Lockwell moved closer. “Did you hear me? You’ll be sorry.”
I nodded.
Mr. Lockwell took a pen from his shirt pocket. “God, I can’t even read this. It’s too dark back here.” He looked at me. He looked at the car. He scribbled his signature. “There. Now, hurry.”
“Come on, Cokie.” I took off down the driveway with the letter and jumped in the cab. I held up the piece of paper. “Cokie, don’t tell Willie about this.”
“Josie, what are you up to? This is crazy. You don’t even know what’s wrong with his car. Maybe it can’t be fixed. Maybe Jesse don’t have the parts. It’s after midnight. Maybe he’s asleep. Maybe he’s not even home. Then what you gonna do? That man is waitin’, and he don’t want to be messed with.”
I stared at the signed letter. I didn’t want to be messed with either.
? ? ?
Lights were on at Jesse’s. I ran up and pounded on the door. The hinges creaked. A woman peeked out.
“What do you want?”
“Good evening, ma’am. I’m a friend of Jesse’s. Is he home?”
“Go away, it’s too late to be out. Nothing good ever happens after midnight,” she hissed.
“Who is it, Granny?” The door swung open. Jesse stood shirtless in his jeans, holding a bottle of milk. The bottle was sweating. So was his torso.
“Hey, Jo.” Jesse looked at my clothing and raised an eyebrow.
“Jesse, I need a favor.”
? ? ?
It took less than ten minutes for Jesse to start the engine.
“You got a card, kid?” Mr. Lockwell said from the window, between pulls on his cigar.
“A card?” Jesse asked.
Lockwell threw a green bill at me from the car. It hit my knees and landed on the driveway. “You’re lucky he was able to fix it. Get yourself a dress. I want to see some high heels, Josephine.” He drove away.
Jesse stared at his boots.
“It’s not what it sounds like,” I said, kicking the money away from my feet.
Jesse looked up. I saw his eyes float over my shoulder toward the house. A rich man in back of a brothel threw money at me and told me to get a pair of high heels—I knew exactly what it sounded like. I didn’t want Jesse to think of me that way.
“Looks like he’s pretty well-to-do.”
“He’s my friend’s uncle.” That sounded bad too. Jesse knew Willie’s girls were called nieces. “Jesse, can I tell you something?”
He nodded.
“I asked Mr. Lockwell to give me a recommendation for college. He didn’t want to, but I convinced him.” Oh, that sounded even worse. “Wait, it’s not like that, either. I know he comes here to Willie’s, and he gave me the recommendation so I wouldn’t tell my friend’s aunt, his wife.” I reached in my purse and pulled out the envelope.
Jesse’s face brightened. “So you’ve put the pressure on the nasty goat, huh? Well, in that case, you’ve earned it.” Jesse grabbed the money and flicked it to me.
I laughed. Lockwell was a nasty goat. “You take the money. You fixed the car.”
He grabbed his toolbox, and we started the walk home, back down the driveway.
Jesse talked about cars and dirt racing. After a few blocks, his voice became nothing but a warble of sounds in my ear. So much had happened. Charlie, Patrick, Lockwell, and Willie—I saw her staring out the window as Jesse and I left her driveway. Had she seen me talking to Lockwell? Had she seen him sign the recommendation? When was she going to break open the game and admit she knew I had Mr. Hearne’s watch? Jesse stopped walking, and I realized we were at the bookshop.
“You haven’t heard a thing I’ve said.”
“Yes, I—no, I haven’t. I’m sorry, Jesse. I’m just so tired.”
“Okay, tired girl, let me tell you a secret.”
I didn’t need any more secrets. I had enough of my own. I looked up at Jesse.
“Uh-huh. There you are, all tired, standin’ in your boyfriend’s clothes, but here’s the secret.” Jesse moved in close. “You like me.”
“What?” I moved my face from his, trying to restrain what felt like a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. My body seemed to react involuntarily around Jesse. It made me nervous.
“Yep, when you were in trouble, you went running, but not for your boyfriend. You came runnin’ for me.” Jesse backed away slowly, smiling. “You like me, Josie Moraine. You just don’t know it yet.”
I stood at the door, watching him step backward. He nodded and smiled his Jesse smile. He did have nice teeth.
“Oh, and Jo?” he called from halfway down the street. “You’re welcome for the flowers.”
Jesse turned and walked away, his laughter and toolbox fading into the darkness.
THIRTY-TWO
I was late. Two hours of sleep was worse than no sleep. I felt queasy, and the pressure behind my eyes from crying had turned into a headache. I had cried about Charlie and how my negligence nearly killed him. I cried about letting Patrick down. I cried about lying to Willie, manipulating Mr. Lockwell, not being forthright with Charlotte. I cried about Mr. Hearne’s death and the pathetic fact that I clung to a dead man’s watch because a respectable person had felt I was decent and not useless. I cried about lying. If I poured all the lies I had told into the Mississippi, the river would rise and flood the city. I cried about forgetting to thank Jesse for the flowers and cried even harder that he thought I liked him. Did I like him? Sometimes it felt as if I was trying really hard not to like him. It was all worse than wrong.
Fat Tuesday approached. Willie’s house would be a fat disaster. The thought of sweeping up sin made my head throb. I walked into the house and smelled it right away. Bourbon. Someone had spilled it. Not a glass, but a bottle. That would be a half hour. There was something else. Wine. I hoped it wasn’t red. That would be forty-five minutes, maybe more. I couldn’t be certain. I wasn’t certain of anything anymore, except that New Orleans was a faithless friend and I wanted to leave her.
Sadie wrenched my arm, yanking me into her wiry frame as soon I stepped into the kitchen. She sobbed, making groaning sounds into my shoulder and then began unbuttoning my blouse.
“Sadie, stop. What are you doing?” I pushed her away, hard.
She looked at me, her brows twisted in confusion, her face swollen with crying. She reached into the sink and held up my blouse from the night before.
I had forgotten my bloody clothes in Cokie’s car. He had left them for Sadie. The poor woman probably thought I was dead.
“Oh, Sadie, no. I’m fine. Really.” I opened the neckline of my blouse and held my arms in the air, showing her both sides. “I’m not hurt.”
Sadie collapsed into a chair and kissed the cross hanging from her neck.
I sat down at the table to try to calm her. She was in a pool of prayer so deep she didn’t even respond. That’s when I caught sight of the headline on the table.
MEMPHIS TOURIST’S DEATH
DECLARED MURDER
I grabbed the paper.