Thigh High by Christina Dodd Page B

didn’t think anything when those two people stepped into the bank.”
    â€œI’ve been there.” Nessa patted Melissa’s hand again. “Friday afternoon during Mardi Gras. What a mess.”
    â€œI don’t like to work Fridays during Mardi Gras anymore.” Closing her eyes, Melissa rubbed her lower back as if it ached.
    â€œAre you uncomfortable, Mrs. Rosewell?” Jeremiah asked. “Because we can do this later.”
    Melissa put her hand back into her lap. “No. Please. I always felt guilty because…because I let it happen.”
    â€œYou did not let it happen.” Jeremiah broke off a piece of the warm beignet, shook off the mound of powdered sugar, and offered it to her. “I’ve seen the security videos. You behaved exactly as you should have.”
    Melissa cautiously took it, then her gaze shifted to Jeremiah and stuck there. “Thank you, Mr. Mac. You’re sweet.”
    Nessa blinked. Her instincts told a lot of things about Jeremiah Mac. That he was gifted, grim, with surprising flashes of humor. That the Beaded Bandits were doomed, because he would never let up until he caught whomever he was after. That his authority was absolute.
    But sweet? No.
    He performed the same service for Nessa, shaking off the beignet’s excess powdered sugar and offering it to her.
    She took it easily, smiling at Melissa, trying to convey an ease with the situation when, in fact, Jeremiah Mac put her on edge. He observed Melissa, the city, and Nessa with vivid curiosity, as if everything were new and different. And of course, New Orleans was unique, but Nessa would have thought that in his line of work he’d interviewed many crime victims and acquired and discarded many assistants. What did he seem so poised and eager to hear?
    â€œI want to help you if I can,” Melissa said. “I want you to catch them. And yeah, I know that note changed my life, and they didn’t do any harm, and they only asked for a little money, but those guys—well, I mean, I think they’re guys—they scared me.”
    â€œThen I want you to tell me every detail of that first robbery. Everything you can think of, no matter how minor, no matter how silly. Everything you thought and did, anything that’s occurred to you since. I want to hear it all. Sometimes it’s the littlest element that solves the crime.” Jeremiah shifted forward.
    Nessa thought if he looked at Melissa with half the intensity he’d used on Nessa, Melissa would gladly share every detail of the crime, her thoughts, and her life, plus make him dinner and give him the keys to the city.
    And, in fact, Melissa sat up straight, as if he’d cured her backache. “When they came in, I didn’t have any inkling of trouble. The two guys wore dresses—”
    â€œWhat made you think they were guys?” Jeremiah pushed her to reveal every detail.
    â€œThey were tall. I’d say six feet, maybe a little less, and they walked stiffly, as if they weren’t easy with their bodies, so I figured it was a shift change at the April in Paris nightclub on the corner, because why else would the drag act be on the streets then?”
    Nessa had seen the clips on TV. They were grainy, shot at a bad angle, and in black-and-white. But she was used to Daniel’s polished professionalism, and in a town where a lot of men made a good living dressing up as women, only the best worked at April in Paris.
    â€œOne man was wearing a purple silk gown that swept the floor, and there was a bustle, you know, that stuck out over his butt as he walked.” Melissa gestured as she showed them the wiggle at the back, then lifted her hands to her head. “He wore this swooping broad-brimmed hat—huge, I don’t know, twenty inches across—and tilted over his eyes, with a black veil that swept from the brim all the way down to his chest. He looked strict, like a guy who wields the