The Dead Play On

by Heather Graham

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t, either,” Brad said.

  “We might be looking at the killer,” Quinn told them quietly. As he spoke, his phone rang. He excused himself to answer it.

  The rest of them looked at one another. “So none of us has any idea who the kid in the picture is?” Jenny asked.

  “I don’t,” Danni said, and Brad shook his head, as well.

  Quinn walked back into the kitchen. “That was Larue with some ballistics info. The gun the killer used when he robbed Lily, Jeff and Rowdy fired 9 millimeter bullets, which we suspected. Larue thinks it was a Glock 19.”

  “That’s what you got me,” Danni reminded him.

  “It’s a very popular gun,” he said. He looked knowingly at Brad.

  “Yes, I own one, too,” Brad said.

  Quinn nodded. “You own one, Danni owns one. And so do Gus and your own bandmate Steve,” he said, looking from Brad to Jenny.

  “Yes, but the night Jenny was attacked, I was driving Steve and Luis home,” Brad reminded him.

  “Where does Steve live?” Quinn asked.

  “Treme, just the other side of Rampart Street,” Brad said.

  “And Luis?”

  “Farther up in the Garden District.”

  “That could have given Steve time to hop in a car and get to your place,” Quinn said.

  “It could have, but it didn’t,” Jenny said passionately. “Steve would never hurt me or Brad.”

  “Someone is doing this,” Quinn said.

  “Then look at Gus,” Brad argued. “He’s with the B-Street Bombers. He would have been closer to Arnie, would have known all about Arnie’s special sax. He could have followed him after the bar closed for the night. Why aren’t you thinking about him?”

  “Oh, I am thinking about him,” Quinn said. “We have to follow every possible lead.”

  “Yes, well, you can follow Gus really easily now, since you’ve decided to leave us for the B-Street Bombers and La Porte Rouge,” Jenny said, a subtle note of reproach in her tone.

  But Quinn didn’t seem to be bothered by it. “Do you know who’s seeing whom home now that you’ve both been staying here?”

  “No,” Brad admitted.

  “Then maybe we should find out,” Quinn said.

  * * *

  Truthfully, Quinn’s gut led him to believe—as Brad had suggested—that Gus Epstein was the more likely suspect. Still, he intended to make sure that someone kept an eye on Steve.

  Not long before it was time to leave for the night, he received another call, this one from Father Ryan, who told him that he would be stopping by the house. He said he wanted to talk to Quinn before Natasha joined him for a night at La Porte Rouge.

  Quinn met Father Ryan outside on Royal Street. The priest appeared to be gravely concerned.

  “Not sure how to do this, because anything I learn in the confessional is strictly confidential between man and God,” Father Ryan told him.

  “If a priest learns about a murder or a possible murder, I believe there’s a way for him to get around that,” Quinn told him.

  “But I didn’t learn about a murder,” Father Ryan said.

  “What if I guess?” Quinn asked.

  “I don’t know. Okay, I didn’t hear about a murder or a proposed murder, but I think it would be a good thing if you started hanging around with the B-Street Bombers again.”

  “You saw one of them today?” Quinn said.

  “I can’t answer that,” Ryan said.

  Quinn looked up. Natasha was coming down the street. He and Father Ryan both fell silent. She arched her brows questioningly as she reached them.

  “What’s going on?” she asked. “There wasn’t another— I mean, everyone is all right, yes?”

  “Everyone is fine, Natasha,” Quinn told her.

  “Maybe the killer’s lying low,” Father Ryan said. “Letting the fear die down. He sees the news. He knows the city is on the alert.”

  “That’s true. Did you learn that today?” Quinn asked him.

  “No, pure conjecture on my part. I can tell you that much.”

  “Aha!” Natasha said. “Father Ryan is trying to tell you something he’s not supposed to.”

  They were standing just to the side of the entrance to The Cheshire Cat. They heard the tinkle of the bell as the door opened and Danni stepped out.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  Natasha laughed softly. “Father Ryan is wrestling with his conscience.”

