Sheet music? That type of thing?
Next roomits an office. But its neat and organized. There are papers on the desk, including sheet music, but the piles are all neat and squared up. It doesnt look like anythings been disturbed, Grace said.
Curious.
Maybe. Or maybe the killer squared up all the piles when he was done to hide what hed been looking for.
Quinn looked through the other rooms. A closet had been left open, but if the drawers had been opened and their contents searched, the killer had put everything back the way hed found it.
Judging by marks in the dust, the killer had definitely looked under the bed, though.
So had the killer been looking for an object of a certain size?
Are we having the same idea? Grace asked, interrupting his thoughts. The guy was looking for something at least as big as a bread box.
Looks like it. Well, I want to talk to the landlord. Thanks, Grace. And the usual, of course. Keep me posted, please.
She nodded. You know I will.
Your thoughts, as well as anything scientific, he said.
You bet, Quinn.
He hurried back downstairs.
Larue was waiting for him. He stepped outside, and Quinn followed.
Larue turned to him. We have a sadistic killer on our hands, he said.
I think thats obvious, Quinn said.
Larue met Quinns eyes, his own expression thoughtful. The night of the first murder, there was a holdup in the street. A group of musicians was stopped at gunpoint late at night. All that was taken were their instrumentssax, guitar, harmonica, if I remember right. One fellow was hurt pretty badly, pistol-whipped.
Did they give you a description of their attacker?
They said he was medium build. They thought tall. He had a plastic face. And theyre pretty sure he was wearing a wig.
A plastic face? Quinn asked. Probably a mask. God knows you can buy any kind of mask around here.
You have to admit, it does seem similar enough to hint at a connection, though. Assaulting a group of musicians in the street, and then two musicians murdered, the first the same night as the assault.
Yes. Although as far as we know he left all the instruments behind in both murders.
True. But it seems probable that its the same personsomeone with a hate on for musiciansand hes escalating.
And at a fantastic degree. Were going to have dead musicians lying across the entire city if we dont get to the truth quickly.
Okay, so well have a visit with Mrs. Ruby then get to the hospital and talk to Lacey Cavanaugh, Larue said grimly.
* * *
There was nothing like the sound of a sax.
Danni Cafferty stood just outside La Porte Rouge and listened to the music spilling from the Bourbon Street pub. It was delightful.
Somehow the addition of a sax seemed to make almost anything sound betterricher, deeper, truer.
Wolf, at her side, barked, breaking her concentration. Hey, boy, she said, patting the hybrids head. Its okay, Im coming. I just wasnt expecting to be so enchanted. Beautiful, isnt it? No, maybe cool or...mournful, in a way. Theres something deep and passionate about a sax, huh?
Wolf barked again as if in complete agreement and wagged his tail.
She looked into the club. From the side door she could see the band. It was darker in the club than it was outside, and it took her a minute to see the sax player. He was tall, lean and striking. She thought instantly that he was a New Orleans boy, born and bred, the way he played his sax. And there was something special about him. He was a beautiful golden color, with close-cropped dark hair, and he leaned into his music as if hed been born listening to it, born to play. He wasnt playing alone, of course, but it seemed to her that he was amazingeven in a city filled with amazing musicians.
She couldnt listen all evening, she told herself. Quinn had called to tell her that JakeDetective Larue, his ex-partner from his days as a NOLA copwas coming by to see them that night. She was carrying takeout from her friends new restaurant on St. Anns, and shed actually meant to head down the block to Royal but had decided to walk along Bourbon for a few blocks first.
She hadnt meant to get so distracted.
The songsomething by Bruce Springsteenended. And then, despite the difference in the light inside and out, she realized that the sax player was staring at her. Well, she was standing in the bars doorway with a giant hybrid wolfGerman shepherd at her side. She told herself it was Wolf. That the guy was staring at the dog by her side. People always stared at Wolf. They were either terrified, or they wanted to cuddle him.
But the truth was, the man wasnt looking at the dog, he was staring straight at her. As if he knew her.
