Sage shook her head. “Kathy admitted to me that they’d come to the city to see Dash around the time he arrived here in New Orleans. They planned to ask him for more money. When he was killed they were actually staying in a rundown B&B nearby and tracking his movements because they wanted to catch him when he was away from Michael. They knew Michael wouldn’t approve of what they were doing. After Dash’s death, they waited a few days to show up here so it looked like they’d come from home. But Kathy genuinely didn’t know what Derek had done. I’m sure of it. Who would suspect one son of killing her other son? Kathy’s bewilderment was real.”
Roxy sighed again. “My goodness. I suppose Derek must have sneaked into the hotel that night, perhaps during the dress drama. He must have hidden somewhere to wait for Dash to fall asleep before going to his room to kill him.”
“So,” said Nat. “Are you going to tell us, Roxy? How did you know it was Derek?”
Roxy cradled her hot chocolate. “You remember the night you were attacked, Michael? The ‘Evening of Love and Light’? Kathy had said Derek was going to talk to the priest. Well, when I mentioned that to Father John he looked confused and said he’d only met Derek at the memorial. I think Derek told Kathy he was going to see Father John that night, but instead, he lay in wait for Michael and attacked him on his way back to the Hilton.”
“But why did he attack me?” Michael asked.
“That boy was full of jealousy. His soul is very dark,” Sage said. “Extremely dark. As dark as dark gets.” She looked very grave. “We may never know what was truly in his heart.”
“Wow,” said Sam. “It was lucky you ended up speaking to that priest, Roxy.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “It proved to me that Derek was a liar. I also remembered that when they arrived, Sage said that Derek knew where Dash’s room was—even though he’d supposedly never been here before.”
“That’s right, he did,” Sage said, nodding slowly. “I got chills when I met him for the very first time. I knew something wasn’t right. My intuition was talking to me, but I just wasn’t sure what it was trying to tell me.”
“He must have watched the Instagram video Michael made when they first arrived. That’s how he worked out how to get to Dash’s room the night he killed him,” Roxy said.
“But what about the poison? We never did find out exactly what killed Dash,” said Ada.
“Our food was never in the frame. Detective Johnson knew Dash had been murdered from the outset and how but deliberately didn’t tell us, leaving us to wonder if the food he’d eaten here was involved in some way. Johnson thought that if suspicion fell on the hotel and if the killer was one of us, they would relax if they thought the investigation was headed in the wrong direction. He thought they would make a mistake and reveal themselves. I can’t tell you how much I didn’t appreciate that tactic when he told me this afternoon. He threw the reputation of this hotel on the fire to help his case!”
“So what did Derek kill him with?” Elijah asked.
“They couldn’t work it out to start with, but when he came into the kitchen this morning, Johnson saw the model airplane Derek always carried with him. Apparently, the poison consisted of noxious fumes from some kind of glue. The police think that Derek held model airplane glue to Dash’s nose while he was asleep to render him unconscious and then suffocated him with his pillow.”
“Ugh,” Nat said grimacing.
“What a complete ass,” Michael spat.
“Goodness, you’re quite the detective, though,” Sylvia said to Roxy.
“Oh, it’s nothing. You know, I was convinced it was you at one point. Someone put a note under my door trying to implicate you. Now I think it must have been Derek.”
The color drained from Sylvia’s face. She shook her head. “Oh no. Really? I’m so glad you saw through that.”
Roxy considered talking to her about her ex-husband and the murder case, but she was too tired to even think. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said to everyone, slipping off her shoes and tucking her feet under her. “I need to relax. Let’s chat about other things.”
“Yes,” said Nat, clearing her throat. “And I’ll start. Ada, I just wanted to say that I’m really sorry for speaking to you badly at times.” She was blushing red, but to her credit, she looked up and kept eye contact. “I was really out of order, and I’m so sorry.”
Ada actually smiled at her. “That’s very gracious of you, Nat. Thank you. Let’s talk no more about it. It’s all forgotten.” Ada reached out and clasped Nat’s hand. Nat responded with a squeeze and a smile.
“I will ask Archangel Michael to bring healing to us all,” Sage said. “He will not let us down.”
“And while Archangel Michael is doing his thing, I’ll do everyone’s laundry for free,” Sam said, standing.
“And I’ll provide the beignets!” Elijah piped up. He literally bounced out of his chair.
“Well, I’m goin’ home,” Evangeline said. “I’ve had enough excitement for one day. ‘Bye, y’all.”
Roxy sank back into the couch, allowing the cushions to envelop her. She beamed despite her exhaustion. Harmony, peace, and the bonds of friendship had been restored, and her world was just as she liked it. Even Nefertiti jumped into her lap and stayed for a while.
