Page 22 of Midnight at the Magnolia

My heart races, hoping against hope that this is it, that she’s finally going to let me in. Or at least explain the yodeling thing.

But then the moment passes. She straightens, mask firmly back in place. “I’m sorry, but I really don’t know anything that could help your investigation. Unless you need tips on how to get ketchup stains out of a uniform. In which case, I’m your girl.”

As I watch her walk away, I feel a mix of frustration and admiration. Celeste is a labyrinth, and I’m Theseus without a thread, willing to get lost forever if it means reaching the center. Or at least finding a decent cup of coffee along the way.

The diner buzzes with the low hum of conversation and the clatter of plates. In a corner booth, I spot Jazz Reynaud, local musician with rumored connections to the city’s underbelly. Our eyes meet briefly before he turns back to his coffee.

Lauren’s voice:“Sometimes the best sources are the ones hiding in plain sight.”

As I nurse my coffee, my mind wanders back to the case. Or at least it should. Instead, I find myself tracking the precise way she moves between tables, the rhythm of her steps like some complicated dance I’m trying to memorize without meaning to.

Davis. The name keeps coming up, again and again. A man with a spotless public image and a private life shrouded in rumor and innuendo.

What’s his connection to all this? And how far would he go to keep his secrets buried? Knowing my luck, probably far enough to make my life a living hell for the foreseeable future.

My phone buzzes just as I’m leaving. The message makes my blood run cold:

Unknown: Meet me at the old warehouse on Tchoupitoulas Street. Midnight. Come alone if you want the truth. - C

Lauren’s voice is immediate and sharp:“It’s a trap. You know it’s a trap. Are you really going to walk into it anyway?”

Yes. Yes, I am.

As midnight approaches, my heart races with a potent mix of anticipation and dread. The weight of the gun at my hip is both a comfort and a reminder of the danger I’m walking into. Images of the victims flash through my mind —the politician, the socialite, the businessman, another businessman, and now the fixer.

What connects them?

What am I missing?

Besides, apparently, a healthy sense of self-preservation.

I think of Celeste, of the way she looked at me in the diner. There was fear in her eyes, yes, but also something else. A longing, a desperation. Is she a victim in all this too? Or is she playing me, using my attraction to her as a smokescreen? Or amI just projecting my own confused feelings onto her like some lovesick teenager?

The warehouse looms before me at midnight, a hulking shadow against the star-studded sky. Every lesson Lauren ever taught me screams that this is wrong—no backup, poor visibility, too many entry points to cover.

“At least clear the scene properly,”her voice sighs in resignation.

I move through the space with mechanical precision, checking corners, noting exits, marking potential cover. The rusted door creaks open, the sound echoing in the cavernous space like a gunshot.

“Celeste?” I call out, one hand on my weapon.

Lauren’s final lesson plays in my head:“Sometimes the truth is more dangerous than the lie. Are you sure you’re ready for either?”

But there’s nothing. No response. Only the rapid beating of my heart and the weight of every choice that led me here.

I’m completely and utterly alone.

Just me and Lauren’s ghost, waiting to see which will kill me first—the truth about Celeste, or my need to uncover it.

8

CELESTE

CRIME WATCH NOLA

Witness describes Viper as “moving like a ghost.” Security footage shows figure with professional training. FBI profiler suggests military or law enforcement background.

The Magnolia Dinerhums with its usual morning bustle, but something feels off. My protection sachet seems to burn against my hip—rue for warding and yarrow for courage warning of danger, just like Grandma taught me. Every clatter of plates, every scrape of cutlery sets my nerves on edge. I move on autopilot, pouring coffee and taking orders while cataloging exits and threats out of habit.

---