At this time of night, it wasn’t easy to get a table for a group their size at any popular restaurant. “Mama Mia” was a comparatively new establishment, Avalon knew, and, as the name would suggest, it offered Italian cuisine. It also offered a little shop at the entry that sold food items such as olive oil and imported pastas, and T-shirts and kitchen gadgets with a NOLA flair. She noted salt and pepper shakers, gravy ladles and more that bore pictures of cute little chefs and the restaurant’s name.
As they waited to be taken to their table, Avalon and Lauren wandered the little shop area. She was looking at a teakettle when she noticed a woman just down the aisle—simply dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, hair drawn back in a ponytail.
The woman swung around suddenly and stared at Avalon, then smiled and laughed.
“Hello!” she said. “Small world, huh? I thought...never mind!”
Samara Stella had come to dine, too. It made sense—her place wasn’t far away.
“Hi,” Avalon said. She smiled. “You know, you do have a great restaurant in your own place.”
Samara shrugged, smiling as well. “Note the name—Stella. It’s my real name. I grew up with an Italian family, and the chef here prepares an eggplant almost as good as my mom’s. They take care. There’s nothing to ruin a good eggplant like getting a piece of the peel stuck in your teeth!” She shrugged and whispered, “I come over here often.”
“Nice to have an endorsement before we sit down,” Avalon said.
“Yes, the food is very good,” Samara assured her. “And I’m sorry I’m so jumpy. I just had the oddest feeling... Like being watched, you know? I thought that someone was staring at me. I know it wasn’t you. Maybe they weren’t staring at me—maybe they were staring at you. Just a feeling. I’m sorry.”
Avalon laughed, and the sound was a little forced to her own ears.
She hadn’t felt...anything. There were no dead wandering the shop.
But that feeling could come, too, when the living watched someone...
She looked around: there was an older woman with a child in the room—a grandchild, Avalon thought—and they were both happily looking at a stand filled with stuffed toys. A few diners, also awaiting seating, were wandering about.
Her group was mostly milling by the hostess stand. Boris was surveying a table filled with T-shirts with NOLA logos and silly memes.
She didn’t see the Christy family yet, but they were probably on their way, out on the street, possibly.
Glass windows showcased the little shop, and the displays were attractive, with a rack at one end of the window spilling over with cute little stuffed chefs, crabs and crawfish.
Naturally, people would be drawn to look in from the street. Samara was now smiling at her. “Weird, I know, sorry. Anyway, how’s it going? The website? Oh, I mean, I haven’t given you any time, have I? I do like the idea of getting a little classy with the website. I mean, yes, we’re a sex club, but I want to be a classy one, you know?”
“I think we’re going to be able to create a good site,” Avalon said. “One that you’ll like. I was impressed by your place.”
Samara laughed. “Want a job? You’d be nice and classy. I mean, do you want a job after the website? You’re always welcome. Though I think people are paying you a sustainable wage for your work in film. Well, I told you my dream. It wasn’t going so well. Parents died in a car crash when I was just graduating from high school and I clawed my way through state college and then... I just couldn’t survive without twisting my talents a bit. I am still a showman, though—show-woman, that is!”
“What you’ve done is very interesting, and very smart,” Avalon assured her. She studied Samara in her casual outfit, ponytail and clean-scrubbed face. She was so...
Normal.
She was a performer...and she had taken her business where she needed to go to survive.
“You’re fascinating, and we’re going to highlight the fact that you offer an amazing restaurant and fun performances. My favorite, I think, is your twisted history. Too bad we couldn’t have really turned a few things in different directions.”
“I agree. Hey, I see people craning their necks over these aisles. I think your friends are looking for you. I’m on my way out. The osso buco is to die for, if you like that dish. I’ll see you soon.”
“Yes, and I’ll send you all my ideas while we get it all going,” Avalon replied.
She saw that Kevin, a worried frown on his face, was standing next to Leo, who was also looking anxiously around the store.
She hurried over to them.
Kevin gave her a hug. “There you are! Don’t disappear these days—too scary.”
“I’m sorry—I didn’t realize how high the rows of shelves were,” she said.
“Our table is ready. Come on.” He took her hand and drew her close to him. “I’m going to keep you close to me.”
A smiling hostess led them in. A long table by a window looking out on the street had been reserved for them. They had arrived before the Christy family.
Boris wound up at one head of the table; Avalon found herself between Leo and Kevin—her stalwart protectors, she thought. Lauren was across from Avalon, between Brad and Terry, who had managed to clean up except for the bit of “little green man” that he had missed on his left jaw.
Lauren noticed it as they were seated and took a snowy white napkin to dab at his cheek.
“I missed a spot?” Terry said.
“You’re fine,” Lauren assured him.
He grinned at Avalon across the table. “Personally, I think I should have come as an alien. Would have been fun—I’ll bet you half the people on the streets would have thought that an alien had landed!”
“Possibly,” Avalon agreed.
“Wrong seating,” Boris said. “Terry, change with me?”
“I get the head of the table?” Terry asked.
