The Dead Play On

by Heather Graham

  “He’s a good guy,” Quinn agreed. “He must be pleased to have you as one of his parishioners?”

  “Hope so.”

  “Back onstage,” Tyler announced. “Break time is over.”

  The night passed, and everything went well, Quinn thought. It was a pity, really, that they were only there hoping to catch a killer, because it kept him from losing himself in the music as much as he wanted to. By the time the crowd thinned out and Friday night was just a memory, Danni was in her element, joking around with Tyler onstage, and harmonizing easily no matter which of the two lead singers—Tyler or Shamus—took a song.

  It was after 3:00 a.m. when they quit for the night. As the rest of the band packed up their equipment, Tyler walked over to them. “The guys want to head down to Café du Monde. You guys game?”

  “Sounds great,” Quinn said, and Danni nodded in agreement.

  In another half an hour they were heading through Jackson Square and on to Decatur. Most of the night’s partyers had gone on to their homes, hotels or bed-and-breakfasts, but a few people still straggled along the street. Quinn looked back toward the square and the cathedral rising high in the night sky. There was something peaceful about the scene. The equestrian statue of Andrew Jackson grandly guarded the center of the square as usual. He always loved to find the right position in front of that statue just as the sun was falling and see the cathedral rising majestically behind it.

  The carriage drivers had called it quits for the night, as well. Everything seemed especially serene.

  He hoped no one else had died that night.

  He walked with his arm around Danni’s shoulders. Billie was ahead of them, walking with Shamus and arguing the beauty of Scotland to Shamus, who let him know in no uncertain terms that there was a reason why Ireland was called the Emerald Isle.

  Tyler came up behind Quinn. “You’re armed, right?” he asked.

  “Always,” Quinn said.

  “This could be the night the killer strikes again,” Tyler said nervously.

  “We’re good,” Quinn assured him. And, he thought, they were. He closely watched everyone who walked by—especially anyone who was alone and looked as if he was trying not to be noticed.

  This late, the area was devoid of the street “statues,” performers who posed without moving for hours on end, as well as the tarot readers and artists who so often worked in and around the square. But just as they were about to cross Decatur Street over to Café du Monde, Quinn paused.

  “A street entertainer,” he said softly.

  “Pardon?” Danni asked him.

  “I know where I’ve seen the kind of mask the guy who attacked Jeff, Lily and Rowdy wore. I saw one on a guy performing down here once. He was working with a ballerina ‘statue.’ Their act was pretty cool. He was like an animator who made her come to life. Their tips bucket was pretty full.”

  “We know those masks are sold all over,” Danni reminded him.

  He nodded.

  “But you’re thinking the killer might be accustomed to wearing one?” she asked softly.

  “I am,” he told her.

  This late, there was plenty of room to sit at Café du Monde. The weather was beautiful, so they chose to sit outside. Other musicians in the city began to join them, eventually taking up a half dozen tables. As Quinn had hoped, they were all talking about what had happened.

  “Someone out there is jealous,” a young brunette said. “I mean, think about it. Holton and Larry were both phenomenal musicians. They could play so many instruments it’s ridiculous—and all of them well.”

  “Yeah, but when it came to a sax, they reigned supreme,” her companion, a man with long dark hair, said. Then he looked at Tyler and hastily added, “I mean, they weren’t better than you, Tyler. You’re just as awesome.” A stricken look crossed his face. “Oh, wow, man, maybe that’s not good.”

  “I’m ready to head to another city. New Orleans is home and I’ll always love it, but it’s not worth dying to play music here,” a man two tables away said.

  Quinn spoke up. “Remember, Holton Morelli and Larry Barrett let their killer in. So don’t let anyone in unless it’s your mom, your spouse or your kid.”

  “What about the holdup on the street? Think it was the same guy?” a woman asked.

  “With a gun,” someone muttered.

  “We’re all going to need guns,” the brunette said. She rose suddenly. “I’ve got to go home, get some sleep,” she said. Then she paused. “Um, can someone come with me?”

