After an elaborate ruse of driving all over town, backtracking down small alleys, and ending up in Metairie, around midnight Cay settled on a small, nondescript motel for Eliah. It was just not safe at Cay's apartment for both of them.

In the morning, Cay went out to a nearby C.C.'s Coffee Shop to pick up a latté and to use a pay phone. She was paranoid that Dumont might have bugged her phones at work and home. She called Mary Dan, explained the situation and asked for refuge for Eliah. As Mambozo had suggested, Mary Dan agreed immediately and invited Cay to bring the young woman over as soon as she could.

She returned Mambozo back to the safety of the office and again drove the circuitous route to the motel. At one point she parked her car in a narrow alley for five minutes to watch who might be following. Confident she was alone, she parked her car in a small convenience store in the back where it could not be spotted from the road, and walked across the street to the motel.

Eliah was ready to go, her eyes puffy and red from her own restless sleep. She said very little on the drive over. Cayenne parked well away from Venus Way, the small alley off the larger Girod where the Krewe Du Couture housed its den.

Despite the serious circumstances surrounding the visit, Cayenne was looking forward to seeing the women of the Krewe du Couture. The Krewe took Cayenne under their creative wing during the previous Mardi Gras season. A member of their krewe died during that season and as a result of Cay's effort to find murderer, Cayenne had been baptised an adjunct member.

Mary Dan, dressed elegantly in a blue gabardine skirt, a simple silk blouse and two elegant strands of antique Mardi Gras beads around her neck, wore a serious expression as she listened to Cay's tale of the delivered headdress, the murder of Frank Montana, the meeting in the graveyard, and the threatening call to Eliah. Dinah and Samantha were also in the room and formed a protective shield on either side of Eliah. The young woman was obviously uncomfortable and overwhelmed being in the center of the concern.

When it was her turn to speak, Mary Dan's voice was low but intense. "I must admit, I do not know much about the Yellow Magnolias. Neither do I know much about the Mardi Gras Indian traditions. But I know that at one time, the Indians were dangerous. I will not put this krewe in danger. I will offer you shelter but you must be totally honest with me and you must follow some very simple rules."

Eliah nodded.

"First, you are to tell no one where you are. Not even Raynaldo. It is obvious that you love him, but he cannot be trusted."

"But…" Eliah started to protest. Dinah put a hand on her shoulder, and Eliah stopped.

"His hand is involved in your father's death and I think in your heart you already know that."

Eliah sat silent.

"Secondly, may I see the headdress?"

Cay handed over the box. Mary Dan pulled out the headdress and examined it with an experienced eye. She prodded the lumpy yellow velvet of the band and fanned her hands over the feathers. She looked closely at both front and back sides of the circular patches of beading. She thumbed the painted rhinestones and colored glass that ringed the head piece. Then she nodded her approval.

"What a fascinating piece! It is very old in places and quite contemporary in others. It's beautiful work. Your father was a very fine sewer, Eliah. Though I must say I'm perplexed. If the headdress had any value as an antique or historical piece, Mr. Montana ruined it with his changes and additions. These patches of beading of the eagle over the left temple and the spray of yellow magnolias beads over the right temple are exquisite. The spray of jewels are painstakingly stoned into the fabric and this painting over the forehead beads is very unusual. It looks very recent."

Mary Dan inspected the headdress gingerly as if stepping on sacred ground. "This head band is also newly stitched. He worked on this headdress quite a bit before he passed." She reverently replaced it in the box.

Cay added, "Mr. Jonathan said that Mo… Mr. Montana wanted to restart the Yellow Magnolias and march again. Looks like he was getting his outfit ready for Mardi Gras day."

Mary Dan turned her attention back to Eliah. "Did you ever watch your father make his outfits when you were little?"

Eliah nodded. "After every Super Sunday showdown, he take his outfit apart and begin all over again. All year he would plan, and gather material and sew until his hands were bruised and bleeding. Every year he would build a whole new outfit. Different colored feathers, maybe a new patch or two. You were allowed to use the old materials, but you had to do something different to signify your spirit or the heart of the tribe. Eagles, wolves, battle scenes, arrows. Always Indian stuff.

