House of Blues

a pretty odd match."
    Nina shook her head vigorously. "Oh, no. Reed
got him off drugs—does that tell you anything?"
    "Should it?"
    "She's the classic codependent; just loves
helping out. I should know. It's a common complaint."
    "What drugs did he do?"
    "Heroin."
    " Coke?"
    She shook her head. "Don't know. Only know about
the heroin. And alcohol; lots of it."
    " It's hard to imagine." Skip had blurted
it; she instantly regretted it.
    "What do you mean? You're a cop; you've seen it
all."
    "Reed sounds like such a competent woman. It's
hard to understand the attraction."
    Nina sighed. "Well, there are books and books on
it. Or you could go to Al-Anon, if you're really that interested.
She's a dynamo, and he needs one to get him going."
    " He's weak, you mean."
    "I guess so." She hesitated. "I don't
know if you can really say a person who's kicked a habit like that is
weak. But he's certainly no ball of fire."
    " Do you know what his old haunts are? Places he
liked to hang?"
    " I never asked, to tell you the truth."
    "Who would know?"
    "Well, you could go see his family."
    "I'd like to meet his business partner as well."
    "Ah. The lovely Silky Sullivan."
    " I beg your pardon?"
    Nina nodded. "Uptown girl. You know how they go
in for nicknames. She must have been Susan or something and next
thing you know she was a horse."
    Skip couldn't help smiling. It really was a very New
Orleans name—there'd once been a cop named that, an Irish Catholic
who converted to Judaism.
    She got the necessary addresses and phoned the
Sullivan-Foucher enterprise—known as Lush Life—but got no answer.
The Uptown girl now lived in the Faubourg Marigny, in a charming
double shotgun newly painted light blue with teal trim.
    No one answered Skip's ring, but she persisted. It
was a good five minutes before a woman in jeans came to the door,
dirt up to her elbows.
    " Sorry," she said, when Skip had identified
herself. "I was out in the back. I'm so upset about Dennis I
took the day off. Come with me, will you?"
    Sullivan walked the length of the house and stepped
into the backyard, where she found a hose and washed off the dirt.
She was nearly as tall as Skip, who was an even six feet, but
Sullivan was a good deal thinner. She was lanky and angular. Skip
couldn't banish the impression that she had the feel about her of a
thoroughbred—that her name, probably applied when she was a baby,
had somehow come to fit. Her short hair was brown and shiny-indeed
silky; her skin was porcelain.
    " How can I help you?"
    "You know what happened last night?"
    " I know Arthur was killed and everyone else is
gone, if that's what you mean. I'm nearly out of my mind." Skip
thought her eyes grew wet as she spoke.
    " You're close to the family?"
    " To Dennis. And of course Sally's adorable, but
I hardly know Reed. I mean, she's always been very nice, I guess I've
known her since Icebreakers"—seventh grade subscription
dances—"but we never had much in common."
    "And Dennis? How do you know Dennis?"
    She turned slightly pink. "I'm not supposed to
say."
    Skip said, "AA. I know about that."
    " He was the one who got me into it. He really
helped me a lot.
    I mean—a lot." She shrugged. "We were
both into plants, so we finally went into business together. Oh, God,
what's going to happen to me now?"
    Skip wondered what their financial arrangement was.
"Did Dennis put up the money?"
    " No. I did. But he's indispensable—I can't run
this thing without him. I've been on the phone all day—do you have
any idea what happened over there? At Arthur and Sugar's?"
    This was Skip's least favorite kind of a question.
"Sorry, it's under investigation. I really can't discuss it.
Tell me—how has it worked out? Your business, I mean?"
    "Well, it's only been a few months. But so far,
fantastic. Just being around Dennis is like—I don't know—being
born again."
    "That's pretty strong."
    Sullivan had been examining one of her plants. She
turned to stare at Skip. "I must sound crazy. Let me start over.
I come from a family of macho men—everybody's got to prove how big
and mean he is. There's a sweetness about Dennis; a sort of quiet
gentleness that's the most soothing thing I've ever been around."
    She's in love with him.
    Skip said, "You'd never guess it from his
picture."
    Sullivan laughed. "I know. You should see
him—piercing, scary eyes; and that brooding look. There was an
Irishman in the woodpile somewhere. I know because half the Sullivans
have it. Only they don't