Cassie couldn’t be happier.

Aunt Frieda’s tired footsteps and heavy panting sounded behind her a second before her favorite relative trundled past Cassie toward the faded painted stoop with its rickety iron railing. At fifty-six, Aunt Frieda was still one heck of a looker. Dark brown hair cut in a messy pixie, green eyes with a wealth of knowledge and mischief behind them and curves that made young girls want to weep. But even more than that, she had a personality that naturally swept people up and took them along for a wild ride.

Today her outfit was almost as sassy as her demeanor—cutoff jeans, a sleeveless white button-down, red Keds and a matching bandana tied like one of those old Rosie the Riveter posters. “You know, if you want to get this move done before your vacation is over, you’re gonna have to stop grinning like a loon and finish unloading boxes.”

“I’m not grinning like a loon.” Okay, maybe she was, but after three years of scrimping and working her butt off at New Orleans’s highest rated television station, Cassie had good cause. She hefted the last box from her back seat and kicked the door to her hand-me-down Honda shut. “I’m admiring with deep appreciation.”

Aunt Frieda grunted and nudged the front door open with her hip, but there was a sly, knowing smile on her face when she did it. “You and your wordplay.” She paused with one foot over the threshold and jerked her chin toward the row of even more ramshackle houses down the street. “Whatever it is you’re doing, hurry it up. The less your neighbors get a look at how cute you are, the less nervous I’ll be leaving you here tonight.”

Oh, God. Not that again.

Cassie hurried in behind her aunt and closed the door before any of her precious cold air could slip out into the bright summer day. It might only be June 1 and barely in the nineties, but the humidity was already rivaling August, which meant her baby air conditioner was working overtime.

The layout of her rental wasn’t much—a living room right as you walked in, a postage stamp for a kitchen with no walls to separate the two and a bedroom in the back. But the coral walls, white trim and yellow painted cabinetry had wowed her from the get-go. She dodged the unpacked clothes, dishes, pots and pans stacked haphazardly everywhere and aimed for the fifties diner-style table where her aunt had already unburdened herself of her own box. “Marigny isn’t that bad of a neighborhood.”

“Not bad, no. Just butted right up to the Quarter where you can count on all kinds of trouble, and you know what they say about shit running downhill.”

The harsh scruuunch as Cassie ripped the packing tape from the cardboard filled the tiny space. “I did my homework and there’s very little shit. The only crimes they’ve had reported near here in the last year are a few robberies and a domestic dispute incident. And it’s not like I haven’t had my share of dealings with shady people in skeevy parts of town.”