  Her companion rose. “Of course. But I’m going to be on your couch. I’m not leaving till it’s bright daylight, preferably sometime after noon,” he said.

  Soon after they left, others started to head out, everyone sorting themselves into groups of at least two so as not to be alone.

  “Was this any help?” Tyler asked Quinn.

  Quinn nodded.

  “I’d be mad if it had been a waste of time,” Billie said, yawning. “We’d better hope Bo Ray is doing better, because he’s going to have to open the store tomorrow. These old bones are worn to shreds. And if you want me to play again tomorrow night, well, I’m going to need my beauty rest.”

  “I’m sure Bo Ray will be fine tomorrow, Billie,” Danni assured him, touching his arm. “You should play all the time. Seriously.”

  When it came down to their group leaving, Shamus, Gus and Blake decided they would all stay at Blake’s place. Shamus encouraged Tyler to join them.

  “Can’t. Promised some old friends I’d hang out at their place now.”

  “It’s almost 5:00 a.m.,” Shamus reminded him. “Who hangs out at 5:00 a.m.? Well, other than musicians.”

  “I’m good—promise.”

  “I don’t know where he’s going, but I’ll see that he gets there,” Quinn said.

  The walk back to Danni’s was almost surreal. Tyler offered to flag down a cab to get where he was going, but Quinn told him to forget that, and they would pick up the car when they got back to the house. There were very few people out, though when they passed one man coming out of his apartment, Quinn felt his muscles tighten. But he realized quickly that the man was in scrubs and reminded himself that for a lot of people, the day was just beginning. The big street scrubbers were all out, washing away the garbage and vomit that always accumulated heavily on a Friday night.

  At the house, Wolf greeted them all excitedly. Danni ran up right away to check on Bo Ray, who, she said when she came back down, was sleeping deeply.

  “How did he look?” Billie asked.

  “I didn’t wake him up to look at his cheeks,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’ll be up by ten. You get your beauty rest.”

  “I won’t be long,” Quinn assured Danni. “I don’t think. Where am I taking you?” he asked Tyler.

  “Just over to Treme. I’m staying with Arnie’s folks—trying to keep an eye on them,” Tyler told him.

  “Sounds good,” Quinn said, then turned to Danni and smiled. She was obviously tired. But she still looked stunning. “I’ll be right back,” he told her.

  She grinned. “I’ll wait up,” she said huskily.

  “You don’t mind?” Tyler asked. “I mean...leaving here?” he asked, looking at Danni.

  “Wolf will let me know if anyone is around who shouldn’t be,” Danni told him. “Go on, both of you—leave!”

  “I really will be right back,” Quinn said with a wink.

  “Oh, Lord. I’m going up to bed,” Billie said. “Really, you two, get a room.”

  Danni laughed as he headed up the stairs. “We intend to,” she promised him.

  Billie just kept going, waving a hand in the air. Quinn told Tyler, “Let’s go. Danni, even with Wolf—”

  “I’ll lock the door and not dream of opening it for an
yone but you,” she assured him.

  Quinn led Tyler back out to the courtyard and his car.

  * * *

  Danni meant to wait up; she really did. The night had been a strange kind of high, and when she first came in she felt as if she was wired and would be up all night.

  But she headed up the stairs to change, and before she knew it, barely having kicked off her shoes, she crashed down on her bed.

  Billie didn’t have to worry about what was going on in the house that night, she thought drily. She wasn’t going to make it another two minutes.

  She had no idea how long she had been sleeping when her phone rang.

  With Quinn out and everything that had been going on in the city, the sound of it put her into a raw panic, and she answered it immediately.

  Caller ID told her that it was Jenny, but all she could hear was shallow, rushed breathing.

  “Jenny?”

  “Danni!”

  “Yes, what’s wrong?”

  “He—he was here.”

  “Who was there? Where are you?”

  “Home. Brad is driving the guys. I was all locked in and then...” Her voice dropped. “Then I heard the door.”