"On the headdress, he would paint his jewels in the exact color of the feathers he was using that year. No other Magnolia would do that. Everyone thought he was cheap painting them every year instead of building a new headdress but it was his own unique way of making it the Magnolia way and keeping his headdress the same throughout the years. This headdress represented the tribe to him. He sewed new patches on the pigtails, and replaced the feathers when they would fall out but he always keep the basic design. 'Some day baby girl, this is going to be yours, he would say.' "

Eliah's eyes filled with tears. "It was all so stupid. The Indians are a lost cause. It's a dying art. How can poor people spend money on feathers instead of bread and rent? Fewer and fewer blacks are dressing Indian, unless it's for some tourist event. I want a normal life."

She pounded her fist against her leg and spoke in a voice soaked with grief. "So now I have my inheritance and it's a piece of ugly crap and I'll never know my father."

As Mary Dan listened to the tirade of this frightened young woman who had just lost her father, she reached out to comfort her. "You are most welcomed to stay here as long as you need to. We have a small guest bedroom here at the back of the den that you can stay until we know you will be safe."

She skillfully shifted the conversation. "Can you show us how to sew the Indian feathers? I'm thinking that this year we need to mix up the traditions a little and a bevy of pink and yellow feather outfits on the Krewe du Couture float is just the ticket."

Mary Dan smiled and leaned over the take Eliah's hand. "Last year we did cowboys. This year, I think it's time to do the Indians."

"I'll call Teutitite's to order the feathers." Samantha said, standing up. "That is unless Monsieur Mambozo is willing to donate to the cause?"

"I think he would respectfully decline," Cay smirked. Even Eliah smiled at that one.

Dinah put her arm around Eliah and said, "I just love ze fancy beadwork patches Indians sew onto their outfits. S'il vous plaît, mademoiselle.Show us how it is done?" She guided Eliah into the back, cavernous rooms of the den.

When they were alone, Samantha turned to Mary Dan. She said simply, "Marching Arrows are uptown Indians. I do believe that the Yellow Mags were downtown in their day. You realize if we take her in, we take sides between rivals."

Mary Dan went pale. She turned her steely gaze toward Cay. "God help us if you have landed us smack in the middle of an Indian war."

"But I thought that was all over. No one settles scores on Mardi Gras any more." Cay protested, then stopped in her tracks. That what it said on the internet. "Do they?"

*************************************************************

Before she left the Krewe du Couture, Cay checked in to see how Eliah was settling in. She got the address of the bodega over which Frank Montana had been killed. Mary Dan asked her to take the headdress and lock it in her safe at the office for safekeeping.

She decided to drop by the bodega before she went back to the office to talk with the man who tried to warn to Eliah. She followed Eliah's directions and after a few false starts and slow drive bys, she found an old, but well kept tiny bodega named simply Mom and Pop's. Inside the cramped, dark space, the shelves were filled with convenience items-canned goods, candy, newspapers, and a Coke cooler of sodas and six packs of beer. As she browsed the aisles, Cay was very aware that Pop, obviously the owner as well as the cashier, was watching her with a critical pair of eyes.

Cayenne waited for the one other customer in the place to leave before she went up to the counter. She noticed that Pop's hands were knotted by arthritis, but as she drew closer, she could see the telltales black scars that criss crossed and pitted his fingertips. Cay decided to be direct and presented her identification over the counter. The eyes remained alert and suspicious.

"Frank Montana hired me to find his daughter. She's the one who gave me this address. You tried to warn her, didn't you?"

He paused, then nodded subtly and tiredly. Frank had obviously warned him that if things went terribly wrong, someday a white, red-haired detective might show up in his small store. "Frank died upstairs. He said he was afraid for his daughter."

He shifted his weight and winced from the pain the movement generated. "She okay?"

Cayenne nodded back. "She is in very good hands. Can I see Frank's place?"

He leaned down, pulled out a worn cardboard shoebox and fished out a key. He handed it to Cay and pointed her toward a back stairwell. "Ignore the yellow tape from the police. They ain't coming back to pick it up. Place at the top of the second stairs. It's a mess. I was thinking the girl might want to go through Mo's stuff when she's ready."

Cayenne felt nauseous as she saw the dark stains on the cramped bottom landing. She picked her way past the smudged, faded chalk outline and fallen yellow tape and walked up a flight and a half of a narrow stairways.

