Red Beans and Vice by Lou Jane Temple Page B

Camellia Grill. She headed for it and was about halfway there when she heard a car door slam. In the strip mall parking lot a half block from the Camellia, standing there coolly lighting a cigarette and leaning against his car, was her man. She wanted to get a good look at him. She hadn’t really seen him. But as usual he was just far enough away to escape a positive identification later. She was sure he wanted her to see him, though, and for her to know that he’d followed her all the way with no problem, that she was dead meat if he wanted her to be.
    The door of the grill opened and three people came out. Heaven searched the double horseshoe counter for the places they’d vacated. It was a quiet time for the grill, after dinner and before the tipsy late-night crowd hit the doors needing a pecan waffle to sober them up. There were no waiting customers and Heaven slipped onto a stool and, even scared and confused about what just happened to her, was immediately drawn, into the scene before her. African-American waiters in starched white jackets and black bowties spoke their own language with short-order grill men of amazing grace. One minute the grill was covered with a shimmering mass of raw eggs, the next minute that mass had been transformed into three beautiful omelettes, each with different ingredients nestled in the middle. Beside the grill,waffle irons spat pieces of batter onto the stainless-steel tables they were bolted to, great collars of built-up batter creating a crusty outline. With two grills and two waffle irons, the horseshoes of the counter created a mirrored universe: different dancers, same dance.
    Heaven jumped when her name was suddenly called.
    “Heaven!”
    She spun around, ready for the worst. It was Will Tibbetts, grinning his charming grin as if nothing had happened since he last saw her.
    “Will, you scared me to death. What are you doing here?” she demanded crossly, stealing a look outside as she spun her stool around.
    Will sat down beside her. “I’ll answer that question but then you better be ready to do the same. I followed Truely and Mary home for a nightcap. When I left their house, I decided I needed a piece of grilled pecan pie. Now, what about you, the one who said she just had to get home to her list-makin’?”
    Heaven felt a wave of apprehension. She didn’t believe him for a minute. But she couldn’t help but be relieved to see him. She got up and walked outside looking up the street. Her man was gone. He was just playing with her, showing her he could keep track of her. And what, if anything, did Will have to do with it? She went back inside. “He’s gone.”
    “Who’s gone?” Will asked.
    “It all started when I was walking through Jackson Square.”
    The waiter came and gave them glasses of water, a look of expectancy on his face.
    Will smiled. “Hello, Henry. I’ll have a piece of that good pecan pie, grilled nice and warm, and a freeze. And what is it for my bride?”
    Heaven smiled in spite of everything that had happened. Will was so corny with the winking and the “my bride” stuff. All of a sudden she was starved. “A hamburger with everything but onion, a piece of pecan pie, and what’s a freeze?” If she was going to die, she’d be full.
    W ill pulled his fancy Porsche up to the locked gate at the hotel and honked. “Things sure are interesting with you around, Heaven. That was quite a story. I don’t want to leave you here alone. I suggested either staying with you or taking you home with me. Those are two good offers still on the table.”
    Heaven shook her head. “I do still have to make prep lists for tomorrow. Now that I’ve survived another night here in New Orleans I’ll be expected to produce some product tomorrow. Thank you for seeing me home. You still think I shouldn’t call the police?”
    “More trouble than it’s worth, in my opinion. But talk to Mary about it in the morning.” He reached over and kissed her on the