Cover to Covers (21 page)

The clip clop of horse drawn carriages
blended with the roar of passing tour buses on Decatur Street. Tyler breathed in the heavy air laden with the aroma of rich coffee and frying beignets from Café Du Monde across the street.

He
viewed the line of artists who had set up shop along the black iron fence. “You never told me about your aunt.”

“She died when I was sixteen. Aunt Mags was a real character.”

“How did she die?” Tyler inquired, inspecting the arches of the Cabildo Museum up ahead.

“
Mags had emphysema,” Monique told him. “She smoked like a chimney.”

He turned to her. “Didn’t your mother have
that, too?”

“
Yes, along with frequent bouts of pneumonia. The last time Mom got really sick, she never recovered and that was when Dad asked me to come home from college. That last year with her was pretty tough.”

He stopped beneath the shadows of the Cabildo Museum.
“I don’t know which is worse, seeing them go before your eyes, or always wondering if they are gone.”

“I think the not knowing would be worse,” she
proposed as they turned down St. Peter Street to the left of the Cabildo. “You can put it behind you eventually when you see them go, but with your brother it will never end, will it? The not knowing where he is or if he is alive must be hell.”

“
It also makes you very angry. You keep asking why, but you never get answers, and that hurts worst of all.” He took in the tourists around them on the street. “Everyone needs answers. We need closure to move on. When we can’t move on, we fester, we tire, and we give up.”

“Don’t give up
, Ty. One day you’ll find the answers you need.”

E
ncouraged by words, Tyler could not help but smile. “You’re the first person to ever say that to me. Both of my wives told me to put it behind me, but I never could.”

She shrugged as they walked on.
“Maybe they never understood how much Peter meant to you.”

“I think the
women I married were too into themselves to notice what was important to me.”

Monique
held his hand. “Yes, Hadley did seem a tad bit self-centered.”

“Just a tad,” he
returned as she urged him forward.

O
n Royal Street, Tyler admired the tightly compact Creole architecture and overhead balconies draped in elegant swirls of black wrought iron.

“This way. It’s about three blocks up
,” Monique said, pulling him to the left.

When Tyler
passed before a window showcasing decorative perfume bottles, a recollection stirred. “What book was it where you wrote about this place?” 

“
Margot’s Passion.
It was the one about a woman who had a perfume business in the French Quarter and fell in love with the shopkeeper next door. They longed for each other for years, but never got together until the woman became very ill.”

Tyler was suddenly struck by an idea. “That was about your aunt, wasn’t it? The one you just told me about, Mags?”

She gazed about at the quaint stucco-covered buildings painted in a variety of colors. “Mags was short for Margot. There was a shopkeeper she was in love with who was on the next block down on Royal Street. His name was Riley, like in the book, but he and my aunt never got together before he was killed in a motorcycle accident. My aunt cried for days after she found out. I guess I wanted to give her the happy ending she always wanted with Riley, so I wrote their story.” 

“But I seem to remember Riley
looked an awful lot like me.”

She gave him a flirtatious side-glance. “Yeah, well
, I took a little poetic license, but the good intention was there.”

“This book you just finished. How did it end, will you tell me?”

“I’ll send you a copy when it comes out,” she kidded.

He
jerked on her hand, stopping her. “I would like to read it before then, Moe.”

“What I wrote isn’t some kind of glimpse into the future, Ty. It’s just a story.”

He stared into her eyes, purposefully keeping her waiting for his response. “It may not be how you mean for us to end, but it offers some insight into your thoughts, and your feelings. All your books do.”

She pulled her hand
away from him. “In that case, I’d better not let you look at it.”

His deep, harmonious laughter made several people on the street
look their way. “You’re going to let me read it, even if I have to tie you to your bed while I do it.”

She cocked one eyebrow at him. “Promise?”

He stretched his arm about her shoulders. “We’d better get to this restaurant soon, before I change my mind.”

Brennan’s Restaurant was located in the old Morphy Mansion that had once been the home to the celebrated chess player,
Paul Morphy, who died there in 1884. The restaurant had been at that location since 1956, and was renowned for decadent breakfasts and the creation of the world famous Bananas Foster.

“I have never eaten here before,” Tyler
divulged as they entered the double doors under the black canopy at 417 Royal Street.

They walked into a narrow entranceway with potted ferns against white-painted walls, taupe floors, and a
lavish twenty-four light, crystal-beaded chandelier hanging before a wide archway.

Tyler breathed with restraint as the smell of heady Cajun spices commingled with an acrid odor
of something akin to burnt sugar lingered in the air. As they stood before a dark oak reception desk, he leaned closer to Monique.

“What is that funny smell?”

“Bananas Foster. Whenever you walk in here, the place reeks of it. It’s the sugar, cinnamon, and banana liqueur they use to make it.”

A tall hostess with
short black hair led them to the main dining room where round tables were decorated with dark umber tablecloths placed atop white ones. Pale pink carnations set in glass vases adorned the center of the tables, while paintings of the French Quarter hung on the beige-colored walls.

“We are serving breakfast in our main dining room because
there is a business breakfast meeting taking place on the patio this morning. I hope this will do?” the hostess asked as she motioned to a table by a wall of windows.

“This will be fine,” Tyler
stated as they were seated.

