The Dead Play On

  He was right, of course. It was stretching to think there could be any charge against this man.

  Quinn looked at Larue.

  “Thank you for your time,” Larue said. “But if you think of anything...”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ll call the police right away.”

  Larue looked aggravated. Quinn caught his eye, and Larue shook his head in disgust. Quinn gave it a try. “No one asked you to leave your doors unlocked?”

  “No. It was a stupid mistake. And I probably wouldn’t even have noticed if you hadn’t come and made a big deal out of it.”

  “You don’t have an alarm system or security camera?” Quinn asked.

  “I’m back here in a courtyard, not right on Royal,” Payne said. “I have to advertise just to let people know I’m here. I’m making it, but just. Hell, no. The cheap bastard who owns the place lives in New York City. He would laugh if I asked for a security camera or an alarm.”

  “Thank you,” Quinn told him. He turned to go, and Larue followed him out.

  “Asshole!” Larue exploded angrily. “Wait for the day the guy does get robbed then goes on the news crying that the police do nothing for the city.”

  “He’s an asshole, but I think he’s telling the truth. He just forgot and left his doors open. Thing is...” Quinn paused, looking at Larue. “I think Payne really is just a disgruntled jerk, but while he may not know the killer, I think the killer does know him. He knows he’s a fool who doesn’t bother much when it comes to locking up.”

  “You’re giving the killer a lot of credit,” Larue said.

  Quinn shook his head. “He’s not stupid, but I don’t think he’s a genius. He’s just been watching, maybe for a long time, and storing up information that might be useful someday.”

  “Maybe you’re right. So...any leads on the sax from your end?”

  “No. Anything pan out on the trace evidence from the crime scenes?” Quinn asked.

  “Nothing. It’s as if this guy really does just disappear,” Larue said.

  “In plain sight.”

  “So how the hell do we catch him?” Larue asked then shook his head in frustration before looking at Quinn grimly.

  “I don’t know, but we have to catch him before he kills again,” Quinn said.

  Chapter 13

  DANNI WAS IN her father’s old office when she heard Jenny calling her name. Her friend must have just woken up, she thought, and been afraid that she was alone. In fact, only Quinn was out. He’d met up with Larue at the courtyard so they could go from shop to shop and ask about the unlocked gate.

  They would finish up at the café, she knew.

  “I’m down here, Jenny. I’m coming up,” she called.

  She clasped the book she had been looking at to her chest and hurried back up the stairs and into the kitchen. Jenny was standing by the coffeepot. It looked as if she wanted coffee but was too paralyzed by fear to pour herself some.

  “Hey,” Jenny said, and awkwardly reached for the pot.

  “Hey,” Danni said.

  “I was just...just wondering where everyone was,” Jenny said.

  “They’re all around someplace—well, except for Quinn. I was digging up the scrapbook from our year at the school in the Garden District,” Danni said.

  “Oh! That reminds me, I told Quinn I’d make up a list of everyone in the Survivor Set.”

  Danni nodded. “He reminded me when he left.” She lowered her head, hiding a little secret smile. Quinn had woken her up with a kiss. He’d said she looked just like Sleeping Beauty, only he wasn’t sure he was much of a prince. Then, of course, the mystical fairy-tale moment had been over, and he’d told her where he was going and asked her about the Survivor Set.

  Danni put the scrapbook on the table and opened it as she and Jenny sat down. “There’s a shot of the whole group of us who stayed. I think my dad actually took this picture. I remember it wound up in the papers, but he had a stack of copies made for whoever wanted them. Look, there’s Lawrence Barrett next to the principal—I think his name was Hardwick. He passed on a few years ago, if I remember right. There, on the left side, that’s Holton Morelli. He was a guest lecturer there that year, teaching music theory.”

  “You’re right. I can’t believe he wound up in the picture,” Jenny said, and shivered. She pointed to a tall boy standing in the back row. “And there’s Arnie. All three of them are in this picture. And look, there’s Tyler in the back on the left, and next to him is Steve, our drummer. And right next to Steve, that’s Jeff Braman.”