Ada, Sylvia, Lily, and Michael, despite coming to the end of their stay at the Funky Cat Inn, seemed reluctant to leave. They continued to chat with Sage, Nat, Roxy, Sam, and Elijah all through the evening and well into the night, talking about their lives, their hopes, their dreams, their careers, their families, what they would do next, and how much they had enjoyed their stay at the Funky Cat Inn, murder notwithstanding. It was a long, meaningful, and expansive discussion; social media wasn’t mentioned even once.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
ROXY, SAGE, AND Nat sat together in Roxy’s tiny office. Sage sat on a stool beside Roxy in the office chair. They were staring intently at Sage’s laptop screen. Nat lounged on the floor, sprawled out on a beanbag, which suited her just fine.
“Well, it’s not all terrible,” said Roxy, checking their Instagram page. “We’ve gone from 5,000 fans to 105,000!”
“That will translate into plenty more bookings,” said Sage, crisply. She even sounded different when she was talking about business. “Visibility is key here. We need to appear everywhere. The more followers we have, the better.”
There was a knock on the door, and Sam poked his head in.
“Hello, ladies.”
Sage briefly raised her eyes from the screen. Nat waved. Only Roxy looked directly at Sam. “Hi Sam.”
“Roxy, can I have a word?”
“Sure.” Roxy waited patiently for Sam to continue.
“Outside,” he said.
“Oh, okay.” Roxy pushed herself out from behind the desk and went out into the hallway where Sam stood.
“Look, I wondered, um, well, if…” Sam trailed off.
“Yes?” Roxy prompted. There was tension in the air, definitely tension.
“If, well, if you were alright.” Sam’s voice gained strength. “You know, after the other day. I mean, Kathy strangled you. That can’t have been fun.”
“Well, no. No, it wasn’t. But you stopped her, and thank you for that. Things would have been a lot worse if not for you, but I’m fine now.”
“Oh, right, well.” Sam looked down at his feet before raising his head and trying again. “But you’re not injured, or scared, losing sleep? I’d understand if you were. You nearly blacked out.”
“No, no, I’m fine, thanks.” Roxy was trembling now. Why did she do that around Sam? She remembered the vow she had made to herself. She would not get involved. Not with Sam, not with anyone. It would be unprofessional of her, and she still didn’t know if she trusted him completely. And besides, she didn’t have the time. “Anyhow, was there anything else?”
Sam looked directly at her. He was resolute now, having seemingly made a decision. “Just the laundry. I came for the
laundry.”
Roxy went back to her office where Sage and Nat were chatting about the relative merits of the different social media platforms.
“But, Sage, Instagram is where the kids go. Facebook is for old folks.”
“Sylvia’s followers aren’t kids, and they’re on Instagram, sweet petal. And look how many Facebook fans we have—65,000!”
Roxy laughed. “I hope everyone’s doing okay. Shall we check up on them?”
“Oh, yes, great idea!” said Nat. She got up off her beanbag and stood behind them.
“Let’s try Lily first,” Roxy said.
Sage navigated to Lily Vashchenko’s Instagram page. “Aha!” Roxy said. “She did get the Hilton Hotel deal!” There was picture after picture after picture of Lily posing in front of the Hilton, wearing Hilton-branded slippers, in front of the Hilton-branded pool. If it had Hilton on it, Lily was posing with it, on it, or next to it.
“Good for her,” said Nat. “She really wanted that deal. I remember her talking about it when we were walking to Dash’s party.”
“Dash really wanted it too,” Roxy said sadly.
“What about Sylvia?” said Nat.
Sage typed in Sylvia Walters, and nothing came up. “That’s strange,” said Roxy. “She’s not on there.”
“Do you think she deactivated?” said Nat. “She can’t have!”
Sage closed her eyes. “Search for her real name,” she said.
Roxy gasped. “What was it again?...Oh…erm…Oh, yes! Helen Matheson.” Sage typed the name in. Roxy’s heart was beating hard. “Oh my goodness, Sage, you’re right!”
Sage clicked through to the profile. Before, Sylvia’s Instagram feed had been full of well-curated pictures of lifestyle and travel. It was beautiful, for sure, but there was nothing particularly adrenaline pumping about it.
And now? Her profile picture was one of her standing alongside Oprah!
“No way!” Nat said.
“Uh-huh!” Roxy responded, finding it hard to believe herself. “The truth will set you free!” Roxy read from the page. “Tell your story—the good, the bad, and the ugly. Learn from your mistakes, and speak your truth. Fight for justice!”
Sage broke out into a beautiful smile. “This has been a learning experience for us all. Truly transformative. I vividly remember the reading I gave her. I could feel some inner tragedy had not been expressed. Often, I can tell exactly what a person has been through in life. I can look at them, and I feel their story. I see images, hear voices.
