A slight breeze filtered in. Fall was coming, and with it, days and nights that were beautiful, still warm, but relieved of the drop-dead humidity that could plague the city.
She determined to shower quickly and dress. That might help.
It did. Her hair still damp, in jeans and a knit shirt, she walked out to pour her coffee. The headache was beginning to recede. She took her coffee outside.
It was at the front doorwhere she discovered both her bolt and the chain lock still in placethat she remembered the dream. She smiled to herself.
Hurricanes.
Shed never have another.
Sothe crew hadnt sneaked in on her last night, determined to play the worlds most annoying practical joke.
She really had dreamed it all up!
Andrea would be amused when she heard about it. Noshe wasnt going to say anything to Andrea at all. That would only bolster the teasing concept that she had no life other than her work, that her life would be much more fun if she did submit to more alcohol upon occasion, and that she waswell, something of a workaholic.
She took her coffee outside, sat in one of the big wicker chairs on the porch, and looked out at the lawn and the eternal flowers there. Pretty. The breeze was pleasant.
A few more cups of coffee, her toastand she might feel like living again.
She closed her eyes, letting the air caress her cheeks, ease away the night of living it up a bit too muchwell, for her, anyway. But she was very serious about her work for Max. She might be underpaid for the amount of responsibility she was taking on now, but she knew that Max had big plans. He wanted to go around the country with his tours. Nikki had always loved to travel, and once Max got going, she wanted in on the whole thing. People simply loved this kind of tour. And no matter where a city might lure lots of tourists, there were surely ghosts to be found!
All right, this was her special turf. Shed spent her life here, right here, in the French Quarter. If there was a story out there, shed heard it. The history of the city was something she could recite in her sleep. And she loved it. Funny, that made her think of Andy.
When shed first met the girl, her friend had been amazed that she still loved living in New Orleans. In fact, shed burst into laughter when Nikki had urged her to tell her why she was grinning like an imp.
Its justwell, youre not a drinker. And it seems you always want to go somewhere without crowdsso, why live in and love New Orleans?
The question had startled Nikki. Its home. Its all I know. And, okay, so Im not a big boozer. I love jazz! I love the artists on the street, and the performersand even the people who pass through!
And she did.
What on earth do you do during Mardi Gras? Andy had demanded, still laughing.
Visit friends in Biloxi, she said dryly.
It was true. There were always tourists in New Orleans. She liked tourists. She just didnt like the melee that came along with Mardi Gras in New Orleans.
Well, she thought, yawning and stretching, she would stay in New Orleans for Mardi Gras next year. They all wanted a party. Shed do itfor Andy, and the others, as well, she figured. Julian was Mr. Party himself, a good friend, and she loved himeven if she was ready to clobber him right now. Shed known him her whole life, and hed taken the job when shed asked him on Maxs behalf because of her, not because hed originally thought they could really do something new and special. He was wickedly tall and good looking, and great at this work, even if he was overly dramatic. Didnt matterthose who went on the ghost walk with him were always thrilled.
Sure, this year, shed have a party. Patricia, who had grown up not too far away, in Cajun country, longed to have a really good Mardi Gras party, too. Shed grown up closebut far enough away so that she longed to be part of the real heart of the celebration, toofrom the above-the-vomit line, as she called it. Mitch, of course, was from Pittsburgh, and he was dying to get into the dead center of it all. As he had told Patricia, he didnt care what evils lurked on the street; he wanted to see it all. Of course, hed prefer a nice party place, but
Nathan was more like her. He was shy, except with friends, unless he was on, and then, like Julian, he was on. Now, he was madly in love with Patricia, and he was comfortable with their close group of workers. Though Nikki was certain Nathan would just as soon head for Biloxi during Mardi Gras, too, he would want a party because Patricia would want a party.
And, of course, it would be an important time for them to be working.
They were doing so well.
Nikki felt a real sense of pridedespite her pounding headache. A lot of the time, tourists thought that costumes and makeup on tour guides was just schmaltz.
Not so with their group.
