New Orleans Nightmare

by Alison Golden

  “And was that the last thing the deceased would have eaten?”

  “I guess.”

  “Who was involved in preparing it?”

  “Elijah made the cupcakes and N–Nat…” It suddenly dawned on Roxy where this line of questioning was going. She cleared her throat, “Nat made the punch and delivered it along with the cakes to the guests’ rooms.”

  Johnson eyebrows shot up, and he tapped his pen against his lips, a small smile forming.

  “Surely you aren’t suggesting that the nightcap had something to do with Dash’s death?” Roxy asked in a here-we-go-again voice. “Or that Nat or Elijah were involved in some way?”

  “Let’s wait for the post mortem results before speculating, shall we, Ms. Reinhardt?” Johnson wagged his pen at her again, but his skeptical expression told Roxy that he clearly wasn’t following his own advice.

  By the time Johnson and his forensic team had left and Dash’s body had been removed, it was evening. After checking that everyone was all right, Roxy decided to go for an evening jog. She thought it might clear her head. The press corps was still on her doorstep, but those who had hung around the back seemed to have given up. Roxy slipped out of the back door. When she set out, the sunlight was just beginning to fade, leaving a purply haze that felt a little eerie. As she ran, her feet rhythmically pounded the sidewalk while her mind wandered.

  Roxy had grown up with a mother who put her down, who had never believed that Roxy was destined for any kind of happiness or success. In her head, Roxy could hear her mother’s voice.

  Why did you believe that you could have a good life, that things would get better, that you could be successful? Can’t you see that everything you touch turns to dust?

  Roxy knew that if her mom was with her right now, she’d get a knowing look followed by, “Roxy, why did you even try to do that? You never finish anything you start. You should have played it safe.”

  But Roxy had not wanted to play it safe, not any longer. She had wanted to break with the past. She had tried her best to turn the Funky Cat Inn into a thriving business, tried to create, tried to succeed. And it had gone well for a while. But now look what had happened. Things were turning out worse than she could ever have imagined. Would she have been better to play it safe in the first place, like her mother would have said?

  But it was too late to be second-guessing herself now. Evangeline had handed management and partial ownership of the Funky Cat over. Roxy had staff and suppliers who were relying on her. The Instagram campaign was underway. There was no way out but through. She needed to step up.

  Back at the Funky Cat, after a shower, Roxy fell into a fitful sleep, waking up several times in the night, horrible thoughts riding around her head and trampling all over her soul. Images of Ada wagging her finger and Johnson arguing swam in front of her eyes while the sound of Michael crying for help rang in her ears. It felt like someone had reached into her chest, grabbed her heart, and squeezed. But amid the chaos, she saw her friends—Sam, Nat, Elijah, Sage, and Evangeline—urging her on, telling her not to give up. Even Nefertiti made an appearance.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE NEXT MORNING, there was no time to be dragged down by the trauma of the previous day. Roxy knew that it was her responsibility to make sure at the very least that the influencers were all right and that no further negative impressions of her hotel were going out into the world. She planned to make sure the reputation of the Funky Cat wouldn’t be torn to shreds on her watch if she could possibly help it.

  She got up, washed her face, and smiled at herself in the mirror. “I can do this,” she said to herself. “I can, I can, I will, I must.” She felt a little blip of depression catch her heart, a little reminder of the obstacles facing her, but she decided not to pay it any attention. She needed to be strong now, and strong she was going to be.

  First things first, Roxy checked on Michael. He didn't come down for breakfast, and as Roxy went upstairs with a coffee and a plate of beignets, she had horrible visions of finding him in the same condition he had found Dash in the previous day. Fortunately, that did not turn out to be the case. When she found him, Michael was sitting at the window in his room, staring out at the city. It was a gray morning, which obviously wasn’t helping his mood.

  “How are you doing?” asked Roxy, not knowing what else to say. She knew it was a dumb question, but it was hard to know what to say to someone whose best friend had just been murdered.