She frowned.
Did she know him?
She might. Shed gone to school here, along with a number of her high school classmates who had never moved away, and while they might all live in different areas now and do different things, they ran into one another now and then. The guy did seem familiar. He might have been one of the kids who, like her, ended up in a local private school after the storms had struck, since their own schools had been flooded.
But she wasnt sure. She lifted a hand and waved, then shouted, Way to go! Wow!
Then she left, still feeling a little uneasy.
She turned at the next corner and cut down to Royal Street, heading for her house and her souvenir and collectibles shop, The Cheshire Cat, that occupied a chunk of the first floor.
The front door was open when Danni reached the shop, which was just as it should have been. They didnt officially close until seven, and it was barely past six.
Billie MacDougallwho had been her dads right-hand man and assistant until the day he died and was now herswas behind the counter. Billie looked like a cross between an aging Billy Idol and Riff Raff from The RockyHorror Picture Show. He was skinny as a beanpole, but his looks were deceptive, because he had a wiry strength. He was also the best employeeand friendanyone could ever have.
Dinner! he said, grinning as he saw her, his Scots burr coming out in the single word despite his decades in America.
She walked to the counter and set down her bags of takeout. Figures I could help out a friend with a new place and have something wonderful to eat.
Do I smell lasagna? Billie asked eagerly.
She smiled. You do indeed. When Adriana decided to open a restaurant, I suspected it would be Italian, since shes first generation herself. Im sure its excellent, too. I loved eating at her house when I was growing up.
Billie made a face. You doona like Scottish fare, lass?
Danni laughed. Sure, I love it. Not that its plentiful in New Orleans, she said drily.
Plentiful enough in this house. If Ive made it, its Scottish. And you love my cooking.
This is America. We love everything. But if youve suddenly discovered that you dont like Italian, you dont have to eat it, you know.
Dont be cheeky, lass. Ill just take the bags to the kitchen and get things set up, he told her, grabbing the food. Ill go ahead and have me dinner then watch the shop till closing so you and Quinn can take as much time as you like for dinner. He grinned at her. That is, if theres any food left.
Dont be cheeky, lass. Ill just take the bags to the kitchen and get things set up, he told her, grabbing the food. Ill go ahead and have me dinner then watch the shop till closing so you and Quinn can take as much time as you like for dinner. He grinned at her. That is, if theres any food left.
I bought a salad, bruschetta and a whole tray of lasagna, she said. I dont believe you could possibly eat it all.
You never do know now, do you? Make fun of me and Scots cooking, will you? Billie said.
Danni grinned. Is Quinn back yet? I dont know why he went to the station if Jake said he was coming here.
He didnt go to the station, Billie said, heading toward the kitchen.
Then why did you say he did when we talked this afternoon? Danni asked.
I never said that. I said he was on the phone with Larue and then he left, Billie called from the kitchen doorway. You just assumed he was going to the station.
Then where did he go? she asked.
Wherever he went, he had to leave quickly, Billie said. And I dont ask the man for a schedule when he leaves the house, just as I dont ask you. When hes ready, he tells me. Which is after he tells you, most of the time, so I guess well both know soon enough.
Youre right. I just hope he gets back while the food is still warm, she said.
We do own that thing called a microwave, Billie said.
Ah, but is it Scottish? she murmured drily.
I heard that! Billie called back.
Danni grinned, walking around the counter to take the stool behind it. Wolf followed her and curled up at her feet.
She glanced at the computer; theyd had a busy enough day for a Thursday. Billie had sold a number of the handmade fleur-de-lis necklaces one of the local vendors had started making. They were delicate and beautiful, and while only gold-or silver-plated, they sold for almost a hundred dollars because of the work involved. She was glad to see that people still valued craftsmanship.
She noticed, too, that hed also sold several of her own watercolors of the French Quarter. While the shopand other matterstended to take up a lot of her time, she had majored in art and actually had something of a local following. She loved visual art, and her favorite medium to work with was either watercolors or oils on canvas. Despite the fact their last case had involved a long-dead artist and a painting, she was determined not to lose her passion for her art.
