House of Blues

away during dinner. Three others missing."
    " Kidnapped?"
    "God, I hope not. Considering how this isn't
going to help anyone's nerves, even without that."
    " Paranoia—for my film. White urban paranoia."
    " Why not?"
    "No good. No real excuse to come back to New
Orleans—I could do it anywhere."
    " It's worse here."
    She wanted him to come back. He lived in Los Angeles,
and she was missing him more and more lately. She had let him walk
out of her life a few months ago, or rather, had provoked a fight
with him, out of her own insecurity.
    And then he'd walked out.
    She didn't realize how big a hole he was going to
leave. How big an ass she'd been.
    Stupid and cruel . It hurt
to apply the words to herself, but they were true and she knew it and
she couldn't think about it without feeling her face go hot.
    How could I?
    To this day she wasn't sure. She just knew she'd been
scared to death and acted out of panic.
    In the end, she flew to Los Angeles and begged,
something she could never have imagined she'd do. She had simply
turned up at his door, having no idea whether or not she'd be
welcome.
    He didn't say a word, just broke into a smile of such
unmistakable delight she'd laughed, and he hugged her so hard she
felt petite for once in her life.
    He was a film editor now and very successful, but he
missed his first love, the one he'd had before Skip—making his own
documentaries. Hence, urban paranoia.
    "How about a day in the life of a cop?"
    " I don't know if you could really capture the
passion." She captured a part of him.
    "I'm sure you're right. Police work is so
exciting."
    "But sweaty."
    " I could rise above that." He was starting
to. "The only thing is, I don't know enough about it."
    "Maybe you could find a cop and just—you
know—pound a confession out of her."
    " With a blunt instrument?"
    " It's a thought."
    He shook his head. His hand closed around her breast.
"Maybe I'd just squeeze the truth out."
    "She might have to frisk you for weapons."
    "What would she do if she found one?"
    "Put it in a real
safe place."
    * * *
    She awoke refreshed.
    The night before, after canvassing the neighbors,
she'd checked the hospitals and even run rap sheets on Reed and
Dennis. Neither had a record, despite Dennis's drug history.
    What remained in the way of background checks were
calls to Eileen Moreland, Skip's friend at the Times-Picuyune ,
and to Alison Gaillard, known privately to Skip as proprietor of
Gossip Central. The only clips Eileen could find involved nothing
more exciting than Hebert appearances at charity functions, and Reed
and Dennis's wedding. There wasn't even a clip file on Grady.
    " No problem," Skip said to herself, dialing
with delicious anticipation. "Alison will dish the dirt."
    Alison could come up with amazing stuff even when a
family was obscure. The Heberts were nearly as visible as the Neville
Brothers—she'd know everything down to the hairdressers Reed and
Sugar went to.
    "This is Alison," said her machine. "John
and I are having our first vacation since the baby was born. You're
crazy if you think I'm saying where we are."
    Skip actually held the phone in front of her face and
stared at it. "Well, damn you, Alison Gaillard."
    When she'd recovered from the shock, she decided to
go see Nina Phillips, who'd already been a good source and probably
had a lot more in her.
    She was shown through a couple of heavy swinging
doors, around a corner or two, and into a complex of offices—three
or four, it looked like. Probably one each for Arthur, Sugar, Nina,
and the chef.
    Nina was on the phone, ordering the day's supplies.
Sugar was sitting beside her, making her life miserable, as far as
Skip I could see.
    Nina indicated a chair. "A case of almonds,"
she told the phone. "A case of anchovies; two cases beef base,
two cases lobster base; one case crab boil; four tubs Creole mustard;
ten cases vegetable oil; four sacks rice; twenty-five sacks rock
salt."
    She hung up and, without looking at Skip and Sugar,
made another call. "Hello, Mr. Daroca; Nina at Hebert's. I need
four cases of shrimp, please, sir; a hundred pounds of crawfish;
fifteen pounds of alligator; fifteen pounds of frog legs; five
gallons of oysters; seventy pounds of pompano fillet, and . . . let's
see, I think that's it."
    She paused to listen for a minute. "No. No crab
today."
    Sugar shook her head violently.
    "Just a minute, Mr. Daroca."
    Sugar said, "What do you mean no crab? We have
nine crab dishes on the menu."
    "Jumbo