“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.”
“What do you mean?” Nat said. “You seem to revel in it. You’re sure fancy enough around this place, always wearing your lovely sparkly outfits, smiling like it’s Mardi Gras.”
“You're plenty good enough as you are,” said Roxy, smiling. “Isn't that right, Evangeline?”
“I don't know what you're both talking about,” the older woman said. “You young ones and all your soul-searching are a mystery to me. Back in my day we were hired for a job and we did it, no questions asked, no navel-gazing required.”
“That's all very well for you to say, Evangeline,” said Nat. “You don't live in the age of social media. Everything is about identity now. Everyone has to have their own personal brand. It's not easy. It brings with it a whole bunch of insecurities and worries that we are not matching up to everyone else.” She popped her head out into the dining room to check that there were no guests there. She lowered her voice to a shouted whisper. “Like Lily Vashchenko. She's just so perfect! Her home is immaculate and beautiful. She always has the best outfits on, and her hair is amazing. And that’s before we even consider her social media content! How are we supposed to match up to that? That series she did on other people’s kitchens was tremendous.”
Evangeline shook her head. “Why would you want to look at pictures of other people's kitchens for goodness sake?” she said. “How do people even have the time?”
Nat sighed. “You just don't get it.”
“You’re right about that, cher,” Evangeline said. “I don't. And I have no wish to.”
Roxy continued to munch away at beignet after beignet, amused at the conversation but feeling heavy-hearted still. “He wants to poke around the kitchen some more too,” she said.
“Who does?” Evangeline asked.
“Johnson.”
“Hmph! It wasn’t my food that poisoned that Dash fella!” Evangeline grumbled.
“No, I’m sure it wasn’t. We’d all be dead if that were the case, but maybe whatever poisoned him was put in the food. He’s right, it’s not outside the realms of possibility that someone tampered with it.” Roxy put her half-eaten beignet down, her stomach finally signaling that it had had enough. She pushed herself from her stool. “I want us to do something,” she said. “Moping around is not helping. One of us may be the murderer, but the rest of us are innocent. I have to keep things positive. I can’t give up.”
“There’s the evening with Sage coming up. She’s bringing her crystals and cards and whatnot,” Nat said.
“I know, but that’s not until tomorrow. I want to do something now. I have to shift this energy that’s weighing me down.”
“Once I'm finished up here, I was looking at hitting a couple of flea markets,” said Nat. “I want to find some more furniture to upcycle.”
“But everything's done!” said Roxy. “The hotel décor’s complete.”
Nat got a mischievous glint in her eye. “It’ll never be done. Not if I've got anything to do with it,” she said. “I have a great idea for a piece in the dining room that's going to take the luxury quotient to a whole new level.”
Roxy smiled. When Nat put her heart and soul into things, it was always a fun time. “Come on, share with the class, then.”
“Nope,” Nat said with a cheeky grin. “You'll have to wait and see.”
“Why don't we ask Lily Vashchenko to come along with us? She’s turned upcycling around. It used to be something you’d do when you were broke. Now it’s a virtue signal,” Roxy said. “Isn't she the upcycling Queen?”
Nat pouted. “No! I am!”
“Okay, okay,” Roxy said, her palms up. “You do know what you're doing, I’ll give you that. But you don't have nearly a million Instagram followers just yet, do you?”
“Nope, and I never will,” said Nat. “The idea of being famous makes my skin crawl, especially considering what’s going on right now.”
“Very sensible, cher,” said Evangeline. “More trouble than it's worth. You run along now, I'll finish up here.”
“Thanks, Evangeline!” said Nat. She ran out of the room at a sprint, anxious to be on her way.
Lily Vashchenko was delighted by the invitation to visit the flea market. At least she smiled, enigmatic and cat-like as usual. “I wonder if I’ll find any unique New Orleans pieces,” she said. “The architecture around here is very interesting. Perhaps I'll find something wonderful to put in my own home.”
