“Anything?” Monique said.
He nodded. “Farris Quinn called.”
She moved nearer as he punched in Quinn’s number, and when it began to ring he wrapped his arm around her waist She leaned into him, so soft and warm against him it almost brought tears to his eyes.
They hadn’t been together long, but he felt as if they knew each other inside out And of all the things he’d lose if he failed at what he was trying to do, she was by far the most important
“Farris Quinn,” the reporter answered.
“It’s Ben DeCarlo. I got your message.”
“Right And I got you some information.”
His adrenaline pumping harder, he said, “Great”
Monique eased away and sat down on the couch, not taking her eyes off him.
“Well, I wouldn’t go as far as great,” Quinn was saying. “There’s not much, but I did get a little background on Felicia Williams. She was a cocktail waitress who’d worked in a few of the sleazier joints in the Quarter. The last one was the Misty Bayou, over on Decatur. The cops talked to people there, but she was off work the night she was killed and nobody knew anything.”
“But have the cops got any clues? Any suspects?”
“They don’t have much. They aren’t exactly busting their butts on this one. Since they’ve been trying to catch up with you, any cases that aren’t high profile haven’t been getting much attention.”
“So they’ve got nothing?” Ben said, a feeling of frustration settling heavily in his chest.
“I didn’t say nothing. I said not much. Felicia was in a strip club the night she died—a joint she waitressed at a year or two back. It’s called the Twinkle and it’s over on—”
“I know it,” Ben said.
“Oh? You know the owner, too?”
“Yeah, Danny made a point of meeting me because I own the Crescent Wine Cellar. He seemed to think that gave us something in common.”
Quinn laughed his short, barking laugh. “I’d say the only similarity between your place and his is that they both sell wine.”
“Well, I’m not sure the stuff Danny Dupray sells actually qualifies as wine. But if Felicia was in his place that night maybe the murderer was there, too.”
“That’s possible, but not likely. See, for some reason she decided to walk home from the Twinkle, even though it was late and she lived way over on Iberville.”
“That’s a bit of a hike.”
“Right But she almost made it. The alley her body was found in was only half a block from her apartment So if someone had followed her from the Twinkle, they’d have probably killed her nearer to it.”
“Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”
“At any rate, the cops talked to Danny Dupray and his staff, but nobody there knew anything, either. So they’ve pegged the murder as just another thrill kill.
“But there’s one other thing you might be interested in. Felicia had a psychic’s card in her purse. A woman named Cheryl Tremont who works out of her apartment on St. Philip. Her number’s 555-8342.”
“Did the cops talk to her?” Ben asked, jotting that down.
“Uh-huh, but she didn’t talk back. Told them her conversations with clients are privileged—like a lawyer’s. And I gather they didn’t care enough to argue about it. So…I’m afraid that’s it. That’s all I’ve got for you.”
“It’s more than I had five minutes ago, so thanks. And I’m not forgetting about that story.”
“I’m not, either, DeCarlo. I’ll be expecting to hear from you again. Bye.”
“Bye.” Ben clicked off, then sat down on the couch beside Monique and quickly filled her in.
“Do you think the police are right?” she asked when he finished “That Felicia’s murder was just a thrill kill? That it wasn’t meant to keep her from meeting you the next day?”
“I don’t know,” Ben said wearily. “I guess it could have been a coincidence, but I’ve still got a feeling it wasn’t.”
“Then we’ve got two leads to check out, right? The psychic and the people at the Twinkle.”
“Well, the psychic’s definitely worth a try. But Danny Dupray and his people apparently don’t know anything.”
“Or maybe the police just didn’t ask them the right questions. I mean, if they haven’t given the case much attention…”
Ben shook his head. “I can’t go and talk to Danny Dupray. Even with a beard and glasses he’d recognize me. And in addition to owning one of the sleaziest joints in town, he’s a police snitch. I might just as well call the cops, myself, as go to see him.”
“Then I’ll go.”
“Uh-uh. I don’t want you anywhere near that place.”
“Then what about Dezi?”
Ben shook his head. “He threw Dupray out of the Crescent one night, so if Dezi showed up at the Twinkle, Dupray would spit in his face.”
“Ben,” Monique said quietly, “if neither you nor Dezi can go there, that only leaves me or Maria.”
“That leaves no one. I wouldn’t let either of you get within a block of Danny Dupray. I’ll give this Cheryl Tremont a call and we’ll both go see her.”
“What if she knows who you are?”
“Why would she? I’ve never even heard of her.”
“Ben, she’s a. psychic.”
That gave him a moment’s pause. But he didn’t really believe in psychics. He just thought Felicia might have said something useful to the woman. So before Monique could say another word, he punched in the number Quinn had given him.
The call was picked up by an answering machine. “Hello, this is Cheryl Tremont. If you’d like to make an appointment, please leave your name and number and I’ll return your call as soon as possible.”
“The name is Dick Rogers,” he said, then rattled off the number. “And it’s urgent that I talk to you. So please call me as soon as possible—regardless of the time.”
