“Who?” I’ve never heard that name before.
She’s still playing with the small pillow. “Guy. I met him after the show Wednesday. After you fell. He was in the front, and he kept watching me from the audience.”
I pull the small pillow down so our eyes met. “Watching you?”
“Mmmhmm. I caught his eye, and he smiled. Then I smiled…”
“Who is he?”
“Friend of Gavin’s?”
My mind races. I don’t know all of Gavin’s friends, but I know they’re not all nice.
“He’s very sophisticated,” she continues. “And he wears a pinky ring.”
I don’t like the sound of that. “Can I meet him?”
“Not anymore. He went back to Savannah or Charleston… maybe it was Atlanta. But he said he’d be back, and he wants to see me again.”
“He wants to see you?”
She nods. “He said I amuse him.”
I catch her chin. “He sounds old.”
“So?” She jerks her face away. “We were just talking. He likes the way I laugh.” She kicks off the other shoe and picks up one of my lipsticks. “Anyway, I was still in love with Mark on Wednesday, so it didn’t matter.”
“And now you’re not?”
“Mark doesn’t look at me the way Guy does.” She slides the wine-colored lipstick over her full lips, looking sixteen in the process.
Fear tightens in the center of my chest. “How does he look at you?”
Her eyes drift to the ceiling, searching for the answer. “Like I’m interesting. Like he wants to know more about me.”
I silently vow to keep a better eye on her in the future. I haven’t lived in New Orleans this long not to know the kind of men who lurk around strip clubs. Pedophiles.
“I told you never to talk to strangers.”
“He’s Gavin’s friend!”
“But you don’t know that for sure, do you?” Glancing at the clock, I see an hour has passed. It’s not what Mark had in mind, but we don’t have a choice. “Come on. If you can limp your way to the Quarter, we’ll get you those new shoes.”
Outside, the sky is bright blue, and there isn’t a single cloud in sight. The air is crisp and cool, something that rarely happens in New Orleans, but underneath the fresh fall scent is the metallic smell of moldering beer and urine. Odors that only grow stronger as the sun travels higher and the temperature rises.
We make our way up the short alley to the cathedral and across the flagstone courtyard to Jackson Square. My sights are focused on a jewelry store in the northeast corner that I hope will give me a good price for the item in my pocket.
“Wait here, and don’t talk to anyone,” I say once we’re there.
Joyaux Bijoux faces the flagstone-paved square, and Molly can walk among the painters while I haggle. A clerk greets me when I enter.
“I’m looking for Gerard,” I say.
She nods and goes to the back. In a few moments, a short man with straight black hair and a monocle strapped to his forehead comes out. When he sees me, he smiles.
“Ah, beautiful Lara, what have you got for me today?” Gerard is going bald right on the top of his head, and it makes him look like a monk.
I take the pen out of my jeans and place it gently on a black velvet pad on the glass counter. “It’s genuine cloisonné.”
He picks it up and holds it to the light frowning. “Eh,” he mutters. Then he rolls it around in his hand. “It’s a good piece. But I don’t know how I could sell it.”
“It’s a gorgeous pen. Anyone would kill to have it.”
“It’s too ornate for a man,” he argues. “And a lady would complain it’s too heavy.”
“Ornate is very popular now. You won’t keep it in the store a week.”
He holds it in the writing position then twirls it down into his palm. “Forty bucks,” he said.
“It’s worth three times that amount. One hundred.”
He looks at me a split second and twirls the pen in his hand again. “I’ll give you fifty, and I’m losing money doing it.”
“I’m losing a precious family heirloom. You can give me eighty.”
“Your family heirloom, someone else’s junk.” He rolls it around in his fingers again. The polished brass shines in the light.
“In Europe, this would be worth at least two hundred.”
“Ah, but we’re in America, aren’t we?”
My jaw tightens, and he slants an eye at me. “Seventy-five. Final offer.”
He pulls a cash box from under the counter. I sigh and give in. I’ll have to hope Molly’s feet stop growing. I’m running out of valuables.
He wraps the pen in velvet and places it in a box, and for the last time, I watch the light glint off my mother’s precious writing utensil. I fight an unexpected tightness in my throat. I will not cry. Molly has to have shoes, and we both need personal items.
I slip the money in my pocket and pull the tail of my shirt over my jeans. “Pleasure doing business with you.” And with a lift of my shoulder, I get on with the show.
Molly is nowhere to be seen in the large square. It’s a Friday, so the crowd of weekend tourists is already flooding the popular area. Slowly, I pick my way through the street artists. Someone is always shouting, trying to catch my eye.
“Enchanté!” A man corners me. I keep my eyes down and try to move past him, but he blocks my way. “You would make a lovely model. Allow me to capture your beauty to brighten my booth.”
“No thanks.” I know that scam—he keeps my portrait, and I pay for the honor of his painting it.
Just then I look up and see Molly coming toward me, leading Mark by the hand.
“Look who I found sketching the cathedral!” she cries.
“You’re early.” He smiles down at me, showing that dimple.
“You’re an artist?” I fight the swell of joy in my chest at seeing him.
“I wouldn’t say that.” He glances at the storefront behind me. “Were you shopping?”
“No, I was—”
“We’re shoe shopping for me,” Molly interrupts. “Lara had to drop off something with Gerard.”
“Who’s Gerard?” Mark scans my face, and that look of concern heats my cheeks.
“Gerard’s the owner,” Molly continues, but I cut her off.
“So if you’re not an artist, what were you doing?”
He shrugs. “I was just messing around. Seeing if I might be able to make a few nickels.”
“Show her!” Molly takes the sketchpad from him and hands it to me. I lift the heavy brown cover.
“Oh!” I gasp. “Mark, it’s beautiful.”
“You think?” He steps closer and looks at the drawing.
It’s a magnificent sketch of the cathedral, taller and narrower with heavy, dark lines. Rather than a sanctuary, it looks ominous, like a haunted mansion.
“I was experimenting with perspective there,” he says.
I look from him to my little friend and I think about extra money. “Would you teach Molly some of this?”
“Oh, would you, Mark?” She grabs his arm, and he looks at me, puzzled.
“I don’t know if I’m really qualified to teach…”
My face falls. “And I don’t know how I could pay you.”
“You wouldn’t have to pay me.” His voice is gentle, and I look up to meet those blue eyes again.