Let the Dead Sleep

by Heather Graham

  Natasha had seen Danni and Wolf at the back of the courtyard. She invited the tour group to enjoy her shop and then started to make her way over to Danni. She was frequently stopped by the curious—just as Danni was stopped by a number of dog lovers.

  At last the courtyard began to clear out, and Natasha finally reached them. “Thank you for coming so fast. I’m afraid you didn’t come quite fast enough, though. I thought he’d stay, but I’m sure he’ll be at the ceremony tonight.”

  “He?” Danni asked in confusion.

  “Carl White. His street name was among the ones Quinn gave me—Big-Ass Mo Fo.”

  “What’s the ceremony?”

  “Gerome Vasquez is a parishioner of mine. His brother, Andrei, died a year and a day ago. As you know, the ti-bon-ange, or little angel of the soul, does not rest unless the gros-bon-ange is brought back, so that the soul might find peace and rest as one. I couldn’t tell if Carl was with Gerome when he came in or if he knew him and knew what was going on...or if he just happened to be here. But I suspect he’ll show up for the ceremony tonight. It’ll be out on the old bayou road heading west toward Houma. That’s where the peristyle we use for our worship is located. You’ve been there, although you might not remember.”

  “Yes, I’ve been there. I came with my father,” Danni murmured.

  “You must come tonight. And you’ll see if others come...searching for something they won’t get from us, but searching there nonetheless.” She rolled her eyes and grinned. “Our city is filled with everything—vampires, spiritual vampires, frat boys and girls, a ‘Cult of the Werewolf’ and so on. But for some reason, tourists all believe that they’ll see the dead burst out of graves or a human sacrifice if they come to a voodoo ritual. Or they think they’ll find black voodoo, and although it exists, it’s never among the true followers. But when people hear through the grapevine that there’s a ceremony, they show up.”

  “We’ll both go, Natasha,” Danni assured her. “When is it?”

  “We’ll begin at eleven. It’s as much for the survivors as the deceased. Our belief is that if we don’t join the soul, there may be sickness and evil and other bad things around the loved ones left behind by the dead.”

  “Thank you, Natasha,” Danni said. “I’ll get hold of Quinn and we’ll be there. I remember where it is.”

  She realized, as she walked Wolf from Natasha’s shop, that she was glad of the excuse to call.

  Ridiculous. She had the man’s dog. She could call him anytime!

  She started to punch in his number but before she could finish, she bumped into someone and heard her name exclaimed with pleasure.

  “Danni!”

  It was Jenny LaFleur, one of her close friends from high school, with whom she’d reconnected when she returned to New Orleans to live. Jenny’s eyes were bright with laughter and excitement. “Hey, I was going to call you and make sure you hadn’t forgotten! You have forgotten, haven’t you? I can tell. It’s tonight!”

  Danni looked at her blankly. “Danni!” Jenny blurted, hurt in her voice. “Brad and I have that gig tonight on Decatur Street. We’re using the backdrops you painted for us and we’re going to promote the shop and your art. Remember? You promised to come.” She giggled. “We’re counting on our friends, you know?”

  Friends.

  Yes, she actually had them. She’d forgotten with everything that had happened since Gladys Simon walked through her door.

  “Oh, Jenny—”

  “Don’t you dare tell me you’re not coming!” Jenny said. “We’re finally being recognized as a talent in our own hometown. Please come,” Jenny begged.

  Jenny came to every one of her gallery showings. Brad had been the musician of their class, a clown when he was young. He was now in love with Jenny, but had always been a friend to Danni, as well.

  “I’m so sorry. Things have been a bit crazy lately.”

  “Your dad wouldn’t want you sitting at home, pining for him, Danni. He was a great guy—and so proud of you. He wanted you to live your life. Tonight will be great. And if it’s not great...we’ll really need you!”

  “I...just forgot. What time are you on?”

  “Nine o’clock.”

  Danni nodded. “I may have to cut out a bit early, but I’ll be there,” she promised.

  “What a great dog,” Jenny said, bending down to pet Wolf. “When did you get him? He’s huge!” She giggled again. “He must be a menace in the shop, with that tail. He’s beautiful, though.”

  “He’s not mine. Belongs to a friend.”

  “Who?”

  Danni waved a hand in the air. “Oh, I don’t think you know him. I’m sure you’ll meet him at some point. Anyway, I’ve got to get going. I’ll be there, clapping and cheering my fool head off, okay?”

  “Better be!” Jenny told her. “Okay, see you soon!”

  As she walked down Royal to her home and shop, Danni lost her enthusiasm for calling Quinn. Yes, she’d been given a lead.

  And now she’d be saying, “Hey, I might have learned something about all the horror going on. But we have to stop by a bar first and listen to some music....”

  She kept walking. Well, he hadn’t called her, either. Maybe he was on to something himself. Maybe he didn’t intend to call her.

  Maybe she was supposed to head out to the voodoo ceremony by herself. Alone.

  She wouldn’t be alone, she reminded herself.