She placed their
tall red menus over the white plates embossed with the Brennan’s logo of a rainbow-colored rooster. “Your server is Sheldon, and he will be right with you.” The dark-eyed beauty quickly walked away.

Tyler motioned to the empty dining room.
“No one is here.”

“It’s early yet.” Monique perused her menu.

Outside the wide picture windows was a lush green courtyard with an assortment of men in suits sitting about the black iron tables.

“Reminds me of me
,” he added, pointing to the windows.

She turned to the window
s. “Do you have company meetings at restaurants?”  

“Twice a year we hold the board of directors meetings at different restaurants in Dallas. Then every quarter, I meet with
my department heads at a dinner meeting, held at some tastefully expensive, but equally boring restaurant. And then there are the assorted personal meetings I have to attend with clients. I think I spend half my time in restaurants, having meetings.”

“
What do you do when you’re not working?”

Tyler opened his menu.
“When I’m done at the office I go home, check e-mails, watch the news, return missed phone calls, and then go to bed. When I’m not working, I’m still working.”

“But what do you do for fun? You must have something you enjoy doing other than running your company?”

“My time is so consumed by Propel that it’s hard to have any kind of life. Coming to see you is the first real vacation I’ve had in years.”

She
closed her menu, skeptically eyeing him. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“I don’t like that look. You’re analyzing me again, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not. Merely wondering what happens to us when you go back to your company? Will I get lost in the shuffle?”

He closed his menu.
“Of course not. We’ll work something out.”

“Work something out?” She let out a callous snicker.

He put his tall red menu to the side of his plate. “You could consider moving to Dallas.”

“Moving to Dallas? Don’t you think it’s a bit soon to be discussing this?”

“Soon? We’ve known each other over twenty years, Moe. How slow do we need to go?”

She
slapped her menu down on her plate. “I’m not talking about how fast we are moving, I’m talking about—”

“Monique, is that you?”
someone called from the arched entrance to the dining room.

When
Tyler turned, a man in a black, double-breasted suit was coming toward their table.

“Oh, shit,” Monique
quietly cursed beside him.

Somewhere around middle age, the stranger
appeared to be very fit, like he worked out with weights, and had the self-assured swagger of someone who was very much into their body. As he halted before their table, Tyler analyzed the man’s sloping nose, flat cheekbones, receding chin, and soft jaw, and was instantly reminded of a rat.

“I thought that was you
,” the visitor announced, pocketing his cell phone. 

“Mat.” Monique quickly stood from her chair. “What are you doing here?”

The distress in her voice surprised Tyler. His eyes returned to Mat as the realization hit him.
So this was the asshole ex-husband?

Mat came up to Monique’s side and gently
pecked her cheek. “I am here for a breakfast meeting with my medical group.”

She motioned to Tyler. “Mat, I…I want you to meet—”

“Tyler Moore.” Tyler stood from the table and held out his hand.

“Dr. Mathew Klein.” Mat’s voice was
higher than Tyler would have expected from someone who tried so hard to give off an air of masculine superiority. “Tyler Moore? Why does that name sound familiar?”

“Tyler is an old friend from Dallas,” Monique quickly interjected.

Mat’s beady brown eyes examined Tyler from head to toe. “You’re not the same Tyler Moore who dated Monique when she was at SMU?”

Tyler nodded his head and diverted his
gaze to Monique. “Afraid so.”

Mat brushed a comma of light brown hair from his brow.
“What brings you to New Orleans, Tyler?”

“Tyler is in town to visit,” Monique explained. “We ran into each other last weekend at a con
vention I was attending in Dallas. We thought we would…catch up.”

“Catch up?
” Mat’s rodent-like features reflected his disapproval. “I’m stunned he could pull you away from that computer of yours. God knows I never could.” He raised his head to Tyler. “Do you know she put you in all of her books?”

“
Really?” Tyler gave Monique a brilliant smile. “No, I didn’t know that.”

“Yes, Monique said you made an unforgettable character,” Mat replied with an insolent smirk.

“Well, Moe left quite an impression on me, as well. We were once crazy about each other. I even wanted to marry her, but she knew I wasn’t ready.”

Mat
turned to his ex-wife. “You never told me that, Monique.”

Tyler placed his hands behind his back, beginning to enjoy himself.

“So, ah, Mat?” Monique’s voice wavered slightly. “I’m surprised we ran into you.”

Mat
motioned to the patio beyond the picture window. “Yes, I was going to make a call when I saw you sitting in here with…him.” He nodded to Tyler.

“Yes, we came in for breakfast,” Tyler elaborated. “Moe told me this is something of a New Orleans tradition.”

Mat’s smirk slipped a little. “How long are you in town for, Tyler?”

Tyler grinned. “Until Moe kicks me out.”

Mat’s dark eyebrows went up. “You’re staying with Monique?”

Tyler’s grinned deepened. “It allows us even more time together to…catch up.”

Monique’s red face dropped to the floor.

“Well, that is…something.” Mat’s obvious discomfort hung in the air like the pungent aroma of
Bananas Foster.

“Yes, it is.” Tyler kept his eyes on the stocky man, making sure to accentuate his added height over the condescending doctor.

“I should be going.” Mat patted Monique’s shoulder. “I just wanted to say hello.”

Monique
took her chair. “Good to see you, Mat.”

When Mat’s
brown eyes rose to Tyler, the dislike in them was palpable. “Tyler, it was nice to finally meet you.”