Red Beans And Vice Part 15

Heaven c.o.c.ked her head. "I'm all for recreational relaxation but you have a big party to put on tomorrow, so maybe we should just stick to one. I'll take the other one," she said and calmly took one of the pills and popped it in her mouth.

Mary giggled. 'You don't even know what it is."

"I do too. Ten-miligram Valium. I left the Xanax upstairs. Now take your medicine."

Mary took her pill and sat back down, sniffling.

Heaven thought this was a good time to do a little digging. "Having that guy from the warehouse drop in reminded me. I've been wanting to ask you something. When I took the tour with Truely," she lied, "I saw this room with a sewing machine and a whole lot of coffee bags. It looked like they were making something out of them. What's that about?"

"Oh, sometimes these independent coffee houses want those bags to decorate with. Maybe they were repairing them to resell," Mary said reasonably.

That made sense. Heaven started looking through the drawers for the baking sheets. "I have to tell you something about the cross. You're gonna love this." She spooned cookie dough onto a baking sheet and put them in the oven as she told the tale of the phony cross. "So, Mary, you're a lawyer. What should I do? We have no real proof that Nancy Blair pulled a scam."

Mary laughed. "You're a lawyer, too. Just because you don't practice anymore doesn't mean you've forgotten all your lawyer tricks."

"That's a nice way of putting it. I f.u.c.ked up and I can't practice anymore. But if that hadn't happened, I would never have found out how much I love cooking for people. So maybe it's for the best," Heaven said wistfully, knowing that wasn't all true. n.o.body likes being kicked out of something.

"All right, as a lawyer, I don't think you should accuse her of a thing. You could call Sotheby's and tell them they're selling stolen artifacts. Or you could call the sisters and tell them to take a look under that faux finish on their cross. Anonymously, of course."

Heaven was impressed. "Not one, but two good ideas. You should be the one out on the mean streets doing the investigating."

The phone rang and Mary got it. She looked puzzled. "It's for you. I think it's Amelia."

"What does she want?" Heaven asked as she wiped her hands on a kitchen towel.

Mary held her hand over the phone. "She said it was concerning the John Doe you asked about."

Heaven grabbed the phone. She listened intently, said thank you, and then hung up.

"Heaven, what was that?"

"They found the body of James Smith just a little while ago. He was dumped, I mean his body was dumped, right in front of the Convent of the Sisters of the Holy Trinity in the Quarter. But they said he'd been dead more than a day, or at least that's what the detective told Amelia."

"Heaven, for goodness sake, who is James Smith and why does that name sound familiar?"

"Because I talked about him yesterday. He was one of the people that worked the benefit that the employment agency had never used before. I'm sure his name isn't really James Smith. Maybe he has fingerprints on record. Mary, I think this dead person killed Truely. I thought he'd left town but I guess he didn't have the chance."

"How can you be so sure that this person killed Truely?" Mary stared blankly at the cell phone. The Valium was working.

Heaven took her dirty dishes over to the sink and found the soap. She filled the empty mixing bowl with soapy water and washed off the measuring cups as she talked. Her Valium was working too but she wasn't numb yet. "That's the sad part about this latest news, isn't it, Mary? Now we'll never know for sure."

The house was quiet and dark. Heaven had sent Mary up to bed and then finished up in the kitchen. She'd found a storage container for the cookies, ate a couple, and put them away. She dried her dishes and put them away. Then she turned off the lights and sat down at the kitchen table. She wished she'd felt surprised about the discovery of James Smith. But from the moment the boys at Verti Mart said he hadn't been to work since Sat.u.r.day, she knew he was either gone or dead. Just because she'd gone around town telling everyone she thought the suspect was back in New Jersey didn't mean she'd believed it.

Heaven had some worry about her culpability in James Smith's death. She'd gone all over the French Quarter looking for this kid. If she'd kept her mouth shut, would he still be alive? The fact that Heaven believed him to be a paid a.s.sa.s.sin didn't make her any more comfortable with the fact that she might have hastened his death with her big mouth.

She ran that around in her brain for a while, then got up to check the kitchen door. She had started talking to Mary as soon as she walked in and maybe she hadn't locked it behind her. It was locked, but it got Heaven thinking about the doors so she went around the whole first floor, checking the windows, jiggling to make sure everything was secure. When she got to the front door she stepped out on the porch.

