She saw Julian at the back of the crowd, leaning against one of the tombs. His head was lowered. He really was exhausted, she thought.
“So her fortune-telling was just repeating what she’d overheard, right?” a man asked.
Nikki was surprised that the question suddenly made her uncomfortable. She smiled and kept her eyes on Julian as she replied. “Well, if a fortune-teller foretells a hundred incidents and a few come true, is it something uncanny, is it coincidence—or is it simply being aware of people, their thoughts, desires and secrets? Maybe it’s a bit of all those things combined.”
The man said something else, but she didn’t hear him.
A chill had washed over her.
Tom Garfield was here.
In his suit, looking handsome and sad. He walked right past Julian, who looked up suddenly in confusion, glanced around, frowned and closed his eyes again.
Garfield came through the crowd.
As he did, people stepped aside. One girl shivered, looked up at the sun, then shook her head in confusion.
Garfield stopped then, just a few feet in front of Nikki. His mouth was working, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying.
“Miss?” She was barely aware of the word.
Then he stopped talking and his image faded into the sunlight.
“Miss? Are you all right?”
She started and looked at the man who was talking to her. She glanced toward the rear of the crowd. Julian had straightened. He was staring at her, looking worried.
As if he was about to haul her back to the psychiatrist’s office.
She smiled at Julian, and turned to the man at her side.
“I’m sorry, what?”
He laughed. “You gave me a start there. Looked as if you were going into some kind of trance or something. So, I said, do you think her ghost prowls this cemetery?” he asked.
“I…I imagine she’s a very busy ghost,” Nikki managed to say lightly. “If one believes in that kind of thing, she might wander here, or all around New Orleans and the bayou country.”
She lowered her head, inhaled deeply, looked up and around.
There was no sign of Tom Garfield.
But he had been there. And he’d been trying to reach her. He had something to tell her.
And she was almost certain she had figured out one of the words he had said.
Brent decided he wasn’t going to have to worry about staying awake that night.
In the time he spent seated at Madame’s, watching those who came and went, he was certain that he consumed several gallons of coffee.
He waited until the lunch crowd had dwindled. As usual, Madame came out with her coffeepot, refilling cups.
She came to his table. “Well, hello there. All alone today?” she asked cheerfully.
“At the moment,” he replied.
“So you’re working with the tour group now?” she said, offering him a big smile.
“Yes. It’s a good group.”
“Yes. Terrible thing about Andy,” she said, sighing.
“Very sad. Did you know she was a junkie?”
Madame glanced around, sighed and joined him at the table. “It does appear that she…well, she must have just slipped.”
“Some people don’t believe that,” Brent said.
Madame shook her head. “Nikki. Well, that’s Nikki for you. She sees the best in everyone.”
“So you think Andy fell back into her old ways?” Brent asked.
“Honey, I don’t know what else to think.”
“You must have seen the newspapers, the television,” Brent said. “An FBI agent was killed with a massive dose of heroin. In fact, the girls saw him in here that day.”
Madame looked distressed. “I know. And I so badly wanted to help the police. But I never saw the man! It must have been busy…mornings can be crazy, you know.” She knocked on the table. “Thank the good Lord or the voodoo gods or whoever. Everyone in New Orleans passes through here, honey. Everyone! Politicians, doctors—even movie stars and jazz messiahs.”
“Right. The French Quarter really isn’t all that big, is it?” Brent murmured.
“Not at all, honey, not at all.”
“Hey, what do you know about Max?” he asked.
“Max?”
He offered her his best engaging grin. “Yeah, the boss. I haven’t met him yet.”
Madame sniffed and waved a hand in the air. “He’s a user. He’s got Nikki doing all his work, and that’s the way it’s been from the beginning.”
“Well, it may just mean that he knows how to delegate.”
She sniffed. “Andy died, and he didn’t even make it back into town.”
“What about the others?”
“The other guides?” Madame sounded surprised. She apparently liked to gossip, however, because she seemed happy enough to linger with him at the table. “Well, they’re all right. Let’s see, Patricia, she’s a little doll. I don’t know if she should trust Nathan or not, though. Seems he’s a little…I don’t know, out of it sometimes. There’s Mitch. Nice guy. Trying too hard, maybe.”
“And Julian?”
Madame waved a hand in the air, shaking her head. “He’s good. If he had a little more energy, he could make it in Hollywood. The boy is one good actor.”
“And what about you, Madame?” he said teasingly.
“Me?”
“How would you be as a tour guide? You must know all about this town. Think of all you get to hear on a daily basis.”
“Honey, most goes in one ear and out the other, I’m such a busy woman.” With a sigh, she rose. “I need to be getting back to work.”
“Madame, you’re absolutely sure you didn’t see that FBI agent, Tom Garfield?”
She shook her head. “Honey, if I had seen that bum, I’d have had the cops in here. You know, you’re pretty nosy. Thinking about being a cop yourself?”
He shook his head.
“See you later then, Brent. Hang in there. You’ll do well enough.”