“She’s not likely to phone back tonight,” Monique said as he put down the cellular.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s the last weekend before Mardi Gras. And you told me everybody spends the entire weekend celebrating. She’ll probably be out late.”
“I told her that didn’t matter.”
“I know. But even when you say regardless of the time, people don’t phone if they think it’s too late.”
“She might. If she’s really psychic, she’ll know just how important it is.”
“Very funny,” Monique said, lightly punching his arm. “But I still don’t think she’ll get back to you tonight. So instead of sitting around wasting time, we could go to the Twinkle and—”
“No way.”
“If you take the phone with you, she’ll get you if she does call. And I could go into the club while you hung around right outside, and—”
“No way, Monique,” he said more firmly.
“But I’ve thought of a plan.”
“I don’t want to hear it”
She gazed at him for a moment, then snuggled closer. And when he wrapped his arm around her she rested her head on his shoulder.
He sat breathing in the clean, fresh smell of her hair mingled with the intoxicating scent of her perfume. She was crazy if she figured they’d be wasting time by staying right here in the apartment all night
“Ben?” she murmured.
“Uh-huh?”
“If I was in trouble, would you help me?”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
“Because I love you,” he whispered, kissing her.
“And I love you. That’s why I want to go to this Twinkle club. And what’s Danny Dupray going to do to me in a public place?”
“No, Monique. Absolutely not”
“Well…at least just listen for a minute, because the more I think about this plan, the better I like it”
Chapter Nine
Saturday, February 8
8:47 p.m.
The cobblestone streets of the Qua
rter were so crowded it took ages to walk the half dozen blocks along Royal. People were milling in and out of restaurants and bars, clustering around street entertainers, and simply wandering aimlessly—absorbing the atmosphere of Carnival.
None of them gave Monique and Ben more than a passing glance, but she always felt self-conscious wearing her wig. And she knew Ben was anxious.
Between light spilling from the buildings and its neon signs, the Quarter was brightly lit. And even with his Yankees-fan-in-terminal-need-of-a-shave disguise, there was always a chance they’d run into someone who knew him well enough to recognize him.
“That’s it up ahead,” he finally said, pointing down Dumaine as they turned the corner.
The Twinkle, which had clearly started life as a movie theater, put Monique in mind of one of the more unsavory stretches of Manhattan’s Forty-second Street. On the club’s marquee, running lights circulated around names of such strippers as Buxom Babbette and Candy Box.
“I really don’t like this idea,” Ben muttered, squeezing Monique’s hand.
“I’ll be fine,” she told him. But by the time they reached the front of the club, where the sound of its music boomed out at them, she was having serious doubts about the wisdom of going in.
“You can still change your mind, you know,” he said.
As tempting as that thought was, she shook her head. “All I’m going to do is ask a few innocent questions.”
“It’s who you’ll be asking them to I don’t like. Just remember I’ll be right here if you need me.”
“Don’t be so right here that you’re conspicuous.” She gave him a quick kiss. Then, forcing a smile, she turned and walked into the Twinkle.
It was loud, dark, smoky, and full of men. Aside from the stripper on stage and a couple of barely dressed young waitresses, she was the only woman in the place.
A few of the customers glanced at her, but when they saw she was fully clothed they turned their attention back to the runway,
“Cover’s ten bucks,” a man said, materializing beside her. He was bald and muscular, with three hoop earrings in his left ear and a tattoo on his arm.
“I’m not staying. I’m just looking for someone.”
Instead of asking who, the bouncer simply turned to the man who’d walked in after her and repeated his ten bucks line. A moment later, though, one of the waitresses noticed her.
Quickly, Monique headed over. “I’m looking for Danny Dupray.”
“Sorry, he’s not hiring.”
“No, I don’t want a job. I just need to talk to him.”
“I’d have to tell him what it’s about.”
“Felicia Williams. She was my sister.”
“Oh…you poor thing.” The young woman’s tired expression softened, making her look both prettier and genuinely sympathetic. “I knew Felicia, and I was here the night she… We talked a little and… What’s your name?”
“Anne.”
“Well, you just come with me, Anne. Danny’s in the back.”
Monique followed along past the runway, which was tackily adorned with tiny blinking white lights, and on into the back of the building where the sound of the music wasn’t as deafening.
“Yeah?” a man said when the waitress knocked on a door.
She pushed it open, revealing a messy office and a man sitting behind a desk. He was thin and pale, as if he never saw the light of day, and his features were so sharp that—even though Monique knew it was a crazy thought—they seemed downright dangerous.
“Danny,” the waitress said, “this is Anne, Felicia Williams’ sister. She just wants to talk to you for a minute.”
“Felicia’s sister.” Danny eyed Monique’s dark wig, then his gaze drifted appraisingly to her Alfred Sung trench coat.
His blue eyes were dead, and his scrutiny gave her the same creepy-crawly feeling that Spook’s had.
“You don’t look like Felicia,” he said at last.
“No, we took after different sides of the family.”
“Ah. Well…I’m real sorry about what happened. We’re all real sorry, aren’t we, Barb?”
The waitress nodded, then turned to go.