“I need to be facing the door, ready to hop up,” Boris said. He looked contemplatively at Avalon. “Special Agent Stirling wants it to look like we’re just trying to get back on friendly terms after the chaos and trauma, and let it look like we’re totally baffled, have complete faith in them...”
“Good thing we have a few actors in this group,” Lauren said. “I need to stay where I am. I’m definitely not an actor.”
“Well, I am. Sometimes...” Brad said. “Okay, I’m usually an extra, but I can manage this gig.”
Looking across to the entry, Avalon saw that Cara and Gary Holstein had arrived; they were at the hostess stand.
She stood and waved to them.
Cara, petite and slim, pretty in a flowery sundress, waved in return and pointed the table out to the hostess.
They were led over.
“You’re waiting for a few more?” the hostess asked.
“Two more,” Boris said.
The group stood to greet them. Hugs went around.
“There’s a seat at the head,” Gary said. “I’m going for it.”
“He likes a chance to be head of the household,” Cara said, laughing. “He always says I may be little, but I make up for it by being bossy, hmm, my love?” she said, hugging Gary.
“You really have to watch out for her,” Gary said, nodding solemnly with a little smile. Then he grew serious. “You guys doing okay? I can’t tell you how glad I am that none of us wanted to stay on the island. No one has been allowed back on yet, and if we’d had things there... Though now, it feels as if we’re living in limbo.”
“We are living in limbo,” Boris said softly.
“I’m so, so sorry,” Gary said. “We were devastated and can only imagine how you feel.”
“Well, we thought we’d have a dinner to honor Cindy, and you were always so wonderful to us,” Boris said. “We wanted you to be with us tonight.”
“You know we’re
still behind you one hundred percent,” Cara told him.
“Thank you,” Boris said. “And, Gary, please sit there at the head of the table. You get to be the man tonight.”
Gary grinned. “Cool. Whoops—I’ll claim the seat fast. There’s Julian. Mr. Handsome. Cara, how did you have a cousin so damned good-looking?”
She laughed. “Hey! Looks run in the family.”
“I think they missed Kenneth,” Gary said in a whisper.
Kenneth was right behind Julian. Avalon, still standing by her chair, watched as the two men came in; they’d been together, she thought.
Were they a team? A team of killers?
Kenneth may not have inherited the looks that Julian could claim, but he wasn’t as bad as the teasing always made him sound. He was out of shape, a little on the pudgy side, but he had always been kind and enthusiastic when they’d been filming.
The two headed for the table and the greetings went around again. A waitress came; drinks and appetizers were ordered. Everyone asked what everyone else was doing, and the consensus was that they were all just biding time and waiting for the police to say that they could move on.
“Hey,” Brad said suddenly. “Look who it is.”
He stood up, waving madly.
“It’s that...FBI agent,” Cara whispered to her end of the table. “Special Agent Stirling. What’s he doing here?”
“I guess he needs to eat, too. He’s been damned decent to us. I’m going to see if he wants to join us,” Boris said.
He hurried over to the hostess stand and greeted Fin, shaking his hand and drawing him in.
Boris led Fin to the table, where he looked around at all of them. “I heard this place was all the rage of new eateries in NOLA.”
“Hey, you don’t mind if we question you a bit while we eat, huh?” Boris asked.
“I just wish I had answers,” Fin said.
“Draw up a chair,” Boris said. He shifted Lauren’s chair closer to Terry and his own chair closer to Lauren’s, stealing a chair from another table to place Fin between himself and Cara Holstein.
“Thanks,” Fin said, taking the seat. He looked at Cara Holstein, next to him.
“Is it...all right? Do you mind that I’m here? I don’t mean to crash your party.”
“No, no, of course, it’s fine. We’re glad to have you.”
His hands folded before him, he looked around the table and focused at the end where the Christy heirs were seated.
“So. How are you all doing? What are you all up to?” he asked politely. “I heard a rumor that you’re now considering keeping the island and opening it as a historic venue, a tourist attraction. Is that true?”
Nine
Fin had heard the rumor ten minutes before joining the others at the table. He had kept his distance, watching the film crew as they’d gone in to the restaurant, and he’d waited, watching for the arrival of the Christy family.
Cara and Gary Holstein had naturally showed up together.
Julian Bennett and Kenneth Richard had then arrived together, laughing and loitering in the street, it appeared, as if they intended to make an entrance.
They made a strange pair, Fin thought. Kenneth had several years on Julian and had the look of a stodgy professor. Julian was more of a player—good-looking, quick to flirt, an outgoing man in every way.
They had claimed that none of them had known each other well prior to being named in the will. Nothing hostile, just the fact that they weren’t first cousins, but rather that their parents had been cousins and life had been busy and they’d never really met.
Angela had called while Fin had watched and waited. She’d reported to him that the foursome had contacted their attorney to ask about licenses and requirements for making the island a state historic site.
A surprise to him.
And, obviously, to the others.
It seemed to Fin that his question brought about a few seconds of complete, stunned silence.
Then Lauren stood, stricken. “What?” she exclaimed.
