That Old Devil Moon

by Anne Logan

  “I’m not sure yet, but if you could keep your ears open and maybe ask around about Keller and Shaw…” He hesitated, lowering his gaze to the tabletop. “And about Jack,” he added, “I would appreciate anything you come across.”

  Casey nodded gravely. “No problem.”

  Alex raised his head. “Think you could come over this evening and do some brainstorming?”

  Casey sighed. “Yeah, but my wife won’t like it.”

  Alex gave his partner a sympathetic look then thanked him again. Every detective in the N.O.P.D. had more than his share of work, and Alex realized that he was asking a lot of Casey, but at the moment, he couldn’t think of anyone more qualified to help him. Except of course, Jack. And there was no way he could confide in his friend, not without a lot more facts than he had at the moment.

  WHILE ALEX AND CASEY sat in Alex’s kitchen that evening going over details of the case, Maddie was closing Crescent Antiques. Terry had called in sick again. Worried about her son, Josephine had asked to leave early to check up on him. After two days of working at Crescent Antiques, Maddie had assured the older woman that she was capable of setting the security alarm and locking up by herself.

  Armed with the can of Mace that she had purchased the morning after the man had attacked her outside her brother’s building, Maddie stepped out onto the sidewalk and glanced warily up and down the street. Even though it was still daylight, she nevertheless felt uneasy walking the short distance to where she had parked her car. When she was safely inside with the doors locked, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  Maddie glanced in the rearview mirror to check traffic. At the end of the block, a car was turning onto the street, but she estimated that she had ample time to pull out into the street first.

  Minutes later, on Canal Street, when she checked her mirror again, she noted that the same, late-model Chevrolet was still behind her. “Don’t get paranoid now,” she whispered as she approached a traffic light turning red. “Probably just heading in the same direction.”

  Still, Maddie kept a watch in the mirror as she applied her brakes and stopped. The light seemed to take forever to turn green, and slowly but surely, the car pulled up directly behind her. She consoled herself that with all the other traffic around her, it was highly unlikely that anyone would try something in the broad daylight, but as a precaution, she reached inside her purse, pulled out the Mace and placed it in her lap.

  Just as the light finally turned green, Maddie glanced into the rearview mirror again. Though she couldn’t exactly see his face, something about the driver struck her as being familiar. It was when she pulled away that she recalled just why—the driver bore a close resemblance to Terry Carter, Josephine’s son.

  “Impossible,” she muttered. Terry was home ill, had been for two days. But even thinking about the creepy man made Maddie uneasy.

  WHEN THE MAN saw Madeline Johnson drive into the apartment complex past the security guard’s station, he pulled over to the side of the road and stopped.

  Cursing, he beat his hand on the steering wheel. No wonder she hadn’t returned to her brother’s apartment, he thought, fingering the still-raw cut on his cheek. The bitch had moved.

  He cursed again. Even if it was broad daylight, he should have grabbed her outside Crescent Antiques. Taking several calming breaths, he began chanting, repeating over and over the phrase he’d been taught, the phrase that would elevate him above such worldly weaknesses as anger and frustration. Only when he felt all the tension begin to leave his body, did he stop.

  Easing the gearshift into drive, he pulled back onto the street. It wasn’t his fault, he told himself, smiling serenely. How could he have known that she now lived in a place almost as secure as Fort Knox? But locks were made to be picked and rules were made to be broken. If he put his mind to it, he would find a way.

  After all, he had the power, a power that he could feel growing by leaps and bounds with each additional meeting of the Dark Rite that he attended.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  IT WAS ALMOST lunchtime when the bell over the door of Crescent Antiques jingled, signaling another customer. Maddie glanced up, and when she saw who entered, she smiled with delight.

  “Carla!” She hurried around the counter, and embraced the teenager. “It’s so good to see you.”