They were good. They knew their subject matter. They could answer questions. They didnt just give a tourthey were an event.
And though the whole thing had been created through Maxs plan, visionand moneyNikki felt as if it were her own dream child finding real fruition. She had been there with Max at the very beginning, when there had been just the two of them, working hard, footing it all over the place by herself. Befriending the concierge staff at the hotels, begging store managers for flyer space. She had been the one to give the free tours to travel agents, thanking God that Max had saved up enough to be able to bring the people in. After the first go, Max had told her to bring Julian in. He hadnt been convinced that hed ever really get a substantial income from the enterprise, but hed been willing to take a chance because she was so impassioned.
And he was a total ham.
They had begun to thrive, and so, Max had told her to increase the program, and the staff. She had found the others latertheyd had to audition, both for historical accuracy, and for their ability to tell a damned good and eerie story without getting into outright lies. No one in their group ever said that such things as vampires, ghosts, or any other metaphysical creature existed. They told the stories that had been told. The legends. They were still known as the ghost walk, though officially, the company was called Myths and Legends of New Orleans.
Nikki ran her fingers through her hair, trying to let it dry in the breeze.
A newspaper came flying over the brick wall. The newsboylate as he was!had cast it over the brick with amazing accuracy.
It landed in front of her. Staring down at the headline, she let out a sigh. There were two pictures on the front page. One of the statelier Harold Grant and one of the more charismatic Billy Banks.
Billy Banks, she muttered aloud. Who the hell votes for a guy named Billy Banks?
As she leaned down to pick up the paper, she heard the front gate opening.
As it did, she felt a vicious cold sweep through her, as if an arctic blast had suddenly hit her entire bloodstream. Her breath caught.
Her sense of foreboding It was coming true.
She looked up, remnants of her dream flashing through her minds eye like a chaotic movie trailer.
She knew, though he was in plainclothes, that the man who approached her was a policeman, and that he was about to tell her something terrible.
She stood up, her mouth working, no words coming.
Youyoure a cop. Somethings happened, she finally gasped out.
The officer nodded. He cleared his throat. Im Detective Massey, Owen Massey, Miss DuMonde.
She stood up, her mouth working, no words coming.
Youyoure a cop. Somethings happened, she finally gasped out.
The officer nodded. He cleared his throat. Im Detective Massey, Owen Massey, Miss DuMonde.
Nikki stared at him, hating the wave of knowledge that filled her, muscles constricting as she denied everything rushing into her mind.
No, notheres a mistake.
Im so sorry.
Someone ishurt?
Im here about Miss Ciello, Miss Andrea Ciello.
He looked helplessbig, kind and helpless. Cops like him must have to give people bad news all the time, but it looked as if it had never gotten easy for this guy. We were referred to you. A Mrs. Montobello is the one who called usinsisted we go in, swore that Miss Ciello would have come to see her first thing in the morning. She said that you were Miss Ciellos best friend? Im sorry, so sorry. I wish there were an easier way to do this. Umshould we go inside?
Whats happened? Tell me whats happened!
Perhaps
No! Talk to me, tell me, whats happened?
Overdose, Im afraid. We believe it was accidental, but you know, we have to go through procedure. The thing is, we need someone to make a formal identification of the body.
Body? Nikki gasped.
Yes, Im afraid
No! Nikki stared at him in disbelief. No. It had to be an elaborate joke. Andyvivacious, fun-loving, rowdy Andycouldnt be dead.
Im truly sorry. It appears that she
Andy was clean.
Im sure she wanted to be clean.
No! She was clean. Nikki realized that she was backing away from the man, denying everything that he was saying. But it couldnt be true. She was clean. She knew not to touch the stuff. Its impossible that she did this to herself. Its impossible that
But from the way he was looking at her, she knew it was true.
Just as the dream had been true. She wanted to black out; she wanted the world to go away. Yes, she had always had a sense of the past, of spirits that remained, but never, never, had she feltseenanything like
Last night. Andy had been dead. Or dying. And she had come to Nikki for help. She had failed her friend somehow.
