All the Devil's Creatures by J.D. Barnett Page A

He said, “Well. I really don’t quite know.”
    She smiled, lifting a perfectly shaped thin eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you had me fly all the way down here just for cocktails.”
    Geoff could feel the blood starting to rise to his face. “No—as I said when I retained you, there was a murder. A woman who worked for me, or rather, she worked for the woman who works for me—”
    “Eileen Kim, who we’re seeing tomorrow.”
    “Right. Tonight we meet T-Jacques, the victim’s boyfriend. He’s convinced he knows something about the murder.”
    “And you think he’s nuts.”
    “Sure. The sheriff heading up the investigation thinks it was a random hate crime. So do I. But Eileen … Well, I guess I feel I owe T-Jacques something.”
    “That’s fine.” She leaned forward over the little table and looked up at him over the rim of her glass, brown eyes swimming beneath long black lashes. “But what. Do you want. To accomplish. Tonight?”
    Geoff felt an ancient, forgotten twinge. “I don’t know what you mean.”
    Marisol leaned back in her chair and lifted a hand to her chin. “The way I see it is, I need to be your second set of eyes and ears tonight. See if this T-Jacques has anything. Take it to Ms. Kim, sees if it rings any bells with her. Then, the sheriff’s interviewing your client again tomorrow, right?”
    “Tomorrow evening, at his daughter’s house.”
    “And we don’t want to be there. But we’ll stop by beforehand and put him at ease. Maybe let him know what’s up with T-Jacques. All that. And by tomorrow night you’ll know whether you need to continue my services. Or, if there’s nothing happening here, so long. Sound like a plan?”
    He smiled. “Sounds like a plan, Marisol.”
    Smiling back: “You’re new at this, huh Waltz?”
    “Yup.” He finished his drink in a gulp. “Let’s keep walking.”
    They crossed Esplanade into the Marigny and continued up Frenchman. Geoff found the restaurant, an intimate Creole-Italian place above dive bar, and was relieved to see it was still in business. They entered, and Geoff followed Marisol’s scent up the dim, narrow staircase.
How long since I’ve been out with a woman for drinks and dinner? Eileen? Does that count?
He shuddered before they stepped into the candle-lit dining room, and the waiter showed them to a small, rough-hewn wooden table in a corner.
    They ordered a bottle of old Sangiovese. Marisol said, “Tony tells me you lost your wife.” She must not have liked his look. “Sorry. I’m a P.I. I dig for information, don’t always know when not to.”
    “It’s all right. Yeah. Car accident. Going on two years ago.”
One year, eight months, twenty three days. And six hours.
    “I’m really sorry.”
    “And no kids.” As soon as Geoff had spoken the words, he saw a cloud pass over Marisol’s features. Something in her eyes told him they shared a sadness but he could not bring himself probe its nature, did not know why he had raised the pointless subject in the first place.
    “I never want kids. This world is too … fucked up. The damn planet’s choking and we keep adding more people to it.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and when she looked up at him with her dark hair hanging down, her eyes had lost their flinty edge.
    Geoff had not taken her to be an environmentalist, felt taken aback at this sudden display of eco-emotion.
    They watched each other across the rustic tabletop in shadowed silence.
    “So, what’s your story? Tony says you used to be an ATF agent.”
    “Yeah, I worked for the feds for a while.” She gave him a crooked smile, all traces of despair gone from her gaze. “Good to know how the bastards think, you know?”
    •
     
    After they ate, the chef and proprietor came by, greeting them with a rich accent that somehow matched the weird, delicious cuisine. And an old black man walked by them and sat before an upright piano standing in a corner.
    The chef said, “We’re lucky to have Dr.