Prologue

Instead of freshly rinsed air, a dense blanket of steam rose from the sidewalk. Kat stepped out on the porch of her Greek Revival house in the historic garden district of New Orleans and surveyed the street. A few puddles remained where a part of the sidewalk settled below the slab next to it, but nothing she couldn’t step over. The trees shading the walk were still dripping from the just ended spring shower. Kat allowed that this might be refreshing.

She locked the solid wooden door behind her and slid a five-dollar bill inside her shoe in case her jog took her by Starbucks. She hung the door key on a chain around her neck and clipped her phone on the waistband of her white jogging shorts. She tucked her hair under her favorite NASA ball cap.

At the curb, she looked both ways and decided to stay on the sidewalk. It was steeper than the walkway through the park, which made it less wet. She could jog past some of the aged and lovely landscaping in the District and pick up a few ideas.

Her sister, Denney, was in New York City and she wondered how steamy it must be there with all the tall buildings and concrete.

***

In New York City, Denney, Kat’s sister was in a high-rise building, pacing in her psychiatrist’s office.

“I’m telling you, my throat constricted, and my shoulders were so tightly clenched I could’ve been a floor joist.” Denney paused and then went on. “So, I slipped out of the den, into the kitchen and took several deep breaths—like you told me to do. Honestly, I felt homicidal rage. The tension eased only long enough for me to pour some three-day-old wine into an iced tea glass and call you.”

Denney caught herself. She was so stressed that only now did she realize how pedestrian her options had become. There wasn’t even any bourbon in the house. She watched as her psychologist first looked at her and then leafed through several pages of handwritten notes. His demeanor was thoughtful but relaxed as he sat across from her with uncrossed legs, her file on his lap. He seemed at ease even in his suit and tie. Behind him was a wall full of diplomas and certificates, although he never acted like he was smarter than anyone else. Then he looked up, intently focusing on Denney. “It seems as if your interactions are always the same. How do you feel about that?”

“I did it again! Same guy, different suit! I used to think I could survive this shit sandwich by just eating the crust. Now, I’m hungry and I need more sandwich without the shit!”

Denney’s psychologist leaned forward. “Where would you like to see yourself in six months or a year?”

Kat was about halfway through her jog. Her ball cap felt like a sauna. Her new wicking shorts and shirt were falling short of advertised promise. She was thinking of her sister Denney when her cell rang. She stepped under the shade of a magnolia tree to take the call. Her palms were moist, and her finger slid across the screen twice as she tried to press the “connect” icon. She was out of breath and said only, “Yes.”

“It’s time,” Denney said. “Soon I’ll be single, again. Now we can pitch in together and get a place, just as we used to talk about!”

“Shut uuppp! Really?”

“Really.”

Chapter 1

Where’s the Money?

Two years had passed. Denney stayed in New York City until her divorce was final, then joined Kat. She was with Kat in their Phillip Street house in New Orleans when they heard from Vicar Dick that their father, known to most people as the Colonel, was going to sell his house in Louisville, Kentucky. She and Kat wasted no time in getting to Louisville. After some negotiation, they worked out a deal to buy it contract-for-deed and pay the Colonel in installments. It made the house easy for them to get into, but the Colonel maintained the lion’s share of occupancy rights and an income from the contract installments. Not one to sign over all his interest in anything to anyone, he relied on the law to settle matters.

Kat and Denney closed their home in New Orleans to return to their Louisville home to start some much-needed renovation while the Colonel was off to parts unknown.

Denney spent most of the day opening the interior of the house. Kat tidied up the grounds and took the covers off the wicker porch furniture and prepared the porch for their early evening Manhattan’s.

Kat was eager to sit and enjoy the view. The weather had turned cool and she looked forward to relaxing in the fresh air. She called to Denney to join her on the front, wraparound porch of their old Victorian home.

Denney made it to the porch carrying a tray of Manhattan’s. She had prepared them neat because of the cooler weather that evening.

The now “fifty-something” sisters, snuggled in oversized sweaters, were enjoying a sixty-degree early evening while sipping their Manhattan’s. Kat wore colorful sweaters, largely earth tones but usually with a bright pop of color and solid leggings. Denney wore monotone tunic-length cowl-neck sweaters with matching leggings or skinny jeans.

“Tomorrow is hump day,” said Kat. She knew Denney always looked forward to the weekend. Denney was retired now and Wednesday became the unofficial beginning of the weekend. Kat had not worked a full-time job in years because she gambled a lot and won most of the time.

Once comfortable on the porch, Kat pored over the stack of unpaid bills she’d brought out with her. She sat across from her sister, who was reading the evening paper. “Geez, paying these bills—why, it’s absurd and unlikely that we can pay all of them,” Kat moaned. “Look at this one, Denney. Two hundred dollars to Petz. What’s this for?”

Denney glanced over the top of her cherry red reading glasses. “The fur babies needed new beds—I told you.”

Kat moved on. “Well, what about this one from the

Shoe Emporium for $400.00?”