Brent studied her as she served coffee to the next table. She was the perfect hostess. Was she too perfect?
Though she hadn’t been scheduled for it, Nikki volunteered to take the afternoon tour through the Garden District and cemetery, trading with Patricia and Nathan, who agreed to take on the tour of the French Quarter that night. It was easy enough to convince Julian to trail along behind her.
The tour was uneventful.
She was a little sorry that Andy didn’t make an appearance. Now that she had found the inner strength to deal with what couldn’t possibly be but was, it seemed she was going to be left in peace.
But Tom Garfield had been in the cemetery on Basin Street. And she could have sworn she knew what he had tried to say.
Tonight.
Something was going to happen in the cemetery that night.
There was a flower vendor outside the gates, and once Nikki had finished with her group, she went and bought several bouquets.
She took one to her family mausoleum and lingered there. If Andy was going to make an appearance, it should have been there.
But though she waited, wondering vaguely where Julian had disappeared to, no one came by. At last she walked to the tomb of Brent’s wife.
There she laid down her second bouquet of flowers.
That was when she realized she was being watched.
17
From Madame’s, Brent headed back to the police department.
When he left the café, he knew that he was being followed.
And by whom.
That was fine. Interesting, even.
But first he had to talk to Massey, and he knew it was going to be a difficult conversation.
“It has to be you, and you alone,” Brent explained for the hundredth time.
Massey glowered at him. “But if this is a major operation—”
“I don’t know what it is,” Brent said.
Massey shook his head. “And you know abou
t this because…?”
“If I told you, you wouldn’t be happy.”
Massey shook his head again. “What’s going to happen?”
“Maybe nothing.”
“Great. Like I have lots of free time. Like I want to crawl around a cemetery with you at night.”
“Have you got anything else?” Brent asked him.
Massey sighed. “No,” he admitted with a scowl.
Marc Joulette, bearing a cup of coffee, walked over to Massey’s desk, staring curiously at the two men.
“I’m asking Massey for help on what may be a wild-goose chase.”
“You sure as hell better invite me in on it,” Joulette warned. “Where are we going, and why?”
“I have reason to believe that a drug ring is using the cemetery,” Brent said, explaining as much as he felt Joulette would be willing to buy and using the attack on Marie McManus as further evidence. He left out the ghost, since neither cop would be willing to believe that an old slave haunting the cemetery had been his source of information.
“You weren’t going to tell me?” Joulette said, frowning at Massey.
Massey shook his head, but looked guilty. “I wonder if we should try to locate Haggerty and tell him.”
They were all silent.
“We have to keep this quiet,” Brent finally said.
Joulette scowled. “You think we don’t know how to run a stakeout?”
“I didn’t say that. Look, I could be an alarmist,” Brent said politely. “But the way I see it, you’re just staking out a possible drug connection. You wouldn’t want to notify the feds, because it could turn out to be nothing, a wild-good chase.”
He rose. “I’ll be in there, waiting. See you tonight.”
Brent left the station.
He knew Patricia was going to be out on the street, but he didn’t expect her to panic and start to run away.
He caught up with her quickly. He didn’t touch her, just said her name softly.
“Patricia.”
She went still and slowly turned to look at him. He smiled. “You followed me. Why?”
“I…I don’t know. Because I was near Madame’s and I saw you there, talking to her…and I was curious. And then you came here.”
He nodded. “You know that Nikki was mugged.”
“I don’t think that’s why you were here,” she said. “You’re not a real tour guide, either. I don’t know what you are….” She flashed him a quick glance. “And I’m not sure I want to know.”
“So you followed me.”
She looked upset. “I shouldn’t have.”
“Patricia, I can tell something’s bothering you. I don’t know how to convince you of this, but anything you tell, I’ll consider a total confidence.”
She still looked upset. “Want some coffee?” she asked.
“I’ll have an iced tea. Let’s grab something and find a quiet corner.”
He was afraid she was going to back off, refuse to talk to him. But she was obviously miserable, and at last, it seemed, she decided that talking had to be better than what she was feeling.
“All right.”
A few minutes later, she had a large coffee and he had iced tea, and they were seated in a shady corner of a small brasserie, far from the few other afternoon stragglers.
Patricia played with her stirrer, and then her napkin, looking down at it as she folded it and refolded it.
“I shouldn’t be here,” she said.
“But you’re worried about Nathan.”
Her eyes shot to his with wide surprise; then she flushed. “Well, I guess it didn’t take a palm reader to know that.”
He shook his head.
“I’m really in love with him,” she murmured. “But…I’m worried.”
“Why?”
“The night that Andy died…I woke up, and he wasn’t with me.”
“Oh?”
She shook her head. “But there would be no reason for Nathan…I mean, it’s silly, isn’t it? There’s nothing violent in Nathan. He liked Andy. Nathan is a good person. He walked out of a store once with a pack of gum, realized it twenty minutes later—and we had to go back to pay for it. I guess I just had to talk to someone. And you’re trying to figure out the truth about Andy, aren’t you? That’s really why you’re here.”
