Crescent City Connection

And he was the only one in the world who’d understand what this meant to her. Michelle was the only other choice, and she couldn’t possibly relate to it.
    The thought shocked her. It seemed about a century since she’d left Evanston. She was a different person now.
    Michelle was a cosseted college girl who had parents to take care of her—and who couldn’t begin to understand what it meant to have to fend for yourself.
    Lovelace hadn’t even taken a shower, had just pulled on shorts and a T-shirt (for which Isaac had given her money on her first day in New Orleans). She went home to get ready to face the day, to plan meals, to think about parents who were vegetarians and children who weren’t.
    Someone had been there. She knew it as soon as she entered the house, though what signals she read she never figured out. All she knew was, the hair on the back of her neck stood up.
    She backed out of the house, and when she locked the door, it occurred to her she’d had to unlock it to get in, but she didn’t stop to analyze; she just ran.
    Isaac wasn’t at the gallery. That terrified her still more.
    She couldn’t call the police. That was the last thing she could do.
    Isaac had told her about Revelas. Perhaps she could get him to go back to the house with her. But she found her knees were weak, and she couldn’t face it, couldn’t talk quite yet. Maybe if she went back to the house…
    No. Not that.
    She went outside to try to get her bearings, think what to do. Someone touched her arm—a bald, clean-shaven man in jeans and a black T-shirt.
    She gasped and pulled away. “Get away from me.”
    The man laughed and pointed to his eye, then his chest: I. Me.
    “Isaac?” she said. The man looked like a pirate.
    He nodded and gave her the come-here sign. They walked together to La Marquise, where he borrowed a pen and began to write.
    “The police are looking for me—but they want you, I think.”
    “You were the one at the house.”
    “I heard you come in, but I couldn’t catch you. I was cleaning up after this.” He touched the top of his head.
    “I don’t understand.”
    “They were looking for a guy in white—with hair and a beard, I presume. What do you think of the new look?”
    “How can you be The White Monk without your robes?”
    He shrugged. “Monks have shaved heads. Listen, they must know what you look like, too. You need to turn into a brunette or something.”
    “But… what’ll the Royces think?”
    “The Royces?”
    “Oh, Uncle Isaac, I forgot to tell you! I got the job.”
    “That’s wonderful. What’s wrong with a dark-haired cook?”
    “I can’t be a whole different person from the one they met.”
    “Lovelace, listen. I think this involves my dad. Do you realize how serious that is? He’s a murderer.”
    In the end there was nothing to do but what he said. He gave her money, and she called hair salons until she found one that would take her. When she came out, she was nearly as bald as Isaac, with a quarter-inch or so of crow-black hair, like a gutter-punk.
    It did cause comment at the Royces’.
    Brenna said, “Jackie? Jacqueline?” as if she weren’t sure. “Kind of a new look?”
    Lovelace couldn’t help laughing at the way she was trying to be tactful. She said, “Awful, isn’t it? I could just kick myself. A couple of girlfriends were doing it and they talked me into it.”
    “I’m glad you didn’t look like this the day before yesterday. Charles is waaay conservative.” She rolled her eyes, then she leaned back and gave Lovelace a long, assessing look, an artist summing up a subject. “But I kind of like it. You have great bones, you know that?”
    A boy of about ten came into the kitchen. “What’s for lunch?”
    “Tim, can’t you say hello? This is Jackie.”
    “Hey, Tim. How about a burger?”
    The kid’s eyes widened. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
    The other kid came in for a burger as well. Paul, his name was. Both of them were blond cherubs, as skinny as their dad was chubby. Bottomless pits. Next time she’d make fries to go with the burgers, and maybe a pie for dessert. She gave the adults some salad and vegetable soup she’d made at home, and then she started making a list for dinner.
    Brenna came in again. “We just asked some friends over for tonight. Could you manage four?”
    Lovelace shrugged, feeling in control. “It’s just as easy as two.”
    “How about six?”
    “Sure, no problem. Want me to make anything