The air was full of scent, heavy and moist. Shadows thrown by the streetlight played all over the gallery, but it was beautiful, not frightening. New Orleans had its own brand of enchantment, that was for sure. There was no other place like it. Heaven turned to go back in the house and saw him.

The big man. He was just standing across the street smoking a cigarette. Heaven knew he had seen her come out on the porch and that he was waiting for her to see him. But he didn't run away like he had the last time when she'd caught him on the porch. He very methodically stamped out his lit cigarette and got into a Lincoln town car and drove away.

He was obviously watching the house on a regular basis. But why? Heaven locked up and went quickly up to bed before something else could happen.

She fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow, with only one question in mind. How could she talk to the big man?

Red Beans and Rice 1 smoked pork shank or ham hock 2 lbs. red beans, soaked at least two hours 1 whole jalapeno chili or a dried chili 2 bay leaves Examine the beans for rocks, then soak in a large soup pot. Add more water and bring to a boil with the chili and the bay leaves. Reduce to simmer, skim, and cook to tender. After the first 30 minutes, add the shank. Don't add salt at this point. When the beans are tender, remove the shank to cool, and discard the pepper and bay leaves. Remove from heat.

2 qt. chicken stock 1 shallot, peeled and diced 1 onion, peeled and diced 1 yellow or red pepper, diced 1 green pepper, diced 3 stalks celery, sliced 1 fresh jalapeno, seeded and diced 4-6 cloves garlic, minced cup olive oil 3 cups uncooked rice 1 T. each Worcesters.h.i.+re sauce, Louisiana hot sauce, white vinegar 1 tsp. soy sauce kosher salt and pepper to taste 2lbs. a.s.sorted sausages (Polish, Italian, brats and real New Orleans andouille will work) cup chopped fresh parsley Without draining the beans, add a qt. of chicken stock and the rice to the beans. Heat on a medium flame to boil, then reduce to simmer. In a large saute pan, heat your oil and saute the onion, shallot, peppers, celery and garlic until they are soft. Add the vegetables and seasonings to the rice and bean mixture. Slice the sausages into bite-sized chunks. Remove the meat from the smoked shank or hock and add all the meats to your rice and beans. Add more chicken stock as you need it. When the rice is tender, it's done, about 40 minutes. Mix in parsley and serve. This makes a big batch and you could halve it but why not just invite some friends instead. Red beans and rice is traditionally made on Mondays in New Orleans, when the household staff has had a day off. I think it's a great party dish.

Eleven.

It seems like we were sitting in this kitchen just an hour ago," Heaven said as she poured coffee for Mary.

"It was seven hours, but who's counting?" Mary said. She had one of her legal pads in front of her and she was already making lists.

"I don't have a vice costume yet. I thought it should have something to do with food. Gluttony, is that a vice or one of the seven sins?"

Mary smiled. "I think it's one of the seven sins and surely they qualify as a vice. What are you going to do, carry a turkey leg around and gnaw on it all night?"

"I hope I can come up with something more dramatic than that. Mary, I have to tell you something."

Mary's eyes clouded up. "Something besides the fact that a mysterious man was shot and dumped in front of the convent and you think it's Truely's killer?"

Heaven felt her pulse quicken. "Where'd you get the info that he was shot? I don't think Amelia mentioned how he'd died last night."

"I turned on the television early this morning. It was on the news. Little Miss Amelia herself. She said it was execution-style, two shots in the back of the neck."

There was some undercurrent in Mary's voice when she mentioned Amelia. Heaven thought for a moment that Mary knew about the affair. But she certainly wasn't going to bring it up. If she was wrong, if Mary didn't know, this was not the time to find out her dead husband had been cheating, when she was about to throw him the biggest wake of the century.

"Well, that may strengthen my theory that Truely was killed by a hired gun. But no, that's not it. Do you remember the second night I was staying here, I think it was the second, and I fell asleep down here and woke up and saw someone trying to get in the house?"

"That was the night I'd had too many pills and too much alcohol. But I remember you and Will fighting about it the next morning."

Heaven wanted to respond to that but decided to stay on message for a change. 'Yes, well, last night I was checking all the doors to make sure they were locked and I stepped out on the front porch and the same man was across the street, just watching the house. I thought it was difficult to get on this street, what with the guard and all."

"It's supposed to be difficult. I'll stop at the gate when I leave and give someone h.e.l.l. How do you know it was the same man?"

