Out of Mind

by Stella Cameron

  “Are you talking about the dance hall on South Rampart? Where the woman lives upstairs?”

  “Surry Green. She’s some sort of actress. Complains about the music all the time like she didn’t know she was renting over a dance hall. We do her shopping and take care of her plants. She’s got hundreds of them. You can’t move for the palms in there.”

  “There’s crime scene tape all around, you said?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The dance hall is taped off?”

  “That’s what I said. Must be trouble in there. Cop cars all over the place.”

  “You left in the middle of a job to get dinner?”

  “I knew you’d say somethin’ about that,” Chris said. “She was all in a twist because she had a date. I asked if she’d rather I went in after she left and she said, yes, to give her some time. Should I go up the side stairs anyway? She’ll be apoplectic if she gets home and I haven’t finished.”

  “No. The plants can wait. Call her later and explain.”

  “Gotcha.”

  Willow smacked off the phone. There had been occasions when Chris had taken duty too far. At least he’d called and given her a chance to stop him this time.

  The cell rang again.

  “Hey, Chris,” Willow said. “What’s up now?”

  “Something bad, I think. One of those coroner’s vans is here. Just a minute.” He spoke to someone in the background then said, “Let me find out what they’re saying now. I’ll call you back.”

  Willow moaned with frustration, then felt the rig swing awkwardly behind her and collide with the curb. She looked over her shoulder and slammed on the brakes. The trailer teetered toward the sidewalk.

  “I hate this whole day,” she yelled, jumping clear.

  Ben jumped, too, just in time to stop the almost stationary death trap from finishing up on its side.

  He had to make this look good.

  Willow tore off her helmet and prepared to watch a total disaster. At least no one was going to get hurt. Would the bank give her a loan if she explained her run of bad luck?

  She let her arms fall to her sides.

  The trailer, still balanced on two wheels, rocked back and forth in a “shall I fall over or not?” way. Her load of supplies must have shifted, although it had never happened before.

  An urge to help right things wasn’t a good idea, she knew that.

  The trailer stopped, stood completely unmoving on those two wheels, then dropped, quite slowly, to settle on all four again.

  Willow stared, her heart beating too fast. The phone was ringing again, but it took her so long to make herself move that it stopped.

  Finally, she rushed to the scooter, just in time to answer Chris once more.

  “Surry Green’s been murdered,” he said. “Remember when those singers got whacked?”

  She closed her eyes. Chris watched too many crime shows. “Yes,” she said faintly. “It was almost four months ago.” How could she forget when Marley had gotten caught up in the case and almost died? “You’re telling me that since you left to have dinner she’s been murdered, the cops know about it already and they’re all over it?”

  “That’s it. Folks around here are saying this is another weird one. Spike through the heart, someone says. Like they kill vampires.”

  “Chris,” she said tiredly, “remind them the only vampires in this town are in books.”

  6

  Dr. Blades, what seemed like seven emaciated feet of him, slouched against a refrigeration bank in the morgue.

  “Hey, Doc,” Nat said, walking into the Medical Examiner’s lair with Gray Fisher—Marley’s husband—at his heels. “Nice of you to ask us over.”

  “I asked you over,” Blades said, giving Gray the evil eye. “If you want him here, it’s up to you.”

  “Gray was in on the dragon case,” Nat said, damned if he’d sound defensive. “He may not be a cop anymore, but he thinks like one and it was his wife who came close to ending up as one more of the dragon’s tasty treats.”

  “That thing wasn’t a dragon,” Blades said of the monster that had been responsible for the deaths of at least ten women. “It just had some Komodo traits.”

  “You never saw it,” Nat said.

  “I didn’t have to, I saw the bites,” Blades reminded him defensively.

  “Not a dragon,” Blades said, giving Nat the kind of hard stare that told him Blades probably didn’t believe his own words, but he wasn’t going to admit that. “That’s the official word on the subject. You’d better accept it.”

