Lizette closed her eyes. “Trust me. Harm was done.”
When she hung up the phone, she scrolled through her email and found that she had been quite the busy shopper. “Oh dear.” She had purchased twelve-hundred-dollar Christian Louboutin shoes, probably in a drunken attempt to replace the shoes that had been lost somewhere along the way.
She had purchased several new blouses, a Chanel lipstick in Rich Red, and an excessively large amount of sexy underwear. A lot of underwear, all in lace and sheer materials, in soft shades of pink and ivory. Then there was a red number that was one piece, and when she clicked on the image to expand it, she read the description. It was a crotchless teddy. Apparently she had been much more than drunk the night before. She had been horny. Which was confirmed by the next email, which showed she had purchased a substantial vibrator with remote-control operation.
Clearing her throat, she closed the email quickly and glanced over at Johnny, worried that he was watching her. He was. He raised his eyebrows. “Everything okay?”
“I may have overspent with some online shopping last night.” She picked her phone back up. “Around four a.m. We must have been apart at that time as I can’t imagine you were interested in helping me online shoe shop.” Though he might have been all or partially responsible for the other purchases. A sudden thought occurred to her. Those had been American sales sites written in English. Clicking on the lingerie email, she groaned out loud.
“Damn it! Not only did I spend nearly two thousand dollars in sexy high heels and lingerie, I entered the shipping address as your apartment!”
“What? Let me see.”
While she was still recovering from the knowledge that she was a slutty shopaholic who clearly didn’t even remember her own address when intoxicated, Johnny looked at her emails. Belatedly she realized that meant he would see what she . . .
“You ordered a vibrator?” Johnny yelled much louder than she appreciated. “I don’t know whether to be turned on or offended.”
“It was probably your idea!” she said, suddenly wanting to laugh. This was all so ridiculous. “Same for the lingerie.”
His eyes had widened and he pinched the screen on her phone to expand the picture of the red scrap of lace. “Yeah, this might have been my idea. I could totally picture you wearing this and honestly, it’s making my pants hurt.”
“I can’t picture me wearing that.” She couldn’t. That wasn’t her style. She was more of a turn-off-the-lights-and-never-look kind of woman.
“Hey, Lizette?”
“Yes?”
Johnny handed her the phone back. “I know you were saying a little while ago that you were planning to return to Paris soon, but um, it looks like you canceled your return flight.” He pointed to an email from the airline.
“What?” She scanned the email. She had canceled her return flight and had shipped a bunch of panties to Johnny’s apartment. In her drunken mind, had she been planning to stay longer? That was either one compelling drug she had taken or he was impressive in bed. “I suppose it doesn’t matter at this point, since the damage is done, but what on earth was I thinking?”
“I don’t think we were. Though I have to say, your choice of vibrator intrigues me. That is no baby carrot.”
Her cheeks burned. “You are incorrigible.”
He laughed. “I’m just speaking the truth.”
Unfortunately, he had a point. “I imagine if I act quickly, I can cancel some of these purchase orders.”
“Now where would the fun be in that? I say we get the party started.” Johnny winked at her.
Lizette rolled her eyes. “Are you ready to leave? By the way, I am assuming you were unable to reach Saxon?”
“No, he didn’t pick up. I called Stella and Zelda is fine. She was dehydrated, so they gave her fluids.”
“I’m glad she is well, though I find being drugged more than a little unnerving.”
“You’re an investigator, right? How would you approach finding out what happened?”
“I would start with the guest list and question the caterer as to who she saw in the kitchen before the punch was brought out. But honestly, it could have been anyone. It was just sitting on that table for hours, yes?”
“I would think so.” Johnny picked up their empty glasses. “You ready?”
“Yes.” They stood in tandem.
“We need to cover your shirt,” Johnny said. “The blood is a little too realistic looking. Let’s see if Saxon has a jacket or something.”
He had a point. Lizette imagined she looked like a secretary who had been stabbed. It was not conducive to blending in.
“This will work.” Johnny pulled an olive-colored button-up sweater off the couch. Trying not to wrinkle her nose, she let him drape it over her shoulders, effectively covering her back and shielding her handcuffed hand from view.
It smelled like patchouli and didn’t match her outfit, but she supposed she had no right to be picky. Johnny smiled at her. “You look adorable. Like Mister Rogers.”
She had no idea who that was, but she suspected it wasn’t a comparison she was going to like. Nor did she have it in her to suggest they stop at the drugstore so she could purchase a pack of panties, which was what she really wanted to do.
* * *
THERE WAS NO way Lizette looked like Mister Rogers, but it was amusing to Johnny to see the old-man sweater draped over her. She looked exactly like what she was—an elegant, classy woman who had taken her hair out of her bun and had some fun. Johnny just wished he could remember it.
As they left Saxon’s, he said, “Does all this architecture here in the Quarter remind you of home? I’ve never been to Paris.”
“Actually, the majority of this is Spanish architecture. Most of the French buildings burned down in the late eighteenth century. It does feel very European though.”
Of course she knew the history of New Orleans better than he did, because she was that kind of woman. Intelligent and well-read, and in desperate need of someone to shove her slightly off balance so she didn’t end up shitting diamonds. He was just the man to do it.
“Is that so?” he asked her mildly. “It looks as French as a poodle to me.”
“Poodles originated in Germany.”
Johnny laughed. “Thanks, Miss Encyclopedia Britannica. This is why I like hanging out with older women.”
“Older women? Pardon!”