She was sobbing.
Is there somewhere else you can stay? Quinn asked her.
I should be here. I should watch for more wretched thieves, Bertie said between sniffles.
Bertie, what are you going to do if a thief shows up? he asked. You shouldnt be here tonight. The police will keep an eye on the place and Im sure theres an alarm.
The alarm, she said dismissively.
Was it set today?
Well, no, not once Mrs. Simon went out, Bertie said.
See? Well set it and the house will be fine. You shouldnt be here.
I agree, Larue told her. Ms. Hyson, both your employers are dead. I didnt know them, but I knew of them. Youll be taken care of in their will, Id bet. But in the meantime, I think that being here could be harmful to your health.
Danni walked into the foyer then, and Bertie studied her for a long moment.
But the danger is gone, isnt it? The bust is gone. She wagged a finger at Danni. I knew that thing was evil. It was...like the eyes watched you all the time, followed you wherever you went. It was creepy. I hated being in the room with it. I didnt dust the study when it was in there, not after that first time. Why, it made the whole room feel...dirty. But...its gone now. And Miss CissyCecelia Simonshell be coming here now that her mother has...passed. I have to keep the place for her. Poor dear, shes just gone back to Baton Rouge after her dad died. Oh, Lord, Im going to have to call Miss Cissy and tell her that...that her poor mama...
Bertie broke into tears again.
Danni went to sit next to her, putting an arm around her shoulders. Dont worry, Bertie. Detective Larue will call Cecelia. You just have to be ready to comfort her.
Bertie wiped her eyes and looked at Larue hopefully. Detective, you must call that poor young woman and tell her. Shell come right back, and Ill be waiting for her. I will not leave when the daughter of the house is coming home.
Larue turned to Quinn, and Quinn shrugged. He was pretty sure Bertie was right; there was no intruder here anymoreand no evil, either.
He didnt say he believed the thief was the one in danger now.
Ill have someone on duty at the door, Ms. Hyson. Well watch the house for twenty-four hours, until Miss Simon returns, and through the next night, at least, Larue said.
Thats kind of you, Detective, Bertie told him gratefully.
You through here? Larue asked Quinn.
Yes. Quinn knelt down in front of Bertie and pulled a card from his wallet. The number is my cell. If youre afraidif anyone bothers youcall me. And if Cecelia wants to talk to me, please have her call.
He was astonished when a big tear slid down the womans face and she reached out to touch his cheek. Im so sorry. Im so sorry I didnt see that fine spark in you, Mr. Quinn. I just saw the past. Thank you.
Hey, thats okay...you were a good friend to Gladys, a really good friend. He stood, but Danni still sat next to the woman, comforting her. A moment later she rose, too.
Im so sorry, she said.
Bertie nodded tearfully.
Danni walked toward the foyer and the door to exit, with Quinn behind her.
He thought shed leave straightaway, that she wouldve had her fill of him and the Simon house.
But she waited on the sidewalk. Who the hell are you? she asked.
There were officers nearby. He hated explaining himselfor trying to explain himselfespecially in front of others.
Michael Quinn, he began, but she cut him off.
Michael Quinn, yes. Big high school football hero, and then you went on to quarterback for the state and suddenly you disappeared Oh, yes, after being in the papers time and again for your escapades.
I was a college kid, he said. But what you read was true.
Was?
I learned my lesson the hard way.
Oh?
I died.
She leaned back, folding her arms over her chest, staring at him. Youre a dead man? she asked dryly.
I was resuscitated, he said, shrugging. She didnt need his whole story just now; she sure as hell wouldnt believe his whole story even if he told her.
It changes your perspective on life, he said.
How did you know my father?
He helped on some of my cases.
Yes, rightyoure a P.I., she said. Her tone was still cool and skeptical.
He wondered whether to feel sorry for her and try to tell her more about what she apparently didnt know...or obey his instinct to walk away.
Gladys Simon is dead, he said. Maybe the fates couldnt be stoppedand maybe youre to blame, and maybe Im to blame. It doesnt matter. Shes past being helped. But that bust is out there. I have to find it.
The bust is a thing, Danni said. Yes, it was stolen. Yes, it belongs to the estate. But its a thing. Just a thing.