  Carla gave a one-shoulder shrug as Maddie released her. “I would have come to see you sooner,” she said, her tone petulant, “but I was grounded. The only reason I was able to come today is because I’m passing out campaign flyers.” She pulled one out of the tote bag dangling from her shoulder. “Here.” She thrust it at Maddie. “Now I’m supposed to tell you to vote for Ross Shaw for mayor.”

  Maddie glanced at the piece of paper, then smiled at Carla. “If I could, I would, but I don’t think I’ve lived here long enough to be a registered voter yet.”

  The teenager shrugged again, and Maddie suspected the girl already knew that she wasn’t qualified to vote.

  Carla suddenly leveled an accusing look at her. “What’s with you and my dad? Don’t you like us anymore?”

  Maddie sighed. With everything that had happened in the last few days, it hadn’t occurred to her that she should talk to Carla.

  “Oh, Carla.” She placed a reassuring arm around the girl’s shoulder. “My relationship with your father has nothing to do with whether I like you or not. I do like you. Very much,” she added. “It’s just that your dad and I don’t see eye to eye on certain issues, and for now it’s best that we go our separate ways.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean—about seeing eye to eye with him,” she clarified. “Lately, he’s been a real pain in the behind to live with.”

  Maddie looked down, unable to meet Carla’s gaze. Not a day had gone by that she hadn’t dreamed of Alex walking into Crescent Antiques and wanting to resume their relationship. And now, facing his daughter, she found herself starved for any tidbit of information about him. The temptation to encourage Carla to tell her more was overwhelming.

  I will not pump this child for information about her father, she told herself firmly, knowing full well that she probably would.

  “Maddie?”

  Maddie glanced over her shoulder to see Josephine standing by the counter. She wondered how long the older woman had been there and how much she had overheard.

  “Things are kind of slow today. Why don’t you go ahead and take your lunch break,” Josephine said, her gaze resting on Carla.

  Maddie shot her a grateful grin. During the past few days of working side by side with Josephine, the two women had talked a lot, and Maddie had found herself confiding in her about her confusing relationship with Alex. “I think I will, and thanks, Josephine.”

  Josephine smiled back and nodded knowingly.

  Maddie turned to Carla. “Well? How about it? Can I treat you to lunch?”

  The teenager’s eyes brightened. “Oh, cool.”

  “I take it that means yes?”

  Carla grinned and nodded.

  “Great. There’s a nice little restaurant down the street. Just give me a minute to get my purse.”

  In her office, Maddie glanced at her calendar as she reached for her purse. “Oh, terrific,” she muttered, rushing back out of the office. “Josephine, I forgot. I have that appointment with the private detective at three, so I might not be back in today. Can you handle things by yourself?”

  The woman nodded. “Sure, as I said, things are kind of slow, anyway, and Mr. Keller is coming in this afternoon.”

  When Maddie and Carla stepped out onto the sidewalk, the first thing Maddie did was pull out her Mace.

  Carla frowned. “What’s that for?”

  Maddie didn’t want to frighten the girl, but Carla was an intelligent person, too intelligent to try to snow with some half truth. In an attempt to lessen the gravity of her situation, Maddie opted for the humorous approach. “I think I’m becoming paranoid in my old age,” she said teasingly. “I get these strange sensations tha
t I’m being followed, and I’m beginning to wonder if I should let them catch me. What do you think?”

  Instead of laughing, Carla frowned. “I think that if you’re serious, this is nothing to joke about. You need to tell my dad—” Carla hesitated. “Or at least tell someone in the police department.”

  Maddie sighed. “You’re right, this isn’t something to joke about, but there’s nothing your dad or the police can do without some kind of proof, so…” She held up the small can. “For now, this will have to do.” Giving the teenager what she hoped looked like an encouraging smile, she nudged her down the sidewalk. “Enough of that. I’m starved, so let’s go eat.” And knowing that the mere mention of Carla’s music was a surefire way to distract the girl, she added, “And you can tell me all about the latest songs you’ve composed.”