She shook her head again. Her words were fierce. Andrea Ciello was off drugs. I know it. If somethings happened to Andy, it was not self-inflicted, and it was not accidental. She was murdered.
Murdered.
The officer was staring at her, troubled, frowning.
Im telling you, she was clean. And if you dont believe me, Ill raise a stink in this parish that you wont believe. She cant beoh, God.
No. This was impossible. She was still dreaming. Imagining this cop just the way shed imagined Andy last night.
Im sorry, Miss DuMonde. Look, is there someone I can call? Are your folks herea sister, brother, friend? he asked.
She ignored him, shaking her head, anger keeping her standing. She did not overdose. If she had drugs in her system, someone else put them there. I am going to demand an investigation. I want to see a homicide officer.
I handle homicide cases, he said gently. We have to look into any death thats questionable in any way.
Oh? She stared at him anew, heart racing.
It wasnt a natural death, he said. So they call us in.
What time was she killed? Nikki managed to ask.
What time did she die? he countered gently.
Please. Yes, whatever. What timedid she die? Nikki gasped out again.
The detective looked wary, as if he wasnt sure why that information should be so pertinent.
The ME only had an estimate, but it would have been right around 4:00 a.m., he told her.
She reached out, grasping for a railingfor helpfor something that wasnt there. Too late, the detective realized what was happening.
Nikki crashed down on the porch as the world faded before her, Andys words suddenly echoing in her ears.
Help me!
Sorry, the taxi driver told Brent as they slowed to a near halt on entering the French Quarter.
No problem, Brent told him.
It was usually a slow process, maneuvering the tourist-filled streets. Delivery vans could block a narrow byway, and any little snarl could close things off, though in the tight confines of the placewith many streets blocked off for pedestrian traffic onlymost people preferred to walk. Still, vehicles were sometimes necessary, and delays were just a fact of life.
Brent breathed a deep sigh as he looked around. Charming. That was definitely a word to describe the architecture, the handsome wrought-iron railings the locals called iron lace. The sound of the music, the colors, the architecture itself. Yes, the place had charm.
And once upon a time he had loved it.
But that was then, and this was now, and if hed never come back, it would have been just fine.
What the hell is going on? he asked as a patrolman in the street brought the traffic to a stop.
Debate, the taxi driver said.
Debate? Brent said, and frowned.
Politicians, and Im not sure what theyre debating. They both claim to have the same platform. Working to keep the history and unique quality of the place while cleaning up crime. I guess the old guy is saying that he knows what hes doing, that his record is great, and were already on the way, while the younger guy is claiming the old guy hasnt done a thing, hasnt moved fast enoughwell, you know. Its politics. Everyone swears to move the moon, and everyone out there is a liar, just the same. He winked at Brent in the rearview mirror.
The crime rate has come down, though, hasnt it?
Crime rate goes down, crime rate goes up. Hey, no matter who wants to run what, nothing changes. Those that have want to keep what they have. Those that dont have want to get. We have real poverty in some areas, some pretty rich folk in others. Same old, same old, the human condition. Unless you change the conditionswell, thats what both our boys say they mean to do, soyou know how you usually vote for the guy you dislike the least? Well, both these guys are likable, so I guess we cant lose.
Thats good.
I think so. But then, I love this place. You visit often?
No.
Where you from?
Brent started to say, All over.
But he didnt. He told the truth.
Here. Right here.
Yeah? Well, welcome home!
The traffic began to move again.
They passed the police station on Royal.
At last they came to the bed-and-breakfast where Brent was planning to stay, after crashing at a hotel out by the airport the night before.
He paid the driver, met the hefty man who owned the place, paid and found his room.
And crashed down on the bed. New Orleans.
Arriving here was like having his blood drained from his body. Like being on the wrong side of a bout in a boxing ring. The pain in his head crashed like hurricane waves on the shore.
Drapes were drawn, door was closeddarkness.
All he needed was a little time. And he could adjust.
He didnt want to adjust.
But he would.