  “Yeah,” Nat said slowly, seeing Blades with a slightly fresh eye. The man was no more convinced that New Orleans wasn’t host to a rogue paranormal force than Nat was.

  Gray was checking his watch, again. Nat figured his former partner didn’t like being late returning to the Court of Angels where the most important person in his life hung out, Marley Millet Fisher.

  “I keep dead-ending on some questions I’ve asked,” Blades said, glancing at Gray as if he wished he would leave—or disappear. “The man and woman who were the dragon’s—I mean the pair who were there when the last lot went down. Your people got them. Where are they? No one’s saying anything about them, or not to me.”

  “Eric and Sidney Fournier?” Nat said cautiously. The brother and sister were a thorn in his side. They had some kind of weird connection to the Embran Dragon, as Nat and those who believed New Orleans was under insidious attack called “the thing.”

  Blades watched Nat and Nat felt Gray waiting for him to continue, too. “They were bound over,” he told them.

  “So they’re in jail,” Blades said. The deep, purplish hollows beneath his cheekbones didn’t get more reassuring to look at. Neither did his dome of a head and pale eyes with no eyelashes. The lack of eyelashes went with the lack of eyebrows.

  Nat cleared his throat. “In fact, they’re not in jail.”

  “Where are they?” Gray asked. He and Blades had never gotten along, and he said as little as possible in the doctor’s presence.

  “Well—” Nat pursed his lips and blew out in a tuneless whistle “—I’ve been told not to ask more questions about that. But I don’t think they’re in custody anymore.”

  “What?” Gray said explosively. “Don’t you think you should have shared that with me? We’ve got people to look out for. How can those two crazies be on the loose?”

  Gray stepped back and Nat saw the instant when Gray’s attention shifted elsewhere. Gray, Nat could tell by the shuttered distance in his eyes, had mentally checked out of the morgue and the conversation going on there, at least for now.

  “How did that happen?” Blades asked. Actual concern replaced his usually impassive expression. “I didn’t hear about it.”

  Nat shook his head. “I said I don’t think the Fourniers are in custody. I didn’t get a definite answer.”

  “Because they think they can keep the lid on this,” Blades said. He looked ruffled, not something Nat remembered witnessing before. “The fools, they’re shoving their heads in the sand. This is going to make things harder.”

  “Why?” Gray said, returning to the conversation. “What kind of burr got stuck under your saddle? You didn’t get us over here to discuss—”

  “I didn’t get you over here at all,” Blades said.

  Nat cleared his throat. “You said there was something interesting you wanted to show me, Dr. Blades,” he said and winced when he heard Gray mutter what sounded like “Dr. Death,” under his breath. The last time Gray called the man that it had been out loud and had caused antagonism between them that had lasted for years and still continued.

  Blades must have heard, too, but he set his jaw and ignored Gray. “We got a body in this afternoon. Heart attack.”

  Nat’s own heart quickened. “You mean Billy Baker?”

  “How did you know?” Blades’s frown bunched his hairless brow over his eyes.

  “I was called in before they decided it was a heart att
ack,” Nat said.

  “It was a heart attack.”

  A rap on the doorjamb got their attention. “Excuse me,” Ben Fortune said. “I was told I’d find you here.”

  It wasn’t easy for Nat to cover his surprise.

  “Who are you?” Blades said.

  “This is Ben Fortune,” Gray said, his eyes wide and innocent. “Sykes must have sent you over, Ben. I guess he couldn’t get here himself.”

  “Right,” Ben said.

  With any luck Blades wouldn’t figure out that neither Sykes nor Ben should know anything about this meeting, but Nat wasn’t fooled. He had just run into Gray on the street when Blades’s call came in. They had come straight here. Nat decided the dormant psychic ability Gray was rumored to have rekindled since he met his wife, Marley, was real. He had contacted Ben telepathically and got him here.

  Nat had witnessed too much evidence of psychic abilities to dismiss their existence and both the Millet and the Fortune families—and who knew what others?—were legendary for their mystical gifts.

