Cayenne decided to spend some time on Monday morning attending to some of her other cases. She met with an insurance adjustor working with the City of New Orleans to get some background on an insurance fraud case she was investigating. Then she dropped off some pictures from a recent stakeout to a client to wrap up an old case. Cayenne received her payment. Her client would receive her divorce.

She also paid a visit to the New Orleans Police Department to talk with Rufus about the Montana case. No, Detective Thibodeaux was out of the station pursuing another case, the station sergeant said. Just like that. Pur-soo-ing. Would she like to leave a name or have a conversation with his partner? The sergeant had obviously recently taken a community relations training.

Cayenne didn't bother. It wasn't an official case, so she assumed Rufus hadn't said much to his Mike Piéce about Frank Montana. Mike Piéce would only ask about Marcy anyway. He fell moon-pie in love with Marcy after last Mardi Gras, and it actually made Cay a little jealous.

She drove to Tulane University to visit the New Orleans history collection to do some research on the Mardi Gras Indians. There were many interesting articles about the history of the Indians and a few scholarly references. Cay noticed that most of them came from small, specialized journals and newsletters. Despite their fierce reputation, the material on the Yellow Magnolias was meager. There were a few references of old competitions and the Mags were listed on the internet website for the Indian Tribal Council. Next to their name was a large NOT ACTIVE after their status.

Moving to a different part of the library, she did a newspaper search on Frank Montana. She found only a small reference in the court blotter of the Times Picayune about Frank Montana being arrested and sentence in the beating of a man named James Harrison Mooney. Mooney died as a result of his injuries and Mo was sentenced to Angola for 10 to 15 years. He must have been released on good behavior, Cay figured, based on the math. His daughter became an adult without her father. She wondered why he wouldn't want to see her after all that time.

When she finally got back to her office by late afternoon, she could hear the phone ringing through the door as she fumbled with her keys.

"That phone be ringing all day long." Mambozo sang out in his Cuban accent, as she unlocked the door and walked in. "Someone needs to talk to you mighty fierce."

Cay picked it up before taking off her coat and tried to sound professional.

"Del Roi Investigations? Can I help you?"

"Hello, is this a Ms Del Roi, De-tec-tive?" A clipped educated voice with a touch of impatience asked.

"Yes sir, it is. What can I do for you?" She shrugged her coat off as she juggled the receiver in her hand.

"This is Mr. Dumont LaTourne calling from the N'awlins Museum of the Sons of the Confederacy. It has come to my attention that you are in contact with the Yellow Magnolias. This fact piques my interest tremendously."

"What is your interest in the Yellow Magnolias, sir?" She waited in silence.

"I also understand you are in the possession of some of the materials of the Yellow Magnolias. What exactly do you have?"

"How did you get my name?" Cay asked suspiciously. She didn't remember calling any museums about the Yellow Magnolias. In fact, she had never heard of the Sons of the Confederacy.

"We have a mutual acquaintance, Ms. Del Roi. That being said, I am particularly interested in a ceremonial Indian headdress that I believe is in the possession of a member of the Yellow Magnolias. It was stolen from our collection years ago and we strongly suspect a member of the tribe in question. We, of course," and she heard Dumont sniff, "want it back.

'Why, I do hope it finds its way into the rightful owner's hand." Cay said, her temper rising at the abrasive edge in LaTourne's voice.

"Let me assure you that the museum is the rightful owner. I have proof of ownership. We want that headdress back. I would like to leave you my number and ask you to call me if you have any more information as to the items whereabouts." He sniffed again and lectured condescendingly. "It is stolen property and we would not want to be arrested as a co-conspirator, now would we?"

"No sir" Cayenne said through gritted teeth, and answered back in an equally clipped voice. "We would not want to possess stolen property."

That was not a lie. She was hoping that Mo wasn't using her a fence for stolen property taken before he was locked up. She took Mr. LaTourne's information and excused herself from the phone call before she had to put up with anymore of the suffering idiot.

Mambozo had watched the conversation with concerned eyes. Contrary to his personality, though, he did not say a word after Cay hung up.

"It had to be Raynaldo that called him." Cay said out loud. She remembered the frantic phone call from Dash's after they had talked. She also remembered his cryptic comment about everyone wanting to talk about the old con. She knew that Eliah would never see the card that Cay sent through her boyfriend. Dumont probably already had it.

She steamed in her juices over the arrogance of Mr. Dumont LaTourne for about an hour before she decided to run it off. She left Mambozo behind to do research on a case of a suspicious book keeper for some small insurance company. He was becoming quite efficient at the keyboard, pecking away with his beak, though Cayenne had to get him his own keyboard since he ripped up hers beyond use.

She drove home to change into her running clothes and to leash up Roux. She planned to run through the French Quarter and mix pleasure with business by tracking down her friend Felix.

Her energy and temper allowed her to run hard, leaving her sweaty even though the air was cool and damp.

It was still early for the night life, but the streets were beginning to pick up the glow of the upcoming Mardi Gras season with spots of purple, green and gold in the lights, the street hangings, and the beads sparkling around people's necks. The city had that old, rundown feel to it, like a middle aged unemployed laborer with an all too frequent hangover. New Orleans was a tired, old city. But Cay loved soaking up the oldness, the sagging buildings that dated back to the 1800s and the European feel in the air.

