“Yep,” said Roxy. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it. And the people! I can’t believe one of my best friends is an actual spiritualist, and we’re on our way to meet one of our guests who’s conducting a séance! How surreal is that?”
Sam laughed. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Makes for unpredictable, exciting times. So, tell me more about your guest. The big cheese.”
“Her name is Meredith Romanoff,” said Roxy. “A spiritual medium and psychic. She’s very well respected and famous in her circles. At least that’s what Dr. Jack said.”
“So what is she doing here?”
“She’s holding a series of events. Tonight’s just a small one for private clients, but tomorrow she’s got a huge public workshop. Over a thousand people are going. It’s being held at one of the hotel conference centers, but she prefers to stay in smaller, more personable surroundings, which is why she’s made a reservation with us. They booked out the Funky Cat even though there’s only three of them. She’s visiting with her husband and her assistant.”
“But why are we meeting them at the botanica?”
“They were going to check in first, but traffic was bad coming into the city, and they ran out of time. So I said we’d pick up their luggage and take it back to their rooms so that it‘s all ready for them when they arrive.”
“Always going the extra mile, hey Roxy?”
She smiled. “That’s me, Nothing’s-Too-Much-Trouble Roxy.”
Sam smoothly pulled his maroon classic car right in front of the botanica. The magical supplies store was housed in an old, converted, shotgun-style building right in the middle of a commercial district. It wasn’t grand, and it looked out of place among the sleek, modern structures that surrounded it, but it was even more eye-catching thanks to its color. The wooden boards were deep indigo, and the intricate metal fretwork that decorated the frontage was painted gold. The storefront was separated from the sidewalk by a small porch and was dominated by a huge picture window that displayed a selection of the wares stocked inside.
Crystals, oracle card sets, skulls, candles and all kinds of herbs and powders in jars filled the window to bursting. Roxy often thought that Dr. Jack could hold a scavenger hunt based on the window display alone. Roxy and Sam went inside and found a cluster of people browsing the store. A pile of bags and cases was stacked by the door.
“Hi, there!” Roxy said brightly. “We’ve come to…"
“No,” Dr. Jack said firmly to the woman standing in front of him, his purple face matching his velour three-piece suit. Dr. Jack loved to dress flamboyantly, and sometimes even threaded beads into his graying beard, but now he was exhibiting something much more conventional—fury. “That is absolutely unethical, and I condemn it 100%!” he cried.
“How dare you?” the woman in front of him shouted back. She pointed a thin, bony finger at Dr. Jack. It reminded Roxy of a bird’s claw. Roxy knew immediately that the woman was Meredith Romanoff. “You presume to tell me—ME—that you condemn such a huge aspect of my work? Well, that’s a fine welcome!” Meredith Romanov’s soft blonde hair shook as did the ruffles that decorated the front of her blouse. The blouse stretched over her ample chest while the tassels that hung from the hem of her long skirt and which spread over her stout hips trembled. Roxy was struck by how Meredith’s hands seemed at odds with her body.
In the photograph Roxy had seen of her, Meredith had looked as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but the Meredith now in front of her offered a very different impression. Her face was red; her mouth twisted in an ugly, tortured line. She was spitting fire. Butter would be reduced to a runny puddle inside a second in the face of such an onslaught.
“Please, Meredith,” a man next to her said in a placating, soothing voice. It was like he was speaking to a young child. “Now, now.” The man’s bald head shone under the store lights, and his cheeks were bright pink. A pair of gold spectacles hung on a slim gold chain around his neck. He dabbed his brow with a folded, pristine white handkerchief. His pressed khaki slacks were perfect. The elegantly crumpled linen shirt rolled up neatly at the sleeves, indicated that sometime earlier today he had anticipated some kind of heat, but perhaps not this kind.
“Please refrain from doing this now,” Roxy heard him say. “You must put yourself in the right frame of mind for your session.” The man enunciated all his words with glass-cut precision. His appearance and upper-crust demeanor made him the type of person that Roxy usually felt deeply intimidated by, but he was talking to Meredith so gently that Roxy found it impossible to be scared of him.
“I can get in the right frame of mind instantly,” Meredith spat. Her voice was hard. She took a deep breath, and her next words were far more measured. She delivered them with a silky veneer to her tone. “But I suppose you’re right, darling. Sometimes you do talk absolute trash, but on occasion you make sense. This is one of them.”
The man rolled his eyes and smiled. He chuckled. “Thank you for the high praise, darling.”
Meredith caught sight of Roxy staring at her, Sam behind her. She did a double-take and immediately assumed a warm, friendly expression. “Oh, hello,” she said with a smile. Roxy wasn’t sure it was genuine. “You must be…aren't you from the cute little hotel? Oh, I can’t remember your name, I’m ever so sorry.”
“It’s Roxy,” Roxy said brightly. “Roxy Reinhardt. This is…” She reached out to introduce Sam.
“I’m Sam,” the tall man interjected simply, nodding at the gathered group. His shirt stretched around his broad shoulders as he folded his arms. “We know you’re about to begin your meeting, so we won’t disturb you. We came to pick up your bags and take them back to the hotel.”
Meredith looked Sam up and down admiringly. She winked at Roxy. “What an attractive couple you make.”
“Oh, we’re not a couple,” Roxy said quickly, feeling heat rush to her cheeks.
Meredith laughed. “Not yet. But I guarantee you the universe is aligning and then, well, you’ll see. Now, yes, please take the bags. That would be wonderful. Thank you.”