  Blades didn’t shake the hand Ben offered.

  “This isn’t a social gathering,” Blades said. “Archer, this is something very serious.”

  “I’ll vouch for Ben,” he said, imagining a scene where he was stripped of his weapon and badge for flouting his superiors. “He’s an old friend with some experience around cases like this.” Once they were out of here, he’d have to nail Ben and Gray to find out what their deal was.

  “Like what?” Blades’s face would have fitted right in on Mount Rushmore.

  “Cases where we may be dealing with supernatural elements.”

  “Did I say anything about that?”

  “You’re going to,” Gray said, making Nat wince.

  “Shut the door,” Blades said in a monotone. “I’ve got something to show you.”

  “Surprise,” Gray muttered.

  Blades let his eyes close momentarily. Beside Ben and Gray, big men who exuded vitality, the doctor resembled a wraith.

  Following the ME, Nat went with Gray through another door into a smaller room where a covered body lay on a steel table.

  Ben shut the outer door, caught up and immediately covered his nose. Gray and Nat did the same thing, but Blades’s expression never changed at the odor.

  “What are you looking for?” Blades asked Ben, who had looked over his shoulders in both directions as if searching for something.

  Ben shrugged, one corner of his mouth turning up. “I thought both bodies might be in here.”

  “There’s only one,” Blades said, looking quizzically at Ben. “So far.” He pulled gloves from a container on the wall and snapped them on. “How come you were called to a heart attack?” Blades asked Nat.

  “One of the officers at the scene thought I’d want to be there,” Nat said. “He saw one of the dragon victims.”

  “And he thought this was another one?” Blades shrugged. “Surprising he’d make the connection.”

  Nat hadn’t missed Ben’s remark about two bodies. This wasn’t the moment to press him about it, but plenty of explanations would be needed later.

  Was there another body? One that raised suspicion? Nat kept his attention on the body, but his back tensed.

  The overhead lights flattened everything in the cheerless space. White blended with steel and every surface gave off a glare.

  “We’re between a rock and a hard place,” Blades said, plucking at the sheet. “The powers that be in this town are afraid of something and you know what it is.” He gave Nat a significant look. “General panic in the city. People are settling down a bit after the last lot. Short memory is a great healer, but if this new event gets out, it won’t take long for connections to be made. Then the rumors will fly.”

  “Shit,” Gray said. “It’s happened again, hasn’t it?”

  “Something has,” Blades told him, drawing the cover away from a body. “I’m glad your wife, Marley—isn’t that her name? I’m glad she’s okay. I know it got close there.”

  Promptly, Gray said, “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

  Blades waved a hand. “I think Molyneux and the rest of them will resist admitting this has anything to do with the earlier cases, don’t you?”

  At first Nat wasn’t sure what he was seeing. He went closer and looked down on what had been Billy Baker. He identified the man from what was left of very curly blond hair.

  “My God,” Gray muttered.

  “What did that?” Nat asked, studying livid, exposed flesh that seemed to have bubbled.

  “The skin’s peeling off,” Ben said, closing in. “From the ribs up. It looks like it lifted up in circles around the little red wounds.”

  “It started up here.” Blades indicated the area of the forehead and scalp. “I don’t know what caused the wounds yet.”

  “Maybe you won’t now,” Ben said. “Won’t the missing skin make it harder?”

  “We’ll see,” Blades responded shortly. “The technicians said the skin was all there when they bagged him. It didn’t drop off in the bag, it just disappeared. I thought you’d want to know there were what looked like puncture wounds, Archer. Nothing like the ragged messes we’ve seen before, but still punctures.”

  Nat glanced away from the table. “Maybe they’ve been practicing,” he said, “and developed more finesse.”

  He added, “So what did he really die of?”

  “Heart attack,” Blades said, sounding annoyed. “Scared to death I should think. He must have seen whatever was coming and died before it could kill him.”

