Andy had wanted to be a part of the real New Orleans.
Now she was.
Andrea had been dead for four days. Despite the fact that an autopsy had been not only demanded by Nikki but required by law, nothing the ME had been able to tell them had shed any light on the situation. Nikki had continued to insist to Massey that there had been a killer.
To her relief, he didn’t try to convince her that she was simply in denial, grieving for the loss of a friend. Perhaps he didn’t believe her, but he had at least gone through the motions of an investigation.
All they knew was that Andrea had gone to Pat O’Brien’s with her friends, and at 2:00 a.m. they had parted company.
What had happened after that, none of them knew.
The police had found her—forcing the door of her apartment at the insistence of Mrs. Montobello—at nine o’clock in the morning. Andy had checked in with Mrs. Montobello with such regularity that the woman had been worried, and rightly so.
Andy had no longer been clad in the short sassy skirt and bandeau top she had been wearing when they celebrated. She had been in a New Orleans Saints shirt and nothing else.
Just as Nikki had seen her.
She had been found with a needle and other drug paraphernalia at her side. The only prints found in her place could be traced to her friends, and even those had been sparse. Many surfaces had been wiped clean. Nikki knew that some of the officers involved in the case believed that was because Andy had recently cleaned the apartment. Thankfully, Massey seemed to find it a bit suspicious.
But…other than that…
There had been no forced entry, nothing to show that anyone else had been with her that night. There was nothing….
Nothing. Nothing at all. Or, if the police did have anything, they weren’t sharing.
Nikki didn’t think any of her own friends believed her. They had tried, however, to help her cover any possible angle. They had all spent hours in the police station, trying to remember if they had seen anyone, anyone at all, looking at Andrea oddly or threateningly. Hard to decide, though they did remember the sandy-haired guy who might have been looking at Nikki herself. Admittedly, they had all been smashed.
Even Andy.
Oh, God, please let it be that she didn’t feel fear and pain, Nikki thought.
Had Andy been followed home? By someone who had been watching her at the bar? Or by someone who had seen her on the streets as she walked home.
Were the others right, when they looked at her with sympathy, thinking that she just couldn’t accept the fact that Andy had fallen back into using? God knew, it was easy enough to buy whatever drugs you might want.
No. There had been someone else, someone who had forced the drug on Andy.
Mrs. Montobello hadn’t heard a thing, which wasn’t surprising. She couldn’t hear a bomb go off without her hearing aid, which she wouldn’t have been wearing at four o’clock in the morning. She was here now, softly crying into an embroidered handkerchief. Andy had always been so good to her, checking up on her, bringing her gourmet treats and other little presents. Poor Mrs. Montobello was really going to miss Andy. But as to being much help when it came to the investigation…well, she wasn’t any.
The account executive who lived above Andy had been in New York on business. The single mother of two next to him had taken her toddlers to her mother’s house. So there had been no one in Andy’s quaint Victorian manor who might have heard anything, or have any clue as to what had happened.
The police had posted an appeal in the newspaper seeking anyone who might have seen Andy that night. And people had come in, trying to be helpful with stories about any strange character they might have met.
In New Orleans, that could be practically anybody.
The police were at a loss. As far as Nikki knew, the crime scene investigation department had gone over Andy’s apartment with the best forensics available. They hadn’t found as much as a hair that might help unravel the mystery of her death. Not a single clue.
Naturally, Nikki had kept silent about her strange dream. She could barely remember it, anyway—other than the fact that Andy had been there at the foot of her bed. But she hadn’t been there. She had been either dead or dying by that time.
She was pretty sure, though, that even as they went through the motions, the police believed that Andy’s death had been self inflicted, even if accidentally so. Still, Massey had assured Nikki that, as tragic and frustrating as it was, finding a murderer could take a long time. Months or even years. Though Detective Massey didn’t say it, she knew that far too often a killer was never discovered and walked away free.
That made her think that maybe she should mention her dream to someone. The only person she had told was Julian, and he had looked at her with such incredulity that she had immediately felt foolish. Julian had gone on to warn her that telling her bizarre tale would either make the police think she was a kook who had been giving her own tours for too long or a suspicious individual herself.
But the dream bothered her on a daily basis. No. Hourly. Constantly.
She felt a pang in her heart that was so sharp it might have been delivered by a knife.
Oh, God, Andy, I can’t stop believing that you came to me for help.
And I failed you.
She closed her eyes tightly as she stood near the coffin, desperately trying to remember everything that she had seen that night.
“Nikki.”
It was Patricia, looking at her with dampened eyes. “Come on, now. Let them finish.”
Nikki nodded and looked around. The funeral had been small, but a few people had made it. There were her neighbors, and even Madame D’Orso from the coffee shop, and a few other local business owners.
As always, there were the curious, tourists, who happened to be at the cemetery and slipped in to join the crowd at the service.
A stretch limo awaited their group, and Nikki knew it was time to walk away.
She looked back. The cemetery workers were in the tomb, getting ready to slide the remains into the appropriate vault.
