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more arrests for public intoxication and lewdness, and, God help us all, Fat Tuesday looming at the end of it all.”
    â€œI’m glad I work in a bank,” Nessa said with heartfelt sincerity.
    â€œAs long as you’re not the bank that gets hit this Mardi Gras.”
    â€œHit? Oh. You mean the Beaded Bandits. No leads?”
    Nessa’s fond tone seemed to aggravate Georgia. “Sure, you and everyone else in New Orleans think they’re captivating, and the press has come up with such a cutesy name for them. But how do you get leads with robberies like that?”
    â€œDon’t forget that they steal from a coldhearted corporation based in Philadelphia.”
    â€œThere’s that.” With an alertness that belied her complaints of exhaustion, Georgia scrutinized a group of tourists who straggled out of a bar, looking as if the night before had been long and difficult, and shook her head. Returning her attention to Nessa, she added, “We’re getting pressure from the CEO to stay on top of the situation, but it’s Mardi Gras. I can barely stay on my horse.”
    â€œIs ol’ MacNaught being a jerk?”
    Georgia leaned on the saddle horn. “From the top of his balding head to the tip of his shiny black shoes.”
    â€œI heard a rumor that he looks like Danny DeVito.”
    â€œCould be. I heard he’s a hermit who hides from the press.”
    â€œYankees.” Nessa sighed.
    â€œBless their hearts.”
    The women exchanged understanding grins.
    â€œWhere y’at?” Georgia asked.
    In the New Orleans patois, she was asking how Nessa was, and Nessa could hardly contain her sarcasm. “Great. Just great. This morning, I’ve been talking about sex with my aunts.”
    Georgia straightened up. “Did you learn anything?”
    â€œYes. I learned neither of them are virgins.”
    Georgia winced. “I thought you were talking about your sex life.”
    â€œGod, yes, that, too. Nothing is sacred anymore. Are you coming to the party tonight?”
    â€œAre you kidding? I don’t care what riot occurs today. I wouldn’t miss the party at the Dahl House.” Georgia lowered her voice. “I don’t know how many of the cops are going to be able to drop by, but we took up a collection. Not much, just a little to help with the expenses. I’ll bring you the envelope tonight.”
    â€œThank you. Thank the others.” The tradition of giving the Dahl girls a few dollars in an envelope to offset party expenses had started long before Nessa’s birth, and she felt no false pride in admitting, “We couldn’t do it without your help, and if we couldn’t have the party, it would break my aunts’ hearts.”
    â€œThe party at the Dahl House is Mardi Gras,” Georgia said.
    â€œAre you bringing a date?”
    â€œNo.” Georgia was brief to the point of curtness.
    Which didn’t stop Nessa. “Why not? You could stand to see some action.”
    â€œCivilians can’t deal with a woman who can knock them down and beat them up, and they really can’t deal with the hours I work during Mardi Gras.” Georgia patted her horse and stared down the street. “That leaves only cops, and they’re all married or jerks.”
    â€œExcept for—”
    â€œ All of them are married or jerks.” Georgia glared at Nessa.
    â€œOkay. If you say so. But I like Antoine, and I know for a fact he’s available.”
    â€œI don’t know why you’re so hung up on Antoine Valteau.” Everything about Georgia—her expression, her posture, her movements—radiated irritation.
    That didn’t impress Nessa. “I’m not. You are. And he likes you, Georgia.”
    â€œI’m not interested in a one-nighter.” Georgia held up her hand. “Just drop it, Nessa. Just…drop it. I’ll tell the aunts I had a date, but he couldn’t get off