  Michael said, “Oh fine, fine,” in a dreamy, distracted voice. He seemed worlds away.

  “Did you sleep all right?” she asked, setting the beignets and coffee next to him on the table.

  “Terribly,” he said. “All I could see was Dash’s dead face looking back at me. I can't sleep here again.”

  Roxy nodded. “I understand. Why don’t we get you to another hotel?” she said. “Maybe you'd be better staying at somewhere larger, more anonymous, and with more people around.”

  Michael looked at her for the first time since she entered the room. “That makes sense,” he said flatly.

  “If it weren’t for Detective Johnson’s orders you could go back home. You probably don't feel like being in New Orleans right now.”

  Michael shot back, “Do you want me out of the way? Do you want me to leave so as not to inconvenience you anymore?”

  “No, no!” Roxy said, horrified. “I was just thinking about your well-being.

  Michael shook his head. His shoulders slumped. He leaned against the window. “You see? I just can’t stay here. I keep wondering who would have done that to Dash and why.” He got out his smartphone and showed it to Roxy. “That horrible detective released a statement to the news. Dash was poisoned. The police are treating his death as suspicious. Why would someone poison him? And how? We all drank and ate the same things at dinner, didn’t we? It just doesn't make any sense.”

  Roxy cringed inwardly on hearing this news and felt an ice-cold hand clutch at her heart. Was her food responsible? Was it the nightcap? Was there a murderer staying in her hotel? Would suspicion fall on her and her friends, again? She shook her head. “You’re right. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  Michael looked at her with a disbelief that he did not even care to veil. Roxy looked back at him, bewildered. “You don’t think I…?”

  “Sorry,” he said. “No, I’m not sorry. I don't know if I'm sorry! It’s just…anyone could have killed him. How am I supposed to know? How am I supposed to tell who’s innocent and who’s guilty?” He burst into tears. Great big sobs. “I’m so sorry, buddy!” he said through his wailing cries as he looked out of the window. “I’m so sorry!”

  Roxy felt her heart might break listening to him. She rushed to kneel down in front of him and put her hands on his knees. It was an intimate gesture as if they were very good friends, but his cries reached deep into her heart and brought out all her compassion. “I am so, so sorry,” she said. “But there was nothing you could have done. None of this is your fault.”

  “But it was!” he said. “It is! I was the one who convinced him that we should do this job here at your hotel. He didn't want to. This isn't his style. He wanted to go for the Hilton project. He wanted to focus on that. He was saying we should do a showreel to impress them and even stay and shoot in Hilton Hotels ourselves on an unpaid basis to prove what we can do and get the job that way. But I told him no.” He choked back a sob. “I told him, let’s focus on our own indie stuff and not go running after a big name brand. And now look what’s happened! It’s all my fault, and nothing anyone can say will change my mind.”

  Roxy couldn’t fathom what Michael was talking about, but she didn’t feel it was the right moment to probe. She waited for him to continue speaking. She was willing to sit there and listen to him for as long as he wanted, but he shook his head and said, “I need to get out of here.”

  “I'll help you,” Roxy said. “You want me to get you a reservation? Or parking? Or…? What do you need from me? I'm here
for you.” This was far beyond customer service. This was human to human. Roxy’s heart was so heavy with compassion for Michael. She could not even begin to imagine what it must be like to have your best friend die, let alone find them dead, possibly murdered. She thought of what it might be like if she found Sam, Elijah, or any of her friends the way that Michael had found Dash, but her mind just wouldn’t go there. She couldn’t, wouldn’t imagine it.

  He said, “No, I’ll take care of everything. All I need is for someone to get me over there so I don’t throw myself in front of traffic.”

  That took Roxy aback. “I will go with you,” she said quickly. “Tell me when you're ready.”

  “Now,” he said, beginning to tap away at his phone. “I’m ready now.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “I’M JUST MAKING the booking,” Michael said. “I’ll go to the Hyatt. Then I’ll see that awful detective and give him a piece of my mind. Why is he talking to the media before talking to me? I was Dash’s business partner and his friend and…” He trailed off.

