Amanda Stevens - The Dollmaker

He glanced around. At lunchtime the place always had a line out the door, but now the only patrons were two elderly black men seated in one of the booths eating catfish and hush puppies, and a younger man at a table by the window, with a bucket of crawfish and a layer of newspaper spread in front of him. They all glanced up when Dave walked in, then went right back to their meals.

The girl who stood behind the register looked to be about fifteen or sixteen. She was slim and beautiful, with a cloud of wiry curls brushing her shoulders and a complexion the color of milk chocolate. She’d been reading a magazine, but greeted Dave with a bored smile.

He didn’t recognize her at first. Last time he’d seen Titus’s youngest daughter, she’d been a little kid, only a year or so older than Ruby, and now here she was, all grown up. Dave’s chest tightened as he smiled back at her.

She tucked a bunch of stray curls behind one ear. “You want a table?”

“I was hoping I might catch your dad here. You’re Melaswane, aren’t you? Titus’s youngest?”

“Depends on who’s asking,” she drawled, and propped an elbow on the counter.

Dave couldn’t help smiling again. “You don’t remember me?”

“Nope.”

“I’m Dave. I used to work with your dad. We were partners once.”

She shrugged, as if the name meant less than nothing to her.

“Is Titus around?”

She traced a lazy pattern on the counter with her fingertip. “He’s in the kitchen pinching crawfish with Gran’ maman.”

“Do you think you could go back there and tell him I’m here to see him?”

“I guess.” She got up from the stool she’d been perched on, and as she pushed open the kitchen door, another cloud of smoke wafted out. “Daddy! There’s some man out here wants to see you.”

Dave could hear loud talking in the back and then Melaswane said petulantly, “I don’t know. Dave or somebody.”

The door closed behind her as she stepped into the kitchen, and a few moments later Titus came out, wiping his hands on the stained butcher’s apron he wore.

He paused with his shoulder against the door. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

At fifty-five, Titus Birdsong was still an impressive-looking man. He stood at least six-three, with broad shoulders, bulging forearms and fists the size of small hams. Ten years ago, when Dave moved into Homicide, Titus had already been a legend. One of only two black detectives in a division of twenty-four, he’d been about as welcome as a fur coat at a PETA rally in the early days of his career. He’d had to contend with slashed tires and racial slurs, and someone had even stuffed dog feces in his desk drawer one time. But eventually his outstanding arrest record got noticed by the brass, and he became one of the hottest detectives in the department to watch. In time, he’d even managed to win over most—but not all—of his colleagues with his old-fashioned courtesy and good humor.

By the time Dave came along, Titus had already burned himself out. His passion and drive for the job was a thing of the past, but Dave had never really minded his partner’s low-key approach to their investigations. Titus’s ego was also a thing of the past, and Dave had learned a lot from the older detective. But more than that, he liked and respected Titus as a person. Their amiable working relationship had forged a strong bond between the two men, and now Dave felt a twinge of guilt that he’d been the one to betray their friendship.

He walked over to the counter and sat down. “Long time no see.”

Titus let the door swing closed behind him. “You up and disappear for God knows how long and you got nuthin’ else to say for yourself?”

“The last few years have been pretty rough,” Dave said. “I wasn’t exactly in a sociable mood. And all that flack you caught from the crap I pulled before I left…I didn’t want to cause you any more grief.”

“Then why you come here now?”

“I need your help with something.”

Titus cocked his head. “Now, don’t that just beat all?” But in spite of the disdain dripping from his voice, a glint of curiosity appeared in his green eyes, and Dave knew he had him hooked.

“Have you got a few minutes? This won’t take long.”

“Grab yourself a cold drink and go on outside. It’s cooler out there than it is in here. I’ll be out directly, soon as I get the crawdad juice washed off my hands.”

He disappeared back into the kitchen, and Dave walked over to the old soft drink cooler near the register and took out an icy Coke. Then he went out the side door and down the steps to the patio, which was just a small pad of cracked concrete shaded by a live oak. The sun was starting to dip, and the light that drifted down through the branches shimmered like specks of gold across the tabletop. A breeze ruffled the elephant ears that grew along the wooden fence, and the scent of barbecuing meat hung heavy and succulent on the afternoon heat.

Dave sat down in the shade to wait for Titus. He came out a few minutes later with water droplets still clinging to his thick, graying hair. He’d put on a fresh shirt and the cotton looked as stiff as a cardboard box. His wife, Addie, had always had a thing about starch. Titus used to say his shirts were so rigid they were like wearing straitjackets. Dave always wondered if Titus’s laundry was somehow a metaphor for his marriage.

He sat down across from Dave at the picnic table, his gaze dropping to the Coke. “Got some longnecks over there in an ice chest.”

“I’m sticking with soda these days.”

Titus squinted against the splashes of sunlight. “How’s that working out for you?”

“Some days better than others,” Dave said.

“You mind if I have a cold one?”

“Knock yourself out.”

Titus got up and went over to the cooler at the bottom of the steps. The bottle he removed from the chipped ice looked cold and dark, and when he unscrewed the cap, a breath of frost rose up from the neck. “I still ain’t believing you’re here,” he said as he came back to the table. “I thought sure you’d be catfish bait by now.”

“You and me both,” Dave said. “I’m doing okay, though. I’ve still got my P.I. license and I’m working out of Morgan City nowadays. I do a lot of workmen’s comp claims for the oil and gas industry, and a couple of attorneys I know use me for surveillance and research, stuff like that. Not exactly stimulating work.”

“It keeps you in the game, though.” Titus took a thirsty swig of his beer.

“That’s about it.”

“You ever think about coming back to the show?”

“Too late for that, Titus. I burned too many bridges when I left.”

“You never can tell. We’re shorthanded these days. Somebody put in a good word for you, it might make a difference.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that. Besides, I’m not here about my old job. I want to talk to you about the Nina Losier case. I heard the investigation has hit a dead end and Graydon Losier is looking to hire a P.I.”

Titus flicked the beer cap toward a trash can at the bottom of the steps. “Who told you that?”

“Doesn’t matter. That’s just what I heard. Then I get to New Orleans and I find out that NOPD is about two seconds away from busting a guy named Jimmy Caisson for Nina’s murder. Now I don’t know what to think.”

“Sounds to me like somebody’s yanking your chain, kid. Who you been talking to?”

“I heard it from Angelette Lapierre.”

The beer bottle froze in midair, then came down with a hard thud against the table. “Oh, hell, no. Tell me you ain’t all up in that shit again. Dave, what’s the matter with you? That woman ain’t caused you enough grief by now?”