by Deborah Camp
“That might not be so bad,” she allowed. “She can bring shoes and purses, too?”
“Whatever you like.”
Trudy leaned forward and gave him a peck on his cheek. “Okay, as long as she doesn’t bring stuff that costs an arm and a leg. After we get back, you can have her call me. In the meantime, I’ll find a party dress in New Orleans.”
“Tru, we can afford nice things. She’ll bring items from the best shops in Atlanta. Period.”
“Maybe you can afford that, but I can’t.”
“Trudy.” His growling of her name sent her gaze skittering to him. “Are we a couple or not?”
“Well, if you’re all set here, I’ll be taking off,” Wes said, clapping his hands once as if to dispel the tension in the room. He untied his apron and looked at them with a slight frown. “Everything okay here?”
“Everything is fine.” She reached out and rested her hand on top of Levi’s. He regarded her from the corner of his eyes and gave a barely perceptible nod. “Thank you, Wes. Will you cook dinner when you get home?”
“Oh, no.” He chuckled and ran a hand over his white-blond crewcut. “Mya is the chef in our home. I’m just her sous chef. She’ll probably have dinner on the table waiting for me when I walk in the door.”
“See you bright and early tomorrow,” Levi said, essaying a jaunty salute. “Our flight is at seven-forty, so we should be at the airport by six-thirty.”
“I’ll be here at five-thirty,” Wes assured him. “Will you want breakfast or coffee and croissants to eat on the way to the airport? Kenner’s driving you?”
“Yes, and coffee and croissants will be fine,” Levi said, glancing at Trudy to get her nod.
“Sure you’re okay with taking care of Mouse?” Trudy asked.
“Definitely. When I’m not here, I’ll bring her home with me. The girls and Mya will love babying her.” Wes patted Trudy’s shoulder as he left the dining room. “Don’t worry about a thing, Trudy. Just be careful chasing that lunatic in New Orleans.”
“Oh, we will,” Trudy assured him.
After he’d gone, Trudy patted Levi’s hand. “Truce?”
“Truce.” He met her gaze. “But we need to talk about finances. Our finances.”
Trudy made a face. “Why?”
“Because it continues to be an issue.”
“I don’t like being a moocher.”
He sat back to glare at her, his eyes throwing sparks of anger. “Moocher? For Christ sake! We live together. We sleep together. We spend money together. Right?”
“But you have a lot more money—.”
“Trudy, are we a couple or not? Make up your mind.”
“We are.” She held up a hand, warding off his spate of anger. “You’re very generous, Levi, and I appreciate your giving heart. I really do.”
His eyes softened and a smile poked at the corners of his wide mouth. “I love doing things for you, Trudy. Having money is only fun when you’re able to spend it on people who mean something to you.” He captured her hand and brought the back of it to his lips. “You’re it for me, sweetness. Let me have my fun.”
She swallowed the lump of tears that formed in her throat and nodded as he let go of her hand. They moved on to inconsequential topics as they enjoyed and finished the meal Wes had prepared.
“I’m going to have a glass of milk and some cookies. You want to join me?” Levi asked, already rising from his chair.
“No, thanks. I’ll stick with iced tea.”
In the kitchen, he poured himself a tall glass of milk and grabbed a sack of ginger snaps. “I have something for you.” Before he joined her again at the table, he reached into his trouser pocket and withdrew a white and blue key fob of some kind, handing it over.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a personal protection device I want you to wear it whenever you leave this penthouse – and that goes double when we’re working on a case.” He used that “bossy” tone that made her grit her teeth. “Five telephone numbers can be programmed into it. When you press the white section, those numbers are dialed and a recording says that you’re in trouble and need immediate assistance. It also has a GPS that gives your exact location and continues to update your whereabouts until it’s turned off.”
She took it all in, nodding her understanding as he sat back down. “And you will wear one of these, too. Especially when we’re on a case.” She made it a statement, not a question. From the way he pursed his lips and the slight narrowing of his eyes, she knew she’d made her point, but he remained silent as he dunked a cookie into the milk and then took a big bite. He stared at her as he chewed. Finally, he broke the stare-off first.