‘’Could you stay a minute?” Monique asked quickly. “I mean,” she added to Danny, “as long as it’s okay with you. Barb mentioned she was talking to Felicia that last night, and anything anyone can tell me…
Aside from which, even with a gun in her pocket Monique would rather not be alone with Danny Dupray. His words were smooth, but the vibes he was giving off warned her to be very careful—that he was a combination snake oil salesman and the snake itself, coiled to strike.
When Danny merely shrugged, Barb leaned against the wall and waited, absently tugging at the bottom of her brief outfit as if she was embarrassed to be wearing it
“You see,” Monique continued, “the police don’t seem to have learned very much.”
“I’m afraid that’s the way it is with random murders,” Danny said.
“I…yes, but I can’t help thinking maybe it wasn’t random. And that the killer could be found if… Felicia might have said something while she was here. Anything you remember about that night might help.”
“Well, let’s see,” Danny said slowly. “She was a little tipsy, wasn’t she, Barb.”
“A little.”
Danny smiled, displaying small, narrow shark’s teeth. “I guess it was more than a little. At any rate, she was in a good mood. Said she’d come into some money. So I asked did she mean an inheritance and she said no. But that she wished she could tell us where it had come from because it was an unbelievable story.”
“And she mentioned she was meeting some guy the next day,” Barb put in. “I remember because she said she was helping him out with something—but that he didn’t deserve it That struck me as strange. I mean, I wondered why she’d help him if that’s what she thought”
Felicia had been talking about Ben, Monique realized, glancing anxiously from Barb to Danny. Surely, though, there was no way either of them could have figured that out
They didn’t volunteer anything more, so Monique said, “And when she left? Did you notice anyone else leave at the same time? Anyone maybe following her?”
She held her breath, waiting for an answer. That was the big question. If they could find out who’d killed Felicia, who’d prevented her from meeting Ben…
But both Danny and Barb were shaking their heads.
“And there’s nothing else you remember?”
“Not really,” Danny said. “Except that she was determined to walk home rather than take a taxi. Said the air would clear her head.”
“I told her not to,” Barb murmured. “Everyone knows how dangerous the Quarter is at night, but she wouldn’t listen. She was… Well, you know how stubborn she was, Anne.”
Monique nodded, wishing she could think of a final magic question that would at least give her something. Otherwise, Ben was going to be awfully disappointed.
“Well,” Danny said, “I’m sorry we can’t be more helpful, but Barb’s got to get back to work and I…” He waved his hand over the papers on his desk.
“Yes, of course. Thank you both for your time.”
Feeling like a complete failure, she followed Barb out of the office and closed the door.
The waitress silently led the way back down the hall, then stopped outside the ladies’ room and glanced both ways. “Come in here for a minute,” she whispered, hustling Monique into the dingy washroom.
“If Danny knew I was telling you this he’d kill me,” she said quietly. “He told me to keep my mouth shut about it, and I did with the police. But Felicia was my friend and…”
“And?”
“She didn’t just tell us she’d come into some money. We saw it Like Danny said, she was kind of drunk. And when she opened her purse to get something an envelope fell out She grabbed it up right away, but we both saw it was full of hundred dollar bills. A lot of them, Anne. I’d say three or four th
ousand bucks. And then…”
“Yes?”
“After she left, Danny headed straight to his office. And I had to ask him about something, so I went there just a minute or so later. But I stopped outside the door because he was talking on the phone—about Felicia.”
“Felicia,” Monique repeated, her pulse racing.
Barb nodded. “I didn’t hear enough to be sure exactly what the story was. But later he came up to me and said that if anyone ever asked about that envelope I should pretend I didn’t know what they were talking about. And I don’t think it was in her purse when they found her body. I mean, the police didn’t say a word about it, so I can’t help wondering if maybe Danny…”
“Phoned someone to tell them Felicia was walking home with a lot of money,” Monique slowly concluded.
Barb nodded. “Then, if the guy tried to mug her and she fought him, maybe that’s why she ended up dead.”
“And Danny knew where she lived? The direction she’d be walking, I mean?”
“Sure. From when she used to work here. She mentioned she was still in the same place—the same old dump, as she called it. Only now that she had some money, she was thinking of moving. But, look, I’ve got to get back out front.” Barb glanced anxiously at the door.
Monique rested her hand on the woman’s arm. “Thank you for telling me this. And is there anything else you remember? Anything at all?”
“No, I’m afraid not.” The waitress turned toward the door, then hesitated and looked back. “Actually, there is one other thing. I don’t know why it slipped my mind. Guess ‘cuz I’m nervous about what Danny would do if he found out I told you. But the envelope wasn’t plain. It had a company’s name and address printed on it—one of those fancy, advertising kind of envelopes, you know?”
“And the company was?”
“Well, not exactly a company. It was a bar. The Crescent Wine Cellar. That place Ben DeCarlo owns.”
11:14 p.m.
THE PHONE CALL TO DEZI simply confirmed what Ben and Monique had been assuming.
“I made a hell of a bad choice in hiring her, didn’t I,” Dezi muttered. “But it never occurred to me she’d go off drinking with that money in her purse.”
The Valentine Hostage Page 11