I grabbed a cup and pumped the French roast carafe on the counter. Empty. Well, making coffee—that I could do. Not totally useless after all. I stepped behind the counter and was grinding beans just as Claudia’s parents walked up, arm in arm. Chessy Soniat Dubuisson was a New Orleans Brahmin from an old Uptown family. Claudia told me she had been queen of one of the old-time Carnival krewes in her youth. Now she was a psychologist, and her husband was a pediatrician with a couple of offices around the city. I liked both Dr. Dubuissons and they were always exquisitely nice to me, but something about them made me feel vaguely disreputable and inadequate. Maybe it was their happy, well-fed, well-paid perfection. Or maybe I just can’t handle shrinks. “Hello, dear,” her mother said. “Hi, Dr. Dubuisson. Hi, Dr. Dubuisson. Can I get you anything?” “Call me Chessy, dear.” She was decked out in a smart business suit and her signature gold Mignon Faget jewelry. As always, her hair was neatly coiffed, soft and feminine, and her makeup was understated and perfect.