As she ran, she kept hearing the funky beat of the Marching Arrows in her head. She smiled remembering Marcy playing the cowbell. But focusing her mind back on the case, she frowned realizing that Raynaldo had obviously been in the pocket of Dumont. She was hoping Felix might be able to give her some information about where to find Eliah Montana. Felix was a transplanted New Yorker who ran a Lucky Dog stand in the Quarter, selling late night hot dogs to partiers and tourists. He seemed to know everybody and if Eliah worked anywhere in the Quarter, Felix probably knew about it.

Pounding the cracked and uneven sidewalks and passing dark doorways, Cay had to admit to herself that she was also curious about Frank Montana.

"Lucky Dog! Get your Lucky Dog here!" She heard the New York accented voice booming his big voice down St Ann Street.

The Lucky Dog men of New Orleans built this city, Cay thought as she slowed her running to catch her breath. Built the city sidewise, that is. Roux perked up and strained against the leash when he heard Felix's voice. His little dog brain knew that Felix meant hot dogs.

Some small talk and a carefully placed twenty dollar bill opened up Felix's memory. As Cay figured, Felix knew Eliah. She didn't work in the Quarter, but had been waitressing over at Harrah's Casino in the Warehouse District for about a month.

"Big Chief's daughter seems to be a lot nicer than her old man," Felix said, spearing a piece of red hot dog from the water bin and feeding it to Roux. "He was a tough one. Best singer of all the Indian Chiefs, and always respectful, but he had one helluva chip on his shoulder. Eliah is hard working and straight. Works almost every night, I know the manager of the Jazz Lounge there at the casino and he says he wishes he had a dozen like her."

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

Cay found a spot in the Jazz Lounge in Eliah's section. She had run home, changed into a semi-slinky black sparkle dress that draped over one shoulder and transferred her wallet and keys into a beaded purse. She was trying to fit into the lounge clientele and was hoping the fancy clothes would make up for the obviously weathered and worn box she was carrying.

Eliah was easy to find. It was a slow night at the Casino. She was older than she was in the picture and much taller than Cay had figured. She carried herself with a certain pride and her gracefulness when talking with her customers was evident even at a distance.

Like an Indian Princess, Cay thought.

"Welcome to the Jazz Lounge," she said coming to Cay's table and placing a cocktail napkin in front of her. "What can I get you this fine evening?"

"Eliah," Cay said. " My name is Cayenne McKenzie Del Roi. I am a private investigator and I have a message from your father. Can you take a break to talk to me?"

Eliah was taken aback. Then her look of surprise turned to suspicion. "Who sent you?'

Cay took the package from the chair next to her. "Your father hired me to deliver this package to you. He said it was important to the family and the tribe that you get this."

Eliah couldn't speak for a moment. She reached out and touched the box, recognizing the handwriting. Then she said, "Give me five minutes. I'm scheduled for break in a half hour, but it's slow tonight."

When she returned, she had a tall glass of Perrier with a lime in her hand. She folded her long, tall frame into the chair next to Cay. "I didn't know he was out. He didn't even tell me."

"He said it was not safe for him to contact you himself." Cay offered. "He hired me because we have a mutual friend." She pushed the box toward Eliah.

Eliah again touched the box, then took her long red fingernail on her index finger and ran it along the tape that Frank had pressed so carefully back against the box. Just like her father, she carefully and tenderly unfolded the tissue paper and pulled out the headdress. She seemed overwhelmed and her eyes filled with tears.

The she threw it on the table. "This damn headdress. I wish it had never come back into our lives."

Cay was shocked. "But this is an heirloom! Your father wanted you to have it."

Eliah's hands flew to her mouth. "I'm sorry, Ms. Del Roi. Please excuse me. But this headdress is what sent my father to jail in the first place. He lived more for this than for me." She picked up the headdress and laid it back into the box, but not before she saw a small envelope nested at the bottom with her name printed out in block letters.

"At least he left a note," Eliah said, ironically. "Thank you, Ms. Del Roi. I appreciate you tracking me down and making good on your promise."

Cay got up from the table, knowing that she should leave Eliah to her privacy to read the letter from her father. Before she left, she turned to Eliah and asked. "Excuse me, Ms. Montana. Have you ever heard of a Mr. Dumont LaTourne? Did your father ever mention him? Or Raynaldo?"

The mention of Raynaldo caught Eliah's attention. She looked and thought a moment. "Not familiar with the name," she answered distractedly. Her eyes fell back to the letter in her hands.

"Mr. LaTourne seems to think that this headdress is his. Would you let me know if he tries to contact you?" Cay put her card on the table.

Eliah nodded and resumed reading her father's letter.

Cayenne left Eliah and walked towards the entrance. Not far from the lounge, she stopped at a bank of slot machines. She reached in her purse and pulled a five dollar bill from her wallet and fed it into a Super Diamonds Dollar slot. She played slowly, pressing the spin button and looking intently at the spinning columns in front of her.

She wasn't trying to win anything.

Upon leaving the Jazz Lounge, she noticed that the same man who had been hanging out at the Rock 'n' Bowl was playing black jack at the nearby table. She waited until he was dealt a new hand. At that moment he lifted his cards and looked down to see what he had been dealt, she left her machine spinning as she ducked and scooted along the bank of machines. She took a side exit out onto the street.

As the cool, moist air brushed her face, Cayenne wondered if it was Mr. Dumont LaTourne who was having her followed.

Coming January 18, 2005:
CHAPTER FIVE: King Cake and A Suspicious Corpse

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