“Yes. I’ll wear one.” He spoke through clenched teeth and then offered up a semblance of a smile. “Happy now?”
“Very.” She preened. “What numbers will be programmed in them?”
“Yours will have my cellphone, my office phone, Wes’s cell phone, Gonzo’s, and the nearest police station.”
“And yours will have the same, except it will be my cell instead of yours.” She kept her gaze on him, waiting. She could see the struggle and knew he didn’t want her cell phone on that list because he didn’t want to alarm her – even when he was in danger. “It has to be that way or I’m not agreeing to this.”
He fell back in the chair and took a gulp of the milk. “Fine. Okay. Fine.”
She nodded and finished her meal, mindful of the brooding, aggravated, aggravating man beside her. “Did you find out what homicide cop is over the salvage yard killer case?”
“Yes. There are two of them.” He dunked another cookie and finished it off in two bites before downing the rest of the milk. He wiped off his “milk mustache” with his napkin. “Lead Detective Rodie Dupree and Detective Alice Bonifay.”
“What great names! So very Nawlens.”
“He’s a veteran. Been on the force for thirty-five years. She’s an up-and-comer. From what I can tell, they have a short list of suspects and nothing is sticking to any of them. The case is pretty much frozen at this point.”
“What’s the timeline on the latest victim?”
“The coroner report says the 20-year-old female was killed by blunt trauma and knife wounds eight months ago.”
“Eight months. Is there a pattern on how often he kills?”
“There was, but it changed. Beginning thirteen years ago, it appears that he killed one or two people every year and buried them in the salvage yard. Three years ago, the killings apparently stopped or he stopped using that place as his cemetery. Then eight months ago, this latest victim was buried there. The bodies were discovered at the beginning of November after a flood. Some men were clearing away rusty car parts and saw a body floating by.”
“How horrible.” Trudy shuddered.
“I’m assuming the murderer is still at it, but he’s had to find a different burial ground. Maybe the one he’d been using for the past couple of years.”
“I would guess other salvage yards in the area have been checked.” He nodded. “Gone over with cadaver-scent dogs. Nothing. But, so much of that area is one big body dumping ground.”
She made a face. “Ugh. Don’t talk about Louisiana that way. It’s a beautiful state. And New Orleans! It’s a jewel of a city.” Something he’d said pricked her mind. “The last victim was knifed. And the others before her?”
“No standard procedure. Some were strangled. Some had their skulls cracked open. Some died of drug overdoses. Intentional or forced drug overdoses.”
“The man I saw . . . he used a knife.”
“I’ll have to look over the coroner reports again. I think others had knife wounds, but I’m not sure. One or two were shot. I do remember that.”
“What’s he doing? Experimenting with the best way to kill someone or is he using whatever weapon is handy at the time?”
Levi shrugged. “Beats me. What I do know is that it makes it more difficult when there isn’t a clear M.O. So, he might be fascinated with
the different ways people can die or he might be smart enough to know that the variety of methods will add more difficulty to the investigation.”
She gathered dishes and took them up to the kitchen. “You have things squared away here? All of your business ends tied up?”
“As much as possible.” He joined her, carrying the rest of the dinnerware and began placing them in the dishwasher.
“And, from the sound of it, you’ve also found time to research the New Orleans case.”
“I have to get everything neatly organized before I can work.” He straightened from the dishwasher. “See what I’m doing, Tru? Housework – that I pay Wes to do – but I’m pitching in and not leaving everything for him to clean up.”
She stuck out her tongue at him and got a dark chuckle in response.
“I could find better use for that talented tongue of yours, Miss Tucker.”
A flaming arrow of desire settled between her legs. She crooked a finger at him. “Come here. I have something for you.”
“Oh?” He closed the dishwasher and stepped closer to her, his chest bumping hers. “What?”