  “Oh, someone went to confession,” Danni said.

  “Seems to be the case,” Quinn agreed, smiling as he looked at her but wincing inwardly. He loved her. And she was becoming her father, dedicated to solving strange mysteries and saving lives. It was so different working with her, though. Quinn had spent most of the time with Angus more worried about coming out alive himself, rather than worrying about Angus. He’d been a hell of a highlander, massively muscled, a tall man, as sturdy as the rugged cliffs of the highlands himself.

  Whereas with Danni...

  He was so in love with her. It was impossible to work on the kinds of cases they handled and not be worried about her. And yet, he couldn’t change things. She’d inherited not only the shop but Angus’s mission and passion, as well.

  He remembered one of his mom’s magazines that had a monthly article called “Can this marriage be saved?” He wondered what they would think if he wrote in and asked the “experts” about him and Danni. The love of my life inherited a calling to solve crimes with paranormal undertones. Oh, yeah, and I died on the operating table but was brought back to life, and ever since I’ve had a similar calling. The problem is, I’m always afraid something’s going to happen to her, and I wish she was somewhere safe and not in harm’s way...

  “I bet Shamus was in to see him,” Danni said. “Nice Irish boy, likely to be Catholic. And since we’ve just learned that Gus owns a Glock 19 that might have fired the 9 millimeter rounds during the robbery, I’m guessing he went to confession because he’s worried about something his bandmate said or did, so now he wonders if Gus might have something to do with the murders.”

  As she spoke, Father Ryan turned and started walking away.

  “Hey! Where are you going?” Natasha called after him.

  “For a drink! Even a priest is allowed a drink now and then.”

  “Wait up—I’ll join you,” Natasha said, and hurried after him.

  Quinn was left to look at Danni with a combination of amazement and amusement. “I think he’s feeling torn now,” he told her.

  “But he did the right thing, and he didn’t really say anything,” she said, smiling. Then she frowned. “Could it really be Gus?”

  “It could be anyone,” he said gently. “But we have to follow whatever leads we get, Danni. This killer has to be stopped.”

  She nodded. “Yes,” she said softly.

  She was so beautiful, he thought. Auburn hair flowing around her shoulders, blue eyes crystal clear as they met his.

  He didn’t need to write to anyone about Danni. He loved her. What he had to do was learn to let her stand on her own, to take on the role she had been born for.

  “It’s almost time to go. I thought we’d drive Brad and Jenny down to Magazine Street. Larue will have a man watching over them tonight,” he said.

  “Ready when you are,” she told him.

  And she was. She looked great. She could front any band, he thought. She was striking in dark leggings and a leather jacket.

  Hot, he thought.

  “What are you grinning at?” she asked him.

  “The idea that I’m going to be at La Porte Rouge tonight.”

  “That’s not news. So...?”

  “I’m just glad,” he told
her. “That’s all.”

  * * *

  It was almost time to be at work. What he was doing was definitely dangerous, but then, desperate times called for desperate measures.

  She hadn’t been part of the in crowd or the Survivor Set—as they had ridiculously called themselves—but she still deserved greater scrutiny.

  He’d watched her, so he knew her routine. She was secretive; she didn’t let even those closest to her get truly close. He knew where she lived, knew that her mother lived in the second half of the duplex, making it easy for her to watch the child. Funny, none of them had ever seen her son, either.

  It seemed impossible, but he was a fan of Sherlock Holmes. Once you had eliminated the impossible, whatever remained, however impossible, had to be the truth.

  They were watching him, so he had to change. He had no choice. But he still needed to blend in, even in costume. Luckily, in this city that could mean almost anything.

  Today he was a robot. He was good at the mechanical motions. He attracted an audience as he moved through the streets of the French Quarter. He played with the kids. He posed for pictures.

  And he reached her house.

