Bitter Reckoning

by Heather Graham

  Danni looked around. “I don’t see her VP—Ally Caldwell—anywhere yet. Ally is also on the development team. That she’s not here yet is kind of a surprise. Ally supported Colleen when she first wanted to expand her Internet site and was with her down in the trenches. Colleen wanted to supply a place for people to meet surrounded by others like them—or for those who had met, and wanted someplace…safe, I guess…to become couples. There are dozens of dating sites out there—but I think Colleen might have had the first business to open such places…fun and elegant havens where people could meet before committing to a relationship. Some sites tout paperwork that will make people compatible, and some exist just for people who pass by one another to start off with a quickie or one-night stand. Colleen believes in seeing, deciding, getting to meet in person, face-to-face.”

  “It’s the modern world. You can go online and find just about anything, why not love?” He asked lightly.

  “She doesn’t believe paperwork can make you compatible—even if you both have the same interests. If you don’t have chemistry, well, it will just never be a real romance.”

  “Sometimes, though, it is good when you share a few interests,” he said.

  “Hm. Well, thankfully, most people don’t have to share one of our—interests!” Danni said.

  “Hey, your dad’s ‘collecting’ did bring us together!” he said. “Anyways, I’m very happy to be here—thrilled to be a guest—and the price couldn’t be better!”

  “Especially since the price is free!”

  He frowned, looking toward the garden area beyond the pool.

  “So, all these people are looking for love…or something?”

  Danni laughed. “Something like that. Anyway, the big party is planned for Martinmas. It’s really a French holiday in honor of St. Martin, born in Hungary, but one of the saints who did much for France. Ally pushed to open now because they really get into the whole concept of celebrating harvest time. The concept travelled over Europe and was carried here along with many of the French settlers and the Acadians. It also became something of a harvest festival, and they celebrate the harvest here along with his saint’s day. It’s a big deal. But like all things once religious, it’s also a big party. I guess in the old days it had a lot to do with praying for or being thankful for a rich harvest—so people could survive through the winter.”

  “That makes it a great day for people at a dating service…meeting site? Ah, wait, never mind—I guess a good harvest could mean many things!”

  She gave him a slight punch on the arm. “Behave.”

  “Why?” he queried lightly. “I mean…this is all about love, right? Or affairs, or…”

  Danni did indeed wear her bikini exceptionally well, creating a teasing situation that had already begun to make him contemplate the trip back up to their suite. Maybe they’d head up soon, Quinn thought. That would keep his mind off the strange worry tugging at him. Plenty of privacy there. And never spoke the words.

  He opened his mouth to suggest that very thing, but as he looked at Danni he could see past her toward the archways leading from the indoor pool into the bordering patio, and from there back into the sumptuous lobby. Before he could form the words, he saw a disturbing sight. Something seemed to slam against him as if in answer to the restless foreboding that had been tugging at his mind.

  “Your friend, our hostess, Colleen is coming,” he sat up, his body filling with tension, a frown knitting his brow, “with people I know,” he added, his tone growing darkly curious.

  His senses had been keen. This was it, then, whatever it was he’d felt was coming, and the playful peace they’d been enjoying was abruptly at an end.

  Colleen was looking for them specifically, Quinn knew, as she entered the indoor pool area along with two men, one of whom he recognized—and who shouldn’t have been here.

  “That’s Jake Larue with her” he said.

  When Quinn had been a detective with the NOLA force, Larue had been his partner, and he’d been on hand for many an incident since.

  “What the hell is he doing out here?” he muttered.

  Danni quickly followed his gaze. “What?” she murmured. “Larue? I hope nothing is wrong at home. I mean, he’s with NOLA. Why would he be out here?”

  “I’m sure nothing is wrong at home. Billie would have called. Whatever it is, we’re about to find out. You friend is headed straight to us with Larue in tow, and it looks like another cop. I’m willing to bet he’s with the parish police. I just might know him, too. We were out this way just about a year or so ago.”