He smiled, touched her hand. “No, I’m here for another matter, but…I think what happened to Andy has something to do with it.”
“If I love him, I should have faith in him, right?”
“Blind faith isn’t always a good thing.”
“Oh, God! I can’t imagine what he’d think if he knew I was here with you, talking like this,” she murmured.
“Patricia, let me see what I can find out, if something is bothering him. How’s that?”
She smiled. “You won’t—”
“I swear, he’ll never know we talked,” Brent assured her.
Patricia rose. “I’m glad that Nikki has you,” she said gently. “You really are something. Something good, I mean.”
“Thanks.”
She started to walk away, then turned back, frowning.
“She does have you, doesn’t she? I mean, this isn’t just a…”
The question took him by surprise, and it took him a second to answer. Then he said, “She has me. As long as she wants me.”
He rose and joined her. As they walked out together, she studied him. “I hope that…well, I just hope that whatever you are…you don’t hurt her.”
“I would never hurt her.”
Patricia looked away, then back at him. “Or cause her to be hurt?”
He felt a tightness around his heart. Could he cause her to be hurt?
No. He wouldn’t allow it to happen.
“I would die myself before allowing her to be hurt.”
Patricia smiled, then asked wistfully, “I wonder if Nathan feels that way about me. Never mind, don’t answer. And ignore me. Go find Nikki.”
He nodded and left her.
Marc Joulette sat at his desk, not working. He shook his head. Massey looked up at him. “What?”
“Nothing.”
Joulette pretended interest to the file in front of him. He didn’t know what the hell to do.
“Are you going to try to call Haggerty?” he asked Massey.
Massey lifted his hands. “We don’t know what the hell we’re in for tonight.”
“Right.”
“So what would be the point?” He got up and walked away. Marc looked back at the file, but the words simply spun before his eyes.
He got up, figuring more coffee couldn’t hurt.
As he crossed to the Mr. Coffee, he saw his partner.
Owen Massey was standing in an alcove, talking on his cell phone.
Marc walked back to his desk, sat, hesitated, stared in the direction in which Massey, now concealed by a dividing wall, had gone, then reached for the phone on his desk.
He set it back into the cradle, and pulled his own cell out of his pocket.
He was still talking when Robinson came walking over to him. He flicked his phone shut without finishing his conversation. “What is it, Robinson?”
“Thought you might like to know—we were just called to the building where Andrea Ciello lived.”
“Yeah?” Joulette said.
“Her place was torn apart.”
“Torn apart? It was robbed?”
“Hell if I know. We’re going to have to get hold of her friends or someone, try to find out if anything was taken.” He shrugged. “You try to give people a little time, but we should have had her friends in there, cleaning out the place before now. She didn’t have any family, but her rent was paid through the end of October, so we didn’t rush things. It doesn’t look like a robbery, though it looks like someone was searching for something. The crime scene folks are working it now. But there was a stereo, DVD player, jewelry—none of it touched.”
“Who put in the call?” Joulette demanded.
“Mrs. Montobello.” He rolled his eyes. “She thought that Andy had come back as a ghost, that she was tearing her place up looking for something.”
Joulette sighed. “And I’m willing to bet the other tenants were out, right?”
“On the nail,” Robinson said. “The report is on my desk. Just wanted you to know you guys are welcome to it.”
“Thanks,” Joulette said. Robinson walked away, and Marc Joulette waited for Massey to return from his call.
When he left Patricia, Brent hopped on the streetcar and headed for the Garden District. When he arrived, it seemed at first that the cemetery was oddly quiet and empty. He closed his eyes, felt the mist sweep around him.
He opened his eyes, searching.
Here, there…a ghostly form, none of them Andy, and none of them Tom Garfield.
He hoped that Nikki hadn’t left and felt in his pocket for his cell phone, thinking he would just give her a call. As he pulled it out, he wandered past her family mausoleum, hoping to find Andy Ciello.
She wasn’t there.
On a hunch, he headed toward his wife’s grave.
As he neared it, he dropped his phone.
Nikki was there.
But she was obscured by a strange man in a long black coat. He was tall, with long dark hair, and he looked like one of the weirdos who roamed the parish, like maybe he was convinced he was a vampire or something.
He looked as if he was threatening Nikki.
“Hey!” Brent yelled.
Nikki turned. The man reached out, as if to grab her.
Brent raced, adrenaline kicking through him, remembering his words to Patricia. He would die himself before he allowed Nikki to be hurt.
He tackled the stranger, and they fell to the ground together.
He heard Nikki scream, “Stop!” But the sound didn’t filter through to the rational section of his mind. He flipped the man and straddled him. “Who the hell are you? What are you doing?”
To his amazement, the man—lean, with sharp, narrow features—stared up at him, not fighting and looking at him with something almost like amusement.
“Brent!” Nikki cried.
But he still ignored her, watching in confusion as the man started to smile. “Nikki, you didn’t tell me that you’d hired a bouncer.”
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