  “So,” Danni murmured, “Arnie dead, Jeff attacked, Holton and Lawrence killed. And you attacked, too, of course.”

  “There you are,” Jenny said. “Off to the side.”

  “We all look so lost and scared.”

  “We were scared. Most of us didn’t know each other till we were sent to school together. Half of us didn’t even have houses after the storm. But I don’t get it. What’s the connection?” Jenny said.

  “I’m not sure the Survivor Set really means anything. I’m positive the killer is after Arnie’s sax and doesn’t care who has it. There just happened to be a lot of talented people in our class, but none of us knows about Arnie’s sax,” Danni said.

  “None of the other B-Street Bombers has been attacked, right? Just Arnie. And then his parents’ home was trashed.”

  “And the killer obviously didn’t find the sax there.”

  “So his parents don’t have it and don’t know what happened to it?” Jenny asked. “I mean, they really don’t?”

  “They would tell us if they did, Jenny. They don’t want more people dying,” Danni said.

  “We should just buy some weird sax and say that’s it,” Jenny said. “Maybe he’d never know. Except...is the sax really magic?”

  Danni looked at her. “Music is magic in itself, don’t you think?” she asked lightly. “Amy says that believing that sax was magic made Arnie believe in himself. Maybe that’s the real magic.”

  “I believe lots of things—or try to. Doesn’t make them so,” Jenny said.

  “That’s because you don’t really believe. You’re just doing what they call ‘wishful thinking,’” Danni told her. “When you really believe...I think it makes a difference.” She looked at the picture again. “There’s Amelia Addison, she’s a dancer. Carrie Merrill, she was in theater arts. I think she’s working in one of the shows they’re filming here now,” Danni said. “Do you see any of the other local musicians?”

  Jenny studied the picture. “I don’t think so, but I’m not sure. Some people change a lot. Some of the kids in the group left after graduation. So do you think the survivor connection means anything or not?”

  “I don’t know, but we have this picture now. If you can remember everyone’s name, you can make that list for Quinn,” Danni said.

  “All right, I’ll do it right now,” Jenny said.

  Amy Watson walked into the kitchen just then. She was in a hat and an attractive flowered dress, her handbag over her arm.

  “You’re going out?” Danni asked her.

  “I visit my boy’s grave nearly every day,” Amy said.

  “I know, Amy,” Danni said. “But I’m not sure this is a good time for you to be out on your own.”

  Woodrow, in his Sunday best, followed her into the kitchen. “She won’t be alone. I’ll be with her, and anyway, I don’t think we need to worry none during the day, Danni. The killer is a coward. He attacks in the darkness. You’ve said that yourself.”

  “And,” Amy added, “no hell-spawn crazy-jealous killer is going to stop me from visiting my boy’s grave. That’s all there is to it.”

  Tyler came in behind them. “We all go once a week, Danni,” he said.

  Danni stood up quickly. “I’ll go with you. Qu
inn is out, but Billie and I will go with you. Just to be safe, we’ll create a crowd I’m sure he won’t dare to take on.”

  “You’re all leaving?” Jenny asked Danni anxiously.

  Danni turned to her. “I’ll wake Brad. And Wolf will be here with you, too. He’ll know if anything is wrong. Plus Bo Ray is up front in the shop. Jenny, please. You’ll be all right. It’s midafternoon.”

  Jenny bit her lower lip and nodded. “I was just asking,” she said.

  “I’ll go up and get Brad,” Danni told her. “You’re going to be all right. It’s broad daylight, and the street is filled with people.”

  Jenny looked up at her and smiled. “You’re right. I’m going to be fine.”

  Danni called Quinn to tell him what they were going to do.

  “They have to go to the cemetery now?” he asked her.

  “Quinn, I can’t stop them unless I shackle them to the furniture,” she told him.

  “You’re probably right. Give me a minute and I’ll go with you. Larue and I are finished, so I guess a trip to the cemetery is in order.”