  Colleen Rankin was a tiny woman with brown curls, warm brown eyes to match and usually a bubbly personality that was friendly and kind and contagious. There was nothing cheerful or bubbly about her now. She looked more than serious as she drew closer; she appeared to have been crying.

  She walked just ahead of Larue and the other man. Larue, of course, was in plain clothes. He was wearing a work-day gray-suit and tailored shirt—with a slight bulge beneath his jacket that indicated he was wearing a holster and service arm. He was an even six feet, close-cropped brown hair, level eyes, and had an all-around appearance of competence and determination.

  The second man was older with dark hair showing white at the edge and steely gray eyes in a well-lined face.

  Yep, parish police! Quinn thought.

  “Larue—and another cop,” Danni murmured, her glance at Quinn assuring him she was now dreading what was coming, too.

  Something bad.

  They both knew it.

  “Parish Police—plainclothes homicide,” Quinn said. He got a better look at the second man coming toward them and memory kicked in. He had worked with him not just recently, but also several years back on a drug-smuggling case that had left bodies in New Orleans and half of the state.

  “Damn,” he murmured. “It’s Peter Ellsworth. I’ve worked with him before. I’m pretty sure this means there is a body somewhere.”

  Quinn quickly stood, and Danni did likewise, ready to meet Colleen and the detectives.

  Colleen was distraught, and though she had definitely been crying, she was now somewhat composed—until she neared Danni, and then she rushed forward, throwing herself into Danni’s arms.

  Danni instinctively wrapped her arms around her friend, looking at Quinn over Colleen’s head, her eyes filled with care and confusion.

  Quinn had recently met Colleen Rankin, their hostess for the weekend, after Danni had come to tell him about the opening of the resort—and how they had been invited. He knew she and Danni had gone to school together, though they hadn’t seen each other in ages because Colleen’s main base had been New York City. Colleen was friendly, open, sincere, and enthusiastic—and easy to like. Danni had told him Colleen was one of the most honestly nice and caring individuals she had ever met—which made it almost surprising Colleen had not just done well but flourished in the business of creating an online dating service—she liked and trusted people so much, she might have been easily taken.

  However, she had been smart enough to bring more skeptical help into her business.

  She was usually accompanied by one of her VPs—trusted employees who kept her from giving away the entire barn during negotiations on a deal.

  Today she was alone—except for Detectives Larue and Peter Ellsworth.

  Larue nodded gravely at Quinn and Danni.

  “Quinn,” Ellsworth said, offering his hand to Quinn and nodding to Danni as Colleen remained crushed against her like a child.

  Danni was almost five-ten. She offered an encompassing hold, and while she was slim enough herself, Colleen appeared extremely tiny and fragile in her arms.

  Colleen was babbling as she clung to Danni.

  “Composure…composure…I have guests. This is my grand opening weekend. Oh, my God! One of my guests went into the cemetery; and it’s so horrible, so, so horrible. No, no, what am I saying? My employee, a right-hand man…woman…I mean. Of course, it has nothing to do w
ith the resort, except it’s my Ally! I couldn’t understand why she was late…why she wasn’t answering her phone. I tried calling back to the office…a car picked her up, just as she planned, but it’s gone and she’s…”

  Colleen broke off with a sob.

  “Dead,” Peter Ellsworth offered. He looked at Colleen with a cross between compassion and hard-worn patience and then turned back to Quinn. “Larue told me you were here, Quinn, and you tend to be excellent at…this kind of thing.” He took a long look at Danni.

  He’d met her, at least briefly, Quinn thought, and he had to know she worked with him on his investigations.

  “Sorry, Quinn,” Larue said.

  “On vacation, I understand,” Ellsworth told him apologetically and added, “but with your home being in New Orleans, and now this…”

  This what? He wanted to shout.

  “It’s all right. What happened?” he managed to ask calmly.

  Neither Ellsworth nor Larue had a chance to answer.

  “Ally. Ally is dead. She was on her way here,” Colleen said, trying to speak clearly. “One of our couples went back to see the cemetery…it’s rather famous. They found her, and the others, and…oh, God.”

