“Anything new?” Billie asked as she bent down, scratching the dog behind his ears.
“We’re going to become musicians,” she said, one eye on the two women who were studying the Egyptian display.
“Overnight?” Billie asked politely. “And just what instrument will you be playing, Danni Cafferty?”
“I have no idea, but I’ll be faking something,” she said. “Natasha said we have to become part of the music scene. Anyway, I’m going to head down to the basement for a bit. You all right there?”
“If a horde walks in, I’ll call for you,” he assured her.
Danni headed out of the shop, Wolf trotting by her side. When she was there, he was always at her heels. She didn’t mind. In fact, she liked it.
She passed her studio and glanced in; the canvas she was currently working on—a view of the river—sat on its easel. It would have to sit there for a while longer, she thought then paused, looking thoughtful. During their previous cases, her artwork had proved to be very important. She abhorred the fact, but she was known to sleepwalk—and sleep-draw or even sleep-paint. She didn’t know if she illustrated what her subconscious mind was trying to tell her or what the inspiration was, and sometimes she had no idea what the resulting artwork meant. But sometimes, when she looked closely at what she had created, she could see what had been there all along that they simply hadn’t noticed.
She decided to put away her watercolor of the river and set out a fresh canvas.
When she had done that, she headed on down the stairs that led to the “basement,” which was really at ground level and the foundation of the house. Her father’s private rooms were there; the rooms where he’d stored collectibles that would never be for sale, items that had been involved in bad things, that were supposedly—or really—cursed, along with those pieces he couldn’t bring himself to part with. Angus Cafferty had been fascinated by all things Egyptian, and also all things pertaining to medieval Europe and the Victorian era.
There were a number of boxes piled up along one wall; she knew the contents of some but not all. One of her favorite items among the collectibles was a full suit of armor that stood in one corner as if guarding the room and its contents. Against the opposite wall was an upright Victorian coffin. No one had ever been buried in it; it had been a display piece for a funeral home that had once been in the city. The funeral home today was a private residence. When she’d been little, she’d found the coffin scary, because it held a beautiful mannequin, painted to look asleep to show just how one’s loved one would look on display. Danni had always been terrified that the mannequin would suddenly open her eyes and look at her. Other oddities had also found a home there, including props and posters from a number of movies. It always amused her that one of her father’s favorites had been a giant, openmouthed stuffed gorilla from the classic but never-completed The Gorilla That Ate Manhattan. He’d also kept his private stash of Egyptian artifacts down here, including masks, a mummified cat, a mummified raven and a number of funerary art pieces.
To a child, the basement had been creepy.
Now she loved being down here. It was as if she could be closer to her father.
The most important object in the basement, however, was the book.
The giant old volume had a special place on her father’s antique desk, protected by a glass dome. Danni only took it out when she needed to peruse it and was careful to return it immediately as soon as she finished. Her dad’s swivel chair sat behind the desk, and she remembered how she’d liked to sit in it. She’d curled into it many a time when he’d been alive to read or do her homework, or to be with him while he cataloged his collection or made notes on particular pieces.
If it weren’t so special to her family, the book would have been worthy of the best antiquarian bookseller in the world. Though yellowed with age, the paper was heavy and intact, the edges of the pages gold-trimmed. The book was American, something that always filled her father with great pride, and had been written by a woman named Millicent Smith and printed in 1699 in Boston. It contained herbal cures for every ailment known at the time and read like a medicinal how-to for the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, but it also contained curious texts about deflecting curses, how to rid the world of an “evil essence still upon the earth” and other occult know-how. The information was couched very carefully; accused witches had been executed in Salem not long before its publication, and there were still rather dubious laws on the books in many states that would lead to further persecution in the decades to come. Danni knew that certain texts only became visible when read through specially colored lenses.
It was sometimes difficult to read because it wasn’t an actual occult book, and the chapters weren’t always arranged in ways that made sense to a modern reader. There was actually a chapter on musical instruments, but instead she found what she was looking for in a chapter called “Secrets of the Mind.”
“‘Music,’ wrote the dramatist William Congreve, ‘has powers to soothe a savage breast,’” Millicent’s text read. “And how incredibly true; at its worst it is strident and discordant and painful to the ears. It brings to mind war and heartache, death and disease. At its best, it prolongs life because of the happy status it creates in our hearts. And there is the core of the would-be musician. There is magic therein, but magic springs from the heart, from the longing of that which he would play or sing to bring forth the beauty that gently caresses the raw heart and opens the mind to all things.”
Danni flipped through more and more pages but could find nothing specifically on instruments, haunted or otherwise.
Yet, as she sat there, she mulled with a certain amount of amusement over how Tyler Anderson had been convinced that he had become a better player because he had Arnie’s sax. Was the music in the believing?
She didn’t know.
She wished she believed that she could play.
