“You’ll hit him somewhere in the head or chest. That’s what you need,” he said.
They’d been working closely together. She realized she’d been so intent on her lesson that she hadn’t thought about the way they’d been touching each other through most of the late afternoon and early evening. But as the lesson came to an end, she was aware of his hand on hers, showing her how to hold the gun, and she appreciated the length of his fingers, his clipped, clean nails and the strength in his grasp.
Just his size made her feel secure.
He quickly squashed any confidence that idea had brought her.
“Remember, the biggest, meanest bully goes down when he’s got a bullet in his head or his heart,” he told her. “I don’t care how tough. A knife in the gut will kill. But a bullet in the right place—that’s your best bet. Knives can be ripped out of someone’s hand. A gun can be shot from a distance. I should have started you on this from day one.”
“There really haven’t been that many days,” she said.
“Yeah.” He smiled. “Seems like I’ve known you forever, though.”
She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing...or not.
“We should do some research on the computer,” she said. “Let’s see what land is still privately owned—and where there might be some ruins. What do you think Father Ryan heard from a parishioner in confession that he was trying to tell us without telling us?”
Quinn was thoughtful as he led her out. “One of his parishioners must have confessed to joining some kind of group that holds secret ceremonies out in the bayou country.”
“That could be voodoo—”
“It’s not voodoo,” he broke in. “Father Ryan determined that much. He has many friends who are deeply religious and practice voodoo. He has friends who are rabbis, ministers...you name it. He has his own faith—and he respects the beliefs of others. He studied theology and he loves culture and religion. As long as a religious practice doesn’t hurt anyone.”
“Where was he throughout history?” Danni murmured.
“Sadly, not around. What I’m saying is, I know him so well. He’s trying to give us what he’s learned without breaking any of his vows. So, that means one of his parishioners has come to him in terror because of a ceremony he witnessed or took part in. I don’t even want to know the name of the poor dumb slob who got involved. He—or she—is going to need all Father Ryan’s prayers. I think if we find out where this group is meeting, we’ll find a way to get to Brandt Shumaker. I’m convinced he’s behind this. All the evidence points to it.”
“This is America, remember? Even if he’s a satanist spouting the most noxious views in the world, he won’t be doing anything illegal.”
“He will be if he’s inciting a crowd to riot or if he’s practicing any kind of sacrifice.”
“Voodoo practitioners sometimes kill a chicken.”
“If Brandt Shumaker is a satanist, he’s sacrificing a lot more than chickens,” Quinn said. “Besides, I intend to find this place where I suspect he’s holding his ceremonies before he conducts his Black Mass or whatever he’ll be doing in two nights. If we can pin down a general area—”
“In a huge bayou.”
“There’ll only be certain places with ruins—on land that isn’t owned by the government. If we can narrow it down that far...”
“It’ll still be a huge area of bayou.”
“Ah, but we have a secret weapon.”
“We do?”
“Wolf!”
* * *
They stopped at a po’boy shop for a quick supper and then headed back to Quinn’s place to get the dog, arriving at the shop just after nine. When they entered via the courtyard, Billie was at the counter.
“I thought you closed at seven,” Quinn said to Danni.
“We do, but if people are in here, we let them browse until they’re done. Sometimes, if you don’t close the door fast enough, more people wander in.” She smiled. “We are a working business, you know. Sales pay the bills.”
Quinn noticed a slight sound. He turned to see that Jane, frowning, was coming up from the lower level.
Jane gasped when she almost ran into Danni. “Child, you just scared me half to death! You and that...dog.”
“I’m sorry, Jane,” Danni apologized. Then she asked, “What were you doing down there?”
“I should have sent Billie,” Jane said. “That basement...it gives me the shivers. Of course, why wouldn’t it, when these rooms are filled with such creepy stuff.”
Danni laughed politely. “So why did you go down?”
“I thought I heard something moving—maybe someone who didn’t realize it’s off-limits to shoppers.”
“If you hear things, Jane, don’t go down there. It could have been a thief,” Danni said.
“She’s right,” Quinn told Jane firmly. “Let Billie check out any noises you hear.”
“What was it?” Danni asked her.
“Nothing. I didn’t see anything or anyone.” Jane’s eyes widened. “Rats! Could we have rats?” Her voice rose with alarm.
Rats had been an enormous problem in the city after the summer of storms. They were still prevalent in certain areas, although Danni hadn’t had any in the shop in a long time.
“I’ll take a look,” Quinn offered.
“I hate rats. I really hate rats!” Jane said shakily.
“I’ll bring Wolf down, too.” Quinn gestured to the dog, who edged closer. “He’ll find them if they’re there.”
Jane ran her hands down her skirt, as if afraid they might be dirty. “I hate to kill anything, but...they spread disease, they get into food. So, yes, please, if you can do something, go ahead. Let me help Billie get the last of these people out of here. Thank you!” she said earnestly to Quinn as she walked toward the counter.
“Do you think someone’s bringing the hunt for the bust here? To the shop?” Danni whispered.
“I don’t know. I mean, if you believe in the power of the bust, then you’d probably believe in the power of this shop. But like I said, I don’t know. Wolf and I will go and check it out now.”
Danni nodded. “I’m going to run up to my room and get started on the computer.”
Quinn hurried down to the lower level while Danni went through the shop to reach the stairs.
