afford any more delays.
Five
A fter a hair-raising landing and the discovery that his baggage was somewhere he was not, Luke Kelly had arrived in New Orleans. After filing a report with the airline about his lost suitcase, he hailed a cab.
“Where to, suh?” the driver asked.
Luke hesitated. He didn’t know whether to waste time registering at a hotel or implement his search. The tenuousness of locating people who had already been displaced by the flood made him nervous, but it was almost midnight. It was doubtful that anyone, even transients, would be on the move at this time of night, so, given the circumstances, he opted for getting a room.
“Is it possible to get to the Marriott?” he asked.
“Yes, suh, I believe so, but unless you have a reservation, your chances of staying there aren’t good. Heard on the radio some time ago that hotels are fillin’ up fast.”
“Got any suggestions?” Luke asked.
“Let me make a couple of calls and we’ll go from there,” the driver said. A minute or so later, he turned around. “We’re in luck, suh. There’s a fine bed-and-breakfast on the dry side of town that has a couple of spare rooms. They’re holdin’ one for you.”
“I really appreciate this,” Luke said.
“It’s my pleasure,” the cabdriver said. “Just sit back and relax. I’ll have you there in no time.”
In less than thirty minutes, they had arrived. Luke glanced at his watch as he got out of the cab. It was fifteen minutes after one in the morning.
“You’ll be comfortable here,” the cabdriver said. “The owner is a retired detective from the Naw’leans Police Department.”
Luke nodded thoughtfully. This was good news. His host might be able to help in more ways than just furnishing a bed. After paying off the driver, he turned around, getting his first good look at the Sleepy Hollow Bed and Breakfast. The house was single-story and surrounded by large weeping willows with limbs that hung low to the ground. Something that might have been wisteria grew up the side of the house and onto the roof. Dodging the puddles and wet shrubbery, he headed toward the well-lit veranda, only to be met by the owner, who was in his pajamas and robe.
Armand Louiston was a tall, spare man with thinning hair and a gimpy leg. He opened the door wide, smiling at Luke as he came up the front steps.
“Welcome to Sleepy Hollow Bed and Breakfast,” he said. “My name is Armand Louiston.” Then he frowned. “Don’t you have any luggage?”
“Last I heard, it’s probably somewhere over Iowa,” Luke said, as he entered the lobby behind his host. “Now that I have an address, I’ll need to call the airline to tell them where to deliver it.”
“Did they give you a number to call?” Armand asked, as he scurried behind the desk.
Luke nodded.
“Give it to me. I’ll be happy to call them for you. At any rate, they’ll need special directions on how to get here. Most of the usual routes are under water.”
“Thanks,” Luke said, and handed him the card the airline had given him.
“It is my pleasure,” Armand said, and picked a room key from the rack behind the desk. “I’m giving you the Blue Room. I trust you will rest well tonight. If you have need of anything, there is an intercom in your room. Press zero and it will ring in my room.”
“I’ll be fine,” Luke said.
“Follow me, then, and I’ll show you to your room.”
Luke followed Louiston down the hall, taking absent note of the way his bathrobe flapped about his ankles and the uneven rhythm of his stride.
“Here we are,” Armand said, stopped at a room on their right, unlocked a door and then handed Luke the key. “I’m going to call the airline. Sleep well.”
Luke stifled a yawn as he entered the room. His first impression was that he’d just entered an Egyptian tomb. Pale blue walls, with a blue and gold geometric border that encircled the walls about a foot below the ceiling. A bronze bust of a Pharaoh set
Five
A fter a hair-raising landing and the discovery that his baggage was somewhere he was not, Luke Kelly had arrived in New Orleans. After filing a report with the airline about his lost suitcase, he hailed a cab.
“Where to, suh?” the driver asked.
Luke hesitated. He didn’t know whether to waste time registering at a hotel or implement his search. The tenuousness of locating people who had already been displaced by the flood made him nervous, but it was almost midnight. It was doubtful that anyone, even transients, would be on the move at this time of night, so, given the circumstances, he opted for getting a room.
“Is it possible to get to the Marriott?” he asked.
“Yes, suh, I believe so, but unless you have a reservation, your chances of staying there aren’t good. Heard on the radio some time ago that hotels are fillin’ up fast.”
“Got any suggestions?” Luke asked.
“Let me make a couple of calls and we’ll go from there,” the driver said. A minute or so later, he turned around. “We’re in luck, suh. There’s a fine bed-and-breakfast on the dry side of town that has a couple of spare rooms. They’re holdin’ one for you.”
“I really appreciate this,” Luke said.
“It’s my pleasure,” the cabdriver said. “Just sit back and relax. I’ll have you there in no time.”
In less than thirty minutes, they had arrived. Luke glanced at his watch as he got out of the cab. It was fifteen minutes after one in the morning.
“You’ll be comfortable here,” the cabdriver said. “The owner is a retired detective from the Naw’leans Police Department.”
Luke nodded thoughtfully. This was good news. His host might be able to help in more ways than just furnishing a bed. After paying off the driver, he turned around, getting his first good look at the Sleepy Hollow Bed and Breakfast. The house was single-story and surrounded by large weeping willows with limbs that hung low to the ground. Something that might have been wisteria grew up the side of the house and onto the roof. Dodging the puddles and wet shrubbery, he headed toward the well-lit veranda, only to be met by the owner, who was in his pajamas and robe.
Armand Louiston was a tall, spare man with thinning hair and a gimpy leg. He opened the door wide, smiling at Luke as he came up the front steps.
“Welcome to Sleepy Hollow Bed and Breakfast,” he said. “My name is Armand Louiston.” Then he frowned. “Don’t you have any luggage?”
“Last I heard, it’s probably somewhere over Iowa,” Luke said, as he entered the lobby behind his host. “Now that I have an address, I’ll need to call the airline to tell them where to deliver it.”
“Did they give you a number to call?” Armand asked, as he scurried behind the desk.
Luke nodded.
“Give it to me. I’ll be happy to call them for you. At any rate, they’ll need special directions on how to get here. Most of the usual routes are under water.”
“Thanks,” Luke said, and handed him the card the airline had given him.
“It is my pleasure,” Armand said, and picked a room key from the rack behind the desk. “I’m giving you the Blue Room. I trust you will rest well tonight. If you have need of anything, there is an intercom in your room. Press zero and it will ring in my room.”
“I’ll be fine,” Luke said.
“Follow me, then, and I’ll show you to your room.”
Luke followed Louiston down the hall, taking absent note of the way his bathrobe flapped about his ankles and the uneven rhythm of his stride.
“Here we are,” Armand said, stopped at a room on their right, unlocked a door and then handed Luke the key. “I’m going to call the airline. Sleep well.”
Luke stifled a yawn as he entered the room. His first impression was that he’d just entered an Egyptian tomb. Pale blue walls, with a blue and gold geometric border that encircled the walls about a foot below the ceiling. A bronze bust of a Pharaoh set
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