  7

  Val Brandt behaved as if he didn’t know or particularly care to know most of the people at his own party. Handsome in a muscular, glossy, self-assured way, his charm was undeniable. But the smiles he aimed in all directions were not the kind that made people feel warm, or they wouldn’t if most people weren’t a little or a lot drunk.

  Every inch of the Brandts’ classically sumptuous home was incredibly beautiful. Rich was the word that came to Willow’s mind. Nothing had been spared in putting together the best of everything.

  Willow had spent almost two hours at Val’s side and still wasn’t sure why she was needed. The guests used the house and grounds, including a large oval pool and whitewashed, purple-wisteria-loaded cabana, as if they lived there.

  Food and drinks loaded every surface in a honey-colored granite, blond wood and stainless steel kitchen where the visitors wandered in and out, helping themselves. More tables were set out in front of the cabana. Servers worked on refills, but Willow hadn’t seen any sign of a recognizable catering company. Supplies had already been there when she arrived.

  “So, what d’you think?” Val said.

  They stood in the foyer beside a table bearing a huge arrangement of tropical flowers. The front door stood open and a constant stream of arrivals and departures laughed its way past.

  “Of the house?” Willow felt out of her depth and it annoyed her. She wasn’t usually intimidated.

  “The whole place,” Val said, his blue eyes bright in a tanned face that made his blond hair almost surfer-white. “Chloe will be back before long I’m sure, and she’ll expect me to have entertained you.” He smiled widely. “You’re going to love Chloe. Everyone does.”

  “I’m sure, but I came to do a job,” she reminded him. “It’s nice of you to want me to be comfortable, though.” In fact, she’d done very little other than repeatedly explain to those who didn’t know Val Brandt that she was not Val’s wife.

  Willow reminded herself of the fall-off in her business and how much she needed one or two new and lucrative clients.

  Val surprised her by slipping a hand beneath her elbow. He wasn’t a tall man, but she still looked up at him. The big smile had gone, replaced by the slight drawing together of his eyebrows and a serious intensity in his eyes.

  “Let’s go back out to the gardens,” he said. “I’d like us to talk about what Chloe and I have in mind. First I wanted to watch you wi
th people. See how you coped.”

  “Really?”

  Being watched, for any reason, was at the bottom of her welcome list. Lately she had a creepy feeling that eyes were trained on her whenever she was away from her office or flat.

  She folded her hand around the cell phone in her pocket. Chris hadn’t called back and she wished he would, even if it could be inconvenient here. It hadn’t sailed past her that twice in one day a Mean ’n Green employee had been present at a death scene. That wasn’t a fact she wanted to get around.

  “You fit in real well, Willow, real well,” Val said. He paused for a long kiss on the lips from a blonde in a green bikini.

  They arrived outside the back of the house on the raised, white stone terrace again. Torches had been lit among beds of shrubs. A combo played mellow jazz that blended with the scent of warm flowers—and hot, perfumed skin. The night was cooling down, but a residue of humidity clung to the air.

  Willow couldn’t miss the sexy cavorting in and around the pool, but behaved as if she hadn’t noticed a thing. She needn’t have bothered to put the swimsuit on under her dress since nothing would get her to take off any clothing here.

  “You can see what our problem is, can’t you?” Val said.

  Blank, Willow looked around.

  “I see you do. We like the social life. Having the place filled with friends makes us happy. We pride ourselves on supporting the arts, and occasions like this are meant for those people to network. But we’ve had a bad time getting good help. For tonight Chloe hired some casual help we’ve used before and had everything delivered early, but we wanted to see you take over. Too bad she had to leave. She’ll be real pleased with you, real pleased.”

  Since she hadn’t done anything, it was on Willow’s mind to ask why, but she resisted. “That’s good.”

  “You’ve got a great, easy manner. You fit right in and know exactly the right note to strike. You’ve got a real calming manner, real calming. Most people couldn’t walk in here cold and start putting guests at ease. You’re a natural. And you look the part. A little arty yourself, maybe, and very easy on the eyes.”