Jass (Valentin St. Cyr Mysteries) Read Online Free Page A

the conversation. In the light of day, it sounded all the more foolish. "This Noiret character was a bad sort," he told her. "Someone was bound to stick him with a knife or shoot him dead sooner or later. And it happened way out on the other side of Canal Street." He shrugged. "There's nothing to it, no matter what Morton thinks."
    Her blank look told him she wasn't listening anymore. He went back to his eggs. "How did you spend your evening?" he inquired presently.
    Now her eyes cut at him before she spoke. "I stayed here," she said. "Did the wash and read some. Then I went to bed." There was no mistaking the edge in her voice. He was about to say something about it, but her face closed again as she peered myopically at a stitch.
    "You aren't going to eat?" she said after a moment, her tone softening. He picked up his knife and cut into the biscuit.
    When he finished his breakfast, he put his plate in the sink and carried his coffee cup to the bedroom to dress. Some minutes passed and he heard her singing again, the same song, a sweet melody without words.
    When it was time for him to leave, he called to Justine. If she answered back, he didn't hear it.

    Friday was payday. In addition to the regular salary he earned working five or six nights a week at the Café, Valentin received a stipend from three of the finer sporting houses on Basin Street, the mansions of Antonia Gonzales, Countess Willie Piazza, and Lulu White. He had become something of an unpaid security man at Hilma Burt's mansion as well, due to her liaison with Tom Anderson. With the King of Storyville's most recent amours, he wondered if he would be taking on duties at Josie Arlington's, too.
    He had a ritual. After his bath and shave, he would put on a light cotton shirt and dark linen trousers, attach his suspenders, lace up his brown leather walking shoes, and head out the door. He was one of the few gentlemen of the day who went on the street without a hat.
    Downstairs at Gaspare's Tobacco Store, he'd purchase a copy of the
Sun
and a cigarillo that had been imported from Cuba. If the weather was good, he would cross Canal Street and spend an hour smoking and reading in Jackson Square. If it was cold or raining, he'd take his paper four doors down to Bechamin's Café and grab a table there. Afterward, he would catch a Canal Belt car north to the District.

    Justine stepped out onto the balcony in time to catch Valentin as he came out of Gaspare's and sauntered toward Common Street, his newspaper tucked under his arm. He didn't look back and so he didn't see her watching him. He always used to turn around and wave, leaving her with a small smile as he went off to begin his day. He hadn't done that in some time. She tried to recall when he had stopped.
    As she stood there, with the stream of pedestrians, the bicycles, wagons, streetcars, and the occasional motorcar busying Magazine Street, thoughts that had been lurking in the corners of her mind stirred once again.
    Another night had gone by, another day had begun, and she had missed it all. The world had turned in a cascade of color and sound while she stayed home, passing the hours with chores, a bath, and a book. She had taken a small dose of her medicine after the sun went down and it made her feel a little better.
    She hadn't stirred when Valentin came to bed, and she woke up just after the first light of day with a small headache. She helped herself to the other half of her dose. The tincture, a red darker than blood, went swimming in the glass of water. She had hummed a song she had heard somewhere while she waited for it to take hold.
    She had lost herself in a book until Valentin woke up. She served him his breakfast and they chatted like strangers. When he got up and left, she was visited by a familiar emptiness. Now the day stretched out before her. She had to concentrate to remember what she was supposed to do first.

    Valentin found a quiet corner of the square, sat down, lit his cigarillo, and