  IN HER BEDROOM that evening, Carla sat softly strumming her guitar, running through a succession of chords.

  “Shoot!” she muttered, and with one slapping motion of her hand, she stilled the vibrating strings. The exact sound she needed to complete the last line of lyrics wouldn’t come.

  Glancing at her door, Carla sighed. Even though it was closed, she could still hear the muted rumbling of men’s voices. For the third night in a row, her father’s partner, Casey, had shown up, and from what she could gather, the two men were working on some kind of hush-hush project.

  On the one hand, it aggravated her, since her father was supposed to be on vacation and spending time with her. However, his being busy meant he wasn’t on her case as much. Or making disapproving remarks about her composing.

  “One of these days,” she murmured, thinking about her dream of having her own studio complete with a soundproof room.

  Then Carla groaned. It wasn’t just the noise that was interfering with her creativity, she admitted. Ever since she had returned from her lunch with Maddie, she’d debated telling her father about the lunch and about Maddie’s suspicions that she was being followed.

  Carla resumed her strumming, but her mind was still on Maddie. She wished she knew whether it had been her father’s idea or Maddie’s idea to end their relationship. She’d tried to worm the information out of Maddie during lunch, but each time she’d mentioned her father, Maddie had changed the subject.

  Suddenly, the sound of raised voices broke her concentration. Having never heard her father and his partner disagree over anything, Carla once again stilled the strings of her guitar. Curious, she put down the guitar and hurried to her door. Easing it open, she cocked her head to listen.

  “It’s not enough, Alex! My God, man, do you realize what can happen if you’re wrong? So what if Shaw and Keller went to the same college? And so what if they belonged to the same fraternity?”

  “Not just any fraternity,” Alex interrupted, “but one of those secret-society types.”

  “That’s not the point, man. The point is that none of that proves anything. You need more proof. Something solid, and I, for one, don’t intend to have any part of helping you flush your career down the toilet just because you’ve got a feeling there’s something shady going on, or just because you’ve got the hots for this Johnson woman.”

  “Casey—”

  “Okay, okay. No more, man. Not tonight. If I don’t leave now, I’m liable to try and knock some sense into you since I can’t talk any into you. I’m gone.”

  For several seconds, there was nothing but silence. The sound of the front door slamming caused Carla to jump.

  So, thought Carla, her father did still care about Maddie. Which meant that Maddie must have been the one who wanted out of the relationship. Swinging the door wide open, Carla made a beeline for the kitchen.

  Her dad was still sitting at the table staring off into space. He looked as if his thoughts were a million miles away, and Carla knew that he hadn’t yet realized she was standing there.

  “Dad?”

  Alex started and jerked his head around to face her.

  “I—I saw Maddie today.”

  The mere mention of Maddie’s name was like a fist squeezing his heart, but before he could comment, Carla rushed on.

  “I was handing out flyers and I stopped in at Crescent Antiques. She—”

  “You were handing out flyers! Down in the Quarter?”

  Carla’s cheeks grew pink but she nodded.

  Alex’s stomach began to churn. “When you said that you were doing volunteer work, I thought you meant you would be doing stuff at Shaw’s campaign headquarters, not wandering all over the French Quarter by yourself, or I would never have agreed to let you go.”

  Carla made a face and gave a little one-shoulder shrug; he’d learned it was just one of the little telltale signs that she did when she was nervous about something.

  “We went out in groups, so I didn’t see the harm.”

  Alex got the feeling that she wasn’t telling the truth, but since he couldn’t prove it and she was home, safe and sound, there didn’t seem to be much point in belaboring the subject. And since it seemed as if all they did lately was argue, he decided to let the issue slide this time.

  “About Maddie,” Carla said impatiently.

  Alex frowned. “What about her?”

  “She invited me to lunch and I went, and—” Carla glared at him. “She thinks someone is following her,” she blurted out. “She’s even carrying around one of those Mace things, and she’s hired a private detective.”

