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We walked the length of Jackson Square, stopping to look at the work of a couple of artists who’d set up their sidewalk shops for the day.”Look.” Eugenie stopped in front of an acrylic painting of a mustached man with curly dark hair, hooded eyes, and a big hooked nose. He looked like he’d steal the hubcaps off your grandmother’s Cadillac.”It’s Jean Lafitte, our most famous pirate,” the artist said. “He was quite a character.”She had no idea. She also had badly missed the mark on his looks. His hair wasn’t that curly, he’d been clean-shaven the whole time I’d known him, his nose was straight and in perfect proportion to the rest of his features, and he didn’t have hooded black eyes. Still, he might find it entertaining. “How much?” I asked.
