“So you did know them?”
“In passing. Enough so that we greeted one another the day of the program. I watched them that night, chatting up Wall Street types and oil barons, convincing them to open up their purse strings. I remember they said they were both involved in animal rescue after the big oil spill, too. They were right on the front lines, helping wash off all those birds and such. Hands-on men, they were, not just talkers. Now, as for Selma Rodriguez...” He paused, looking perplexed as he stared at Ethan. “I know that name. I’m just not sure why.”
“She was murdered in Baton Rouge.”
“Poor woman. That must be why I’d heard her name. The world can be a cruel place.” He shook his head, as if at a loss to understand how such things happened. Then he looked at Ethan again. “Is there a relationship between her murder and Corley’s and Hickory’s?”
“I don’t know. She worked for the college where Corley taught.”
“Was she a reenactor, too?”
“No, but she and Corley were friendly.”
“I see.” The captain shook his head. “I’m sorry I haven’t been any help, but if I can assist you in any way during the cruise, just let me know.”
“Thank you.”
Banks offered him a firm handshake, then headed off to make sure everything was ready for the arriving passengers.
Even though Banks hadn’t told him anything to move his investigation forward, Ethan had found the tour extremely helpful. Now he knew where to find just about anything on the ship. He was glad that the Belles’ cabins, and their rehearsal and performance spaces, would be close together. Easier to keep an eye on them that way.
There was a nine-man security staff aboard the ship—three per eight-hour shift—and that was reassuring, too. When Banks had told him about them, he had emphasized his belief that the ship was a safe space. “Whatever’s going on,” Banks had told him, “it’s not going on here, not on the Journey.” He’d let out a deep sigh, a striking figure with his white hair and beard, and impeccable period-style captain’s uniform.
Ethan had assured him that no one was targeting the Journey; they were simply trying to find out more about the day the two victims had been aboard.
“Seems to me you ought to be interviewing people in St. Francisville,” Banks had said.
“Trust me, the police are on that,” Ethan had assured him.
Ethan’s thoughts were interrupted when his phone started ringing.
“Ethan, hi.”
It was Charlie, and she sounded a little tense.
“Is anything wrong?”
“No, no...but you need to talk to my dad. Without accusing him of anything. Without...being hostile.”
“Charlie, I’m not hostile to your dad. Your dad is hostile to me. I can’t change that, but I still have to do my job.”
“I know, I know. Anyway, he knows I’m talking to you. He has information. He’s not guilty of anything except being a friend, but...talk to him, Ethan. There might be something to this that goes beyond the film connection. Please, just listen to him. Now I have to run and find Alexi and Clara so we can put our show together.”
“You’re alone?” he asked her. “You were with Jude and Clara last time I saw you.”
“I ran out to see my dad before rehearsal, no big deal.”
“Charlie, do me a favor. I’m not trying to be overprotective, but don’t be alone, okay? Hurry up and join the others.”
“All right, I’m almost there. Don’t worry. I’ll text you the minute I arrive,” she promised.
“Thanks. Where’s your father?”
“In his cabin.”
“All right, I’m on my way.”
He rang off, but before he went to find Jonathan’s cabin, he headed to the main dining room to make sure she arrived safely. He got her text when he was halfway there, but he wanted to see firsthand that she was safe.
He didn’t go in, just made sure she really was there and safely surrounded by friends. Jude saw him and nodded. Ethan nodded back and slipped away, glad the Krewe had his back.
* * *
It was easy, working with friends. As far as their vocal abilities went, they were well suited to perform together. Alexi was a talented pianist, and she could adapt anytime a singer made a mistake. Clara had a pure, clear soprano, while Charlie was an alto. Alexi couldn’t hit the highest notes, but had the broadest range of the three of them. As they went through the songs, Charlie created bits of dialogue to segue between songs, since they were mixing North and South.
She also planned to throw in bits of history that wouldn’t step on her father’s lectures.
They would share vocal duties on some songs, like “Dixie,” when they even planned to encourage the audience to join in. Other songs would be solos. Clara had claimed “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” as her own, and Alexi had done the same with “Bonnie Blue Flag.” As they made their set lists—allowing a half hour each night for requests—Charlie realized that she was having fun. She loved working anyway, and it was great to be back with Alexi and Clara.
For a little while she even forgot why she was there.
Then she glanced over to the table where Jude was sitting and enjoying the show, and it all came crashing back.
Because enjoying the show wasn’t the only thing he was doing. He was watching over them. He was their bodyguard.
As much as he might appear to be simply enjoying himself, he was watching...
Watching every entrance to the dining room, the kitchen doors...
It was good to feel safe.
It was also unnerving.
Especially when she thought about the red band of blood circling Selma Rodriguez, a woman murdered just because she might have known something about Albion Corley.
* * *
Jonathan wasn’t exactly hostile, but he was definitely cold. He let Ethan in and told him without preamble that Charlie had said he had to tell Ethan everything he knew, which he proceeded to do.
