I'd be a flat-out liar if I said Simone's words didn't intrigue me. I could tell Loretta was a little interested too, but being a gentleman I let the matter drop and moved on to other topics. Loretta and I did most of the talking I noticed, with Simone listening to us and nodding.
Later, after knocking off for the day I looked up what information I could on Doctor Simone Hiver, for my own edification. First thing I found was that she wasn't a local, which surprised me, given her solid French name. Apparently the woman was from Las Vegas of all places. Grew up there, had gone to school there for her degree, gotten married there too.
I was a little depressed finding that last fact up until I noticed that her status changed to 'widowed' on her New Orleans paperwork. That, I figured, could explain some of her demeanor. There were other details too but I didn't dwell on them other than noting her professional qualifications and address.
A widow from Las Vegas with more than casual knowledge about . . . bondage. I wondered why she'd come to this city, and why she was a coroner instead of practicing medicine. I wondered if she had family, or a lover, and that sent me back to that interlude against Loretta's door, which was starting to haunt me at odd moments.
She wasn't my usual type. I tend to go for gals who are long and lanky; former debate team captains or high school athletes. Sort of a natural inclination and something I'd always been aware of. Simone Hiver was neither of those, so trying to figure out what made her stick in my mind was getting bothersome. Out of curiosity, I looked up what information I could on her husband, and that took an odd turn.
Hugo Hiver had been a well-respected cultural anthropologist apparently, who'd written books and done a lot of lecturing around the country. He had died of a brain tumor, but the interesting fact was that he'd also been thirty years older than his wife. Hiver has specialized in countercultures and subcultures, which was too highbrow a topic for me to tackle without sleep so I turned in, deliberately keeping my mind on more mundane matters.
-oo00oo—
The connection between one of the hostesses at Lys Noir and a dummy corporation called General Communications Ltd made my morning. Apparently Vita Kerman, AKA Vita Kershov formerly of Lviv, Ukraine had been under orders to honeytrap O'Malley and gain as much technical information about the relay station prior to the sale.
"General Communications has a string of corporate ownerships like those stacking dolls and they're just about as Russian too," LaSalle announced with satisfaction. "If they got ahold of the relay station there'd be any number of uses they could put it to, from Satellite relay interception to coastal surveillance."
"So she found out about his interest in the club, and the breath . . . thing, and worked that angle," Sonja jumped in. "And either she wasn't as good as it as she needed to be, or maybe O'Malley panicked—either way, he ended up dead."
"And dumped," I sighed, "Okay, we need to go bring her in."
That took some work; when we pulled up outside her residence she spotted us and took off, putting some distance until LaSalle got going and brought her down. Ms Kershov didn't put up much of a fight, and teared up during the interrogation, pleading that the death was accidental despite everything.
"He was so sweet," she sniffed. "So gentle. I never meant to kill him."
Had a feeling in my gut she meant it—she wouldn't have been the first agent to actually fall for a target, and given the vulnerability and trust issues their connection would have been deeply personal, more so than just the sex. Still, it meant we could close the case, and let the Navy know they'd need to find a different buyer for the relay station when they eventually sold it. If they sold it that is—at this point they might want to hang onto it for a while longer.
Having things draw to a close so quickly put me in an expansive mood so I offered to make dinner, and made sure to invite Loretta and Simone as a thank-you. By the time I had the étouffée going everyone had shown up, and I was pleased hand off the wine to LaSalle to open.
"Smells wonderful," Loretta assured me. "Not that anything you've made has ever smelled otherwise, Dwayne."
Simone was standing on her own, looking a little awkward so I waved her over and offered her a spoonful. "Give it a try?"
"You're cooking," she commented, looking at me in surprise.
I nodded. "Yep."
Simone took in the spoonful and dear God the look of bliss on her face startled me, especially when she gave a little sigh. The sort of sound that goes straight to a man's gut, and lower.
"Magnifique," she murmured.
Loretta spoke up. "He's good at cooking," she admitted, making me grin. "Among other domestic skills."
"I don't know how to cook," Simone told us with a shrug.
That got my attention and I tried not to stare, but something that bizarre deserved my attention. "You don't . . . know how to cook? That can't be true! I mean, come on- anyone can make mac and cheese, or throw together a chili!"
And the look on her face . . . it sort of went bleak for a moment—just enough to make me feel like crap as Simone shook her head.
"No. I never had anyone who could teach me."
"Not even your mother?" Loretta asked, accepting a glass of wine from LaSalle, who offered some to us.
"Especially not her," Simone murmured, and drank some of the wine while I went back to the pot and stirred.
"Not domestically inclined?" Loretta probed a bit, and Simone smiled, finally.
"No. My mother was a Folies Bergère showgirl who left Paris for Las Vegas in the early Fifties. Her skills were of a more exclusive variety and bypassed a lot of the standards, so to speak."