  “We were hoping you would be good enough to return to the scene with us; the medical examiner is on his way as well,” Peter Ellsworth said to Quinn. “The scene is—quite bizarre.”

  “Of course,” Quinn said, looking at Larue, his frown questioning his friend’s appearance here.

  “It mimics a death scene found in a small family cemetery in Uptown, NOLA,” Larue said.

  “When?”

  “We found the victims…last night. Victims…well, two were victims, the other was already dead,” Larue said. “Yeah, yeah, I realize how confusing this is as I try to explain—we need to get to the crime scene, you’ll understand better there.”

  “I do hope you have some kind of a touch of magic. This is going to get the whole state into an uproar…two in two days,” Ellsworth said.

  Yes—they were confusing him.

  “You’ll come, now? Right away?” Ellsworth asked.

  “Of course,” Quinn assured him. He liked the man. He was a Parish officer who knew not just his base—Iberia Parish—but all of Quinn’s beloved Louisiana. He worked well with others and was an interesting man who excelled at listening, which made him invaluable when facts needed to be gathered and put together like puzzle pieces.

  He just hoped Larue would make sure he didn’t demand explanations for all of their findings.

  “We need five minutes,” Quinn told the detectives. “Clothing,” he added with a grimace.

  “We?” Peter Ellsworth asked, frowning, and then studying Danni again. “It’s not—pleasant. And,” he paused, uncomfortable as he spoke, “we’re trying to keep the general populace away.”

  “Danni isn’t the general populace,” Quinn said.

  “Quinn and I have worked together many times,” Danni informed him. “I’m something of an expert on…bizarre rituals and strange behavior,” she added. “My father was a collector; we did a great deal of research on many…unusual objects.”

  “How, uh…well, fitting, I guess,” Detective Ellsworth said, looking at Quinn.

  “Sir, we did meet briefly—and you know I’m involved with Quinn’s cases,” Danni said firmly. “I really provide insight and…research.”

  Quinn lowered his eyes; there was no other way to explain Danni’s relationship with law enforcement.

  Let Ellsworth wonder. He knew he wasn’t leaving without Danni.

  She was an odd combination of dignity and sensuality as they stood there—a lovely form in her bathing suit, tall and straight and professional as well. Perhaps it was her face, features composed and confident, heedless of the opinions of others, aware of her own abilities.

  Either that, or she just didn’t want Quinn leaving alone. Especially when the matter had to do with her friend.

  “It’s…a bizarre and ugly scene,” Ellsworth told her. “Perhaps…”

  “I’ll be fine,” Danni added, “murder is never pleasant. It’s always ugly.”

  Chapter 2

  The cemetery was something right out of a Hollywood set. Even by day, it seemed to be shrouded in a gray mist. They’d entered through creaking filigreed iron gates created beneath an artistic arch. They’d passed by old stones and newer stones, slanted in the ground by age. Above ground tombs and vaults and small mausoleums, the typical type found in the “cities of the dead” that were part of the culture and architecture that made New Orleans known for its treatment of the dead, were found here also.

  They reached the murder site through long, winding, overgrown trails.

  Detective Ellsworth had been right.

  Bizarre was barely adequate for what they came upon. Ugly was sadly accurate.

  Danni had seen the bizarre and the ugly before—and of course, the tragic and the sad. However, when they arrived at the crime scene, the site of the corpses was nothing less than bone-chilling. Even as the word came to mind, she silently chastised herself—no pun intended.

  It was something straight out of the most gruesome slasher movie. Bones littered the ground. There were three corpses; each had been set up on a crossed pole in a manner to mimic a scarecrow. The corpses had straw sticking from their sleeves, necklines, and shoes.

  The medical examiner had arrived; he was busy on a foldable ladder, inspecting the corpse to the far right.

  Danni certainly didn’t have a medical degree, but it appeared from first glance at least one of the victims—Ally Caldwell—had died from a vicious knife attack. Her body and the straw stuffed around her were marked with red stains that must certainly be blood.