With that thought in mind, she called Quinn. He sounded winded when he answered the phone.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“On the street.”
“Doing what?”
“Walking.”
“Because...?”
“I’m on my way to the station. I dug out some bullets from a tree. They’re from the attack on the musicians the other night—gotta get ’em to Larue. They’re pretty smashed. I’d say our guy has a Glock 19, which is, unfortunately, one of the most popular handguns out there. And, of course, we’re in Louisiana—tons of permits and even more unlicensed guns. But still...”
“That’s the first real break of any kind, Quinn. That’s great,” Danni said.
“I’ll be back soon,” he said. “But why did you call?”
“Natasha thinks we need to be playing with a band, so we can become part of the music scene and get closer to the killer.”
He was silent a minute.
“Did you hear me?” she asked.
“Bands,” he said.
“Pardon?”
“Bands,” he said. “If we’re going to become part of the music crowd, we need to play with more than one band. But we’ll start with Tyler’s group. That’s where Arnie played his last gig—at La Porte Rouge.”
“Quinn, that’s fine for you, but I—I suck!”
“It will be fine.”
Easy for you to say—you love your damned guitar.
“What will I do?” she asked. “Continual renditions of ‘Chopsticks’?”
“We can always whip out a bagpipe.”
“Funny.”
“Every band can use a backup singer,” he told her.
“Do you think Tyler’s band will let us play horribly with them?” Danni said.
“I beg your pardon. I don’t play horribly.”
“I do.”
“You don’t need to play. You sing b
ackup, and stand around and look pretty. Besides, we’ll bring Billie. He can really play. You heard him last night.”
Billie could play, and that could prove to be a godsend, Danni thought.
Quinn was quiet for a minute and then said, “Give Tyler a call, and ask if he can use an extra guitar player and a backup singer, along with Billie on sax.”
“Billie will be a big help. And if he’s there...well, you two can join the band. I’ll sit in the audience and—”
“No, you’re not getting out of it. We have to make a real effort to become part of the music scene. That’s how you get musicians to talk to you. And remember, we’ll just be starting at La Porte Rouge. We may need to play all around the city.”
“And split up?” she asked.
“No way. If we don’t know the groups or the venues, we’re not splitting up,” he said sternly. “We’re at our best together. Always.”
“Come home so we can figure this out,” she told him.
“I’ll be there soon.”
Danni had barely ended the call when her phone began to ring. Glancing down, she saw that it was her friend Jenny LaFleur.
“Hey, Jenny,” she said. She should have expected the call; Jenny must have seen the news, so she was bound to be nervous.
“They’re warning musicians to be careful,” Jenny told her. “Do you know anything? Are we in danger?”
“You need to watch out and steer clear of anyone you don’t know, yes,” Danni said. “Especially if you’re on your own.”
“Can you and Quinn come watch the band tonight? Quinn could sit in with us,” Jenny said hopefully.
“Actually, I think we’re going to be at La Porte Rouge,” Danni told her.
“Hey, I’m your friend, and I would feel a lot better if you were around.”
“We’ll get over there soon, Jenny. I promise. For tonight...”
“Is Quinn sitting in with another group?” Jenny demanded.
“That’s the plan,” Danni told her. “I’m going to sit in with them, too.”
Jenny’s dead silence did nothing for her confidence. Finally she said, “Oh. So you two are...involved in this.”
“Half the city will wind up involved in this,” Danni said quietly.
“It’s awful! I’m so thankful that Brad and I work together. We’ll be very careful. Brad has a gun, you know. He doesn’t normally carry it, but you can bet he’s going to start now.”
The thought of dozens of people who had legal permits—and dozens more who did not—running around the city armed didn’t bode well, Danni thought. “Just be careful with that, too,” she said quietly.
“Brad isn’t an idiot. He’s not going to run around shooting at shadows,” Jenny said.
“I wasn’t really thinking about Brad. I’ve seen a few people working late who I’d rather not see running around with a gun in the dark,” Danni said.
“Well, until they catch this guy...”
“Jenny, did you know the men who were killed?” Danni asked.
“I can’t say I really knew them. I’d seen them play—they were good, too. We’d spoken a few times. Larry Barrett even came to see us play once or twice.”
“Did you know Arnie Watson?”
“Arnie?” Jenny repeated curiously. “Of course. He was a few years ahead in school. He could play really well then, and he only got better and better. We had him sit in with us any time we could, once he got back from the military. Poor Arnie. It was heartbreaking to hear about him. Why are you asking about Arnie? How could this have anything to do with him?”
“I was just asking,” Danni said. But she felt a shiver of unease slip along her spine. Arnie had played with her friends. That could mean they were in danger.
“I really wish you could come play with us tonight,” Jenny said.
“You really can’t wait to hear my keyboard playing?” Danni asked.
