by Robin Caroll
Marcel gave a thumbs up, and she nodded.
Beau stood beside Marcel and Timothy as Chandler and her team began their work. “Get a couple of evidence bags ready,” he told Marcel as his cell phone vibrated. He pulled it from his pocket and read the text message from Vincent Fountaine:
Don’t forget to bring the cookies to dinner tonight. And don’t be late.
Beau smiled and pocketed the cell. Addy’s dad had bet that LSU’s star running back would go pro and won the bet. Thus the chocolate chip cookie demand. Addy was on her father about eating healthier, and chocolate chip cookies were Vincent’s Achilles’ heel.
He watched Chandler work. She was very attractive, no denying that, but she was nothing compared to Addy. He’d known Addy nearly all his life, and been in love with her for most of his adult years. Only this past year had he let his feelings be known, and they were dating.
But it was complicated. She was also dating Dimitri Pampalon.
Addy told them right away that she was dating them both, and while Beau appreciated her honesty, he would rather her not be spending time with the hotel’s chef and owner. It wasn’t that Dimitri was a bad guy, he actually was nice enough and upstanding, but he was still competition for Addy’s attention, affection, and—ultimately—her heart.
That made him very unlikeable to Beau.
“She’s a looker, isn’t she?” Marcel spoke in a low tone.
“What?” Of course Addy was beautiful. Beau followed Marcel’s line of vision. Oh. “Chandler? Yes, she’s attractive.”
Marcel snorted and shook his head.
“What?”
“You might be all wrapped up in Addy, but that doesn’t mean you’re unaware, man.”
“I said she was attractive.”
Marcel laughed and shook his head again. “You’ve got it bad.”
“What?” Heat fanned his face. “You know how I feel about Addy.”
“Yeah, but it’s gotten worse, if that’s even possible.”
Beau shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “That’s not a bad thing.” His feelings for Addy had grown even deeper over their dates. Spending one-on-one time with her romantically only made him realize how much he truly cared for her. He knew she cared about him, too, but in comparison to Dimitri? He just didn’t know.
“Okay. You guys can come take some of this evidence now.” Chandler motioned them over.
Time to put his personal feelings on the back burner and do his job.
— Addy
“So, how’s the hotel business going?” Vincent planted a kiss on the top of Addy’s head as he sat down at the kitchen table.
“Funny you should ask, Daddy. It’s been a busy day.” She paused over her plate of steaming lasagna, closing her eyes and sending up a silent prayer.
“Do tell. I did nothing all day but stare at a half-written synopsis for the better part of the day, so please, distract me with anything.”
Addy glanced across the table at Beau, who poured Thousand Island dressing over his salad. He glanced up and nodded, so she continued. “Our construction crew doing the remodeling found a skeleton today.”
“What?” Her father’s eyes widened. As a suspense author, this was right up his alley.
“Even more creepy—it was found behind a fake wall.” She shook her head as she pushed lettuce around her salad bowl. “It was like something right out of an Edgar Allan Poe story.”
“Really?” Vincent’s eyes brightened as he skipped the salad and went right for the lasagna.
She nodded, placing her bowl of salad in front of her father. “And there was an axe found by the skeleton, and an injury on the skull, so that axe is probably the murder weapon. And it might have dried blood on it.”
“We don’t know that yet,” Beau finally spoke. “The lab hasn’t determined if that’s blood or not. We should have some prelim reports back by tomorrow.”
“A skeleton? Any idea how long it’s been there?” Vincent absentmindedly took a bite of Addy’s salad.
Beau shook his head. “We found coins dated 1917, but the anthropologists will be using the button and zipper found to help narrow it down. We’ll get the date the axe was manufactured tomorrow, too.”
Vincent took another bite of the salad and rubbed his chin.
Addy recognized his movement—he always did that when his mind was working out a plot twist. “What?”
“That axe…just makes me think of the Axeman.” Her father moved the bowl aside and pulled his plate of lasagna to him.