  * * *

  Quinn was surprised by the size of the mausoleum in the “City of the Dead” where Arnie was taking his final rest.

  He had been entombed in the Garden District, where narrow walks led a visitor through rows and rows of beautifully crafted tombs, box tombs, barrel-vaulted tombs, coping graves, parapet tombs, monuments and more.

  Arnie had been entombed in a “society” vault—one that was actually a small mausoleum—for musicians. It was one of the few in the cemetery with an iron gate and a little altar inside, along with a single concrete bench where mourners could sit and remember their loved ones. The tomb was beautifully decorated; musical instruments had been crafted into the design of the pyramid-shaped building. New Orleans was known for its cemeteries and its unique mausoleums, but this tomb was one of particular beauty.

  Amy and Woodrow took a seat on the bench; the others stood respectfully behind them. Danni had purchased flowers from a vendor on the street, and she placed them in the vase before the seal that noted Arnie’s name, dates of birth and death, army rank, and that he had been a “Dearest and most beloved son.”

  When they stepped back outside and started back to the cars, Quinn was startled to see Danni stop and then go walking off around a gated family plot marked with an obelisk.

  “Danni!” he said and hurried after her.

  He quickly realized that she was following someone. When he caught up with her, he saw who it was.

  Gus Epstein, Eric Lyons, Jessica Tate and the part-time bartender, Sharon Eastman.

  Danni was hugging them one by one, and they were talking animatedly as a group of tourists passed them.

  “We came with Amy and Woodrow Watson to visit Arnie’s grave,” Danni was explaining.

  “We’re here to visit my mom,” Sharon said. “I lost her about a year ago, to cancer. This cemetery is so pretty. We figured we’d bring her some flowers then grab something to eat that wasn’t prepared in a Bourbon Street bar,” she explained then rolled her eyes. “We live in a city with some of the finest restaurants in the world, but we never seem to get a chance to eat at any of them. We wanted to do something different.”

  “Like visit a cemetery,” Gus said. “Wait, sorry, didn’t mean that, Sharon. I know how much you still miss your mom.”

  “I never mind a trip to one of our cemeteries,” Eric said. “They’re so beautiful.”

  “You have a family plot anywhere in the city?” Quinn asked him.

  Eric nodded. “We do, actually. One day I’ll get to rest in the old family pile of stones way over there in the back.”

  “Hopefully not too soon,” Amy said.

  Quinn turned in surprise to see that she, Woodrow and Tyler had joined them.

  “Mrs. Watson, Mr. Watson,” Gus said. “It’s good to see you. We’re all so sorry. We heard about what happened to your house.”

  “Material things, my boy,” Woodrow said. “Material things mean nothing.”

  “And a son means everything,” Jessica said, walking over to the Watsons. “Everything in the world. I’m so sorry about Arnie.”

  “Thank you, child,” Amy said. “And once we’re back home, don’t you young people be strangers, you hear?” she said.

  Jessica flushed and nodded; she seemed uncomfortable, almost as if she felt she had been too familiar.

  “Arnie will always be with us,” Sharon said gently. “Any of us who knew him. And we can all still listen to his music, since he played on so many recordings.”

  Quinn realized that Sharon seemed to be there with Gus. Not just as a friend, but with Gus. Were Eric and Jessica a couple, too? He’d never seen Jessica appear to be particularly close with Eric, but the four of them were there together.

  Amy smiled. “Yes, we have his music in the computer, and we’re grateful for that,” she said. She looked at Quinn. “I’m feeling a little tired right now. Can we go?”

  “Of course, of course,” Danni assured her. “See you soon,” she said to the others.

  They left the cemetery. Danni, her arm around Amy, walked just ahead of Quinn. He heard Amy tell her, “That girl gives me the willies.”

  “Really? Which girl? Jessica?” Danni asked.