Roxy called up to Sylvia’s room to see if she wanted to join them, but there was no reply.
“I think I saw her going out the back with those pole thingies of hers,” Nat said. “What does she need them for anyway? It’s not like she’s going to be climbing any mountains.”
“They’d be good defense in the event she comes upon any rabid reporters though,” Roxy responded. Nat nodded in agreement.
The three of them assembled in the lobby and Roxy peered through the front door spyhole. Most of the reporters seemed to have given up and dispersed. “They probably followed Johnson to the station after he escorted me back here in a squad car. He’s the only one talking to the press about what happened. Come on, there’s hardly anyone outside. Let’s go before we change our minds!”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ROXY, NAT, AND Lily set out together on foot. There were still dribs and drabs of reporters on the sidewalk, but Roxy told Nat and Lily, “Walk straight past them, don’t answer any questions. Don’t even look at them. Just pretend like they're not there.”
They only planned to walk as far as Sam's laundry. They took a couple of back streets and managed to lose most of the reporters that trailed them. By the time they reached their destination, there was only one still following them, and he was content to stand at the street corner and watch.
“Sam!” said Roxy, with relief, as they burst into the laundry, the constant whirring of the machines making a loud hum. It was hard to make herself heard. Sam was loading a machine, but he stopped when he saw the trio come in.
“Hey! How are you?”
“Um, well, it’s been quite a day so far,” she said. “I took Michael to the Hyatt, and the press chased us, and I had to have a police escort home and now…”
“Are you okay?” His eyes were soft with concern, and he came toward her as if to hug her, but then thought better of it and backed away.
Roxy felt the heat rise to her cheeks. “Oh fine, fine,” she said. “Don't worry about me. I'm just concerned about Michael and the rest of the guests, and now Nat and Elijah because Johnson is taking a hard look at them because of the nightcaps, and oh well, we just wanted to get out and lose ourselves in a crowd. We want to go to the flea market. Do you think you could take us in your van?” She was babbling and she knew it.
“Oh,” Sam said, wincing. “I’d be happy to, but I've just sent one of my guys out in it to collect an order. I guess...” He looked a little embarrassed. “We can go in the Rolls?”
“That would be fabulous,” said Lily immediately.
“Fine with me,” said Nat.
Roxy thought they might be a little conspicuous, but she grinned at him nonetheless. “You can take us by horse and buggy if you like. Just so long as we get there.”
Sam grinned back, and the atmosphere between them lit up, so much so that Nat had to wave her arms between the two of them to break it up.
They went out the back entrance to the parking lot. Lily’s slanted almond eyes widened when she saw Sam’s maroon Rolls Royce. “Wow,” she said, a rare enthusiasm animating her voice. “Now that's a real car. The laundry business must pay better than I thought.”
Sam avoided eye contact with her and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Um… well…”
But Lily wasn't paying enough attention to realize how shifty he was being. She had her iPhone out and was snapping selfies of herself again
st the car at every angle. “This will look good with my fans,” she said. “A Rolls Royce. That’s style.”
When they got inside, Lily admired the cream leather seats and ran her hands over the surface of them. “Goodness,” she said. “If I capture the Hilton deal, maybe I will be able to cruise in one of these myself.”
Something clicked in Roxy’s brain. First Michael, now Lily. “The Hilton deal? What is that?”
“Oh, it’s a huge contract,” Lily said. “They're looking for an influencer to partner with for an enormous advertising campaign. It should last the whole of next year. I'm putting together a portfolio to impress them, and this visit with you is part of that. They're going for the young, upcoming luxury market. That’s my target, and what you do fits in pretty well, which was why I was so keen to visit you,” she said with a smile.
