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    her son’s forehead with her hand resting lightly on the lady’s arm. “We’re
    going out for a while, Sweetie. We won’t be too long. Will you be a good boy
    for Miss C?”
    The boy pursed his lips and nodded firmly, wiggled his
    fingers into something like a wave. He regarded the detective with wide
    doe-eyes but didn’t speak. As she stepped through the door Sherry held open for
    her, Mary flashed a brief, grateful smile back into the apartment. But the woman
    didn’t notice it, her green eyes were also staring at Sherry, hers more
    sharply.
    “Lucky you got her to help the two o’ you. Seems like a nice
    lady.” Sherry remarked over his shoulder, holding the handrail and leading the
    way down the dark of the unlighted stairwell. He asked with a tad more
    curiosity than just making small talk, “Know ‘er long?”
    “Since we got down here. I guess we’ve known her about all
    Brian’s life, come to think of it. She lived in the apartment next to us when
    we first came down. We were by ourselves, she lived by herself. Mrs. Cloutier’s
    kind of his second mother. Watches him like a mother hen, or maybe more like a
    hawk.” She laughed softly. “Aren’t those eyes of hers something? Poor old soul
    doesn’t have any family of her own.”
    Neither do we , she thought, but didn’t say it as
    light burst through the opened street level door.
    “Thinkin’ we oughta trya mess of them beignets down’t the
    Monde.” He pointed the direction with a nod of the homburg as they stepped
    blinking onto the east side of Ursulines, the sidewalk painted citrine by this
    hour’s sun.
    As he walked his toes pointed outward and he rocked back and
    forth like a tipsy penguin. “Been awhile fer me. Usta be in there most ever
    day,” he chuckled and patted above his belt. “LaDonna . . . my wife . . . she
    usta say I’s down there way too much. Cops us’ly get ‘em for free, you know.
    They seemed to like havin’ us hangin’ ‘round, cops that is. ‘Specially these
    days, you know?”
    “So . . . the rumors about cops and donuts are accurate,
    Detective?”
    She smiled at her companion, unexpectedly relieved to be
    walking outdoors and breathing in the afternoon air. And relieved to be out of
    the worry waiting behind in the cramped rooms of the apartment, feeling a few
    moments of anonymity and security on the crowded narrow walks of the French
    Quarter.
    “Call me Sherry, Hon. Most everbody does. Hell, even ol’
    Mayor Moon did.” He spread his palms grandly. “Those were the days. This was a
    great city back then, I’ll tell ya. Great place then. Great place to live . . .
    live ‘nd work.”
    He sighed pensively and added after a moment. “Course not
    everythin’ was run ‘xactly cordin’ to the book, ya understand. ‘Specially down
    here. But the place ran, ya know?” He rubbed the side of his face, the hat
    moved back and forth like it was having its own bout of nostalgia. “Lot
    diff’rent now. Anymore . . . hard to tella forest from the trees.”
    “How long till you give it up?”
    She slowed her steps to meet his saunter.
    “Oh, heck. Don’ know, really,” he drawled distantly. “Could
    go ahead and do it now, I s’pose . . . maybe I should. Hate to lose touch with
    everthin’ though, you know? Not sure what I’d do. Wife, LaDonna, she passed a
    bit ago . . . cancer. Long bout.”
    The hat shook again, his voice was matter-of-fact.
    “Too old to party with those kids on the force, that’s for
    shore. Done somea that after she uh, she went, ya know. . .prob’ly done morea
    that ‘n I shoulda.”
    He smiled shyly, theatrically raised the back of his hand to
    his forehead.
    “Too old. Cain’t take them mornin’s any more, ya know?”
    They walked for a few steps before he exhaled audibly and
    muttered at the sidewalk like she wasn’t there. “Sure ain’t the same these
    days. Things’s become confusin’. Cops down here still don’t make any money. Now
    they’re