Page 43 of Our Lips Are Sealed
An ache long buried cracked open in Evie’s chest. “I see,” she said. “And do you know if we’re in trouble for keeping the truth from him? Mathis fed him some lies about health complications.”
“I’m not sure what exactly he knows, but Liam thought there might be a connection to her death and his case.”
The agent’s curiosity was understandable, but he was wrong. Their mother’s death had nothing to do with the murders of those innocent girls. Laura Jean died at the hands of a woman she’d considered family, struck down in what should have been the happiest of times.
“Did you tell him about Rebecca?”
The name left a sour taste on Evie’s tongue. No one ever spoke of her. They didn’t need to. She haunted them all to this very day. While the world may have long forgotten Rebecca Miller, her memory lived on in those who strived to let her go but couldn’t.
“I didn’t have a chance. We started arguing, and that’s when he told me about you and Samuel,” Jamison went on. “Then he accused me of throwing myself at him as a distraction. Like I was there solely to seduce him so he’d stop asking questions.”
Evie grimaced. “That was kind of the idea.”
The admission got Jamison’s attention. “Excuse me?”
Exhausted, and not wanting to start another fight, Evie headed to the elevators. “Come on, let’s go check out your room. I know Samuel’s going to be super pissy when he gets here, but I’m kind of happy that I don’t have to listen to you snore.”
“I don’t snore!”
As they passed the front desk, Evie stopped and asked for directions to the Maison Bourbon. “Head out our main entrance and go right. Take a left on St. Louis and then a right on Bourbon,” the clerk said. “You can’t miss it.”
“What’s the Maison Bourbon?” Jamison asked.
It was too much to explain, and Evie shrugged. “Just a jazz place I want to see.”
They entered the hotel room, and Evie set her bag by the door. She didn’t own any luggage, using one of the shopping bags she’d accumulated while out with Micah the day before. Thankfully, she had tossed in clothes just in case.
Jamison unpacked, hanging the outfit she planned to wear when they met their grandmother in the closet. A pretty pink vintage swing dress usually saved for Easter Sundays when Annabeth forced them toattendchurch by watching the local service on tv.
“What did you bring to wear for tomorrow?”
Evie dug around in the bag, finding a pair of jeans and a semi-decent shirt. “Something comfortable.”
When she was done unpacking, Jamison said she wanted to go out and explore the Quarter.
“I think we need to wait for Samuel.”
“Come on,” Jamison whined. “It’ll be fun, and you said you wanted to see that jazz club.”
Evie groaned. “Alright, but nothing too crazy and no dark alleyways.”
Outside, the already warm spring weather had taken a turn, becoming a humid hellscape. A sheen of sweat coated Evie’s skin, and as the day wore on, she became increasingly thankful for the delicious slaps of air conditioning that hit at each of the shops Jamison dragged her into.
Close to sunset, they finally made it to the Maison. “Was it really necessary to buy voodoo dolls?” Evie asked when they entered. “They’re not even good replicas of the real thing.”
The Maison Bourbon was exactly like the pictures she’d found online and everything a jazz club should be. Exposed brick walls, dark wood accents, and a corner section for performers. In the rear was a spiral staircase that led to a balcony, which she had read overlooked Bourbon Street.
“I’m going to name one Liam and one Samuel,” Jamison proclaimed, making the dolls dance in the air together. “I bought some cursed needles to shove up their butts while we drink.”
Finding a set of chairs, Evie sat, taking the dolls and bags from Jamison. “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” she said. “Now go put that corporate credit card to use and get us some wine.”
While Jamison dealt with the bartender, Evie sat watching dusk settle over the city through the Maison’s open doors. The night crowd roamed, bringing with it every type of human, and some not-so-human, revelers to the streets.
Returning with two glasses of red, Jamison took the seat next to her. “What will you say to Samuel when he gets here?”
“I’m not sure,” Evie replied, being honest. “What are you going to say to Cohen?”
“Fuck off.”