The band played to the end.
They drove back into the French Quarter, and then went through another ritual, the after-service gathering at Madame D’Orso’s.
Madame was in her element. Tall and buxom, with her silver hair swept high on top of her head, she took charge naturally. She had liked Andy. Besides, it was her place. Nikki realized that she was one of the few people who knew that Madame’s real name was Debra Smith and she’d actually had ancestors come over on the Mayflower. But a pretense of being French was a good thing for business in the French Quarter.
She had come through today, closing her café in the morning, then opening in honor of Andrea in the afternoon.
Julian, Nathan, Mitch and Patricia were trying to do what was usually done on such occasions, remember the person with affection and a smile.
It wasn’t easy, when some people clearly thought it was her own fault for being a junkie.
People cared, but Nikki knew, too, that most of them would not think about that day much after they had returned to their regular lives.
At last, as the hour grew late, people began to leave.
Madame, who had truly been the perfect hostess, settled tiredly into a chair by Nikki. She patted her hand where it lay on the table. “Come on, child,” she said. “Andy wouldn’t want you to be morose forever.”
Nikki nodded. “No, of course, you’re right.”
Madame smoothed a stray lock of hair from Nikki’s face. “You’re plumb ashen, girl. Pale as if you’d seen a ghost.”
Nikki’s brows arched. Julian, who was standing nearby, turned and stared at Nikki.
She frowned back at him, then turned to Madame.
“Hey…do you remember that last day when Andy and I were in here?” she asked.
“Well, vaguely,” Madame said. “You all come in most days, you know.”
“I know, but that day, there was a…kind
of a bum hanging around. He looked as if he’d be good looking if he had a bath and a haircut.”
Madame looked at her blankly.
“You must have seen him,” Nikki persisted. “I asked you about him, so I figured you would have noticed him when you went back inside.”
“Honey, I see lots of folks. And we get our share of bums. If one passed out on my floor, I’d have the police in so fast he wouldn’t even get to exhale. Other than that, I doubt I’d notice.”
“He must have come and gone while you were busy,” Nikki murmured.
Madame smiled. “Do you know what I do remember? Andy teasing you about the fact that you needed to get yourself a fellow.”
“That’s when the guy was in here,” Nikki said triumphantly.
“Honey, I’m really sorry, I don’t know why it’s so important, but I really didn’t see him.”
Julian, frowning, took a chair at the table. “Nikki…do you think the guy followed you and Andy? Maybe that’s something you should report to the police.”
She shook her head, aware that Julian’s gray gaze was intense and serious. “You guys were sitting out here when Andy and I brought out the beignets and coffee, and you didn’t see him—did you?”
“No…but we weren’t paying any attention. We weren’t paying any attention that night, either,” Julian said ruefully.
Patricia came over and slid into another chair. She, too, patted Nikki’s hand. “You holding up?”
“I’m fine,” she murmured. “Patricia, you did make sure that any tours for tonight were rescheduled, right?”
“Yes, I did. I spoke with Max, just as you told me, and he apologized again for not being here, by the way,” she said, offering Nikki a weak smile. She shrugged. “We had no problem rescheduling—there was a mention about the funeral in the paper. People—” she glanced dryly at Julian “—even tourists, tend to be sympathetic—still curious, yes, but sympathetic….”
“Did everyone reschedule?” Nikki asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Patricia said.
“Those sympathetic tourists are sure we’ll be the best tour out there now,” Julian said, and flashed a stern look at Patricia.
“What was that look all about?” Nikki demanded.
Patricia stared at Julian, then shook her head with a sigh. “Oh, one woman said that she was certain the spirit of our departed comrade would remain with us on our tours, making them even better,” she murmured.
“How awful,” Madame breathed.
“Some people are just heartless that way,” Mitch said, sliding into another chair at the large round wrought-iron table. “Hey,” he said pragmatically, “some of the stories we tell are pretty grim. It’s just that now…well, now Andy’s part of it, whether we like it or not.”
“We will never, ever mention Andy on a tour!” Nikki said fiercely.
“Of course not, but, Nikki, in our business, you know that this will come up,” Mitch reminded her. He offered her an ironic smile. Mitch wasn’t as dramatic a guide as either Julian or Nathan, but his knowledge of the area was inexhaustible. He had a wonderful all-American, corn-fed look, ash-blond, flyaway hair, bright blue eyes, handsome face. He was very popular with the younger crowd. Nikki was certain that they often had repeat local customers just because a certain teenage crowd loved to follow him around the city.
He frowned, looking at her suddenly. “We will never, ever mention Andy,” he agreed. He hesitated, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry, you knew her much better than we did. She was only with us a few weeks…. Nikki, are you doing all right?”
She nodded.
“I think one of us should come stay with you,” he said firmly.
She shook her head. “Thanks, Mitch. Julian has been hanging around for me.” She stared at them all. “Okay, I’m telling you, and I mean it. I’m convinced that someone forced that heroin on Andy. Whether it had to do with her past or not, I don’t know. But also, I’m okay, and I don’t need my friends to babysit me. But thanks.”