She hooked her fingers under his belt. Brushing her lips back and forth against his, she smiled when she felt his breathing speed up. “We’re going to have such fun in New Orleans.”
He caught her lower lip between his teeth and gave it a tug before releasing it. “I have news for you, sweetheart. We’re going to have fun right here. Right the fuck now.”
And then he proved it.
Chapter 5
The silver Mercedes coupe sat idling outside the gates of J.S. Salvage Yard. Sitting in the passenger seat, Trudy hunched her shoulders against a chill that slithered through her. She glanced at Levi, but couldn’t tell if he was feeling uneasy. He was wearing his usual intense scowl, which could mean anything from mental gymnastics to mildly irritated.
“I suppose that J.S. is the owner’s initials,” Levi said, his head tipping back as he read the weathered sign stretching above the double chain link gate.
“No. It stands for Jesus Saves.”
His whipped his face toward her. Sunlight glinted off his Aviator-style shades. “No shit?”
She smiled at him. “No shit, Sherlock. I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to know something that you didn’t.”
He smirked at her before turning back to the gates. “So, it’s open again?”
“Yes, but business is way down because of all the bad press. It gives people the willies. Me, included.”
“Does it?” He faced her again, his eyebrows climbing above the sunglasses.
She nodded. “Don’t you feel anything?” He pursed his full lips and tipped his head to one side in consideration. “No.”
Trudy felt her mouth fall open. “Really?” She ran her hands up and down her arms. “That’s hard to believe. You don’t feel any restless souls? No one is trying to get your attention?”
He looked out over the salvage yard. “No, but I didn’t expect to feel much of anything here.”
“Why not?” She stared at him, baffled.
“Because nothing happened to them here. They were gone by the time their remains were brought here.”
“Oh.” She nodded, agreeing with him.
“If I walk into the place where they were murdered, I’ll probably fall to my knees in withering fear and pain.”
That pinched her heart a little. She’d witnessed his acute distress when he relived a horrific death with the deceased and it made her blood run cold every time. He had trained himself to pull out of the scenes before the final last breaths, but what he endured before that was almost too much for her to watch.
“What do you feel?” he asked.
“Sadness, fear.” She shook her head. “It just creeps me out.”
“Let’s go to Jazeem’s.” He eased off the brake and the rented car sped forward, leaving the burial grounds behind. “You don’t feel the murderer?”
“No. Not yet.” She swallowed the thickness in her throat. “I did last time, though. After we were here, my mind opened up to his.” She felt Levi cast a worried glance at her. “But it’s different this time.”
The farther they drove from Slidell and the J.S. Salvage Yard, the better she felt. By the time they crossed the bridge and motored along the streets of New Orleans, Trudy’s spirit had revived so that she could enjoy the color and characters passing by her. This was one of her favorite places. Something about this city made her feel adventurous, young, and sexy. She wanted to wear tight clothes, big earrings, and dance to the feverish beat of Cajun music.
“After we visit with Jazeem, we’ll head over to the police station. Detectives Dupree and Bonifay aren’t on duty until six-thirty.” He checked the dashboard clock. “It’s four-thirty now, so I guess we can eat dinner after we talk to the detectives. Can you make it that long without feeding your face?”
She rolled her eyes in his direction. “I can. Can you?”
“It’ll be tough, but I’ll suffer for my craft.”
Glad that he was in a good mood, Trudy focused on the street scenes again. They had left the crowded area full of tourists and were now passing rows of neat, shotgun style houses. Soon, they turned onto Camp Street and Madame Jazeem’s business came into view. Levi parked the car out front and leaned down to get a better look at the sign. He chuckled and removed his sunglasses, dropping them into the console tray between the seats. He opened the car door, got out, and went around to the passenger side to offer a hand to Trudy.
“All sales final,” he noted as Trudy emerged from the car. “No refunds.”
“Right, and none of that ‘satisfaction guaranteed’ crapola.”
They walked to the door, and just like the last time, it swung open before Levi could reach for the handle. Kit Kat beamed at them. This time she wore a very tight white crop top with a scooped neck and a short pleated navy skirt.