  “No, not Jessica. That other girl, that Sharon. I don’t know what it is—she just makes me shiver. Jessica, now, she’s a sweet thing. Don’t know what she’s doing with Eric Lyons, though. That no-account... He’s not going nowhere but a bar all his life. Well, that’s just me, and I’m sorry, don’t mean any disrespect. But they should want more, you know? Like a real life.”

  “Well, it’s an honest living,” Danni told her.

  “I know, but they can do better. Eric, he can really play. And Jessica is a little lark. All of them except for that Sharon. That girl...there’s something not right about her.”

  “Well, we’ll keep an eye on her,” Danni promised.

  She turned around and looked at Quinn. He nodded then turned himself to look at the group they had just left.

  Gus and Sharon, Eric and Jessica.

  And I’d been thinking Blake Templeton, he thought.

  And maybe he hadn’t been wrong. As Danni had said, they would keep an eye on Sharon. He would mention her to Larue, as well.

  They would keep an eye on the others, too.

  Everyone at La Porte Rouge.

  * * *

  When they returned to the house, Jenny and Brad were at the kitchen table, and Wolf was on guard and not sure whom to go crazy over first.

  It was almost closing time for the store, so Danni excused herself to head into the shop area and check on Bo Ray. He told her all was well, and that Natasha and Father Ryan had been in. He grinned and told her that he knew they’d only been by to make sure he was okay.

  When Danni returned to the kitchen, she discovered Jenny pointing out people in the picture to Quinn, while Brad looked on. Everyone else was gone.

  “Danni has this mortified look on her face,” Jenny said. “It’s pretty funny.”

  “Anyone else have a picture like this?” Quinn asked.

  “My dad took it and had a bunch printed, so yeah. It also appeared in the newspaper,” Danni said.

  “Do you think it will help?” Jenny asked.

  “Yes, thank you, I think it will,” Quinn said. He looked at her.

  Danni straightened the scrapbook so that Quinn could see more easily and said, “Here are your victims, the three who were killed, Holton and Barrett, and there’s Arnie. And here are Jeff and Jenny and Brad. And there’s Steve. And Tyler.”

  “Who else do we know in this picture?” Quinn asked.

  “Well, let me see,” Danni murmured, studying the photo. “Millie Arliss is a viol
inist in New York City now. I know because she’s my friend on Facebook.”

  “And Gail Wicker,” Jenny said, pointing out another woman. “She’s teaching music at the University of Miami.”

  “George Hensen is currently touring with a production of The Lion King,” Brad offered, pointing at another student.

  “And Kyle Mason still plays somewhere in Austin, but he went on to law school and became a maritime attorney,” Danni offered, seeing another friend she chatted with now and then on social media. “David Dumfries went to California and Gig ‘Peewee’ Mason wound up being a host at a casino in Las Vegas.”

  “That’s it, that’s everyone,” Jenny said.

  “Except there are some kids with books in the background talking to each other,” Quinn pointed out. “And a dog-walker over there.”

  “But they weren’t part of the Survivor Set,” Jenny said. “We called ourselves the Survivor Set, but in a way, we were really the Outsider Set.”

  Quinn, Danni saw, was frowning. “Who is that by the tree?” he asked.

  She peered closely at the picture. There was someone just behind a big oak that was dripping with Spanish moss. He was barely visible, and his face was turned away. “I have no idea.”

  Brad and Jenny strained to see the picture more clearly, but they couldn’t identify the mysterious figure, either.

  “Do you remember anyone hanging around, watching you, that day?” Quinn asked.

  “No,” Brad said.

  “We were just kids,” Jenny reminded him. “Kind of clinging to one another. And I guess we weren’t all that observant.”

  “He’s young, whoever he is,” Quinn said.

  “How the hell can you tell that?” Danni asked him.

  “The stance. Looks like his body was long and lanky, like a typical teenage boy. The shoulders are a little hunched. Kids stand like that. Especially boys who grow tall fast and are often thin and awkward. I’d say he was your age or maybe a year or two older—closer to Arnie’s age,” he said.

  Danni studied the picture again then looked at Quinn and shook her head. “I still have absolutely no idea.”