“Jonathan, you should have told us this right away. It would put a different spin on the investigation,” Ethan said.
“No, that’s just it,” Jonathan said emphatically. “No one would have had any objection to the wedding. But the thing is, no one did know. That was my whole point. I didn’t want you investigating this as a hate crime. There’s something else going on, dammit. Something we’re not seeing.”
“Now I know they were both Masons—like you.”
Jonathan exploded. “Oh, no! Don’t you go there! They try to blame everything on the Masons, from Jack the Ripper to government conspiracies. Yes, George Washington was a Mason, and so were half the founding fathers. All we do is work for children’s charities, for cancer research... We help people.”
“If you don’t want me to go there, then think. Can you think of anything else? Anything else that connected them? And maybe could relate to Selma Rodriguez, too?”
Jonathan sat, groaned and buried his face in his hands. Then he looked at Ethan and sighed. “I have thought. They were good men, not druggies, womanizers or gamblers. They did charity work, supported good causes. I’m sorry. I wish I could help, but I honestly don’t know a thing.”
“Actually, I think you have helped me,” Ethan told him.
“How?”
“By reminding me about their charity work. Can you tell me what committees they were on, what causes they were involved with lately? Because if this didn’t happen because of Shelley Corley, there has to be something else.”
“Their charity efforts are all public record. They’ll be easy for you to find.” He met Ethan’s eyes. “So you believe me, that their deaths had nothing to do with Shelley?”
“If no one knew, no. We’ll have to talk to Shelley just to cover all our bases. And I need to kn
ow if Farrell Hickory spoke with his son about this.”
Jonathan laughed. “Shelley is fifty. She and Farrell were not going to start procreating. Farrell’s boy didn’t need to worry about a new half brother and having to share the family fortune. That boy’s intelligent. He’d know that.”
“Yeah. I’m sure he would,” Ethan said. “Jonathan, I need to know everything you can think of about Farrell and Albion.”
“They were my friends. Good friends, both of them. We were lodge brothers. They were passionate about the environment, but they also understood business. They believed that business—the oil business, in particular—and environmentalists could work for the common good. They loved being reenactors. I don’t know what else I can tell you.”
“Thank you,” Ethan said, and offered Jonathan his hand.
Jonathan held out his own and then shook his head. “You’re putting Charlie into the path of danger again.”
“Mr. Moreau, I’ve never put Charlie into the path of danger. I found her tied to a tombstone and freed her. We didn’t know that a killer was going to show up. And now I’m here because Charlie specifically asked to have me assigned to this case. I intend to do everything humanly possible to get to the bottom of this—and I will protect Charlie with my life.”
“That may not be good enough,” Jonathan told him flatly. “What if you can’t catch the killer?”
“Trust me, I’ll catch him. I intend to investigate everyone even tangentially involved with those men, and you might as well know that means you, too.”
“You know I didn’t kill those men.”
“I don’t believe you did, no. But you did lie to us.”
Jonathan said nothing as Ethan turned to leave the room. He was startled when Jonathan spoke again.
“Are you sleeping with my daughter?”
Ethan froze, his back to the man.
Sleeping? Well, technically, yes. But when it came to Jonathan’s real question, did one night count?
He turned around and met Jonathan’s eyes. “I care deeply for Charlie, and I have since the night I found her in the graveyard. But we haven’t seen one another in a very long time.”
“I didn’t ask you if you cared about her. I asked if you were sleeping with her.”
“We’re in the same cabin.”
Moreau nodded, and to Ethan’s surprise, he actually looked relieved. Had he been misreading the man? Curious, he said, “I hope that doesn’t upset you.”
“To be honest, at the moment I find it reassuring. I may not approve of my daughter’s taste in men, but under the circumstances, since she refuses to leave the area, she’s safest in your company.”
“And I intend to keep her that way,” Ethan said, and left.
His first action was to put through a call to Jackson Crow; he wanted Jackson to get someone to track down Shelley Corley. They needed to speak with her. The woman hadn’t—to the best of his knowledge—called the cops looking for information when Farrell Hickory had been killed.
Strange, if she was planning on marrying him.
On the other hand, no one had known about the wedding plans, so people might have wondered what her interest was.
But he wouldn’t know the real story until he talked to her, and Jackson had the resources to locate her quickly and maybe even set up a meeting.
“You don’t want to say anything to Detective Laurent about this yet?” Jackson asked Ethan, after he’d explained the situation.
“I’d like to speak with her first, find out how committed they really were and if she knows anything that could help us.”
Jackson agreed, and after ending the call, Ethan was satisfied that they’d made a good start on finding out the full story of Farrell’s secret proposal.
And then he wondered if Charlie’s father had talked to her about their conversation and, if so, exactly what he’d said.
* * *
They’d been rehearsing for a while when a lean, gray-haired man in a beige suit entered the main dining room and approached the stage. Before he got even halfway there, Jude was on his feet and staring down intimidatingly at the man, who Charlie thought looked vaguely familiar.