“The Axeman?” Addy looked from her father to Beau, who wore a puzzled expression that mirrored what she felt.
“Who’s the Axeman?” Beau asked before sneaking a bite.
“Was. He was a serial killer who killed and wounded many people in New Orleans back in 1918 and 1919.”
“You’re kidding, right? There really wasn’t a serial killer called the Axeman.” Addy had never heard this before, and she’d been born and raised in New Orleans, only leaving briefly to attend college at Northwestern University a decade ago.
“No, there really was. I remember doing research about him for a possible book.” Her father took a sip of tea.
Addy shook her head. “I don’t remember you writing a book with any serial killer called the Axeman.”
Vincent chuckled. “No, I didn’t write it. I got sidetracked with another idea.” He rubbed his chin. “Mmm. Maybe I should look at my research again. Especially if this skeleton in your hotel is a victim of the Axeman’s.”
“There’s no evidence of anything like that.” Beau grabbed a piece of garlic toast from the warmer.
“Not yet, but there could be, right?” Vincent asked.
Beau shrugged.
“Tell me more about the Axeman, Daddy.” How had she never heard about this bit of New Orleans history before?
“Let’s see.” He rubbed his chin again and his eyes took on that faraway glisten as he spoke. “Back in early summer 1918, the first murder happened. Someone broke into a home by chiseling through a panel of the door. He cut the throat of the couple who lived there with a straight razor, but then bashed their heads with an axe owned by the couple. They both died.”
“How gruesome!” Addy shivered.
Her father nodded, but he took another bite of the pasta dish. “The Axeman got the moniker because his main murder weapon was an axe, usually owned by the victims themselves.”
Beau swallowed the last of his salad and leaned toward her father. “How many victims were there?”
Vincent let out a breath. “Hmm. I think it was something like a dozen or so, but not all of them died. If memory serves me correct, I think about half of them lived.”
“Why did he do it? What was his reasoning?” Addy tore off bits of the garlic toast, but she’d pretty much lost her interest in supper.
“Don’t know. He was never caught.”
“What?” Beau nearly choked on his bite. He coughed, reached for his glass of tea, and took a big gulp.
Vincent nodded. “He was never caught. No one knows who he was or why he did what he did, but he wrote a letter to the paper that they published.”
“You’re kidding.” Addy couldn’t believe she’d never heard so much as a whisper about this before.
“Nope. He wrote a letter to what was then the New Orleans Times. In it, he claimed to be a demon from hell.”
Beau set his glass on the table very slowly. “A demon?”
“Yep. Strangely, in the letter, he gave an exact date and time he would be in New Orleans. He said he was a fan of jazz music and when he came through the city at that exact time, any house that had jazz music playing would be spared.”
“You’re kidding.” Addy said again. Her dad had to be messing with them.
But Vincent shook his head. “No, I’m dead serious, forgive the pun. He really put that in the letter that was published. And people believed him. There was even a ragtime jazz tune written and published in 1919 called “Axm
an’s Jazz (Don’t Scare Me Papa)”. You can look it up.”
“It’s crazy that we’ve never heard this before.” Beau shook his head.
“Right?” Addy pushed her plate away. “I can’t believe you did research on it and never said anything to me.”
Her father chuckled. “It was years ago, Addybear, before you came back from college.”
Everyone at the table sobered. Only a year ago she’d been able to share with Beau and her father what Kevin Muller had done to her that caused her to take time off from earning her degree in hotel management. While the sexual assault had derailed her, she was one of the lucky ones—able to overcome the tragedy. Geoff’s little sister wasn’t so lucky. She hadn’t been able to talk to anyone, and the toxicity of what happened to her had caused her to commit suicide. Horrible that one person could cause so much destruction.
Apparently, so had this Axeman. Addy cleared her throat. “That specific night…did he kill anyone?”