Both LaSalle and I stared now, but he spoke before I did. "No kidding? A showgirl? Like one of those feathered-up gals prancing on stage?" he looked impressed and amused.
Simone nodded, and I saw she was a little pink in the face, although I wasn't sure if it was the wine or the comment that was bringing it out.
"Yes. The Sands; the Desert Inn; Stardust," she shrugged. "My mother performed at all of them."
"Wow, okay, that's definitely not the typical upbringing," Sonja murmured.
"No," Simone replied and there was a hint of finality to it so I changed the subject, but I kept an eye on her through the meal. Again, she hardly spoke, but listened to everyone and everything. I noticed she ate all of her dinner, and when I'd bullied LaSalle and Sonja into clearing the table, I leaned closer and asked her a question.
"Would you mind helping me out by taking some leftovers? It's too much for just me alone, and I'm already making a plate for Loretta to take as well. Doing another would a Godsend."
She turned those sage-colored eyes my way, looking a little surprised and suspicious too, but I held her gaze until she very slowly nodded. "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure. Nothing sadder than neglected leftovers."
She carried it out like it was a Christmas present, and I heard Loretta hum as we both watched her go.
"Feeding strays?" she teased. "I approve."
"How did you come to hire her?" I asked out of curiosity.
Loretta gave a sigh. "She came highly recommended from my friend Albert Robbins, and was willing to re-locate immediately, which is no small thing in this day and age. Thank you," that last was for the foil-wrapped plate I'd given her.
"Not particularly talkative though," I observed.
Loretta gave a chuckle. "Believe it or not, coroners aren't always known for their social skills, Dwayne. Give her time to get comfortable here and we'll see if she opens up."
-oo00oo—
A month went by, and with it we tackled a few more cases, most of them more along the mundane side of matters. I ended up passing Lys Noir at one point and wondered if the owner had hired someone to replace his lost Russian hostess, but other than that, didn't dwell on the place too much. Gregorio returned from her vacation, accent thicker than ever, and LaSalle mentioned our case to her; she merely lifted one of those well-groomed eyebrows of hers.
Hard to impress that woman sometimes.
I did stop by the morgue whenever a case brought me there, and ran into Simone a few times, working in tandem with Loretta, and she did seem to be a lot more comfortable on the job, even if it meant getting into a cadaver's chest or skull as needed. I made it a point to greet her and engage in a little small talk whenever I saw her.
Didn't tell her that I'd had thoughts about her that weren't exactly of a pure nature though. Not that I ever would, but she'd started it with her damned rubber band and molasses voice. I'd given up trying to purge it from my head and kept it tamped down because at this age I don't need any extra excuse for soul-searching. Between an ex-wife and a moody daughter I already had plenty on my plate to fret about.
I stopped in around dinner time with the full intention of asking Loretta about a casing found at the scene of our latest crime when the cloudburst hit. Rain is nothing uncommon in New Orleans and it's more a matter of duck and cover once it hits this hard. Since it had been cloudy all day I wasn't surprised in the least, and after driving through it, shook myself off as I walked carefully down the wet hall towards the morgue. Before I got there, the door opened, and Simone came out, umbrella at the ready. I called to her.
She looked up at me, and the turn of her body was enough to put her off-balance what with the slickness of the tiled floor. Twisting, Simone went down hard, knocking herself against the drinking fountain in the process. I got over there and helped her back up, but she was cradling her left arm and looking at me in faint surprise.
"I broke it," Simone announced and I felt like shit.
"I'm so sorry," I told her, trying to steady her, surprised at how warm she was as I braced her with my arm around her back. "Let's get you seen."
Loretta had already gone home and Simone protested she could handle dealing with her arm on her own but I wasn't having it, especially when I pointed out she wasn't going to be able to drive by herself anyway. Took her in to Ocean Springs hospital and got her seen, waiting with her because when I asked if there was anybody she wanted me to call, the only person she mentioned was Loretta.
I suppose that's the drawback of moving to a new city: you don't have anyone close by for situations like this, and since I'd contributed to her accident I felt duty-bound to help out. When she came out with her arm in a new 3-d printer cast I checked her over.
"I'm better," she assured me, but I heard the stress in her voice.
"When did you last eat, gal?"
When she couldn't answer me, I gave her a knowing look. "Figures. Look, let me take you home and we'll get something into you. Some food," I corrected myself because that had sounded a little too suggestive.
Simone looked up at me and sighed. "This wasn't your fault and you don't have to do this," she told me. "But at the very least a ride home would help, so thank you, Dwayne. I can order some Chinese food when we get there."
I wanted to argue, and figured it was pointless; she had a stubborn expression I was all too familiar with, having seen it on a other few faces before, so I just nodded. "All right."