Midnight Bayou

knew their destination was Et Trois and their mission another look at Angelina Simone.
    “You know, Colleen, this is very close to interference, and spying.”
    “And your point is?”
    He had to laugh. After nearly forty years of marriage, the woman could always make him laugh. He considered that, above all, a sign of a successful partnership.
    “You realize she might not be there. Owning a bar doesn’t mean you’re in it all day, every day.”
    “So, we’ll get a look at her place of business, and have a drink. It’s perfectly up front and respectable.”
    “Yes, dear.”
    He used that phrase, that tone, only when he was making fun of her. Colleen debated between giving him a good elbow shot in the ribs and laughing. Then did both.
    The crowds, the noise, the heat and the somehow florid and decaying elegance of the city weren’t things thatappealed to her for more than a brief visit. She preferred the Old-World charm, and yes, the dignity, of Boston.
    Certainly Boston had its seamier sides, but it wasn’t so overt, so celebratory about it. Sex was meant to be fun and interesting—she wasn’t a prude, for God’s sake. But it was also meant to be private.
    And still, the tragic wail of a tenor sax weeping on the air touched some chord in her.
    If her son was determined to make his home here, she’d accept that. Maybe, with a bit more study and debate, she’d accept the woman.
    “You’ll have time and opportunity to grill her at the wedding tomorrow,” Patrick pointed out.
    Colleen only sighed at the minds of men. God bless them, they were simple creatures. Guileless, really. The first step, obviously, was to observe the girl in her own milieu.
    She considered the neighborhood, the positioning of the bar, the level of traffic. She decided Lena had chosen wisely, and had taste and sense enough to let the exterior of the bar blend smoothly into the other establishments.
    She liked the gallery over it, the pots of flowers—bright colors against the soft creams. It demonstrated taste and style, an appreciation for atmosphere.
    She’d pried the information out of Declan that Lena lived above the bar, and wondered now if she should wheedle a visit upstairs to check out the living quarters.
    She stepped inside Et Trois, made a good, objective study.
    It was clean, which met with her approval. It was crowded but not jammed, which met with her business sense. Too early for the rowdy night crowd, Colleen judged, too late for the lunch shift.
    The music coming out of the speakers was Cajun, she supposed, and she approved of that as well. It was lively, but not so loud as to make simple conversation a chore.
    A black man in a bright red shirt worked behind the bar. A good face, she decided, smooth hands. A young waitress—blond, perky, wearing jeans perhaps just a tad too tight—served one of the tables.
    Colleen spotted what she decided were a number of tourists from their camera and shopping bags. Others she assumed were locals.
    Whatever food had been or was being served put a hot, spicy scent over the air.
    Lena stepped out of the kitchen. Their eyes met immediately and with instant acknowledgment. Colleen let her lips curve in a small, polite smile and walked to the bar with Patrick following.
    “Afternoon, Mrs. Fitzgerald, Mr. Fitzgerald.” An equally small, equally polite smile curved Lena’s lips. “You’ve been taking in the Quarter?” she asked with a glance at the shopping bags Patrick carried.
    “Colleen rarely passes a store without seeing something that needs to be bought.”
    “That must be where Declan gets it. Can I show you a menu?”
    “We’ve had lunch, thanks.” Colleen slid onto a stool. “I’d love a martini, Stoli, very cold, dead dry, straight up, shaken. Three olives.”
    “And for you, Mr. Fitzgerald?”
    “Make it the same, and make it Patrick.” He took the stool beside his wife. “You’ve got a nice place here. Live music?” he asked with a nod toward the stage area.
    “Every night, nine o’clock.” As she began to mix the martinis, she sent him a genuine smile. “You like to dance, you should come back. We’ll get your feet moving. You enjoying your visit?”
    “We’re looking forward to the wedding,” Colleen commented. “Remy’s like family. And we’re pleased to see Declan making such progress on the house.”
    “He’s happy there.”
    “Yes.”
    Lena took out the two martini glasses she’d chilled during the mixing. “Be nicer for you if