  “I understand,” said Roxy again. “Just remember that when we go out, there may well be reporters looking for you and perhaps me. We’re two of the people who’ll face the most press interest—me as the owner of the hotel and you as Dash’s partner.”

  “Oh, man, I’d forgotten about that,” said Michael. “I haven’t thought of Instagram since the moment I found him. But I know my fans, Dash’s fans, are out there, waiting. They need to hear from me, not a bunch of random reporters. It might seem crazy to go back on social media straight after this, but honestly, some of the fans are…well, they’re like family. They need to hear from me.” His face crumpled, “But I’m not strong enough yet.” He sniffed and wiped his eyes.

  “If they really care about you, they’ll give you all the time you need and will totally understand how you feel,” said Roxy. “Just do it when you’re ready.”

  Michael gave her a small smile. “Thank you so much for understanding, Roxy,” he said. “I’m very hard on myself at times. It’s wonderful to have a friend like you. Dash was…” His voice faltered.

  Roxy felt her heart swell with warmth. “It’s nothing,” she said. “I’m glad to have met you. I just wish it had happened under better circumstances. Let’s do what we can to get justice for Dash now. I promise I will fight to the end for him.”

  Roxy thought they should take a vehicle to the Hyatt. They could go in Sam’s work van. They could hide in the back. But shortly after Sam said he was on his way, he called Roxy’s phone. “The street’s jammed with reporters and their cars,” he said. “All over the place. They’re parked in the middle of the street, everywhere.”

  “Have you tried the back entrance?”

  “Yep, there’s reporters there too.”

  “Let’s just face them, Roxy,” Michael said. “They want their pound of flesh, so let’s give it to them. How bad can it be?”

  Roxy thought it could be pretty terrible actually, but she said, “Okay, but no talking to them, promise?”

  Michael nodded.

  So with Sam unable to make it through the throng, Michael and Roxy had no choice but to walk through a sea of reporters. They had to push their way through. There wasn’t a single foot of space and none of the journalists would give an inch. Microphones were shoved in their faces. Questions were shouted in their ears. Someone even tried to wrestle Michael’s case out of his hand. In response, Michael elbowed the man in the chest to push him away. “Leave us alone!” Michael shouted.

  Roxy winced. She pictured Michael looking like a crazy man on the front page of the newspaper. Perhaps they would even start to make up a narrative about Dash’s killing, implicating Michael as the culprit. Trial by press, isn’t that what they call it? Terrible. She didn’t want to even think about what they’d print about her and her hotel.

  Eventually, after much pushing and shoving and stonewalling, the pair arrived at the Hyatt. Thankfully, the reporters were barred from entering while Michael and Roxy were let through. The hotel locked the doors from inside once they’d passed into the lobby. Frustrated to have their quarry elude them without responding, the reporters piled up outside, banging on the glass. “We're going to call the cops on you!” a security guard shouted to the journalists, but it made absolutely no difference. The reporters were like a pack of wild wolves desperate to sink their teeth into their prey.

  “Oof, this is what it must be like being part of a boy band. Thank you so much for coming with me,” Michael said to Roxy breathlessly. They were both red-faced with exertion and adrenaline. “Those reporters were crazy. How are you going to get back?” Michael said.

  Roxy looked out the door. “I think I’ll have to get a police escort,” she said with a sigh. Overhearing her, a young, bright, overly enthusiastic concierge said, “I can arrange that for you, miss.”

  “Thank you,” Roxy replied hoping against hope that it wouldn’t be Johnson who came to get her.

  Michael’s phone beeped, and he fished it from his pocket. His face clouded over as he read it. “I just got a message,” he said. “It’s Dash’s family. Well, his mother and brother. His father died a long time ago. They’re staying here until the case is solved. They’re coming down from Missouri.” His face was strained.

  “Oh, I see,” said Roxy. Then she ventured, “Is everything okay?”