  She had Wolf.

  * * *

  Quinn made his first stop in Brandt Shumaker’s offices.

  They were modern offices, all glass and chrome, the walls lined with posters of properties the firm was handling and pictures of oil investments, along with propaganda on why the oil digs and platforms were so important to the survival of Louisiana. He went through a secretary and then an assistant, and when he’d convinced both of them that he had a small fortune to invest, he was led to Shumaker’s office.

  He wasn’t surprised by the office; while it was glass and chrome like the rest of the place, the walls held custom cabinets with a variety of antique and intriguing objects—including shrunken skulls from New Guinea, South American tribal spears and Etruscan sacrificial bowls.

  Shumaker rose when Quinn entered. He wasn’t a tall man, maybe five-ten, broad and stocky with graying hair and a square face. He wasn’t particularly handsome but he was dressed to the nines in an Armani suit and exuded an air of power and authority that gave him a certain appeal. He extended his hand to Quinn. “Mr. Quinn! I’ve heard of you. Way back when, I thought we’d be seeing you pick up a Super Bowl ring!”

  Quinn took the indicated seat before Shumaker’s desk. “Ah, well, I tried living a bit too hard when I was a bit too young,” he told Shumaker.

  “A regular bad boy,” Shumaker agreed, friendly as he took his own chair again, folded his hands on top of the desk and studied Quinn. “I heard you ran off to the military and then became a cop.”

  “Yes, but I went out on my own a few years ago,” Quinn said.

  Shumaker lifted a brow.

  “I’m a private investigator.”

  Shumaker appeared to digest that information, still smiling. Then his dark eyes grew hard, and Quinn felt a change in the man that was palpable. “So, you’re looking for a major property investment?”

  “Yes, land seems to be the only thing worth buying these days. Even when the market drops, if you can hold on, you have something more than a piece of paper. The stock market is just wicked.”

  “That’s bull, Quinn, and you know it. You’re investigating me. My employees aren’t exactly idiots, but apparently I haven’t found the sharpest knives in the drawer for my office. Private investigators don’t make the kind of money those dunces think you’re about to spend. So, what the hell is it, Quinn? I’m going to have you thrown
out—but I’m curious. Who sent you here?”

  Quinn smiled. “You better hire tougher dunces in the office, Shumaker, if you plan to throw me out. I’ll go of my own volition. But you’re curious? No one sent me. I’m here because there’s a trail of dead, Shumaker, and your name comes up in connection with this trail. The cops can’t touch you—yet—because you hire thugs to get the blood on their hands. But you deal drugs as well as land, and you’re involved in something you can’t begin to understand, something that will eat you alive. Let me say that I’m here with fair warning.” He pointed to the shrunken skulls. “It’s obvious that you’re into collectibles, Shumaker. Be careful. The collectible you’re after intends to collect you.”

  Shumaker rose, his face a mottled shade of purple. He set his hands on the desk and leaned toward Quinn. “You want to warn me? Let me warn you, Mr. Quinn. I’m a legitimate businessman. You won’t ever find anything on me. In fact, I’m going to run for office and I’ll probably wind up running this state. People love me. I give them what they want and what they need. I’ll have followers up the wazoo and, I promise you, I’ll be untouchable. So I suggest you stay out of my way. I also intend to report that you threatened me. Which you have. I’m going to get my legal team on this, and they’ll see to it that you’re not allowed within two hundred yards of me. I don’t know what you think you’ll get from me, but there’s nothing for you here. Now, Mr. Quinn, I do believe you should leave my office.”

  Quinn stood, too. “Shumaker, I believe I just got exactly what I wanted. Thanks for your time,” he said.

  He left the office, thanking the staff pleasantly as he did.

  He felt that he did have exactly what he needed, but he figured he’d keep at it. He was in the area, so he decided to try a few of the restaurants and bars frequented by the employees at Shumaker Properties.

  He was nearly coffee-ed out, but he headed into a place that was known for its excellent and, most importantly, cheap po’boys. The restaurant was not at all fancy and situated in the far corner of a not-very-attractive 1930s building. As the aroma suggested, the food was the appeal. He realized the power bars he’d eaten that morning had worn off. He certainly didn’t need more coffee, so he opted for a shrimp po’boy and a soda.

  A group of five men and women in cheap business suits were situated in a vinyl-seated booth in the corner. Beneath his jacket one was wearing a tailored white shirt with Shumaker Properties embroidered on the collar.

  Payday at last. Well, maybe. If they said anything.

  Quinn found a vacant seat within hearing distance. He took his chair just in time to hear one of the two women in the quintet say, “...weirder than ever. And meaner.”

  “Hush!” the young woman next to her said, glancing around. “I think the bastard has spies everywhere.”

  “Yeah? Well, I don’t see any of his ‘security’ force around now,” an older man said.