  Great quantities of it.

  “Cursed Yvette,” Peter Ellsworth muttered beneath his breath as they approached.

  Danni glanced at him quickly. Cursed Yvette? Different. Every kid had heard of “Bloody Mary” and seen some kind of movie or show in which, if you said the name three times, good old Bloody Mary hopped out to create mayhem and murder.

  There had definitely been some mean mayhem and murder here.

  But “Cursed Yvette?” That was a new one to her, but she assumed, there had to be a legend here that was much the same.

  The victims, other than Ally, had been displayed in a like manner, though she wasn’t sure how they had met their end. It was hard to judge what their appearance in life might have been. They were covered in straw, cemetery dirt, and what appeared to be a wealth of moss that hung from many of the great oaks in the area.

  The first corpse was that of an old man. Thin, heavily wrinkled, and possessing a headful of gray hair and a gray beard. She saw he, too, was covered in red—his beard was covered and sticky with crimson. His face had been all but cut away, leaving little flesh and bold areas of exposed bone.

  The second corpse was Ally Caldwell. She had been perhaps in her mid-thirties. Her hair had been dark, almost black, and appeared stygian. She was missing her shoes, but they were down with the bones—bright red stilettos that seemed bizarre next to blood and bone.

  The third body set up on a pole—arms stretched out—was that of a younger man, dressed in a business suit. His hair had been dark as well. It was difficult to discern anything more about him.

  “This took time,” Quinn said, standing very still as he surveyed the scene, his eyes sharp as he kept his distance, staring at the corpses. He turned, looking back to the old arched, iron gate. Outside, the police had set up a cordon—not that it seemed there was anyone out there to cordon out. They were deep enough into the cemetery that someone driving by wouldn’t see the area of the corpses.

  The killer knew the cemetery and knew it was mostly left as what it was—old and all but abandoned—other than being a mecca for the rare tourist who made it to this area.

  “Yes, it took time,” Detective Ellsworth agreed. “This isn’t a place easily seen from the street like the big cemeteries in Metairie. May
be it should be, but it’s not a tourist haunt. Until Colleen Rankin opened her resort, there just wasn’t enough up here to attract anyone but a die-hard would-be ghost hunter, or sometimes, a real hunter. Lots of deer, that’s for sure.”

  “But we’re not that far from Lafayette, New Iberia, and other cities and towns with at least fair-sized populations.”

  “The woman is…Ally Caldwell?” Quinn asked, looking at Danni.

  Danni nodded.

  “Two of the guests from Miss Rankin’s opening, love old cemeteries, and they were down here fooling around. They hysterically called 911.” Ellsworth hesitated. “Have to admit, we thought it might be a scary display a few of the local teens had set up—you can buy all kinds of creepy stuff these days that look like the real thing. We are looking at Martinmas and the harvest festival events that go on. There’s always locals who think a little spooking at this time is appropriate. Officer Finn McKinney responded when the call came, and…well, here we are. Bizarre. I don’t know if this is looking like cult or ritual or—I don’t know what. But Miss Rankin said you were here, Quinn, when she called the parish.” He paused. “We don’t know who the other two victims are—we’re waiting for the medical examiner to finish with his preliminaries. We’ll try fingerprints…dental records. And well, hell, this really smacks of something frightening; and with you being here, and Larue looking to solve his own murder and that being back in New Orleans where he’d have brought you in as a consultant…well, here, you could see it all at the onset.” He looked at Danni again. “Hope that’s all right. And, uh, that you’re involved, too.”

  “Fine. Glad you brought me in,” she answered. “Crime scene techs have been over the ground?”

  There were two workers wearing yellow parkas with “Crime Scene Unit” printed on them. Both were looking over an area in front of Ally Caldwell’s body.

  “They’ve started—take the marked path, if you will,” Ellsworth said.

  Danni followed Quinn as they carefully stepped to the cone-marked path that had already been swept by the crime scene investigators.