  “No, not really,” he said. “They are not nice people, Roxy. They hate me and have wanted me out of Dash’s life for a long time. They didn't trust him to live his own life, they wanted to dictate everything he did. But they didn't know him, they didn’t care to know him, not the real him. They didn’t understand what he wanted or what he loved. They just wanted to control him and have him conform, be a good, hometown boy who’s great to his momma. He was never going to be like that, he wanted more from life, but they kept on trying.”

  Roxy gave a sad little smile. “He was about the furthest thing from a conformist you could imagine, wasn’t he?”

  “Tell them that when you see them,” Michael said bitterly. “They thought he was being led astray by me.” He gave a sad smile too. “It was probably the other way round, wasn’t it?”

  Roxy returned Michael’s smile. “I think so, yes.”

  “Anyway, they’re planning to stay at your hotel.” He widened his eyes meaningfully. “Good luck.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  UNFORTUNATELY FOR ROXY, it was Detective Johnson who drove her from the Hyatt back to the Funky Cat. He took the opportunity to drive her in a marked squad car complete with flashing lights and the occasional blast of the siren in order, she suspected, to make a spectacle of her and give her a stern warning.

  “I heard that you’ve been saying that Dash was poisoned,” she said to him.

  “Yeah, that’s right. At your hotel.” Johnson kept his hands on the steering wheel but leaned over meaningfully, taking his eyes off the road and the reporters for a second to glance in her direction.

  “Does that mean we can expect to be graced with your presence some more? Will you be coming to question us again?”

  “And poke around your kitchen. We’re waiting on the full toxicology reports, but your place was the last one where the victim ate or drank anything.”

  “Only along with everyone else!” Roxy said, her indignation overcoming her shyness. “And the rest of us are fine.”

  “Means nothing, we have to investigate thoroughly. The victim’s food may have been messed with. And I want to talk to that flibbertigibbet again. The one from across the road.”

  “Elijah.”

  “Yeah, him. And that goth. The one with the tatts.”

  “You mean Nat.”

  “Yeah, her. I want to talk about them nightcaps. You likely have a murderer in the house.”

  Roxy frowned. She didn’t like the sound of this at all.

  Johnson was prattling on in the seat next to her. “Now, don’t you go around investigating like you did last time, y’hear? I'll slap
cuffs on you faster than you can say Miss Marple, if you do,” he threatened. “We need to treat this very carefully, what with the press interest and all.”

  They lapsed into silence and neither of them said much else for the rest of the ride. Roxy stared out at the reporters clamoring at the patrol car’s windows, fighting the misery that was weighing her heart down as they crawled along the street. What had her life become? Riding in police cars, chased by hordes?

  It was only when she got back to the hotel and into the kitchen where Nat and Evangeline were clearing away breakfast that she realized her insides were turning over with hunger. She hopped onto a stool and ate beignet after beignet while watching Nat load the dishwasher.

  “Johnson wants to talk to you again. He says Dash was murdered and that it was probably one of us. You were the last person to serve Dash food.”

  Nat looked at her quizzically.

  “The nightcaps,” Roxy explained.

  “Oh right, well I’m totally in the clear. Unless someone’s put rat poison in the punch when I wasn’t looking, they were regular old brandy milk punches.”

  “Yeah, I know you didn’t do anything,” Roxy said mournfully. “But someone did. And probably someone who was here that night.” Hopelessness was starting to wash over her like a tide on a beach. She kept pushing the emotion away but it kept returning. Each time it got a little bit stronger and pervaded a little bit further into her soul.

  Nat regarded Roxy with a worried expression. “Look, I'm really sorry if anything I’ve done has made things difficult for you.” She winced, then paused from loading the dishwasher, and turned to lean against the side. She gave a deep sigh. “I know I should have been nicer to Ada. About Ada…it's just that…well, everything is changing. I've never been a person who is good with change. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Oh, I’ve forgotten all about the dress incident. That seems like an age ago now and, well, we're both in the same boat,” said Roxy. “I don’t like change either.”