“I was actually thinking about Quinn doing the playing, but not to worry—we can give you a tambourine. Not even you can do too much damage with that! But, seriously, come play with us as soon as you can, okay?”
“I’m sure we will, Jenny,” Danni said.
They said their goodbyes. Danni realized that she’d told Jenny they were playing with another band tonight, but she hadn’t even asked Tyler yet. She called him immediately.
Speaking with him was great for her confidence as an investigator but not so much as a musician, since he, too, suggested a tambourine. “And wear something sexy, Danni. No one will care what you do onstage as long as you look good up there.”
“What about your band? Will they mind?” she asked.
“Everyone is spooked now. They won’t mind at all.”
“Will they know what we’re doing?” she asked, and thought, Will they know that they’re all suspects as well as potential victims?
“I’d say most people have heard about the two of you, yes, so they’ll know why you’re really there. But that will help the situation, you know?”
“When should we be there?”
“Whenever you want, so long as you make it by nine thirty, when we go onstage.”
“We’ll show up between eight and nine,” she promised.
He told her that would be fine. Then before hanging up he said, “And, Danni, thank you.”
There was an unexpected depth of emotion in his voice, and she knew that however embarrassed she ended up feeling on that stage, it would be worth it.
When she hung up that time, she tapped her fingers on the table. There was one person they hadn’t spoken to yet, the last member of their unique unit that dealt with the unusual aspects of the criminal element.
She dialed Father John Ryan.
It didn’t surprise her that he expected her call.
“Danni,” he said, answering without a hello. “I’ve been watching the news and waiting for your call. Bring me up to speed.”
“First, Father, I need you at a bar on Bourbon Street tonight.”
“Lovely,” he said. “I can have a word with a few of those crazy people who carry signs saying ‘God hates this one’ or ‘Christ hates that one.’ I’ve been waiting for an opportune moment. I’m going to slip right up beside them, collar and all, and tell them, ‘Excuse me, my child, but God and I just had a lovely conversation, and He’s just fine with whoever, but He has a slight problem with you.’”
“No fighting in the streets tonight, Father. You’re going to come and rouse the audience to applause whenever I’m onstage,” she said.
She could almost see the grin on his face. “Well, bless you, girl. Bless you. Now, tell me what’s going on, and how you and Quinn are involved.”
* * *
Larue looked at the flattened bullets Quinn set on his desk.
“Well, damn. You did find them.”
“No fault of the officers at the scene that they missed them,” Quinn assured him. “They were embedded in the one tree in the area. The killer couldn’t find them, either.”
“I still find it curious that he’s got a gun and only threatened people at first, and then hasn’t used it whenever he actually killed someone.”
“Maybe he realized he got lucky no one heard the shots and came running, and that the next time he tried something like that there could be a cop or someone else around.”
“Maybe. Still...”
“You come up with anything?” Quinn asked Larue.
“I have someone putting together a list of local saxophone players,” Larue said. “It’s not easy. So many people in this city play so many instruments. But these...” He paused and pointed to the bullets. “I’m willing to bet on a Glock 19, though forensics can let us know for sure. We can throw data into a computer and see what matches we come up with for who plays sax and
owns a Glock.”
“The gun may not be registered.”
“No, and it’s popular as hell, besides. But we’ve got nothing else except for a picture of a man in a mask—the kind of mask that’s sold in a hundred places. All we really have is that our killer’s a musician, and hell, we don’t even know that for sure.”
“A musician or a wannabe, or even someone in the entertainment or hospitality field,” Quinn said.
“Because of the hour?”
“The attack and all three murders occurred in the wee hours of the morning—the time when musicians are finished with their gigs, have packed up all their gear and are heading home.”
“I’m going to hang out at the site of Holton Morelli’s last gig tonight, and I’ve got men going to Lawrence Barrett’s last venue, as well. I figured you’d be going to the last club Arnie played.”
“I’m going to sit in with a band I know. I’ve played with them before.”
“And Danni?”
“Danni will be with me,” Quinn assured him.
* * *
Danni’s cell buzzed the second she got off with Father Ryan; it was actually hot, she’d been on it so long.
It was Billie, calling her from the shop. “There’s someone here to see you,” he told her.
“Oh?”
“A pretty young lass. She’s been in before but says she just met you last night.”
“Jessica?” Danni asked.
“That’s her name.”
“I’m coming right out,” Danni said.
She hurried up the stairs, Wolf at her heels.
Jessica was at the case that displayed the Egyptian pieces. She turned and offered Danni a broad smile and then saw Wolf.
“Oh!” she said.
“He’s friendly as can be—just big.”
“He looks like a wolf!”
“Only part wolf,” Danni said.
“Nothin’ but a big old cuddly bear,” Billie said, walking over. “Come meet him. Best dog in the world, and knows a friend right away.”
The Dead Play On Page 10