  A ripple of unease snaked down Alex’s back.

  “I wasn’t sure if I should say anything—I—well— you know—since you aren’t seeing her anymore and all.” Carla suddenly planted her hands on her hips. “I thought you liked Maddie, so what did you do to make her dump you?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business,” he said, completely taken aback at the hostility in his daughter’s voice. “But I didn’t do anything.” Which was the whole problem in a nutshell, he thought. “And for the record, she didn’t dump me…not exactly. It was more of a mutual agreement.” He motioned toward the chair opposite him. “Now, why don’t you sit down and tell me what Maddie said about being followed?”

  That night after Carla had gone to bed, Alex sat at the kitchen table studying the information he and Casey had uncovered during the past three days.

  He glanced at his watch and noted it was almost midnight. “Sorry, Casey,” he muttered as he reached for the phone and punched out his partner’s phone number.

  Alex felt only a momentary pang of guilt when Casey answered sleepily.

  “I know it’s late,” he said. “And I’m sorry, but I need you to listen. There’s a definite pattern to the way things are unfolding. And I need someone to bounce this off.”

  “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” Casey mumbled.

  “Nope, just listen please.” Without waiting for a reply, Alex picked up his pen and began. “According to the date on the receipt, Michael sold the gramophone to Shaw on a Tuesday.” He made a check just above the information. “On Thursday morning, he gave Josephine Carter the key to the security storage vault where he had put the gramophone.” He made another check. “Now, here’s the first question. Why did he go to such lengths to hide the gramophone?”

  “You tell me,” Casey grumbled.

  “Wait, there’s more,” Alex penned in a question mark above the notation. “On Thursday night, Michael allegedly kills Caroline then shoots himself. Incidentally, have you ever known of a suicide who shoots himself in the stomach?”

  “Naw, but maybe the man wasn’t so bright?”

  “Okay, forget that for now.” Alex penned another question mark. “When the bodies are discovered,” he continued, “the receipt for the gramophone is found, wadded up in Michael’s pocket, but the official report gives no detail as to what the receipt is for or who it’s made out to.

  “The following Monday when Maddie arrives and we go to her brother’s apartment, we find the place ransacked which, in all probability happened at some time between Michael’s death and that d
ay.” Alex made two more checks. “Michael is buried on Thursday, then on Friday night, an intruder breaks in on Maddie and demands to know where it is.” After checking off the last two items, Alex took a deep breath. “Now, tonight, Carla tells me she’s seen Maddie and Maddie thinks someone is following her.” Alex paused, waiting for Casey to say something.

  “So what are you getting at, Alex?” he said after a moment. “It’s too late to be playing Twenty Questions here.”

  “Don’t you see? Someone wants something that Michael Johnson had. When Michael wouldn’t hand it over, that person killed him and Caroline. And now, the same person is after Maddie. Now I just have to figure out who that person is, and I plan to start with Keller and Shaw.”

  The silence from Casey’s end lasted so long that Alex began to wonder if his partner had drifted off to sleep. Then he heard a huge sigh whisper through the line.

  “And why,” Casey mumbled. “You have to find out why—or what’s so all-fired important about that gramophone.”

  HALF-ASLEEP, fumbling for the ringing telephone in the dark, Maddle groaned. Opening one eye, she noted that the dial of the alarm clock showed that it was past midnight.

  “This better not be a prank call or wrong number,” she grumbled, and when her hand finally connected with the receiver, she jerked it to her ear.

  “Hello.”

  “Have you made an appointment with Shaw yet?”

  The sound of Alex’s voice was such a shock, she wondered if she was dreaming, and it took a second for her to find her voice. “Alex, why are you calling so late?”

  “Listen to me, Maddie. This is very important. Please just answer my question. Have you made an appointment with Shaw to return the gramophone yet?”

  “Yes,” she answered. “I’m supposed to meet him tomorrow evening at six at his home. What about it?”

  “I don’t think you should keep that appointment.”