Vincent smiled and shook his head. “No. Apparently all of New Orleans’ dance halls were filled to capacity that night and all available bands played at parties at hundreds of houses in town. It’s reported that pianos were banging out jazz tunes all evening. The Axeman kept his word and didn’t kill anyone.”
“They had no suspects of who he was?” Beau asked her father.
“Oh, they had suspects, of course, but no evidence on any of them. None of the homes were burglarized, so robbery wasn’t a motive. Some thought the crimes were racially motivated since the majority of the victims were Italian immigrants. Some wondered if it was business related as several of the victims ran grocery stores attached to their homes where they were attacked. But no one really knows for sure.”
“If he wasn’t caught, the killings just what, stopped?” Beau asked.
Vincent nodded. “It was baffling to police back then, too. The last victim was around Halloween in 1919. No murder or attack after that was ever attributed to the Axeman.”
Addy tossed her napkin on the table. “So why did he stop?”
“That’s the mystery, my dear.” Vincent took a final bite of the lasagna. “Some say he moved out of town. Some thought perhaps he really was a demon and returned to the bowels of hell.” He shrugged and wiped his mouth, then set his napkin on his plate. “So if this skeleton of yours is one of the victims, maybe it’s time I think about writing that book.”
“It’s not my skeleton.” Addy stood and took her bowl and plate to the kitchen. “But it’s creepy to think it could’ve been one of the Axeman’s victims. I mean, the hotel was around back in 1918 and 1919.” She scraped her food into the trash and set the dishes in the soapy water in the sink. “Were any hotels or inns crime scenes for any of the Axeman’s victims?” She certainly didn’t want to think the Darkwater Inn had that special distinction.
Vincent stood and brought his dishes into the kitchen as well. “No. There were grocery stores below some of the apartments, of course, but I don’t think any actual attacks happened in any of them.”
She let out a sigh. “Then the skeleton probably isn’t a victim of the Axeman.” She took her father’s empty dishes and slipped them into the sudsy water. “I’m guessing none of the victims were bricked in behind a wall or anything, huh?”
Her father shook his head and finished off his tea before handing her both his glass and hers. “Not that I found, but maybe I missed something in my research.”
She shuddered. “You know, it’s one thing to read about stuff as fiction, like in Poe’s stories. It’s really freaky to hear about the Axeman’s murders that really happened.”
“Truth is always stranger than fiction, sweetheart.” Vincent put cling wrap over the dish of lasagna and slipped it into the refrigerator. “But I’d sure like to get a look at the area. How about I drop by the hotel and take you to lunch tomorrow?”
Addy glanced at Beau. “Is that okay? I mean, are y’all finished up?”
He nodded. “Chandler said they were done, so you should be clear.”
“Chandler?” She didn’t know anyone named Chandler.
Beau’s cheeks turned a little pink. “She’s the biological anthropologist from FACES.”
A strange feeling spread in the pit of Addy’s stomach. “She?” Was this…jealousy?
Beau nodded, not saying anything, but the pink in his face deepened.
Addy found herself at a loss for anything to say, which was very unusual.
Her father looked between them, then clapped his hands. “So, where are my chocolate chip cookies?”
4
— Dimitri
Dimitri flipped through the file Adelaide’s assistant had brought him bright and early this morning. How she’d found the records of the hotel, or where, he hadn’t a clue, but he was thankful they’d been located and he didn’t have to make a visit to his father.
“Excuse us, Dimitri?”
He turned at his name to find the two detectives and a beautiful blond woman standing in the doorway to his small office in the back of the kitchen. “Yes?”
Beauregard motioned to the woman. “This is Dr. Chandler Broussard, the biological anthropologist working with us on the skeletal remains.”
She smiled, her large doe eyes framed by long golden hair in loose ponytail.
Dimitri wiped his hands on his apron and held out his hand. “Dr. Broussard.”
“It’s Chandler, please.”
