“Can I help you?” a man asked from the doorway to the back room. She saw that he had been eating his lunch.
“I hope so.” Stacy sent him a winning smile as she crossed the shop. “I’m wondering if you carry these?” She showed him the card.
“Sorry.”
She couldn’t quite hide her disappointment. “I was afraid you were going to stay that.”
“May I?” He held a hand out. She gave him the card. He studied the illustration, eyebrows drawn together in a slight frown. “Interesting imagery. Where’d you get this?”
“Several were sent to a friend. I’m a big fan of Alice in Wonderland and thought I’d buy a box, if they weren’t too expensive.”
He rubbed a corner between his index finger and thumb. “No one carries these by the box, I’m afraid.”
“Excuse me?”
“This is an original, not a print. “ He held it up to the light, squinting. “Pen and ink.” He ran his thumb along the card’s ruffled edge. “Good paper-one hundred percent rag. Acid-free. The artist knows what he, or she, is doing.”
“Do you recognize the artist?”
“I might.”
“Might?”
“I’ve never seen this image before, but the artist’s hand reminds me of a local artist. Pogo.”
“Pogo?” she repeated. “You’re serious?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t name him. He creates images like these. Disturbing. In pen and ink. He’s had a few shows, gotten good reviews. But never took off.”
“Do you know where I might find him?”
“Sorry.” He handed the card back. “But the curator over at Gallery 124 might. If memory serves, 124 hosted Pogo’s last show. On the corner of Royal and Conti.”
Stacy smiled and started backing toward the shop’s entrance. “Thanks so much for your help and time. I really appreciate it.”
“You won’t get them cheap,” he called after her. “I could show you something similar-”
“Thanks,” she said again, over her shoulder. “But I have my heart set on these.”
She stepped out onto the French Quarter sidewalk and headed toward Conti. Gallery 124 was just where the man had said it would be.
Stacy checked traffic, then darted across the street. As she entered the gallery, the bell above the door jingled. The too-cold air-conditioning spilled over her. Followed by the realization that she wasn’t as smart as she thought she was.
Malone had beat her there.
He stood at the back of the gallery, obviously waiting to speak with the curator, a woman in a dangerously short skirt and a brilliantly colored gypsy blouse. Her short hair was bleached almost white and worn in a spiky boy cut.
The word that came to mind was hip. With a capital H. Stacy had seen dozens just like her attending Jane’s openings over the years.
Malone looked her way. Their gazes met. And he smiled.
Or rather, smirked. Cocky bastard.
She closed the distance between them. “Well, wonders never cease,” she said. “Detective Spencer Malone, in an art gallery. It just doesn’t seem like your style.”
“Really? I’m a big fan of art. In fact, I own several good pieces.”
“On black velvet?”
He laughed. “I heard about an artist I’m certain I’m going to be interested in. A guy named Pogo.”
She glanced toward the spiky-haired girl, then back at him. “How’d you beat me here?”
“Better investigative skills.”
“My ass. You cheated.”
Before he could respond, the woman finished with her customer and started toward them, cool smile fixed in place. “Good afternoon. How can I help you?”
Spencer showed her his ID. “Detective Malone, NOPD. I need to ask you a few questions.”
Her expression registered surprise, then unease. Stacy stepped in before the woman could respond. “I’m in a bit of a rush. Should I come back another time?”
“Excuse me? You’re not together? I assumed-”
“That’s quite okay.” Stacy turned to Spencer, smiling apologetically. “Do you mind? I’m on my lunch break.”
He arched one dark eyebrow, clearly amused. “Please. Take your time.”
“Thanks, Detective. You’re the best.” She swung back to the salesperson. “I understand you represent an artist named Pogo.”
“Pogo? We did, but we haven’t in better than a year.”
“No. I’m so disappointed. I had my heart set on one of his pieces.”
The woman perked up, no doubt calculating if she could somehow make the sale, anyway. “One of his prints?”
“A drawing. Pen and ink. Imagery based on Alice in Wonderland. Very dark. Powerful. I saw one and absolutely fell in love with it.”
“Sounds like Pogo’s work. When he was producing.”
“When he was producing?”
“Pogo’s his own worst enemy. Gifted but unreliable.”
“Are you familiar with his ‘ Alice ’ series?”
“No. They must be new.” She paused, as if weighing her options. “I could call him? Have him bring his portfolio by?”
“So he’s local?”
“Yes. Lives right here in the Quarter. If I’m able to reach him, I bet he could be here in ten minutes.”
Stacy glanced at her watch, working to look torn.
“He lives really close,” the woman added quickly. “Barracks near Dauphine.”
“I don’t know. I wanted something that would be a good investment…but if he’s unreliable…” As the woman opened her mouth, no doubt to assure her that her earlier statement wasn’t quite accurate, Stacy shook her head. “I’ll think about it. Do you have a card?”
She did. Stacy thanked her and strolled past Spencer, waggling her fingers at him. “Thank you, Detective.”
She exited the gallery, stepped out of the doorway and waited. Exactly two and a half minutes later, Spencer emerged from the shop.
He ambled over to her. “Sneaky, Killian. Brilliant performance.”
“Thanks. Was she pissed when you asked about Pogo?”
“Confused, mostly. I got his address from her, but I’d like to see you play this out. Tag along.”
She laughed. “You’ve surprised me, Detective. And I don’t surprise easily.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Strut your stuff, Killian.”
“Barracks and Dauphine, you familiar with the area?”
He nodded and they fell into step together. After a block, she angled a glance him. “So, how’d you pinpoint Gallery 124 so quickly?”
“My sister Shauna studied art. I showed her the card, she didn’t recognize it but directed me to Bill Tokar, the head of the New Orleans Arts Council. He suggested Gallery 124.”
“And the rest is history.”
“Is that grudging respect I hear in your voice?”
“Absolutely not.” She smiled. “Is Shauna your only sibling?”
“Nope. One of six.”
She stopped. Looked at him. “You have six siblings?”
He laughed at her disbelief. “I’m from a good Irish Catholic family.”
“The Lord said, be fruitful and multiply.”
“So did the pope. And my mother takes the pope’s directives very seriously.” They fell back into an easy stroll. “What about you?” he asked.
“Just me and Jane. What’s it like? Being part of such a big family?”
“Crazy. Sometimes irritating. Always loud.” He paused. “But really great.”
The affection in his tone made her ache to see her sister. To hold her new niece.
They reached the cross streets. The area was a shabby mix of retail and residential space. The eighteenth-century buildings stood side-by-side in various states of disrepair. All part of the Quarter’s charm.
“Okay.” She slid him an amused glance. “Bet you a cup of coffee I’ll have Mr. Pogo’s address in ten minutes.”
“That’s a no-brainer, Killian. Make it five and you’re on.”
She took the bet and scanned the street. Small grocery with lunch counter. Seedy bar. Souvenir shop.