Deep down, Ibby wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the answer to that last question.
She passed a woman sitting huddled on a corner, her head covered by a scarf so that her face was concealed; the only thing showing was a bony hand holding out a tin cup. Ibby reached into her pocket and dropped a quarter. The woman let out a muffled thank-you but didn’t look up. Ibby bent down, trying to see her face. The woman flinched and pulled the scarf down, but not before Ibby saw that the woman was toothless and gray-haired. Ibby dropped another coin into the cup and walked off.
Birdelia had been right. Ever since Mr. Rainold told her that her mother might be in town, she’d been eyeing every stranger. She just couldn’t help herself.
Ibby noticed a woman coming out of a building up the street. She had her back to Ibby as she locked her door. She started off toward the back of the Quarter, in the direction Ibby was going. She had the same color hair as her mother and was about the same height. The woman glanced her way, then hurried on down the street. Ibby tried to catch up with her.
“Mama?” Ibby called out.
The woman kept going, then turned onto a side street.
“Vidrine, is that you?” Ibby yelled.
By the time Ibby reached the corner, there was no trace of her.
“Vidrine!” Ibby screamed in frustration.
What am I doing? Ibby thought as she stared down the empty sidewalk. My mother isn’t here. Why did Mr. Rainold lead me on like that? Why did he get my hopes up? She was about to turn back when she noticed the tiles embedded in the sidewalk at the next corner—Rue Ursulines, the street where Mr. Rainold said the photo had been taken. Ibby crossed the street, toward a trio of musicians playing on the corner. The sky rumbled overhead as one of the young men, with wire-rimmed glasses, held out his hat, asking for a contribution. Ibby waved him off.
She didn’t have to travel down Ursulines very far to find the building she was looking for. It was the second one on the left, a typical French Quarter town house with heavily shuttered windows and peeling plaster walls. She went over to the green door on the far side and rang the bell. When no one answered, she rang the bell again.
“You looking for somebody?” one of the musicians on the corner called out as he flipped his long hair behind his back.
“Is this the building owned by a woman named Avi?”
“Why you want to know?” he asked as he came over to where she was standing.
Ibby held out the picture of her mother and showed it to him. “Have you seen this woman?”
He took it from her, then shook his head and handed it back.
“Are you sure?”
“Who is she?” the man asked.
Ibby didn’t want to sound desperate. “A friend.”
The man called to his buddies. “Dudes, come on over here and take a look at this.”
One of the other fellows, with a long beard, came over. “Yeah, man?”
He took the picture from Ibby and showed them. “You seen this chick?”
The two men shook their heads. “No, man,” the bearded one said. “Not one of us.”
“Do you live here?” Ibby pointed to the building.
The bearded man put his hands into his jeans pocket, and gave her a funny grin. She could tell he was high on something.
“Can I take a look around?” Ibby took the photo back from the man with the glasses.
He shrugged. “You can go in. The door’s not locked. But no one’s there.”
Ibby pushed the heavy green door open and walked cautiously down a dark and dank carriageway.
“Hello—anybody home?” she called out.
When no one answered, Ibby went to the end of the carriageway. It opened onto a brick courtyard where several iron tables and chairs were haphazardly scattered about. Someone had been here recently because there were empty plates and cups left on some of the tables. At the far end of the courtyard, along a brick wall that must have been twenty feet high, a fountain of a lion spewed water. The smell of stale incense lingered in the air. On the upper galleries, sheets and clothing hung from the railings. The place had an eerie feeling. It looked as if everyone had left in a hurry.
“Hello! I’m looking for Vidrine Crump!” she hollered.
The man in the wire-rimmed glasses appeared behind her.
“You scared me,” she said. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
Alone with the stranger, she became nervous and fled down the carriageway and back onto the street. It had begun to rain, a hard rain coming down in sheets. She stood underneath the gallery to the building, wondering what she should do, when water began dripping onto her head from a hole on the flooring above.
The man in the wire-rimmed glasses came out and stood next to her. “Why are you looking for that woman?”
She wiped the rain from her face. “She’s my mother.”
“Is she lost?” he asked.