Free Mystic Mayhem by Sally J. Smith

time.
    It lay face down on the floor. Other than the levitating painting, everything else in the room seemed normal.
    I got out of bed a third time, lifted the heavy painting, and carried it to the closet, slid it inside, shut the door. For good measure, I slid a chair up against the closet door.
    "Take that, Alphonse," I said, crawling back into bed. "You spend some time in the locker, old boy."
    Cat rolled over and looked at me before she reached to turn off the lamp. "Maybe Alphonse Villars has been hanging with Theodore Elway."

 
CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    I closed down Dragons and Deities at two forty Tuesday afternoon, later than I expected due to an unfortunate clog in one of my ink guns, which held me up about twenty minutes while I changed to another. I used the privacy screen to change out of my costume into a pair of crop pants and a camp shirt, locked the door, hung the closed sign, and scurried—like one of those awful swamp rats chasing us the night before—to the Presto-Change-o Room, where Jack sat waiting on a barstool.
    After I banished Alphonse Villars to the closet, I'd slept like a baby and was feeling pretty good.
    Jack was going to help me in my quest to get Fabrizio out of jail. It was as if a huge load had been lifted off my shoulders. Cat had good intentions and all, but I didn't think blaming the homicide on a pissed-off specter was going to be much help to Fabrizio. Besides, Deputy Quincy Boudreaux was a force of nature, and if he figured out that Cat was trying to dip her toe into his case, it would be like two storm fronts converging when they butted heads. This way she didn't have to worry about it, and I got to spend time with the rakish and intrepid Cap'n Jack.
    My last thought before walking into the Presto-Change-o Room was, I can't believe I called him Cap'n Jack to his face.
     
    *   *   *
     
    The Presto-Change-o Room was a combination bar and restaurant. It took the place of a coffee shop in the morning, a café during the day, a restaurant in the evening, and a club at night. Blues and jazz bands were often brought in to liven the place up on Friday and Saturday. The walls were a combination of wood painted turquoise with bright-yellow accents, and heavily stained oak around the bar and back bar. Tables with red-and-white checked tablecloths were set up all around a big open dance floor. Art posters of Louisiana food and drink lined the walls. At the far end of the room, a mural with a "Cajun" magician pulling a gator out of a hat covered the whole wall behind the bandstand.
    Jack had changed from his suit to a pair of khaki twills, a navy T-shirt, and pair of navy boat shoes. I'd never seen him dressed that way before. He was always Mr. Manhattan in his expensive business suits. But this way, he looked more like the buccaneer of my fantasies. The T-shirt showed off his tanned arms and fit like a glove, clinging to his lean torso and broad shoulders. The man somehow even managed to make khakis look good. It was going to be hard to concentrate on the investigation with him hanging around looking more delish than my grandmama's pecan pie with whipped cream on top. But I'd muddle through somehow.
    He swiveled on his stool when I walked up. "Hello." He managed to make it sound like, "Come with me to the Kasbah." I would have gone even if I didn't know where or what the Kasbah actually was. "Did you take time for lunch yet?"
    I shook my head.
    He picked up his drink, a tall iced tea with a sprig of mint, and led me to a nearby empty table, where he pulled out a chair and handed me a menu before sitting down across from me.
    Such a sweetie.
    When I expressed my preference for the crabmeat po'boy, he hopped up out of his chair, went to the bar, and put the order in. Couldn't ask for better service.
    I admired the rear view as he stood waiting, chin resting on one hand, one foot resting on the footrail.
    At the far end of the bar, a middle-aged guy with fairly new hair plugs, wearing a pair of