Roxy’s palms began to sweat. The Hilton deal. The same deal that Dash and Michael had been going for! Lily, Michael, and Dash had been competitors. As they drove, Roxy looked at Lily out of the corner of her eye, studying her intently. Was she capable of murder? She seemed nice enough. She wasn’t effusive or gregarious, rather cool, even unapproachable at times, but Roxy knew that appearances were not necessarily all that they seemed. Perhaps Lily had had something to do with Dash’s death. Perhaps Dash and Michael were nearer to closing the deal than she was and she knew this. Perhaps Lily had picked Dash off. Perhaps, Roxy thought, she should find out.
Then she remembered Johnson’s warning. He had seemed deadly serious. She was not to investigate. He had ordered her. Roxy reflected on what Lily had told her as she leaned back in her seat. Her theory made sense, but it seemed barely credible to conclude that this elegant, successful woman would murder someone for money. Roxy couldn’t believe it and eventually, exhausted by events of the day and lulled by the sublime, if incongruous, ride to the flea market in Sam’s Rolls Royce, she put the thought out of her mind and fell asleep.
After the flea market, Sam dropped Roxy, Nat, and Lily off back at the Funky Cat. The trio clambered out of the Rolls with their flea market finds. Nat had found a small, broken old table and a sculpture of a woman with a bow and arrow that was so chipped, Roxy couldn’t conceive how on earth Nat was going to turn it into something that was even half-decent. All the reporters had gone now and Sage met the three women at the front door.
“Greetings to all,” she said, her voice trembling. “Dash’s family members are here. They are in the dining room.”
It took a lot to rattle Sage. She’d done years and years of spirit and mindset training to make sure that she stayed tranquil and “aligned with the spirits,” even in the most difficult of circumstances. Now though there was a look of fear in her eyes, and she was breathing a little more deeply than usual, as if she were trying to calm herself.
Roxy wondered what on earth could have upset Sage so, but her attention was dragged away by the need to face Dash’s family. Roxy took a deep breath and plastered what she hoped was an appropriate expression on her face, sympathetic and kind, but “in charge.” She walked into the dining room with her head high and her stride firm.
There, sitting on one of the most luxurious couches in the lounge was a plump, attractive-looking, middle-aged woman, and a sickly, pale young man of about twenty-five.
The woman stood up with a smile that seemed rather broad under the circumstances, her hand outstretched for a handshake. “Hello, you must be Roxy Reinhardt,” she said with all the formality of a businessperson closing a multi-million real estate deal. Roxy was taken aback. The woman didn’t come across as a mother whose son had just been poisoned. Her hair was blown out, her long nails were bright red, and her lipstick matched her fingers. She wore high heels. There was a designer logo on her purse.
As Roxy scrutinized the woman carefully and slowly, a barely discernable sadness in her eyes became apparent. Her polished exterior, to Roxy at least, was a façade, one that was brittle and which Roxy suspected could break down at any moment.
“My name is Kathy, and I'm Dash's mother.” Her smile fell for a moment before she pulled it back into place. “This is my younger son, Derek.”
The young man next to her did not stand up and had none of his mother’s charm. He was wearing a hoodie pulled too far forward; it partially obscured his face. When his mother spoke, he stayed seated in his chair and peered out from under too-long bangs, fiddling with a model airplane in his lap.
“My little Derek is pretty shy,” the woman said, proudly. She looked at her son affectionately as if he were ten years old. “We are going to stay here until Dash’s…killer…has been caught. You won't get rid of us for quite a while probably.” She started laughing, but in a moment, her laughter turned to sobs. Composing herself quickly, she gave a huge snort and wiped her eyes. “Sorry, you'll have to excuse me,” she said. “It's a difficult time.”
“Of course it is,” said Roxy kindly. “Please, please do stay for as long as you’d like, and ask me if you need anything. Has Sage shown you up to your rooms yet?”
“Yes, she has. Thank you,” said Kathy.
“I’m staying in Dash’s room,” said Derek, suddenly coming to life. “To be close to him.”
“He knew where it was and everything,” said Sage. She had a strange look on her face. “Something must have called out to you, Derek,” she said.