“Ricky Simpson—entertainment director,” Alexi whispered quickly.
“Oh, right,” Charlie murmured.
“Ricky, great to see you,” Alexi said. “You remember Clara, and you must have met Charlie somewhere along the line. And this is Jude McCoy.”
“Great to see you, too,” Simpson said, smiling. “I have to admit, I was a little surprised when management booked you for this cruise at the last minute, but you’ll be glad to hear you seem to have been quite the draw. We advertised your appearance on several travel sites, and the remaining cabins were reserved just last night. This being a history-focused cruise, I just need to know. Your stories are accurate, right?”
“Unless they’re legend, and then we say so,” Charlie said.
Simpson grinned. “You really are your father’s daughter. I heard you as I was coming in. You sound great. The passengers are going to love you. And you can do run-throughs in the mornings, after breakfast. Then—”
“We know,” Alexi said. “Once we’re out of port, this dining room needs to be clear by eleven for the lunch setup. We report here each evening by five for the first dinner shift, and we finish up at approximately ten each night.”
“Exactly,” Simpson said. “Alexi and Clara, delighted to work with you again. Charlie, I look forward to getting to know you better. I saw one of your commercials recently, but you’re even more talented than I knew.”
“Thank you,” Charlie said, wondering which one he’d seen. She’d made enough money to live for a year on the condom commercial she’d shot, but it certainly did come back to haunt her. She hadn’t had to do anything remotely sexual and had been fully clothed for the entire thirty seconds. Still, the mere mention of condoms seemed to make people smirk.
Simpson looked over at Jude. “I truly pray you’re not expecting trouble. I understand you were involved in some difficulties that plagued one of our sister ships?”
Charlie saw the slight tension in Jude’s polite smile. “I believe that my colleagues and I were part of ending those difficulties. We don’t expect any trouble during the cruise. We’re simply here to learn anything we can that might help us solve two—possibly three—murders.”
“My crew all know you’re FBI. Too many people were aware of your presence in St. Francisville for that to be a secret.”
“Not a problem,” Jude said.
“Well, then...” Simpson paused and smiled. “Truth is, I’m here to kick you out. They need to prepare the room, since the passengers are beginning to board. The Sun Deck buffet is open, though, and we encourage the entertainment staff to mingle with the guests. In fact, I’ll be up there myself in a little while.”
He gave them a wave and left just as a number of men and women in tailored uniforms with the word Journey embroidered on their pockets walked in.
“Guess it’s time for us to move,” Clara said. “Sun Deck?”
“Thor is already up there, and I’m betting Ethan has joined him by now,” Jude said. “The captain was showing Ethan around earlier, while Thor was talking to the ship’s doctor. We can trade notes at the buffet.”
As they left, Charlie looked back as the waitstaff moved around the room, efficiently getting it ready for guests.
Jude lingered with her.
She shook her head, looking at him. “I hope there really is something to be discovered on board. I can’t imagine any of the dining staff would have seen or heard anything. I mean, the programming took place on deck, right? They would all have been busy down here or wherever.”
He nodded.
“But Ricky Simpson...he and the entertainment staff—including
the other tour guides—could have been on deck.”
“And,” he said, “they could be on the Sun Deck right now. Shall we go up?”
She nodded and started walking, then hesitated and turned back again. For a moment it seemed as if the day went away, as if a gray miasma fell over the room. She heard coughing and moaning, and where only a moment ago there had been a busy crowd of employees, only a few men and women, doctors and nurses, were moving about the room. The floor, though, was covered in men, some lying on pallets, others seated, all of them wrapped in bandages and the tatters of their uniforms, both the blue and the gray. Rickety tables held bowls of water, and most of that water was red. She blinked, but the vision remained, and she wondered if what she was seeing replayed daily, like long-gone soldiers living out their last minutes on the battlefield. They were clearly unaware of her or anyone else.
She reached out to grab Jude’s arm, but he had already moved into the hall, and she could vaguely hear him talking to Alexi and Clara.
Suddenly one of the men—a doctor, she thought—turned to look at her, aware of her even as the scene went on around him. He saluted her and then went back to his duties.
“Charlie?” Clara said.
“Coming,” she said, and quickly joined her friends in the hall.
A dish dropped and shattered, followed by laughter. Drawn by the sound, Charlie looked back through the doorway.
The window to the past had disappeared.
But memories of the long-dead man who had paused to look at her remained. He’d realized she was there.
Did he know something? Anything? Could he help her?
If he could, she knew he would find her.
She shivered slightly. These days the Journey might be a beautifully restored riverboat.
But her past, Charlie knew, had been bathed in blood.
11
The Journey was leaving port.
Ethan saw Charlie standing at the rail, watching the river. A quick glance assured him she wasn’t alone. Clara, Alexi and Jude were only a few feet away. Thor had been planning to meet with the ship’s doctor earlier, but the man hadn’t shown, so Thor had chatted with the nurses instead. The doctor still hadn’t arrived by the time Thor had to leave to join the others.