Denney felt this was becoming a one-sided inquisition and reached over and grabbed a couple of the unopened bills. “Oh, okay, what about this one.” She waved the opened invoice in front of Kat. “It appears that you renewed your gym membership and added the VIP level for an additional $1,200. What’s that about?”

Kat pursed her lips. “That’s for access to the smoothie bar. Arturo makes the creamiest spinach and fruit-of-the-day concoctions. Add a little rum and it could rival Merriweather’s coffee.” Merriweather, a close friend of Kat and Denny’s, was widely recognized among their small community for her potent rum and coffee.

“Let’s stop talking about what we owe. We have plenty of money for the near future. Yes, we’ll need to start thinking about what the Colonel may have left us. He’s been dead for six months. That is certainly important, and once we find our inheritance we’ll be set until the end,” Denny replied flatly. 

“Our inheritance, you say?” Kat had become frustrated and starting pacing. “We have no paperwork that justifies that remark. What makes you think there is something out there for us from our Father?”

“Because the Vicar said he knew Father had holdings but would not make a will,” said Denney. “We are his only heirs, so naturally, whatever he had would come to us. Knowing our father, it would be substantial. We just need to be patient and find it.”

“But at his funeral, months ago, neither Vicar Dick nor anyone else approached us as to what that might be. No one has done so to this day. So, what are we depending on? questioned Kat.

“It looks like we need to sit down with Vicar Dick and see what he knows at some point, as they were also friends,” responded Denney. She laid the other invoice aside. “Okay for the sake of argument, even if there is no inheritance, which I don’t believe, if we need to cut back it can’t just be me.” 

“Yeah, I guess,” Kat responded weakly as she also laid the remaining bills aside. She observed Denney exhaling a considerable amount of air as she moved on to the society section of the paper, signaling an end to the discussion. 

Just then, a breeze wafted across the porch, causing the unpaid bills to flutter to the floor where Rusty, Kat’s part color cocker spaniel, began to tear them apart and lovingly eat them.

Not bothering to correct Rusty, Kat picked up a section of the newspaper containing her horoscope. Reading it appealed to the gambler inside her. She liked playing the odds. Would the horoscope come true?

The other dogs, Jules, the mixed breed, and Gus, the schnauzer, rested contentedly, at the sisters’ feet, dozing off and on. Rusty continued his manic preoccupation.

Kat propped her feet up on another wicker chair while Denney still lounged across from her. Between them a glass-topped wicker table held their drinks and a snack.

Denney took a sip of her Manhattan followed by a bite of her watercress sandwich and thought about how she hated the saying “hump day.” Tomorrow would be Wednesday again. She remembered saying “hump day” to a person who had not been in this country long and was not familiar with the idiom. And yet, the woman was familiar enough with the street connotation to look embarrassed and piqued at the thought of a day to hump. 

Feeling uncomfortable with the woman’s response, Denney had leapt into an apologetic explanation, trying to explain that the “hump” was the middle of the week and likened it to the hump on a camel’s back, and how that was a metaphor for the downward slide to the weekend.

The woman had continued to stare at Denney blankly, and gave her a weak smile as she turned and left. Denney was caught between wishing people would try harder to learn the language or at least act like it until they could Google it. 

Why should she fall all over herself to justify a conversation that was just an effort at being friendly? Recalling this situation, she often dropped the f-bomb in her thoughts, but never, or at least very, very rarely aloud. She just couldn’t imagine a scenario where it might be appropriate to utter it aloud.

Kat stood up and moved to sit on the on the stoop steps. The only thing worse than swimming so hard and going under was to tread water until exhaustion set in. Trying to figure out their father and his motives was exhausting. She still resented the fact, even as an adult, how little regard he had for her and her sister. He totally ignored them. Had it not been for their mother, they would not have felt any love from a parental figure at all. 

Sitting there, she felt a heaviness emanate from the house. The Colonel had lived in the house as a boy and well into his adulthood when he was dubbed the Colonel. He received the title of Kentucky Colonel from the Governor after winning a bet on the golf course. He was in his early twenties and the unlikely moniker not only stuck but began to define him.

The residence had been in the family since the late 1800s when it was built. The men in the family were known to have frequented the Pink Palace in those early days. This “Palace” was a grand house on the corner of St. James and Belgravia Court and was then a stately Gentleman’s Club. All the influential patrons hobnobbed there, and many a lucrative deal started with a gentleman’s handshake and was punctuated with an expensive cigar from Havana.

By virtue of living in one of the residences, and one of the earliest mansions in the Southern Extension, Kat and Denney were Old Louisville denizens. Indeed, the Colonel’s name was engraved on a brass plaque that once hung in the Pink Palace and was now resting peacefully in the glass curio in their home.

Kat marveled at the St. James Fountain, a masterpiece that sat in the middle of the green space separating the East and West sides of St. James Court and she often discussed with Denney how it was their favorite landmark. 

Over the years they had donated to its upkeep and many other local civic causes. Watching crystal clear water spilling from one level of the fountain provided a sense of timelessness, and that all was right with the world, at least most of the time.