  “I can barely hear you, Jenny. Are you okay?”

  “He was at the door, Danni. He was at my door!”

  “Who was it? Is he gone? You didn’t answer, right? You just pretended you weren’t there?”

  “Yes,” Jenny said in a whisper. “I think he’s gone, but...Danni! He had no face. No, he had a face. He had a weird face. Like Jason from those slasher movies. No, not like that, not exactly. Jason’s face is a hockey mask. This was a face, but—”

  “You saw him?”

  “Of course I saw him. I looked through the peephole.”

  “But he’s gone now, right? You didn’t answer the door and he’s gone?”

  “Right. I’m just scared. I need Brad to get back.”

  “You should call the police.”

  “And tell them what? There was a man at my door but now he’s gone?”

  “Call them. Tell them exactly what happened. They can see if there are prints on the door. They can look around the area for him. He could still be in the neighborhood and still wearing that mask.”

  “I don’t want to hang up. I want you to keep talking to me. Brad will only be another ten minutes or so.”

  “Jenny, you need to call the police.”

  “Oh my God!” Jenny exclaimed suddenly.

  “What?”

  “He’s back!”

  “If he’s knocking at the door just ignore him, hang up and call the police.”

  “He’s trying to break it down, Danni! He’s slamming something against it.”

  “Call the police! Hang up now. I’m on my way, but you need to dial 911 now.”

  “Danni!”

  Danni heard a tremendous crashing sound.

  Then the line went dead in her hand.

  * * *

  When they reached the Watson home in Treme, lights were on. Quinn could see Woodrow Watson’s silhouette through the blinds.

  “Someone waited up for you,” Quinn said. “Or just woke up, I guess.”

  Tyler grimaced. “I feel like I have to be here for Arnie. And I’m pretty sure the Watsons feel like they have to watch over me for the same reason, for Arnie.”

  “Nothing wrong with that, Tyler. Well, I’ve got to get back. I’ll see you tomorrow. Remember not to open your door to anyone you’re not one hundred percent sure of.”

  “Oh, trust me. I won’t,” Tyler assured him.

  It was an easy drive back at that time of the morning. Bourbon was open to traffic, the street cleaners were still out, and people who worked at the hotels and breakfast establishments were pretty much the only ones out, hurrying to work or leaning against walls on their smoke breaks.

  Just after he hit the clicker to open the gate to the courtyard at Danni’s house, he saw her bursting out of the house with Wolf on her heels.

  He frowned as she veered in his direction, racing toward the car. She opened the door and jumped in, telling him, “Drive to Jenny and Brad’s place—and hurry. You know where it is, right? We have to get there now!”

  He did as he was told, but as he drove he glanced at her, concern ripping through him. “What happened?”

  “He was there—the killer. He showed up at her door with the mask on!”

  “She didn’t answer, right? Did she call the police?”

  “No, she didn’t answer the door.”

  “Where was Brad?”

  “Doing what everyone is doing, taking their friends home.”

  “So did she call the police?”

  “I don’t think so. She called me because she was scared, but she thought he’d gone away. I kept telling her to hang up and call the police. But she kept talking, and then she said he was back and trying to break in, and then I heard a bang. And then her phone went dead.”

  “Tell me you dialed 911?” he said.

  “Yes, immediately.”

  “But you were going over there, weren’t you? Are you crazy?”

  “I was with Wolf, and the police were on the way.”

  “But you knew I was coming right back!”

  “Quinn, he was there. In Jenny’s house.”

  “He has a gun!”

  “And I had Wolf!”

  “Damn it, you know better than to—”

  “Just drive!”

  He wasn’t going to win an argument at that moment, Quinn knew, but he was still angry—and scared. The danger was really hitting home.

  Jenny and Brad lived on Conti, on the other side of Bourbon. It took him next to no time to get there, and he thanked God that there were no street closings or parades to block the way. He drove up to the old Spanish residence where Brad and Jenny lived. It was wedged between two businesses. If she’d screamed, there wasn’t a huge likelihood that she would have been heard.