"Because this is the third time I've seen him. He was at Truely's office a month ago when I went down for my tour, he was on the porch trying to break in, I guess, and then last night. This is a big man, six foot five or so and two hundred fifty pounds at least. He's the kind of person who makes a visual impression."

"Do you think I should call the police?" Mary asked seriously. She, unlike Will, didn't disregard Heaven's opinions totally.

"Well, I think you should tell them that twice I've noticed this guy lurking around here. They'll probably take it better coming from the homeowner than the guest, who has been a pain in the b.u.t.t to the police already."

Mary went right to the phone. Heaven grabbed a cookie from the plastic storage container she'd left on the table. "Do you want me to cook us something?"

Mary shook her head. "I'm sorry that the help is all out at the plant. I'm not hungry but I'll take you out for breakfast if you'd like."

"No," Heaven said, thinking she'd go sit at Cafe Du Monde, or go to Camellia Grill for breakfast. "I'm going to run up and take a shower. Tell the police I'll be glad to talk to them if they need me." She started up the stairs and remembered she wanted directions to the roasting plant, in case she and Mary arrived there separately. As she came back toward the kitchen she heard Mary saying, "I know, but it's the second time Heaven's seen him around the house. What are we going to do?" She had a.s.sumed that Mary had dialed the police. So she was surprised to hear her say next, "Will, I've got to go. I've got a million things to do before tonight. I'm going to tell Heaven I called the police and they're sending a car by every half hour. That should keep her mollified."

Heaven quickly went back up the stairs. She guessed she'd been too quick to think Mary believed her. Will had poisoned her mind about Heaven's theories, that was clear. Mary could be in danger because of that stupid Will and his att.i.tude.

When Heaven got out of the shower she was determined to simply confront Mary and tell her she was listening to the wrong friend. She put on her robe and called down the stairwell. "Mary, where are you?" It didn't take long for Heaven to realize the house was empty. Her voice left a hollow echo in the air. It made her uneasy and she dressed quickly, wanting to get outside.

Then she remembered Mary's excellent suggestions about the cross problem. She sat down again at the kitchen table and picked up the phone, then put it right back down. So many people had caller ID now. She didn't want Sotheby's or the nuns bothering Mary about something she wasn't really in on. She probably shouldn't use her cell phone either.

She slipped out the back door to locate a pay phone. She found a whole bank of them outside the library on the Tulane campus. In just a few minutes she'd called Sotheby's and told some sleepy a.s.sistant curator who was pouty to be working on Sat.u.r.day morning how he could save his company some embarra.s.sment if he called the New Orleans Police Department and asked about the recent problems at the convent of the Sisters of the Holy Trinity. Because the young man seemed so dense, she spelled it out for him, yelling "That eighteenth-century French cross in your sale is stolen," right before she hung up.

Then she called the convent, and when one of the volunteers answered she told them their cross was a fake and that the real one was being auctioned off in New York at Sotheby's and that shouldn't happen to such nice folks who have helped so many poor New Orleanians. She said it with the worst Southern accent anyone had ever tried to fake but she figured the woman on the other end would be too fl.u.s.tered to be able to recount who had called with any accuracy.

"Well, that's one thing I can cross off the list," she muttered out loud as she went back to her illegally parked car. "Now for a costume." It seemed like a problem that could only be solved in the French Quarter.

When Heaven got home with the ingredients for her outfit, Mary was walking out the door with hers. She had a cigarette girl's box around her neck and a clothing bag in her arm.

"Are you going to give away cigarettes and Tiparellos to the crowd?" Heaven asked. "How decadent."

"Yes, as soon as I stop and get a few cartons of cigarettes. It's a vice now, isn't it?"

"Absolutely," Heaven answered. She was a little surprised that Mary was actually going to appear in costume at this affair. Shouldn't she be wearing a demure black mourning dress?

"I'm sorry I have to leave you to drive out by yourself. It's not far, just in Saint Bernard parish. I left you a map on the kitchen table."

"That's fine. Do you need any help?"

"Just come out when you get ready. I'm sure I'll find something for you to do," Mary said as she rushed to her car.

Heaven felt a tinge of paranoia. Mary certainly hadn't included Heaven in executing this party. Was she trying to keep Heaven away from the plant? That was nonsnse, sense, of course. She'd asked Heaven to go with her to the warehouse. Why would she not want her to go to the roasting plant? Heaven shook her head. She might be getting wacky with all her ideas. Will might be right.

