, and after what's been happening, I just jumped to conclusions."Max shook his head. "Nikki is probably more at home in any of these cemeteries than anyone I know. If she thought she was in danger, she'd know just where to go. She knows which crypts have been abandoned. I bet she could hide out in any one of our cemeteries for a week and not be found. I've been around with her. I know a few of her little secret spots."
"I'm sure you're right—unless Nikki didn't know she should be hiding," Brent said.
"Where are we heading?" Julian asked Max.
"Wait a minute," Nikki interjected suddenly, glaring at Max. "You were in the bayou country, not far away, and you didn't come to Andy's funeral?"
Max shot her a quick glance. "Nikki, I'd only met her twice. And I was out on a shrimp boat."
"You were on a shrimp boat?" Julian demanded, stunned.
"Max, you were her boss," Nikki said, aggravated.
"Nikki, I gave you credit. You hired her." He hesitated for a minute. "You said she was clean."
"She was."
Max let out a sigh. "Oh, Nikki… one of your greatest virtues is your belief in people. Your insistence that the rest of the world is open and honest and good."
"Max, I'm not a blind idiot," Nikki said.
"Max," Brent interjected evenly, "even the police feel that Andy might well have been helped into the grave."
Max gave Brent a startled glance in the rearview mirror. "Why?"
"Because of another similar death," Brent said. "Even if you were in the bayou country you must have heard the news. An FBI agent named Tom Garfield—a man who was definitely as clean as a whistle—was found with enough heroin in his veins to kill an elephant."
"What would Andy have had to do with an FBI agent?" Max demanded, scowling.
"We met him at Madame's," Nikki explained. "Well, we didn't exactly meet him—we ran into him. I thought that he was a bum."
"She gave him a twenty," Julian said.
"Nikki, I'm sorry," Max said. "To tell you the truth, I was aggravated with you. I thought you made me hire a woman who ended up causing major problems."
"I'm sure she's sorry that her death inconvenienced you," Nikki said sharply.
Max let out a sigh. "I didn't mean it that way."
The tension in the car was thick, worrying Brent. He was supposed to meet Massey outside St. Louis Number 1 later, and he really didn't want Nikki with him.
But he wasn't sure he wanted to leave her with either of the men in the car.
"So," Julian grumbled, "where are we going? Max, are you buying your hardworking employees a drink?"
"Sure. I'll park at the office, and we'll walk over to that French place on Canal."
Brent glanced at his watch. It was after five o'clock.
As Max pulled into a spot in a narrow alley next to a door that advertised "Legends and Myths of New Orleans," Brent realized that he'd yet to see the office. The guides pretty much never used it, he realized, because they met one another and their groups at Madame's.
"When's the last time you were in here?" Max asked Nikki.
"I don't know. About two weeks ago, I think."
"Then I guess I should check the mail," Max said.
He parked the car, and as they all got out, he headed for the door with his keys out, calling over his shoulder, "Just a second. I'll grab the mail, toss it in the car, and we'll be on our way."
He opened the door and went in, turning on lights. "I guess I should check the answering machine," Nikki said.
She stepped past Max, who was busy picking up piles of mail from the floor where it had fallen in from the slot.
Hovering near the door with Julian, Brent studied the office space. It was small and attractive. There was only one desk, and the walls were filled with prints by local artists. There was a comfortable-looking chesterfield sofa by the wall, and scattered chairs were casually set near the desk. There were several file cabinets, and a computer.
Nikki hit a button on the machine and the message kicked in, Nikki's voice saying, "Press one for a description of our tours. Press two for times… "
Her disembodied voice went on to say that no reservations were required, that potential tour-takers should arrive at Madame's fifteen minutes before the tour, or, in the case of Lafayette Number 1, arrive at the cemetery fifteen minutes ahead of time.
Nikki listened to the few messages, all of which had been forwarded to her cell phone, then reset the machine.
She was disturbed, and trying not to look it, Brent thought.
"Come on, Nikki. We're ready to go here," Max said.
She nodded, and came out from behind the desk, smiling far too brightly.
"You haven't been in the office yet, I take it," Max said dryly to Brent. He glanced at Nikki. "The government will be on my ass if we don't fill out those papers."
"It's been busy, Max," she said. "And with Andy… Besides, it's your company," she reminded him a little sharply.
Max only shrugged, looking at Brent. "Tomorrow, if you like the job and plan on keeping it, you'll have to fill out some IRS forms."
"I'm not sure how long I'll really be hanging out in New Orleans."
"Oh?" Max inquired.
Brent shrugged. "Let's see how it goes, all right?"