The warmth of her hand radiated up his arm and he held her hand just a nanosecond longer than needed. “Nice to meet you, Chandler. How may I help?”
“We took the skeleton back to our lab at LSU yesterday and our forensic artist started reconstructing the skull. We began running preliminary tests, but much of what will help the most will be figuring out the date the body was bricked up.” Chandler leaned her hip against the office doorjamb. “I’m hoping maybe you can give us some starting points.”
Detective Marcel Taton nodded. “The scene has been cleared, so you can let the construction continue.”
Beauregard added, “Addy said she had the hotel’s records sent to your office.”
Dimitri nodded, then gestured to the chairs in front of his desk. “Please, sit.” He sat along with them and tapped the folder. “I hadn’t even had time to look yet.”
Beauregard pulled out his notebook and pen, while Chandler opened a tablet. Marcel just stared at him. Dimitri resisted the urge to grin. Chandler and the detective were probably very close in age, but their tools…well, Beauregard was definitely old school while the beautiful woman looked to be more on the cutting edge of technology. If memory served him correctly, Marcel had almost a photographic memory and never took notes.
He scanned the information of the first page. “The hotel was built in 1842 by Pierre Pampalon, who, apparently, was my great-great-great-great-grandfather.” The history of his family was rather well documented in the files, complete with pictures of his ancestors. He would go through the file in detail later for familial connections, but for now he’d focus on renovations to the hotel. “The first recorded remodel was in 1899. It was a full remodel orchestrated by Robert Pampalon to update everything prior to 1900.” Black and white photos were included. “Looks like he threw one shebang of a New Year’s party.” He slid the photo across the small desk.
“The three coins we found around the skeleton were dated 1917, so it would have been a remodel that date or later,” Marcel commented.
Chandler handed him back the photo, smiling.
His thoughts rattled for a moment as he placed the picture back in the folder and scanned the pages. 1917. Remodel after 1917. “The next remodel was in 1938 by Louis Pampalon.” He scanned over the receipts and notes. “Looks like a new wing was added, but I’m not too sure where exactly.”
Beauregard glanced up from his notebook. “The updated floor plans should have been filed at the parish courthouse. I’ll have someone check that out.”
Dimitri returned to the folder, flipping to the n
ext page. “The hotel was updated again in 1958 and 1959, following hurricane Audrey.” He shook his head at the pictures. “I remember hearing about this one in school. So much devastation.”
Sighing, Dimitri went to the final page in the file. “My father remodeled in 1970 after hurricane Camille, but it was mostly just to repair and update the structural integrity of the building. We remodeled again in 2006 after hurricane Katrina, but I know the area where the skeleton was found wasn’t included.”
The detective tapped his notebook. “So, the best options for our skeleton to have been placed would be 1938 or 1958-1959.”
Dimitri nodded. “Considering the date of the coins and the construction notes I have, I’d say that’s the best bet.” He closed the file. “Now what?”
Chandler smiled. “We work on dating the button, zipper, and axe as well as test the bones themselves. We should be able to find some good clues—maybe even solid evidence.”
“The coroner investigator said he thought the skeleton was a male.” Marcel said.
She nodded. “I concur. The shape of the pelvis pretty much is conclusive. Following my initial inspection of the skeleton, I also concur with his approximate age, early twenties. He was almost six feet—five-eleven, to be exact, and was of slight build. I’d guesstimate him to have weighed about one fifty to one seventy, give or take. Tests on the hair indicate he had short, wavy hair that was dark brown.” She set her tablet on the edge of the desk and reached back to adjust her ponytail.
A faint waft of her perfume reached Dimitri. Sweet. Flowery. Almost intoxicating.
Sitting back in the chair, Chandler continued. “My team will be running the skeleton’s teeth impressions to try and match up dental records.”
“Can those go back to 1917 or further?” Dimitri had no idea when dental records started being kept, and honestly, he truly didn’t care, but he found himself wanting to continue to engage in conversation with the young anthropologist.