“But in her case, I didn’t get anything in particular. She’d hidden her story well, somewhere no one could see or sense it; somewhere where even she would not see or sense it. It was buried so, so deeply. But unfortunately, when we bury our story, we bury our soul with it. She was walking around like a shell of a person, always worried, always looking over her shoulder. And her throat chakra was completely blocked. It was surrounded by dark, damp energy. Having a cover story will do that to you.”
Sage paused for a moment and tipped her head to one side. “You know when you try to relax, but you have a test the next day, and you haven’t studied for it, and you feel disaster looming? She was living her whole life like that, never able to relax. Her poor soul must have been so tired.” Sage peered at the screen and smiled. “Not anymore, though. Look at those eyes. I see joy, relief, and freedom. And a picture with Oprah? You have to be putting out some special energy into the Universe to achieve that!”
Roxy laughed. “That’s fantastic. I want to find out more about what Sylvia…sorry, Helen’s doing right now.” Sage hit up Google and typed in “Helen Matheson.” There was a Wikipedia page stating that she had been to jail for the death of her husband and was now using her platform to campaign for justice and help domestic violence victims.
“She has found her purpose,” Sage said. She paused. “What about Ada Okafor? Let’s see what she is doing.” Sage searched for Ada and quickly found her profile.
“Oh, her last post is from a while ago!” Roxy pointed at the picture on her account. Ada was wearing a white coat. “Look, she’s gone back to medicine!” Roxy clicked on the photo and up came the caption. “I’m back in medical school, training to become a surgeon. Thank you, Instagram, for the fun times! See you in seven years!”
Sage smiled at that too. “She’s realized there are more important things than Versace limited editions.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Nat said. “I hope Michael’s holding up okay,” she added.
“He sure is.” Sage grinned. “I don’t need to check Instagram for that. He’s always talking to Dr. Jack, and he’s even thinking of apprenticing with him in spiritual matters. It would all be done online of course. Michael travels all over the world as he honors Dash’s memory. Check out his pictures. You’ll see!”
Roxy typed Michael & Dash into the bar and found their Instagram page. It was full of pictures of Michael here, there, and everywhere. In each picture, Michael held a large photograph of Dash. There were pictures of him with street children, on boats in the Caribbean, in soup kitchens, and at the top of skyscrapers.
Roxy clicked on one of the pictures. Michael was standing on a platform, an amazing view over London stretched out behind him.
Dash always said the sky was the limit. Now I’m in the sky, in one of the tallest buildings in Europe. I’m toasting you with a glass of champagne, Dash. I’m living it up, just for you!
Roxy read it out, and then they settled into a comfortable, bittersweet silence until the laptop suddenly went ding!
“Ooh, look! We’ve got a message!” Roxy said.
She clicked on her inbox.
“It’s from The Magnificent Luxury Travel Show!” said Nat peering over Roxy’s shoulder.
Roxy shook her head. “It’s probably just a scam.”
“No, it’s not!” said Nat. “It’s a great TV show! It’s total vacation porn.”
“Nat!” Roxy said, swatting at her. She opened the message and read.
Dear Roxy Reinhardt,
We have watched how you handled recent events at your hotel with grace and poise.
We love the look of the cuisine you serve, and the spiritual, historical, and cultural events you organize for your guests.
We would like to feature you in one of our shows. Please contact our scheduling producer at your earliest convenience at the email address below.
Yours sincerely,
Tiffany Schuster
Executive Producer
“Yes! I told you we would be on TV soon,” said Nat, punching the air. “Oh my goodness, this is like a dream! Roxy, this is worth thousands in publicity. You’ve made it!”
Roxy couldn’t believe her eyes. She looked out of her office door through to the lobby. In the room beyond, she could see the table that Nat had brought back from the flea market they had visited with Lily in Sam’s Rolls. When Nat had got ahold of the table, it had been scratched and faded, one leg was wobbly and the side detail was caked with grime. Now, the deep mahogany finish was smooth and shiny, the fine filigree detail exposed, the wobbly leg fixed. Set on top of the table was her other flea market find—a dramatic two-foot-high gold statue of a woman. She was a dramatic figure; her hair flowed behind her, her long dress twisted around her body. In her hands were a bow and arrow, her elbow pulled back as she took aim, her intense gaze focused on her prey. Every time Roxy looked at the statue, she felt a thrill course through her body. It inspired her. The woman was powerful, determined, a servant to no one. That was just how Roxy wanted to be.
“Is this for real?” Roxy said, finally.
Sage flashed her a grin and gave her a hug. “You bet, honey.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“Well, you better believe it, mate,” Nat said. “’Cuz, it’s happening. You better hold on, Rox. You’re going to be famous!”
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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.
New Orleans Nightmare Page 16