  He was glad to see police cars were pulling up in front just as he and Danni arrived. He hadn’t even gotten the car into Park before Danni tore out of it.

  “Jenny!” he heard her cry.

  “Damn it,” he swore, leaping out himself.

  He saw that the door to the house was swinging open. And as he rushed to the door behind Danni, officers in uniform were already heading up the walk. An officer moved to stop them, but another one said, “It’s Quinn. Let them be.”

  Quinn kept going. He wanted to catch Danni before she found her friend.

  Before she found her friend dead, as he had found Lawrence Barrett. As Larue had found Holton Morelli.

  But Danni shoved past everyone and was the first one inside. He came through the doorway behind her and nearly crashed into her back.

  “Jenny!” she cried.

  Chapter 7

  “JENNY, WHERE ARE you?” Danni called out frantically.

  Quinn looked around the parlor of the modest home. Music stands were everywhere, and there was an upright piano with sheet music piled high on top. There were even more sheets of music mixed in with the magazines on the coffee table. A cup still half-filled with tea was there, as well, as if Jenny had been sitting there waiting for Brad when the knock had come at the door.

  He caught Danni by the shoulders and spun her around. “Wait here,” he said firmly.

  Just as he spoke, Brad Henderson came tearing through his front door. He screamed Jenny’s name, too, then saw Danni and Quinn, and strode toward them, hysteria rising in his voice. “Jenny, where’s Jenny? What happened? What’s going on?”

  Quinn could see that he was shaking so badly his knees were going to give out. He caught Brad when he started to fall and pushed him toward the comfortab
le old sofa, where he collapsed. The officers were already moving through the house.

  While he was helping Brad, Quinn realized he’d lost Danni. She was heading deeper into the house on the heels of the two patrolmen who had arrived first.

  “Brad, just breathe,” he ordered.

  One of the officers who had been heading down the hall returned to the parlor.

  “Who is this?” he demanded.

  “Brad Henderson,” Quinn said. “It’s his house.”

  He heard Danni call out again. “Jenny! Where are you?”

  And then he heard Danni choke out a sound like nothing he’d ever heard before. “Sit,” he told Brad.

  The officer who had come out nodded, obviously as afraid as Quinn was of what Danni and the other cop might have found and equally unwilling to let Brad head farther into the apartment to see the potential horror for himself.

  Quinn raced along the hall that led past the dining area and kitchen and to the two bedrooms in back. His heart seemed to climb into his throat as he ran, and when he reached the door to Jenny and Brad’s room, he realized he hadn’t even been breathing.

  He let out a breath. Everything was all right.

  The second officer was leaning against the wall as if he had collapsed in relief.

  Danni had found Jenny. She had found her beneath her dressing table, where she had hidden behind the decorative table skirt. With Danni’s coaxing, she was emerging from her hiding place, which had barely been big enough to contain her.

  Jenny was shaking uncontrollably. Danni was trying to help her get up without cracking her head. Quinn turned quickly and called down the hallway, “It’s all right. Let Mr. Henderson through, please.”

  Brad came running down the hall. Jenny turned from Danni’s arms into his, sobbing uncontrollably.

  Quinn left the room and headed down the hallway to talk to the officer who had waited with Brad.

  “This isn’t just your average break-in,” he said. “I’m calling Detective Larue and—”

  “Already done, Mr. Quinn,” the officer said. “Our sergeants have been drilling us every morning. We know what’s going on.”

  “Thank you,” Quinn told him. He was relieved that even the patrol officers were aware of what was happening. It wasn’t that New Orleans hadn’t seen its share of violence before; after the summer of storms, things had been very bad for a long time. Not that New Orleans had become a hotbed of evil, it was just those with evil intent would always take advantage of a bad situation. At that time, there had been a big difference in petty crime, as well. It was one thing to break a window and steal electronics; it was another to break into a grocery store for bread.