Louis Lemaire’s trumpet called the dawn over the French Quarter, every note bouncing off cobblestone streets and drifting through jasmine-scented air. New Orleans had always been a city of secrets, but this morning, the city seemed more mysterious than ever. As he strolled past painted shutters, a tap-tap-tap echoed behind him, rhythmic and precise. An old street sweeper winked: 'The city’s got riddles today, son.' Louis followed the beat—first to a lively café where an accordionist slipped a slip of paper onto his saucer: “Find the place where cats tap-dance at midnight.” Off he went, jazz in his step. At Jackson Square, a tap-dancing cat—well, a boy in a cat costume—twirled and shuffled, tossing Louis a blue ribbon. 'Rhythm is a riddle, find the drummer by the river,' he sang. Down at the river, a second riddle: “Which bridge hums when no one walks across it?” Louis closed his eyes, trumpet in hand, and listened. The wind carried music from the St. Charles Avenue streetcar bridge, humming faintly. There, a drummer smiled, handing Louis a final clue: “What do all these riddles have in common?” Louis laughed, trumpet blazing. 'They all belong to New Orleans, and to jazz!' he declared. That night, with all the musicians gathered, Louis played a new tune: a song of riddles, rhythms, and the city that never stops swinging. And the city answered—every window, every alley, every heart—one note at a time.