“Well, I don’t know how you’re living alone,” Patricia said, flipping aside a length of her long dark hair. She glanced sideways at Nathan, who was saying goodbye to the last of their comourners. She grinned suddenly. “I was wondering if maybe Nathan and I weren’t making a mistake…rushing to live with one another. Now I thank God every minute that we’re living together. Because those drugs came from somewhere. From someone. I just think I’d be pretty miserable and scared right now, if I were alone.”
“Hey, you two are just right for each other,” Nikki commented. “And that’s why it’s good that you’re living together. Anyway, I’m going to shake this off. It’s just that it’s only been a few days. But I’m not going to turn into a coward. I’m going to be proactive and bug the police until they discover her murderer—don’t look at me like that. There was a murderer. That’s the least I can do for her.”
“One way or another, I agree with Nikki. Whether someone just pushed the purchase on the streets or plunged the needle into her vein, someone caused Andy’s death. And for the sake of everyone in the parish, we need to know who. We’ll all work on that, right, guys?” Mitch asked.
They all nodded.
“And by the way,” Julian said, “I am staying with you tonight, Nikki.”
“Julian, I’m all right.”
“And so am I. But I think we ought to be all right together.”
“The bed in the guest room is as hard as a rock. You said so yourself,” Nikki reminded him.
“Honey, I’m all in. Tonight, I could sleep on a real rock just fine.”
She was about to protest again, then sighed. “Okay, thanks. I guess, tonight, I’ll be glad of the company.”
The two of them were the last out of Madame D’Orso’s. Julian decided they should walk Madame home first. It was around midnight, which in New Orleans, in the Vieux Carré, wasn’t all that late. Madame said that they really didn’t need to walk her anywhere, there were plenty of police about and the streets were crowded.
Julian, however, told her that they could use the walk anyway. The night was beautiful, with fall just beginning. The oppressive humidity that could press down on the city had lightened.
“Hey, it’s a nice night just for being alive,” he said cheerfully, then winced.
Nikki slipped an arm through his. “Hey, don’t worry. I don’t want to spend my days walking on eggshells, worrying about every word that comes out of my mouth. It is a beautiful night—and a great night to be alive.”
They walked Madame the few blocks to her place, then turned and started back toward Bourbon Street.
“Want a nightcap or anything?” Julian asked, a brotherly arm around her shoulder.
She shook her head. “Honestly, you know what’s strange? I’ve never been much of a drinker, and I had such a bad hangover the day we found out about Andy that I just haven’t wanted anything since.”
“Maybe you need a hair of the dog that bit you,” Julian said.
“Actually, I’d like to get home. I haven’t been sleeping much.”
“Hey, it’s okay. Lots of people in your position would be on sedatives, you know. I mean, you hired her. You two bonded right away. And you had to deal with trying to find out if there was someone to contact, and then arrange the funeral and all…well, that’s a tough load. And it’s tough just to have known someone who was…murdered.”
“The rest of you seem to be doing all right.”
“Like I said, you two kind of bonded. You and Andy, well, you were both orphans. You had that in common.”
“I had my grandparents, at least,” Nikki said. “Cousins, aunts and uncles…though they’ve mostly moved pretty far away these days. But I had family. Andy didn’t have even that.”
“She had us. We were family,” Julian assured her. “Well, we would have been,” he said.
They reached the iron gate in the brick wall that surrounded Nikki’s place. “What is the trick to this damn thing?” he muttered.
/> “The latch is under and over. It’s not a lock, it just keeps the curious out,” Nikki said. She bit her lip, wanting to reach over and open it herself, but Julian seemed determined. She folded her arms across her chest, looking around.
It was always amazing how life went on.
A couple, arm in arm, strolled leisurely down the street, leaning toward one another. He was ebony. She was ivory. Nikki smiled, loving the ease with which people lived their lives in New Orleans now. There had been a time when old “Beast” Butler had ruled the city, but that was long ago. They were on the move here now.
A rowdy group of young men walked along the street, then paused nearby, drinks in hand, talking about a sax player who was working down on the square.
More couples strolled along.
A larger group of young men joined the first.
“Damn this thing, but I will get it,” Julian said, determined.
Nikki barely heard him. She straightened against the brick wall.
There was someone in the midst of the group in the street, but he wasn’t one of them. He was shaggy-haired. Clothes wrinkled, worn. He turned toward her.
Handsome face…
Beneath the scraggly growth of beard.
He stared at her as if he recognized her.
And she stared back, certainly recognizing him.
She swung around, tapping hard on Julian’s shoulder. “Julian…Julian. Turn around quick. I just saw him.”
“Him, who?”
Julian turned to her, confused.
“The bum who was at Madame’s that day.”
“Where?”
“He’s there—in that group of college guys,” she declared.
Julian stared out to the street and searched the clean-shaven faces. So did she.
“Where?” Julian said.
“There, in the middle of them,” Nikki announced. She ran into the street, into the midst of the ten or so young men.
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