For the next couple of hours, Heaven spent a relaxing time covering a black leotard with tiny plastic food of all kinds; vegetables, fruit, little cakes and cookies with the aid of a glue gun. It gave her imagination plenty of time to run wild over all the things that had happened to her and others this last week.

She even shed a few tears for Truely, sitting in his beautiful house. She was mad at herself for telling Mary about the big man. She should have just waited until tonight or tomorrow night and, when he showed up, snuck out to confront him herself. Mary hadn't mentioned calling the police and Heaven was pretty sure she hadn't, according to what she'd overheard Mary say to Will on the phone earlier. So, when she got home from the party, maybe the big man would be here waiting for her.

While she was finis.h.i.+ng her get-up, Heaven thought about Nancy Blair and the cross. That sly old broad could very well have switched the crosses. Heaven knew that even with her new religious tendencies, Nancy was a scoundrel at heart. That was one of the things she liked about her. Heaven stopped short of thinking Nancy had the cross stolen in the first place. It seemed more likely she just couldn't help but take advantage of an opportunity when it came her way. Heaven hoped Nancy never found out that it was Heaven who had ratted the whole scheme out. She wanted to still be able to have lunch with Nancy when she came to town. She was so interesting.

Heaven looked at herself in the mirror. She hated costume parties but today it had given her something diverting to think about. She had on the leotard covered with food. She had on fishnet stockings and black high heels. She had on her cutest chefs jacket, open. Then she had a big basket she'd bought cheap at the Farmers' Market, filled with vice-ish foodstuffs: pralines and chocolates and small bags of Zapp's potato chips and other salty snacks. She was the edible equivalent of Mary's cigarette girl and she planned to give out her vice food like party favors to whoever asked. Not that they'd be hungry with the menu Truely had planned for this event.

Heaven checked her watch. She still had a few minutes. Now that the cross was "solved" she'd like to tie up the explosion and Truely's death, her pet theory that no one else seemed to like.

She went into the library to see if there was a medical reference book. She saw a laptop computer on the desk that she hadn't noticed before. Maybe she could get on-line. She should be able to sign on using her pa.s.sword as a guest. In a minute, the screen was glowing and even though it wasn't a Mac, Heaven's computer of choice, she was able to stumble through turning the thing on.

She was scrolling around looking for the Internet connection when she saw a heading, "Recent Doc.u.ments." Without thinking about the ethical implications, she moved the mouse toward it and took a look. There were several letters that looked like legal work from Mary. Maybe this was Mary's laptop from her office. There was a mailing list that Heaven figured Mary had used for the invitations. And there was a doc.u.ment t.i.tled "menu." Heaven figured it was Truely's last will and testament about his party, but why would it be under recent doc.u.ments? She clicked on it and saw the date it had been created. It was the date of last Sunday, the day after Truely was killed. So did that mean Truely didn't really write the menu for his own wake, as Mary had insisted?

Heaven was stunned. She stared at the date on the screen for a while. Even with her vivid imagination she couldn't figure out why anyone would invent this elaborate party plan if it wasn't really what Truely wanted. Why bother? And that bulls.h.i.+t last night when Mary was crying and talking about remembering the very moment when Truely wrote the menu for his wake, what was that all about? Every time this party was mentioned, Mary and Will insisted it was Truely's big idea.

Heaven reluctantly turned off the laptop and left the house, grabbing her basket of junk food in the kitchen. There was probably a simple explanation. Truely had probably told Mary a hundred times about how he wanted a big party for his wake and she, being a lawyer, put it in black and white, like Truely should have but had never got around to doing. Maybe she felt that would justify the money this s.h.i.+ndig was going to cost to the banks or the court or whoever might someday be looking over Truely's financial picture. Heaven relaxed a little. Yes, that was something an attorney would do, have back-up doc.u.ments. And even if it wasn't technically ethical, Heaven could understand the why of it, even the lying to support the story. If that was what had happened.

She consulted the map Mary had left for her and drove out to Saint Bernard parish, located on the other side of town from the Whittens'. She saw the plant blocks before she got there. It was a former sugar refinery that had gone out of business in the early sixties. Heaven wasn't sure when Truely's family had converted it for coffee roasting and s.h.i.+pping. The tall, old-fas.h.i.+oned smokestacks towered over an area of little, one-story houses. Heaven figured they were the houses of the sugar workers, who then became the coffee workers. There was a big Catholic church, a V.F.W. clubhouse, and then the street turned toward the gates of the plant. A chain-link fence around the perimeter of the place gave it a slightly ominous look. All the buildings were old and patined with the residue of years of burnt sugar and coffee ash. The road up to the plant now ran right by the river, the levee hiding the water from view except for occasional glimpses where a wharf and dock had been built. The fence gates were open. A guard in a gatehouse asked for her name and wrote it on his clipboard. Other cars were lined up to enter in front of her.

