That Old Black Magic Read Free Page A

early in the morning.”
    They entered a small living area, furnished with a love seat and an armchair slipcovered with the same cabbage-rose-patterned chintz. A bistro table and two antique ice-cream-parlor chairs were tucked into the corner next to a door that led to a tiny kitchen with a sink, an oven-stove combination, and a small refrigerator.
    â€œThe bedroom and bathroom are down here,” said Marguerite as Piper followed her along the short hallway. Marguerite stopped at two panels of fabric that hung from the hall ceiling.
    â€œThis is your closet,” she said, pulling back the material.
    Piper looked in. “Plenty of room for my stuff,” she said. “What’s that door at the back?”
    â€œOh, that’s a dumbwaiter,” explained Marguerite. “We had it installed when we lived here. Before we expanded our kitchen downstairs, sometimes we’d have to use our oven up here when we were busy. It made it easy to send trays back and forth. We haven’t used it in a couple of years.”
    They continued on the tour. In the bedroom an ornate iron double bed was covered with a pale blue matelassé spread and strewn with white pillows. An alabaster lamp sat on the nightstand, while a small Oriental rug in shades of blue and gold lay beside the bed on the wood-plank floor. The tiny bathroom was dominated by a vintage claw-and-ball-footed tub.
    â€œI love that chandelier,” said Piper, admiring the miniature lighting fixture. “It makes this little bathroom look so elegant.”
    Marguerite nodded. “That came from Ellinore Duchamps’s antique shop across the street. She has wonderful things, great old furniture and jewelry. She specializes in the most fabulous candelabra and chandeliers. I bought all those chandeliers downstairs in the bakery from Ellinore. And those candlesticks in your living room are also from her place.
    â€œThe fridge is stocked with milk, orange juice, and sparkling water,” continued Marguerite as they walked back to the living area. “And the pods for the coffeemaker and sugar are in the cabinet.” She nodded at a cardboard box on the bistro table. “The beignets in there are for you, and of course you can help yourself to anything you want from the bakery downstairs.”
    â€œOh, you’re going to regret that.” Piper laughed. “I don’t know if I’ll have any restraint when it comes to sampling Boulangerie Bertrand pastries whenever I want. Good thing I’m not going to be here that long.”
    A s soon as Marguerite left, Piper kicked off her ballet flats, poured herself a glass of orange juice, and selected a powdered beignet from the bakery box. She walked to the French doors at the street side of the living room and opened them. A blast of warm air washed over her.
    She stepped out onto the balcony. Shiny necklaces of purple, green, and gold plastic beads still hung in the curlicues of the wrought-iron railings, vestiges of the recent Mardi Gras celebrations. Flower boxes filled with salmon, pink, and lavender salvia were affixed to the guardrails.
    Piper took a picture with her iPhone and posted it on Facebook. She tapped in a caption: GORGEOUS HERE IN THE CRESCENT CITY !
    She scanned the street, noting the signs for a café, a parfumerie, a bar, a voodoo shop, and a fortune-teller as well as the antique shop that Marguerite had mentioned. Piper was thinking that it would be fun to get her fortune told while she was in town, when she heard the man’s shout.
    â€œHey, you with the blond ponytail!”
    Piper’s head shot up, and she looked around.
    â€œOver here, cher. Across the street.”
    A tall, handsome man dressed in a rumpled linen shirt and blue jeans stood on a balcony over the antique shop. His brown hair was tousled, and his eyes squinted against the sun. Piper suspected that he was about her age, maybe a couple of years older. Good-naturedly, she waved back