You really have no idea what your father did, do you? Quinn asked her.
I gather he helped the police at times, she said. And no, I didnt know. And although I guess it would be to the estates benefit if the bust was found, it cant be that important. It was stolen to begin with, right?
Its got quite the history. The bust dates back to the Italian Renaissance. I know some of the background, but not all of it. It graced the tomb of a contemporary of Lorenzo de Medicis. It remained there, bringing bad luck to the family, or so Ive readuntil World War II, when it was stolen. According to oral history, it was taken by a supporter of Mussolini who gave it to a German general as a gift. Both men committed suicide. Naturally, it was suggested that they did this because the war crimes theyd carried out were horrendousand they were afraid that if they were taken in the night by the Russian forces, theyd be tortured before they were killed. From there, the bust supposedly wound up with Hitler himself. After the war, it found its way into the home of a Soviet KGB officer, after which it disappeared until it was unearthed by an American sculptor who smuggled it into the United States. He went on to become a serial killer. His name was Herman Abernathy and he drained the blood of five women in order to make perfect statues of them. The bust went up at an auction house when his estate was sold to pay for his defense and it was bought by a New Orleans entrepreneur and voodoo practitioner. He didnt buy it for his own estate. He had it placed in the cemetery over the tomb of a family known to have practiced white magic. I assume he believed that the dead who were powerful in the ways of good could control the evil in the statue. Then came the summer of storms, the bust disappeared and people started winding up dead.
Those killer storms are a number of years behind us now, Danni said.
He nodded. The bust was returned to the cemetery. There was a write-up about its odd history in the Times Picayune not long ago.
I remember the articlebut just vaguely, Danni admitted.
Then it was stolen again. The thief was killed by a junkie, who in turn massacred a bunch of other junkies. Hes awaiting trial now. He sold the bust to Hank Simon right before he was nabbed by the police. And you know what happened after that.
How did a man like Hank Simon meet up with a junkie? she asked.
Hank was a collector. Vic Brown knew that. No killing had been connected to the bust at the timeand Hank was willing to buy a great piece even if he suspected it hadnt been gotten legally. You know how much buying and selling goes on outside the law!
How did a man like Hank Simon meet up with a junkie? she asked.
Hank was a collector. Vic Brown knew that. No killing had been connected to the bust at the timeand Hank was willing to buy a great piece even if he suspected it hadnt been gotten legally. You know how much buying and selling goes on outside the law!
Thats irrelevant. Anyway, its a thing, Danni repeated.
Fine. Well, then, thank you very much, Ms. Cafferty, for taking the time to help out here. Quinn thrust a hand into his pocket and produced another card. Here, if you feel you really want to understand what your father did, call me sometime. Ive got to get on with the search for that...thing.
He left her standing on the sidewalk and hurried to his car. He realized she was disturbed by the events of the day and was fighting the possibility that the bust itself could be evil. That was understandable. But...
Why hadnt Angus talked to her about the shop?
Maybe, for Angus, separating his life with his daughterhis familyfrom the shop and his calling had been a method of clinging to something normal.
As he got into the drivers seat, he saw that she was still standing on the sidewalk, watching him.
She stood tall beneath the moonlight, hair curling over her shoulders, and she gave the impression of an Athenasomeone who was strong and ready to face the world in defense of the innocent.
He shook his head, emitting a sound of derision.
Yeah. Big help she was.
Then he took a deep breath. Not fair, Quinn.
He thought about his own past. You didnt know until...
You knew.
Hed been reprehensible before hed learned the truth; she was merely ignorant.
But like it or not, he might be moving forward on his own.
With that in mind, he pulled out into the street. Time to hit a few of the shadier spots in the city of New Orleans.
* * *
The bastard.
The arrogant, crazy, single-minded bastard.
Danni watched Quinn drive away, her emotions raging. She was furious. It was lateand hed just left her on the street, going off on his own.
Not that shed wanted to go anywhere with him. But hed dragged her into this, and now she felt guilt and sadness that a woman was deadand total confusion. People could behave brutally, badly, cruelly. But he was obsessed with an object!