  “He told me he’s had a few late nights—working, of course,” another said. He shook his head. “He is meaner than ever. One of guys at the shop who works on that limo of his came in and talked about the underbelly of the car being scratched up by going over a construction site or something—told him to watch where he was driving if he wants the car to work all the time at a moment’s notice. Shumaker went into a fury at the guy and said it wasn’t his place to tell him where he could and couldn’t drive.” He looked around and lowered his voice. “Then one of those big-ass goons he keeps on as ‘security’ came into his office. Sandy—you know, his secretary—told me later that she heard the guy from the garage got driven off the road. And Shumaker’s been seeing some strange woman. Every time she comes in, Sandy says, he goes on and on about how he’s going to be mayor, and then governor, and then what the hell, he’ll rule the world!”

  “I wish I could afford to quit,” one of the women muttered.

  “I just might quit whether I can afford it or not. Hell, I’m ready to tap dance on the street and see if I can collect some money in a hat,” the older man said.

  The second woman spoke softly. “Don’t quit. Franco Quinero in accounting quit two weeks ago. Odd—he had a car accident, too. I’ll bet he’d tell us he got driven off the road if he could. But he can’t, since he’s in a coma.”

  Quinn sat and listened to them; the rest of their conversation consisted of worries about their health and the economy.

  He was startled when his phone rang.

  He was annoyed at first, and then dismayed at the sense of pleasure that filled him when he heard Danni’s voice.

  “Quinn? Where are you?”

  “Eating a po’boy,” he said. He was sure that the members of the group didn’t have hearing as acute as his but he wanted to act natural.

  “Eating a po’boy?” She sounded confused. “Well, I’ve been working.”

  “Really. Good. With Wolf.”

  There was silence for a minute. “Yes, with Wolf. Finish your po’boy,” she told him. “Then get your sorry ass over here.”

  She hung up before he could respond. As he closed his phone, he felt a smile slip onto his face. She was, after all, proving to be Angus’s daughter.

  * * *

  “You’re mad at me for eating a po’boy?” Quinn asked Danni. She was evidently in a huff. Strange thing was, he still felt like smiling. She was in a regal huff, and she was beautiful when she seemed cool and controlled—and steaming with emotion beneath. Her eyes were blue rockets, her posture was rigid, and yet she paced her studio with long strides that betrayed her agitation.

  “Silly me. I had it in my head that if you hadn’t called, you were pursuing the truth, stamping out terror—saving the universe.”

  He nodded. “I was.”

  “By eating a po’boy?”

  “It was a shrimp po’boy, really good,” he said. “Danni, I was in the Central Business District, hanging around a place where I figured Shumaker employees had to eat.”

  “Did you learn anything?”

  He shrugged. “I think there’s a woman involved. Isn’t there always?” he teased.

  The glance she shot his way suggested that she was not amused.

  He grew serious. “It seems a woman’s been coming to his office of late. Every time she comes, he runs around saying he’s going to rule the world. And...the undercarriage of his car was roughed up. I’d say he was definitely prowling around in the construction areas of the Ninth Ward. His temper has flared more than once and it seems that anyone on his bad side ends up in the hospital. Or dead.”

  “They told you all this?”

  “I’m a talented eavesdropper. Your turn.”

  “We’re going to a ceremony tonight. A voodoo ceremony.”

  “Oh?”

  “Natasha called me. She’s officiating at a ceremony for a member of her parish. His brother died a year and a day ago. And before that—”

  He cut her off. “She thinks someone in her parish might be involved in this?”

  “We’re fixated on Eyes. But she told me that Big-Ass Mo Fo was at her place today—and she’s pretty sure he’ll show up at the ceremony.”

  “Eyes could be in on it. As far as he goes, I’m thinking in another direction.”

  “Oh?”

  “I stopped at Shumaker Properties today.”

  “And?”

  “He was defensive. He wants to get a restraining order out on me for threatening him.”

  “Did you threaten him?”

  “I warned him.”

  “Quinn—”

  “I’m not lying! I just said I thought he was looking for something dangerous. And he instantly became very angry. So...” He paused. “They could be in on it together—Shumaker and another of our suspects or even someone else,” he said. “Who knows? But we’ll definitely go to the voodoo ceremony.”
r />   She watched him oddly, then took a breath.

  “And before that, right before, we have to go see a group playing down on Decatur.”

  “We think it has something to do with musicians?” he asked.

  She shook her head, flushing slightly. “I have to be there. They’re good friends, they’ve been to all my art openings and...I have to go.”

  “Can we make both?”

  “They’re playing at nine. The ceremony doesn’t begin until eleven.”

  He was thoughtful for a moment. Bo Ray was in rehab, Sam Johnson was in protective custody. Two of the other names he’d gotten were of men who were in prison. That left Eyes and Big-Ass Mo Fo.

  Danni was still watching him, stiff, straight, regal—beautiful. She was, beneath the pride of her stance, hoping he’d agree with her.

  “I love a good musical group,” he told her.

  He started suddenly. He could have sworn he’d heard a sound just outside her studio door.

  But Wolf was with them. Wolf was sleeping; he hadn’t moved. If there’d been any danger, the dog would have gone into a frenzy.