The bell over the door gave off its pleasant little tinkling sound, and she looked up.
It was the sax player.
In fact, the sax was in his hand, its case in the other.
Hello, she said, frowning slightly. He had followed her here, she thought. Still, it was early evening. There was still light in the sky and plenty of people out and about on Royal Street, many of them seeking restaurants and bars, but some of them shopping, as well.
And Wolfthough he had risendidnt seem to expect any danger. Wolf, she had learned, had a wonderful ability to sense whether people were trustworthy or not.
He even wagged his tail slightly. Everything had to be all right.
The door closed behind the sax player. For a moment he looked around the shop. Dannias her father hadmixed souvenirs and affordable trinkets in with real antiques and collectibles. There was another collectible area in the house, in the basement, where she kept items too powerful and dangerous to be sold or even shown. Of course, the basement wasnt really a basement; the ground floor was actually built up above the street, and you had to climb a few stairs to get to it.
She loved the shop, just as her father had. She had grown up loving it. She had a couple of real medieval suits of armor as display pieces, along with the work of a number of local artists besides herself, both new and antique jewelry, busts, a few nineteenth-century vampire hunting sets, flags, weapons and more. She knew she was good at creating wonderful window displays and that the shop was as much a gallery as a showroom, to the point that sometimes people came just to look around rather than buy. She wasnt sure if that was good or bad. It was obviously less than ideal if they didnt buy, but having such wonderful word-of-mouth reviews had to be good.
May I help you? she asked as the man continued to stand just inside the door, looking around the room.
He met her eyes at last. Danni? Danni Cafferty?
Yes, she said. Forgive me, but...do I know you?
He nodded. You may not remember me. Im Tyler Anderson. I was a few years ahead of you in high school.
Tyleryes! She remembered him now. She hadnt thought of him in years. Hed graduated before her, and she hadnt seen him since. But she remembered. Hed been part of what a number of the magnet-school music studentswho had been adopted by a Garden District school during the aftermath of Katrinahad called the Survivor Set. As an art student, shed been dragged in as something of an honorary member.
It was good to see him again, and she smiled. He really was a beautiful manhe always had been. Almost like a golden god with hazel eyes.
She walked around the counter. I havent seen you in forever! Its wonderful that you found me. How have you been?
Fine...good. Mostly, he said awkwardly.
I heard you playing earlier, she said. Youre incredible. You always were, but now...wow. Youre really good.
Not that good.
No, trust me. I just heard you, and you are.
He shook his head impatiently. No, no, I... He paused, looking around the store. Is anyone else here?
Well, Billieyou remember Billieis in the kitchen. And Quinn is due home soon.
Quinn... Michael Quinn? The Michael Quinn we knew back in school?
Yes.
Are you two married?
No, no. I mean, one day. Maybe. He lives here. Mostly. Not always. Danni stopped speaking; she was never sure how to describe her complex relationship with Quinn. But then again, she didnt really have to explain. She added lamely, Were together. A couple.
So is it true?
Is what true? she asked carefully.
That he was a cop and then became a private investigator. And you guys look into things that are...different. Bad things, odd things.
Danni shrugged uneasily. I try to collect things that people think may be evil or haunted in some way. You know how people can be. Superstitious.
Is it just superstition? he asked.
People can be wonderful or evil. I think we both know that. But things are just...things. Why? What are you talking about? she asked.
Murder. I think my friend was murderedand that the saxophone he left me is haunted.
She stared at him and murmured, Okay. Can you...?
Do you remember Arnie Watson? he asked quietly.
She did. She remembered his incredible talent, and she remembered seeing a piece written about him by a local columnist just a week or so ago. Hed died on the streets after coming home from the Middle East. After hed survived three deployments. Somehow that seemed to compound the tragedy of his death.
Yes, she said.
Arnie was the best, Tyler said passionately. An amazing man and an amazing friend.