She followed the traffic and pulled up in front of a huge white house that looked like it belonged on a coffee plantation in Africa or Brazil. Palm trees had been planted in rows leading up to the house. A stately screened-in gallery lined the house on three sides on both the first and second stories. Heaven could see people strolling up on those porches. She imagined them promenading in their dress-your-favorite-vice apparel. The house itself was made surreal by being b.u.t.ted up against the ugly, plain plant. Heaven figured it for the offices of a sugar refinery owner who didn't want to admit he had to leave the plantation and do actual work.

It may have been offices at one time, but the Pan-American Coffee Company had turned the house into a lovely period postcard. It was a visitors' center with conference rooms. The history of coffee was presented in words and pictures on the walls. There were antique couches and chairs with a French flair, damask drapes, lots of small tables and chairs for cupping, as they called tasting coffee. It was a great party house. Heaven looked for Mary or Will or someone she knew but it was a room full of strangers.

She walked up the big staircase and out on the porch. The vice that seemed to be on most people's minds involved s.e.x. There were lots of s.l.u.tty outfits and some leather and bondage stuff going on. Heaven saw a man with a leather hood on and a golf ball taped in his mouth being led around on a dog leash held by a woman in six-inch stiletto-heeled boots who looked like she'd done this sort of thing before.

The night was perfect; less humidity than usual, and a breeze that was almost cool. The overriding aroma in the air wasn't magnolias, however, but the strong odor of roasted coffee. The sun had long gone down, but it wasn't true night yet, the sky a velvety blue that you felt on your skin. Over on the other side of the levee a huge freighter glided by, the top of its smokestacks showing over the rise of land that kept the Mississippi River in its banks. It was Felliniesque and disquieting to Heaven, tons of steel gracefully floating on unseen water.

Heaven enjoyed being out on the porch where she could watch newcomers come up the palm-lined walk. Riverboat gambler outfits were a favorite with the men, many of whom Heaven was sure had a predilection for that vice. A few had copped for the easy ones like sports fan or fisherman, costumes that didn't require any effort other than going to the bas.e.m.e.nt. Being from Kansas City, Heaven knew lots of football fans who were addicted in a vicelike manner to the Chiefs.

Suddenly, there was yelling. Leon Davis was walking rapidly up to the house, cutting through the plant parking lot from the direction opposite that everyone else was coming from. A single security guard was trying to shout him down. He kept going. "Mary Whitten, I know you're in there," he yelled, waving his hat. Guests laughed, not taking anything seriously. This was Truely's wake. Of course the man who owned the other coffee importing company would be there. Quickly Will Tibbetts appeared out on the sidewalk and spoke to the guard, who reluctantly turned and went back to his post. Will talked right in Leon's ear for a while and then the two of them went in to the party together. Strange. Heaven wondered what Will had said to calm down Leon.

The walk was lit by sunken spotlights, giving every entrance a Hollywood vibe. Heaven noticed a woman entering in what Heaven was beginning to recognize as Uptown ladies' church fas.h.i.+on; a fancy suit and a big hat and gloves. Lace was involved. As was a huge diamond pin. Heaven was amused by the irony of the costume. Who among this group would admit the love of excessively fancy clothes was a vice? As the woman got nearer the house, Heaven was rocked by recognition of that diamond pin-and the woman wearing it. The pin was shaped like a bouquet of flowers. It was the pin that she'd seen a Polaroid of in Truely's office, the one that Mary said her mother-in-law gave her. But it wasn't Mary wearing the pin. It was Amelia Hart.

Heaven made it through the crowd and down the stairs as fast as she could but the crowd stopped her for snacks several times. She tried to stay in character as a food vamp, ready to lead folks astray with the vice of snacks, but she wanted to just dump the whole basket on the floor and let it go. By the time she made it down to the first floor, Amelia was nowhere to be seen.

Heaven grabbed the arm of a man dressed in a diaper. "Have you seen Amelia Hart, the television reporter?"