  He rang the bell. He heard someone moving. Heard the old woman say, “Hold your horses. I’m coming.”

  She opened the door. He paused for a moment; she had to be at least fifty, yet she remained almost as beautiful as her daughter.

  He was stunned by her appearance.

  She was equally stunned by him, a perfect robot, right out of a sci-fi flick, standing in her doorway.

  They both froze.

  Luckily for him, his senses returned first. With his metal-gauntleted fist, he struck her a hard blow to the head, sending her flying back against the far wall.

  She crumpled to the floor with barely a whimper.

  He stepped into the house, surveying the parlor. There was a piano near where she lay on the floor. He saw sheet music on the piano, but there was no sign of any other musical instruments. He would have to take further care of the old woman. He didn’t have much time and couldn’t afford to be interrupted. The drapery cords would work as tethers to keep her still in a nearby armchair. He could use her own scarf as a gag.

  But just as he was reaching for the drapes, a little boy walked in and said, “Memaw?”

  He paused, stunned once again. The kid was a cherub. Innocent, sweet—and looking at him in complete awe.

  “’Obot!” the boy said, delighted.

  Frozen, he just stood there. And then, in a state of shock, he panicked. Somewhere in his mind, he knew he needed to stay and finish the job.

  But with the kid staring at him that way, he just couldn’t. He turned and ran.

  Chapter 14

  JESSICA HAD GIVEN Danni a list of duets intended for two women. Danni had listened to all of them in search of the easiest ones—which meant none of them.

  But when she got to the club that night she was able to tell Jessica that she had learned two of them, anyway. “I mean, I don’t know them well, but...”

  “Which two?” Jessica asked her.

  It was still slow at the bar; only a few patrons were sipping drinks and listening to the canned music that drifted through the air. Eric controlled the music while waiting for the band to come in and take over, and he seemed to be in an energetic mood. Bon Jovi was playing, almost too loudly for conversation, Danni thought.

  “‘Me Against the Music’ by Madonna and Britney Spears and that song from Jekyll & Hyde, ‘In His Eyes.’”

  Jessica’s eyes brightened. “Really? We can do them both?”

  “I don’t have your vocal register, you know,” Danni told her. “I’m not even sure why you want to do duets when you’re phenomenal on your own. You should sing with the band every night, and I should be waiting tables.”

  “That’s sweet,” Jessica said, smiling. “And I really appreciate it. But I make good money on the floor. And I need it. Hey, want to go to a back corner and run through them quietly together?”

  “Sure,” Danni said, though she wasn’t sure just how quiet they would have to be; the music was pretty loud, and though there weren’t many patrons, their conversations were animated, not to mention that the band was setting up, and there was plenty of noise coming in from Bourbon Street.

  “Let me just check on my tables first,” Jessica said.

  As Danni leaned against the bar, waiting, Eric came over to chat.

  “She’s pretty amazing, isn’t she?” he asked.

  “Absolutely,” Danni agreed. She remembered seeing him with Jessica and the others at the cemetery. “It’s none of my business, but are you two a duo?” she asked.

  “Me and Jess?” he asked, seeming surprised.

  “Yeah, you and Jess. At the cemetery I thought, well, you two seemed to be together. More or less.”

  “I guess more or less would define it,” Eric said. “I’m more into Jessica than she is into me. But I’m biding my time. She worries because she has a baby. Or a toddler? I don’t know. We never see him. I tell her I like kids. She tells me she doesn’t want her son having anything to do with Bourbon Street. I remind her that I work on Bourbon Street, and that I’m nowhere near it when I don’t have to be. I try to walk her home every night, even though it’s only seven blocks, but sometimes one of the others takes her instead. Gus or Shamus. Or Max, best bouncer in the Quarter. No one’s going to mess with him. I know she cares about me, just...not like I care about her. Not yet.”

  “What about Sharon?” Danni asked.

  “Sharon—or Sharon and Gus?” he asked.

  “Are they a couple?”