As far as she could see, the damage was done. Hank and Gladys Simon were both dead; the bustthe thing that had driven Gladys so crazywas gone. Stolen. But surely the bust itself didnt have any power. Power lay in the minds of people. Somehow Gladys had let herself believe the bust was evil, and therefore, in her particular reality, it was.
Jerk! she said aloud.
She headed for her own car in the dark.
As she drove home, she wondered how her father had come to know police officers and forensic expertswithout her having a clue. Granted, she and Angus hadnt been joined at the hip. Although she had her room in the shop, where shed been staying since his death, shed also had an apartment near Tulane, which, of course, shed now let go. Shed grown up in the French Quarter, and leaving the sometime-insanity of the area for a place of her own had seemed a logical progression for her. She loved her art, fellow artists and a number of musicians. She went out with her friends; her father went out with his.
Shed just never imagined him delving into police matters. Knowing that Quinn person.
Jerk, she said again.
She bit her lip as she turned down Royal Street. She was hurt, too. Hurt that so much had gone on that she hadnt known about. She reminded herself that shed hidden a few things from her father while growing upnot terrible things, but shed had her share of normal escapades in college. Thered been a few dates she certainly hadnt wanted to share with him, and yet...
In all important matters, theyd been close. Hed been friends with Jarett Morrison, the love of her high school life, and although she and Jarett had split up in college, theyd somehow stayed best friends. Her father had been her rock when word had come that Jarett had been killed on a dusty desert road by a bomb while in the service; hed held her through the funeral. Hed never met Aaron, the wacky engineer shed dated for only a few months, or Hardy Wentford, the forlorn guitarist. Shed never brought a man home to meet Angus unless she was serious about him, and she hadnt felt that way about anyone since her mad high school crush on Jarett, a crush that had just faded, as naturally as aging.
Lately, since before her fathers death, she hadnt even met anyone she really wanted to have coffee with, much less get serious about.
The point was that shed hidden a few questionable dates; hed hidden an entire lifes project!
Royal Street was quiet but she could hear the distant, competing music from Bourbon Streetlike the beating of the French Quarters heart. The real heart, of course, wasnt in the blaring pop music, the strip clubs or the bars on Bourbon Street. It was in the centuries of history. But tourism kept the city alive, so those entertainers were important.
A few late-night diners were strolling back to their hotels or homes in the Quarter but her block was dead quiet. She hit the remote control button and drove her Acura into the garage. Billies little Beetle was pulled into its spot, she noted, but shed expected that it would be. Billie was a homebody. When he wasnt working, he might take a stroll down to Frenchman Street, where more locals played at the pubs and bars, but he was usually home early, up in his attic room, watching Storage Wars and gleeful when he convinced himself that no one had ever found treasures to compare with those at The Cheshire cat.
The garage door opened into what had once been a pantry; now it was a hodgepodge of stored objects. She walked into one of the shops display rooms. The emergency floor lights were on and she could see the blinking blue lights that indicated the alarm was working. She reset it and moved through the darkened rooms to the stairway, passing the knight in full armor, a life-size voodoo queen doll and a standing display of Anne Rices Interview with a Vampire characters. She paused in the shadows, smiling.
We were a good team, Dad, she said softly. Hed been the collector, but shed known how to create displays that made the shop a not-to-be-missed venue in the city. It had gone from a confusion of objects to a showroom worthy of a museum.
She hurried on up the stairs to her own room. It was nearly midnight and she really should get some sleep.
But after showeringshe felt she had to; somehow death seemed to be clinging to hershe discovered that no matter how hard she tried, she couldnt stop thinking. So she lay awake, hour after hour.
Michael Quinn. He was a celebrity once. But hed been known for hard living, for dating a different beauty every week and attracting national attention, from sportscasters to pop stars. Hed been escorted out of a few establishments, and hed been escorted into a few jails. Then there was an accident, and hed disappeared from public view. For a few years, whenever a wicked football game was on, people would say, If only Michael Quinn was playing! and then even those sentiments died away.
Danni rose, turning the lights back on. Her iPhone was on her dresser; she walked over, booted up and keyed in Michael Quinn.
At first, it was all football storiesor stories about Quinn at local establishments. It was true that while he was a phenomenon, he promoted his city and its shopkeepers and tourist venues by being photographed in front of them all the time.