"Look out in the plant. That's where the band is," he replied and started sucking his thumb coyly. Heaven took it for flirtation and turned quickly away.

There was a steel-and-gla.s.s walkway between the house and the plant similar to those used to connect the garage and the home in "moderne" homes. In Kansas, they called them breezeways. Now Heaven heard music coming from the other end of the breezeway. Just inside the plant proper, a large s.p.a.ce had been cleared, a stage had been constructed, and the Iguanas were playing. There must have been three hundred people at least, crowding the dance floor and lined up for drinks at bars set up in the corners of the room.

Heaven saw Mary for the first time tonight, looking like a cigarette girl in a 1940s nightclub. She spotted Heaven and waved happily. It was the first true smile Heaven had seen on her face since last Sat.u.r.day. Could it just have been a week ago she was plating up Nola Pie with no inkling of what was to come?

Heaven looked frantically for Amelia Hart in the crowd. If she didn't find her and s.n.a.t.c.h that pin off her pretty little suit, Mary wouldn't be smiling too much longer. It seemed that when Truely told Will he bought Amelia something nice at the end of their affair, he had borrowed something nice that belonged to his wife instead. What nerve. And what nerve of Amelia Hart to wear a piece of jewelry that Mary Whitten would recognize as her own to a party for the memory of Truely Whitten. Midwesterners just wouldn't even try to pull this stuff off, it was way too nervy. Then Heaven realized Amelia might not have an inkling that the pin had been Mary's. Amelia could be in for a nasty surprise right along with Mary Whitten.

Heaven was stymied.

She hadn't seen Will.

Mary was swallowed up in the crowd.

No sign of Amelia.

Heaven walked slowly around the dance floor, craning her neck. She saw Leon Davis talking to Mary and they were laughing. Maybe Mary had decided to sell the business to Leon. That would explain why Will went out and retrieved him from the guard.

She spotted Nancy Blair but she was surrounded by people, so Heaven kept looking. Behind the stage area there were wide sliding doors, similar to the ones at the warehouse. She looked down that wall and found a people-sized door that seemed to go into another section of the plant. What the h.e.l.l. She hadn't given this place a look-see. It couldn't hurt and it would be better than the frustration of trying to head off the inevitable confrontation between Mary and Amelia. Maybe she'd be lucky and they'd see each other while she was taking the tour in the back. She could survive very well without witnessing that cat fight and the enjoyment it would bring the crowd.

Heaven stepped through the door, put her basket of goodies down and followed a hallway toward noise. It wasn't the raucous noise of the party, but the businesslike hum of machinery and human voices calling out instructions to others. Heaven was surprised that the plant was operating tonight. Surely Mary had invited all the employees to this blast. But maybe a small crew was keeping the roasters going.

Heaven started to walk into the room where the noise was coming from, but she found the door at that end of the hall locked. The hall dead-ended there but there was light s.h.i.+ning from an opening down the wall. It seemed like another large room was on the other side, probably similar to the one the band was set up in. She walked down the wall and found a large opening covered with strips of heavy plastic, like the ones they used to cover walk-in refrigerator doors, in cold-storage facilities. Light and activity were in there but now Heaven was cautious. Something about that locked door had activated her adrenaline. She stood at the very edge of the opening and pushed aside one of the plastic flaps just a tiny bit.

The place was a beehive of activity. There were two women stuffing something into smaller burlap coffee bean bags, about a twenty-pound size, Heaven figured. One man was sewing the tops of the filled bags with some coa.r.s.e string threaded in a big needle. He was very good at this, fingers and string flying. It took the man about a minute to close up the tops of the bags, which he tossed on the floor beside him. Two other people, a man and a woman, were packing one of the smaller bags inside a larger burlap bag, like the ones in which the coffee beans arrived at the Magazine Street warehouse. Then those two held the bags under a big funnel-like device, pulled a handle and the bag filled up with roasted coffee beans. When the larger bags were loaded, they sewed the tops shut, one holding the bag upright, the other sewing quickly. Then they stacked them on a pallet. On the outer side of the building there was a loading dock with a truck backed up to the opening. And there, heaving those hundred-pound sacks into the truck like they were Styrofoam packing peanuts, was Durant la Pointe.

Heaven was excited. This was it. Truely hadn't been smuggling something into the country. He'd been smuggling something out of New Orleans in bags of roasted coffee beans, with the help of that creepy Durant. She just couldn't figure out what it was.