“Welcome. Madame Jazeem expects you. Please, come in. I’m Kit Kat, her protégé.” She addressed all of this specifically to Levi, barely giving Trudy a glance.
“Hello, Kit Kat,” Trudy said, stepping inside. “It’s good to see you again.”
Kit Kat nodded and placed a hand on Levi’s shirt sleeve. “Come in. Come in.”
Trudy smiled to herself at Kit Kat’s obvious crush on Levi. She’d been warned before that the teenager had a thing for him, so she’d expected this in a way. But Kit Kat was more overt about it than she’d anticipated.
Madame Jazeem swept in through the beaded curtain, all tall and lithe in zebra leggings and a voluminous, black, bat-winged blouse. Her hammered gold necklace and earrings sparkled in the dim light from the purple-shaded lamps and candles. The smell of incense hung in the air, stinging Trudy’s sinuses and making her eyes water slightly.
“Madame Jazeem.” She held out her hands and grasped the woman’s, giving them a little squeeze before letting go. “Hello, again. I don’t believe you’ve met Levi.”
“I have not.” Jazeem extended one of her hands. “It’s an honor to finally meet you. Quintara says you are the greatest psychic in the world today.”
“Quintara is given to amplified compliments,” Levi said, sandwiching Jazeem’s hand in both of his. “The honor, I assure you, is all mine. Thank you for taking the time to assist us, Madame.”
Standing back a little, Trudy watched him work the room. He was a marvel when it came to putting women under his spell. Kit Kat gazed at him as if he were a god come to life and Jazeem laughed low and sexily under his appreciative gaze.
“How could I refuse? I am the one who put you on this scent, n’est-ce pas?”
“Oui.” Levi kissed the back of her hand before releasing her. “J’espére que nous pavons attraper le monstre.”
Trudy’s knees liquefied a little. They did that when Levi spoke French. She had no idea what he’d said – something about a monster – but she didn’t care. Sexiness rolled off his tongue with every word of français.
“Pleas
e, sit.” Jazeem made a sweeping gesture at the chairs positioned around the table. She sat in the one facing the front of the house and Trudy and Levi sat opposite her. Instead of curling up on the settee this time, Kit Kat sat in a folding chair on the other side of Levi, as close as she could get without actually sitting in his lap.
“How can I help you, Levi Wolfe?” Jazeem asked.
“The sister of the man in question, she’s a client of yours?”
“Yes. For several years now.”
“Would you be comfortable telling her about me and that I’d be willing to come to her home for a private séance?”
Jazeem’s eyes widened and then glimmered with enthusiasm. “Ah, oui. She wouldn’t be able to resist that.”
“And her brother would be there,” Levi tacked on.
The enthusiasm dimmed in her eyes. “I can’t promise that, of course.”
“Don’t worry. He’ll be there. I’ll see to it.”
Jazeem glanced from him to Trudy. “Oh? And how will you do that?”
“Before you contact her, I’ll let the media know that Trudy and I are here to work on the case. Having stalked serial murderers before, I find that they tend to be egocentric. He won’t be able to resist meeting us, testing us.”
Trudy’s thoughts skipped back to when she had sat opposite a serial killer in a small bar in Key West. She’d known the moment he realized that she knew who he was – the monster he was inside. He’d challenged her, taunted her, and tried to get information about the police investigation from her. A few minutes after that, he’d tried to kill her.
“I see. I would ask to be present when you go to her home because I would like to see you work, but I don’t want to be around that brother of hers again.”
Levi studied her for a few moments before asking, “You have someone on the other side you’d like to connect with?”
Jazeem lifted one shoulder in an indolent shrug. “Perhaps.” She glanced at Kit Kat, who was staring at her clasped hands and looking decidedly uncomfortable. “Kit Kat had a brother who passed over almost a year ago. We have not felt him . . . have not made any connection with him. It worries us. We’ve had other psychics try to raise him with no success.”