  “You’d have to ask them. Today was kind of an accident.”

  “You went to the cemetery by accident?”

  “Not exactly. Sharon had been talking about wanting to go. I talked to Gus and said we could go with her then have dinner somewhere nicer than usual and still make it to work on time. He was the one to suggest calling Jessica. Maybe he saw it as safety in numbers or something.”

  Safety in numbers? she wondered.

  “Danni!”

  She turned around to see Jessica waving her over, a smile a mile wide on her face. “Coming,” she said.

  As she walked over to join Jessica, she saw Sharon come in.

  Sharon smiled at her and said, “Hey, Jessica told me she was hoping to sing with you, so I thought I’d pop in on my night off and cover her tables so she wouldn’t have to worry.”

  “That’s really nice of you,” Danni said.

  “The band’s ready,” Jessica said, joining them. “They said to do the Madonna first, then Jekyll & Hyde.”

  “So we’re crashing right in, trying out both songs?” Danni asked.

  “Tyler said it’s the way to do it,” Jessica said. She smiled. “We’ll be fine. I know them both backward and forward. I won’t let us fail, I promise.”

  “Okay, then.”

  The two of them hopped onstage. Danni suddenly felt as if something was chewing at the pit of her stomach. She wasn’t Jessica. It wasn’t that she lacked confidence, but her talent was for art. The thought of ruining something Jessica was so excited about was daunting.

  Quinn was already onstage. He smiled and gave her a thumbs-up sign. She smiled back, studying him. At six-four, he seemed to tower over everyone else, and his eyes, she thought, were heartbreakers, his smile enough to give her the courage she needed.

  Then she remembered that they were only there at all because people had died, and a murderer was still on the loose.

  The music started, rousing her from her dark thoughts. Jessica sang the leads, and Danni did her part, glad she didn’t have to carry the songs on her own.

  Jessica’s voice soared.

  Danni missed a few notes and skewed th
e melody a bit here and there, but her confidence grew as she kept singing, and she was sure most of the audience didn’t even notice her mistakes, not with Jessica covering for her so beautifully.

  And Jessica was clearly delighted to be doing what she loved. She seemed to be shining. Danni was sure she’d never seen her so happy.

  The place had grown more crowded as they sang, and when Jessica stepped down from the stage, people rushed to her.

  It was a truly gratifying moment, seeing Jessica so happy. Danni beamed, and when she looked at Quinn, she was expecting him to be smiling, too. But he wasn’t. He was frowning and looking toward one of the tables.

  She turned to look in the same direction and saw that Jeziah had come into the bar. He was speaking to Father Ryan; Natasha was nowhere to be seen.

  The band had moved into a number with Tyler on lead vocals. Danni hurried off the stage and over to the table.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked anxiously.

  “I found a kid roaming in the street. Just a toddler, really. Maybe two years old,” Jeziah said. “I’d just closed up, and there he was, wandering down Royal. I thought maybe he was from the French Quarter, and since Natasha knows everyone, I brought him here. She’s out on the street with him now.”

  Father Ryan set a few bills on the table to pay for their drinks then stood. “You coming?” he asked Danni.

  Quinn was watching them as he played, clearly ready to put down his guitar and lend a hand if necessary. Danni raised a hand to tell him that he didn’t need to worry. Then she hurried out with Father Ryan.

  Natasha was a pillar of stillness as the Bourbon Street crowds swept by, people laughing, carrying their drinks, ready for a night of fun.

  She appeared to be heedless of all of them.

  She was holding a little boy in her arms. He was beautiful. His skin was a light golden copper, his eyes were green, and his hair was rich and thick and curly, a darker shade of gold. He was well dressed in little denim overalls and had sneakers on his feet. He’d been crying, Danni thought, but Natasha was crooning to him, and that seemed to please him.

  “Natasha, do you know him?” Father Ryan asked.

  “No, I’ve never seen him. We have to call the cops. His parents must be somewhere going crazy.”