At the top of the half flight, she found a tucked-away, afterthought of a room that was marked off with more police tape. She brushed the tape aside and used the key to open the door into a tiny, battered room. It was the size of a large closet stuffed with a narrow cot, a small kitchen table, some glass doored cupboards, and a series of hooks on the wall. Filling every space in the room were boxes of feather, jewels, glue guns, thread, pins and hangers. Things were scattered and boxes were dumped over. The few cupboards in the kitchen all stood with their doors open and dishes were pulled out and scattered over the counter. Cay suspected the intruder failed to find what he was looking for.

Cayenne leaned over and picked up a hanger that had been tossed to the floor to make some room to stand. She held up the item. It held a bright yellow feathered vest that appeared to cover the chest and back. On the breastplate was an intricately beaded design depicting two Indians wrestling to the ground. She turned over the garment and saw a series of patches lining either side of the back outlined in jewels and portraying various stages of sunset intermingled with a dozen small yellow magnolias. She looked around the room and picking her way past an overturned chair and an empty box, she located two wings tossed on the floor near the cot. They spread out to either side in a magnificent fan of vibrating color, with tufts of white egret feathers dangling over the back side. The design and the effect was stunning.

The small table in the corner was covered with a spray of awls, scissors, thick thread and stout needles of several sizes. Squashed tubes of yellow paint and a selection of brushes were pushed to the floor. Cay noticed it was the exact color of the jewels stoned into the headdress. As Cay looked over the scene of hatred and rampage, she unconsciously ran her hands over the soft feathers and intricate beading to sooth the strong emotions rising inside her. An overwhelming sadness seem to fill her and spill into the stale air of the room. Mo was definitely planning to march again. Now, it looked like the Yellow Magnolias had passed into history.

She was brought out of her musings by the slam of a car door. She trudged over to the window and peered through the dingy, dirty pane. She was alarmed to see the same man that she had seen at the Rock 'n' Bowl and at Harrah's Casino parked across the street, right behind her own car. The man stopped, obviously recognizing Cay's Honda. He was beginning to cross the street.

Cay waited until he crossed out of sight line of the window and picking up a paint knife from the floor, she pried open the flimsy window. Peering out, she spied the rusty steps of the back stairs about six feet below. She hoisted herself over the window sill and flung herself down below onto the stairs, As she jumped, she reached out for a steadying handhold and sliced her palm badly on a rusted jagged piece of metal. She ignored the pain and the seeping blood as she pounded down the stairs and ran across the street, fumbling for her keys. She started her car and peeled out as quickly as she could. She took the first turn she could to get out of eyesight of the apartment and she pressed her palm against her pant's leg to stop the bleeding. She wondered when her last tetanus shot was. Her car was a block away from the apartment when she suddely remembered that she still had the key to the apartment in her pocket.

"I'll be back, old man." She said outloud. She drove as fast as she dared, until she felt safe enough to pull into a small convenience store. She gripped the steering wheel with her good hand and willed herself to be calm before going inside.

She wrapped her hands in the flimsy napkins available over near the hot dog machine and avoided eye contact with the store clerk as she purchased a Barq's root beer and asked for change in quarters. As she gulped down the sweet beverage, she kept an eye on the entrance from the pay phone tucked back by the potato chip rack and called her answering machine at the office to check messages. There was a follow-up phone call from Rufus. Thanks from a former client. An urgent sounding message from Kristina Guillames. Then the sickly sweet Southern accented voice of Dumont LaTourne. "Cay, dear, call me. I have some information for you about that little matter we discussed earlier."

Kristina's message was the first one she returned.

"Hey. I just checked my messages. What's up?" She asked when Kristina answered the phone at the Stew du Roux.

"I have some interesting information from the Tulane Library that you might be mighty interested in. And I have even more information from an afternoon of chickory and pecan pie with Sweet Babe Fontane. I think we need to talk. Do you still have the headdress?"

"Sure do. I tried to get rid of it, but it has come back to me in a most peculiar way."

"Darling, bring it by the store. And I suggest you borrow a seam ripper from one of those ladies at the Krewe du Couture. I think it's time to take a closer look."

Coming January 30, 2005:
CHAPTER NINE: Hang On To Your Hat!

Copyright by Aileen M. McInnis, 2005. All Right Reserved.