“I’ll help,” a young man said as he walked over to the pile of bags by the door. He had a very soft young face, red hair, and freckles. Roxy hadn’t even noticed him until he spoke. He was very slight and short, and his presence was so unassuming that he was almost invisible. Roxy wondered if he was Meredith’s son. He looked about the right age. “Is that okay, Meredith?” the young man asked, immediately disabusing Roxy of her theory. Her son would have called her “Mom.”
“No, no, it isn’t, George,” Meredith snapped. “You need to be focusing on your responsibilities and getting things ready.”
“Actually, I have already…”
“Well, then, get your mind right and meditate,” said Meredith. She was terse and abrupt again. “I’ve told you before, you have a tendency to allow yourself to be overwhelmed by vast amounts of other people’s energies, and then you don’t come through as a clear channel. Anyone who needs something, you want to help. Stop being so soft and focus on what you have to do. You’re not here to save the world or to be a ‘nice guy,’ you’re here for a very specific purpose. And that is to help me.” Meredith caught sight of Roxy staring at her again, “And all those lovely people we are trying to help.”
Watching Meredith, Roxy felt humiliated on George’s behalf, but the pleasant young man smiled. “Yes, you’re right, Meredith,” he said. “I’ll go in the back room right away and cleanse the energies.” He disappeared.
“That’s more like it,” Meredith said, tight-lipped. “Sorry about that, Roxy. That was George, my assistant. And this is Charles, my husband. And this is Terah, my old school friend.” Meredith walked over to a woman browsing the racks of scented candles. She put her arm around her shoulders. “We are catching up for the first time in forty years! Can you believe that?” Terah stiffened at Meredith’s embrace. She wore a black eye patch over her left eye, the strap reaching over her ears and disappearing beneath
her shoulder-length straight mousey hair. Terah nodded at Roxy. “We’re still waiting for one more person to arrive, a private client of mine. This is Dr. Jack, of course, but I believe you are already acquainted,” Meredith finished.
Jack was still hovering, his arms folded across his chest, two creases between his eyes indicating his mood. Roxy was very aware of him. He was not radiating his usual calm, accepting aura, and she felt a little anxious. Meredith’s husband Charles, the man with the glasses on the gold chain, gave Roxy a friendly nod and a small smile.
“Hello, Charles, Dr. Jack, Terah. I hope you’re looking forward to a good evening,” said Roxy nodding at them all. “We’ll take the bags now and see you later back at the Funky Cat Inn.” She turned to Sam, who, his face expressionless, picked up two heavy cases and took them outside to the car.
To get your copy of Louisiana Lies visit the link below:
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THANK YOU
Thank you for taking the time to read New Orleans Nightmare. If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends or posting a short review. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend and very much appreciated.
Thank you,
OTHER BOOKS IN THE ROXY REINHARDT SERIES
Mardi Gras Madness
Louisiana Lies
ALSO BY ALISON GOLDEN
FEATURING INSPECTOR DAVID GRAHAM
The Case of the Screaming Beauty (Prequel)
The Case of the Hidden Flame
The Case of the Fallen Hero
The Case of the Broken Doll
The Case of the Missing Letter
The Case of the Pretty Lady
FEATURING REVEREND ANNABELLE DIXON
Death at the Café (Prequel)
Murder at the Mansion
Body in the Woods
Grave in the Garage
Horror in the Highlands
Killer at the Cult
FEATURING DIANA HUNTER
Hunted (Prequel)
Snatched
Stolen
Chopped
Exposed
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Alison Golden is the USA Today bestselling author of the Inspector David Graham mysteries and Reverend Annabelle Dixon cozy mysteries. As A.J. Golden, she writes the Diana Hunter thriller series.
Alison was raised in Bedfordshire, England. Her aim is to write stories that are designed to entertain, amuse, and calm. Her approach is to combine creative ideas with excellent writing and edit, edit, edit.
Alison is based in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband and twin sons. She splits her time between London and San Francisco.
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https://www.alisongolden.com/roxy
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"A book, too can be a star, a living fire to lighten the darkness, leading out into the expanding universe." ~Madeline L'Engle
NEW ORLEANS NIGHTMARE
A Roxy Reinhardt Mystery
A New Orleans guesthouse. A social media murder. A killer with a virtual ax to grind…
Roxy Reinhardt always played it safe. But when her secure and stable life crumpled to pieces she packed her bags, grabbed her cat, and moved to New Orleans. But as the new owner of the Funky Cat Inn, a newly-refurbished guesthouse in the Big Easy, she's starting to wonder if she bit off more than she can chew…
With the help of her quirky new friends, Roxy is determined to make her business venture a success. And with a horde of social media influencers descending on her tiny establishment, all she has to do is create a magnificent impression, and let their followers spread the buzz…
But these influencers seem more interested in bickering with one another than enjoying the Funky Cat’s charms. And their internet feud quickly leads to a real-life murder, when one of them shows up as a corpse!
Among these obnoxious online personalities, there’s no shortage of suspects. And with her reputation on the line, and the local police breathing down her neck, shy and timid Roxy has to step up. She’s got to fish for clues and solve the crime, all while escorting her guests on cocktail cruises and voodoo tomb tours…
Can Roxy reveal the killer before they strike again? Or is her reputation dead on arrival…?
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Text copyright © 2019 Alison Golden
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Mesa Verde Publishing
P.O. Box 1002
San Carlos, CA 94070
Edited by
Marjorie Kramer
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