The members of the Christy family looked awkwardly at one another.
Then Cara Holstein looked straight at Fin.
“Yes,” she said softly. “Yes, but you must understand. We don’t believe that we’ll be able to sell it. We’re going to be in massive trouble with taxes and...well, our attorney made us think about it.”
“None of us really wants the wretched place,” Julian said. “My dad hated his grandfather—said he was one of the meanest old men he’d ever met.”
“My parents disliked him, too,” added Cara. “That’s why we seldom visited, and when my own grandfather died, well, I never went back on my own.”
“Ditto to all the above,” Kenneth told them. “He was known to be...weird.”
“Interesting,” Fin said. He saw that Avalon had probably given Lauren a little kick beneath the table; Lauren sat silent and pale. “I’d always heard he was an eccentric. I’d never heard anything about cruelty to his children or anything of the like.” He lifted the water glass in front of him. “To justice for Cindy, and a better future for all.”
“Justice—for Cindy,” Lauren repeated.
The evening went on; Fin spoke to the Christy family mainly, keeping it all conversational, asking about their employment, their lives at home. He felt Avalon watching him now and then, wondering what he could possibly be getting from the conversation.
He was drawing Boris out, as well, talking about the art of filmmaking, the expense of sets, the ease when it came to simply working in a studio...and the expenses that were incurred both in and out of a studio.
It was Brad who brought up the murder again.
“Don’t the forensic people have anything?” he demanded. “Someone was on that island in the middle of the night. They brought Cindy with them, cleaned up, dressed up...and they can’t find anything?”
Fin smiled. “They have plenty. Footprints and fingerprints all over the cemetery. They all belong to all of you.”
Brad stared back at him blankly.
“We were working there,” Kevin said, confused.
“Yes, and that’s the point. The footprints, fingerprints—DNA off a cigarette butt—”
“Kevin!” Lauren said.
“Yeah, yeah, I still have a cigarette now and then,” Kevin said. He looked across the table. “So does Boris.”
“This killer wouldn’t have left DNA, fingerprints or footprints,” Fin said. “Unless, of course, they were supposed to be there.”
“You mean, as if one of us had done this. We—the owners of the island—or the film crew?” Kenneth demanded.
“We can’t rule any of you out yet, I’m afraid,” Fin said. “But we’re looking into similar murders across the area over the last several years,” Fin told them all.
“Because anyone could have come to the island,” Lauren said. “Boris, you were staying there. I wonder if the killer knew it. I mean, there had been a few write-ups, saying that we were staying in a hotel during the filming. Maybe we should have all stayed on the island. Maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”
Cara Holstein made a snorting noise. “Have you really looked around the house? There are rats, roaches, spiderwebs! It’s horrible. I mean, Boris got the one room cleaned up for himself, but...ugh. The place is horrible. It needs...” She broke off, shaking her head and sighing. “It needs so much work!”
“But that’s all cosmetic,” Kenneth said. “That’s what made the attorneys come to us and suggest that there might be a better solution.”
“Because people will want to come—now that a woman, brutally murdered, was found dead in the cemetery?” Kevin asked, his voice hard.
“We have to do something with the property,” Julian said. “I don’t know what is right and what is wrong, but our attorney told us that if we sell
, someone else will just do the same thing. I mean, the structure of the house is sound—it’s made it through dozens of wretched storms. But the way that it sits on that island, just about surrounded by the cemetery...well, it doesn’t make for a great family home. The only reasonable bite we’ve had with an almost viable offer was from a freak from a rock band whose members have consumed spiders on stage, and even that... I’m just not sure what he’d do with the island. Sometimes, I don’t care. Sometimes, I do.”
“Heritage,” Kenneth said. “Our great-grandfather was a bastard, but the house goes back before him, and...maybe it should be preserved. All of it—the good and the bad.”
A waitress arrived at the table for their orders. Fin was about to ask for the étouffée, but he felt his phone vibrating in his jacket pocket and he quickly looked at it.
It was Ryder. The detective had texted him.
Meet me. Samara Stella’s.
He knew that the detective had kept officers watching the Christy family, but he knew exactly where they were.
He excused himself to take the call; as he did so, he noticed that Avalon had her phone out...and was staring at it. She stood and glanced at the others apologetically. “I’m sorry, please excuse me for a few minutes. Website-client thing,” she said, and started out of the restaurant.
Kevin started to rise. “What in the world—?”
Fin nodded at Kevin. “I’ve got this—got a call I have to answer, anyway.”
He hurried out after Avalon, catching her in the street.
“Avalon, what’re you doing? You don’t just take off alone these days.” He had her arm; he was holding her firmly.
She stared at her arm, and then at him. He didn’t release her.
“I’m worried about your safety!” he snapped.
“Then let me go. Samara texted me, terrified.”
“And Ryder texted me. Come on.”
They walked across the street and down the block to Samara Stella’s Theater of the Fantastic. The business was open, of course. The night was young in New Orleans.
A different young woman was at the reception desk. She was a brunette, tall and graceful, and every bit as attractive as the young woman who had held that position the day before.
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