us, confident and smooth. “Ah, Mr. Rooney, Ms. DiPietra. I’m so glad you could join us this evening. I trust you’re feeling better?”
Dodd is a short man of about forty-five. His salt-and-pepper hair is slicked back like a helmet. He’s got on a light-blue designer sport coat over a cheap white thrift-shop tee. And his permanently tanned skin somehow looks at once glowing and prematurely wrinkled.
“I sure am, thanks,” I say, shaking his silky-soft hand. Dodd may be a successful restaurant owner, but I can tell he’s never worked a day in a real kitchen in his life. “And thanks for inviting us. We’re looking forward to trying everything. I’m famished.”
“Then I’ll send your food out right away,” he says, gently touching my left shoulder. “Have any arrests been made in connection with your brutal attack?”
“Yes,” I say. “The cops got one of them.” That would be Ty Grant. From my bed in the ER, I ID’d him to the officer who took my statement, but who clearly wanted nothing to do with me. “The other two are still on the loose. I’m sure they’ll find them.”
“Well, that’s good news. I’ll bet they’ll find the others soon. If you’ll excuse me.”
He strolls away and goes to the kitchen on the other side of the dining room, and I hear his raised and impatient voice, and in less than a minute, flustered waiters emerge bearing trays.
I’ll admit I had my doubts about blending Southern flavors with Far East ones, but I have to say, LBD makes it work. Our appetizer is a pan-fried creole-shrimp egg roll, the perfect mix of crunchy and zesty. Our first course is grilled crawfish, with a tangy ginger glaze laced with smoky-spicy Szechuan peppercorns. Next comes a Thai curry crab étouffée, a rich, fragrant stew served over a bed of jasmine rice. Finally, it’s time for dessert: warm, gooey bread pudding drenched in sweet sake and topped with a scoop of green tea ice cream.
I’ve just taken the last bite when Dodd appears next to our table, accompanied by a guy with a goatee dressed in black trousers and white shirt, carrying a Nikon camera.
“Would you mind if I take my photo with you, Caleb? Something to hang up in our foyer?”
Marlene sticks her tongue out and reluctantly I say, “Sure, I guess so.”
He pulls a chair over, sits down next to me, and after a few bright flashes from the Nikon, he leans in and eagerly says, “Well, what did you think?”
Marlene jumps in and answers for both of us.
“It was delicious, Lucas,” she says. “And so inventive. My mouth feels like it’s just taken a six-week tour of Asia without ever leaving New Orleans.”
Dodd clasps his hands in delight.
“I’m so glad to hear that. Now what about the restaurant?”
I glance around the spacious dining room. Antique chandeliers hang from the ceiling, while the walls and tables are mostly glass and polished metal. It’s an interesting blend, I tell Dodd, of classic elegance and contemporary minimalism. I say I also love the open-plan industrial kitchen at the other side of the room: big, bright, modern, and brimming with stainless steel, it looks like a dream to cook in.
“How’s that?” he asks.
“Well, you know what I mean,” I say. “There’s a lot to be said about being able to walk more than four paces in any direction from your hot stove.”
“And have a place to take a break,” Marlene says.
“And a bathroom to use when you need, instead of going across the street to a gas station or drugstore.”
Marlene grins. “And have more than just one crazy ex-husband to work with.”
I give it right back to her. “Or a grumpy ex-wife, too.”
Dodd’s head goes back and forth during our repartee, like an audience member during a tennis match.
“So that would be a dream,” he says, smiling at me.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
Dodd flashes a wide grin, revealing his perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth.
“Caleb, let me ask you this: what if I could make that dream a reality?”
Chapter 12
EVEN WITH the outside noise of New Orleans and the cheerful conversation inside among our fellow diners, it seems very quiet and still at our table.
I look at Dodd, astonished and confused. “You want me to come and work here?”
LBD is a nice spot for a unique dinner, but it’s definitely not my cup of tea, and under the table, I get a gentle kick from Marlene.
“No, no, no,” Dodd replies, waving his hands around wildly like a conductor at