“Now I just have one thing to tell you,” said Kathy. She maneuvered herself close to Roxy and lowered her voice. “You've got to understand that that horrible Michael was a terrible influence on Dash. He got my son involved in all sorts of shady things. I’ll tell you the story of how they met...Well, maybe not now, maybe another time, someplace private, but let's just say that Michael, well, he’s not good news. I’m glad he’s not here. I couldn’t stay here if he were. I wouldn't be surprised if he were involved somehow in my son's death. After all, they split the business fifty-fifty. Michael stood to gain a lot if Dash weren’t around.
“I…I...I... Well, perhaps you should be telling this to the police, not me,” Roxy said, waving her hands in front of her. “I’m not an investigator. I hear what you’re saying, and I'm so sorry for your loss, but if you want to speak about the case, I think you’d better talk to Detective Johnson.”
“I will,” said Kathy. “Soon. I'm just warning you, don't get involved with Michael, and don't listen to any of his stories. He's not a good man. Trust me.” Her blue eyes pierced through Roxy. “Just trust me on that.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“DASHIELL WAS MY darling boy,” Kathy Davies said the next morning. It was Sunday, and she was standing in front of the congregation in the packed church, St. Joseph’s. Kathy, showing phenomenal organizational skills, had organized a memorial service for her son in just a few hours and the viral communication properties of Instagram had done the rest. Every seat was taken, and all the aisles were chock full of people in bright t-shirts, just like the ones Dash used to wear. The shirts had been Michael’s idea. The press had been banned, but reporters congregated around the door outside, like bees around a honeypot.
“He was a good soul and a good boy,” Kathy continued. “He had a bright future ahead of him. He was going to quit playing around on YouTube and Instagram, jaunting all over the world. He was planning to settle in his hometown, and live close to his momma.” The crowd murmured at this news but quickly settled down.
“It’s lies,” Michael whispered furiously to Roxy as they sat next to each other in one of the hard pews. “All lies. He couldn’t stand her. All she wanted was to control him, just like she controls Derek.”
Roxy listened to Michael’s words, but she was still a little wary of him after what Kathy had said. She truly didn’t know who to believe.
“But he wasn’t quick enough to make that decision and look what happened,” said Kathy. “I don’t want any of you to make the same mistake. If you have a family who loves and adores you, go home to them. Don’t go running around the world chasing butterflies, and putting yours
elf in danger. You might just end up…,” her eyes welled with tears, “in a casket.”
Another murmur rippled through the crowd. Michael got up and stormed toward the entrance. Roxy followed him. She had to push and shove through the sea of bright colors to make it through. When she got outside, it was like she’d been underwater and had finally surfaced, gasping for breath. Around her, fans who had been unable to fit in the church milled around. Roxy and Michael hid among them, catching their breath until a group of reporters spied them and came rushing forward. It was an ambush and not a little scary.
“Get away from me!” Michael hollered.
Roxy looked around, trying to find a spot where they’d be left alone, but there wasn’t one. There was only a large cemetery to the right, where reporters hung around on the paths between the gravestones, and a wide row of stores to the left. The street in front of the church was blocked with vehicles.
“Come on,” Roxy said. She grabbed Michael’s hand, and they took off running through the vehicles and into the streets beyond.
Soon they let go of each other’s hands and flew through the backstreets of New Orleans independently. They heard the pounding of footsteps as journalists ran behind them, trying to catch up, but the pair kept running and running until Roxy felt a pain in her side.
Finally, they reached the Funky Cat. The courtyard was deserted. The front door to the hotel was locked, even though Roxy knew Nat was in there with Evangeline and Sage and Elijah. They were preparing for the influx of fans they were expecting after the service.
Roxy hammered on the door, hoping there were no reporters close behind. No one answered. She scrambled to get her phone out of her pocket and called Nat. “Let us in!” It would take too long to go around the back.
Within moments the door was open. Michael and Roxy darted inside.
2 New Orleans Nightmare Page 7