It was dark when he got to the basement; Jane had turned off the lights. He stood in the darkness for a moment, letting his eyes adjust, listening. He didn’t hear a thing.
He turned on the lights.
The basement hadn’t changed since he’d been in it months ago—with Angus. The book sat in its glass-enclosed case, the mannequin in the coffin slept in death and the giant gorilla stared at him balefully. Crates and boxes and ancient statuary remained where they’d been stored.
He moved through the area, checking behind boxes and along the walls. He didn’t see a single dug-out hole or anything that would indicate that a creature—human or non—had been there.
Had Jane really heard something down here? Or had she been searching for something?
Jane had been with Angus for almost two years before he died, Quinn reminded himself. Angus had evidently trusted the woman.
Wolf was at his side. “Find anything, boy?”
The dog looked at him and wagged his tail. Nothing.
“Let’s go on up.”
He glanced around the room one last time, then he hesitated by the light switch. “Angus,” he said softly. “We miss you. We really need you on this.”
If he expected a voice to whisper in his ear or a cold draft of air to pass him by, he was disappointed. But he sensed that the spirit of the man was still there—strong and good. He turned off the light and walked up the short flight of stairs to the main level.
He heard Jane telling Billie she was leaving and heard him wish her a nice evening. Quinn walked over to join Billie as he escorted Jane to the door. He assured her that he hadn’t come across any rats.
When she’d gone and the door was locked, Billie frowned. “Do you think—”
“I think Jane just imagined that she heard something. Nothing was disturbed. And I’m sure you don’t have rats.”
“Nevertheless, don’t you worry, Quinn. I’ll be sleeping with my gun at my side.”
Wolf barked.
And Quinn smiled. “He’s telling you that you don’t need to worry, Billie. He’ll alert us if anything is wrong.”
“All right, then,” Billie said with a nod. “I’m off to bed. And I’m glad the two—I mean, three—of you are in. These late hours are hard on an old heart that beats a little faster when the time goes by and Danni isn’t home.”
“It’s a research night, Billie. We’re here.”
Danni’s door was ajar when he got to the second level. He tapped it and she told him to come in.
He would never have imagined that she’d appear so seductive wearing flannel pajama pants and an old T-shirt. She was seated at her desk chair, one foot on it, arms resting on her knee, chin on her arms. She seemed to glow; a scent of soap hovered around her and her hair flowed down her back in smooth dark waves.
“I hopped into the shower,” she said. “I love cemeteries. I feel reverent toward them. But,” she added, a slight smile curving her lips, “even when I haven’t been crawling through sewage or bone dust, they make me feel as if I should shower quickly.”
“How are you doing?” he asked. “What are you doing?”
“Reading and going from site to site.”
“I’ll grab a quick shower, too. Be back in ten.”
Wolf didn’t follow him into Angus’s old room. He found a place between the two rooms in the hallway and curled up, one ear tilted slightly as if he were already listening and on guard.
Quinn showered but returned to jeans and a T-shirt. He left his holster and gun on the table by his bed; Wolf would warn them in plenty of time if he needed the weapon.
Danni was still in the chair, still reading. Only now both her feet were on the floor and she leaned over the desk, intent on the computer.
“You found something?” he asked her.
Without looking away from the screen, she nodded and lifted a finger. “A few on possible vaults in the cemetery. And one—” she swung around, an excited expression on her face “—one site where things might be going on! Listen to this! ‘Hunter Martin was rumored to be exceptionally cruel to his slaves. While nothing was ever proven, it was feared that a few of his “punishments” became beatings in which men and women died. Neighbors would ask after one slave or another and be told to mind their own business, that he could use his “property” as he chose. In the end, it was never known just what happened to him. Some suspected that in the confusion of the Civil War—perhaps in 1862 as the Union took hold of New Orleans—he was murdered by the slaves he’d treated so cruelly. He was not seen after the Union takeover. The slaves he’d owned either wandered off, found the Underground Railroad or joined with Union forces. By the end of the war, his plantation home, known as Martin’s Hold, was in a sad state of disrepair. His sugar mill, long abandoned, was overgrown and deserted. The location of the property contributed to its continued downfall. Bayou flooding was frequent and it was neither taken over by the local population following the war nor coveted by the carpetbaggers who made their way south. Flooding due to its proximity to the bayou and marsh made any attempt to redeem the house or mill an unprofitable venture. Today, it remains unattended in the wilds of swamp, bayou and marsh. The land was sold at auction in 1898 and changed hands several times over the years. It is still private property and the grounds are considered dangerous as well as illegal to visit. However, the Bayou Sauvage National Wildlife Refuge offers opportunities to see some of the beautiful foliage, trees, birds and other wildlife that thrive in this kind of landscape.’”
“Martin’s Hold,” Quinn said slowly, lying back on her bed and lacing his fingers behind his neck.
“You’ve heard of it?”
“I think so and you may have heard of it, too. It became part of an urban legend. We’d tell campfire stories about it—although that wasn’t the name we used. He was supposed to be an evil old tyrant, and there are lots of tall tales about the way he was killed. In the stories I heard as a kid, he was just known as Hunter, and we made up any number of ghost stories about him. Legends grow, and some people thought the plantation was closer to Houma than it was to New Orleans. I’m sure there are other stories about other people who were cruel or behaved badly and that these various stories merged into one. Some people say his slaves hung him, and others say they drowned him in the black cane molasses at the sugar mill. Some have it that they beheaded him and that he runs around the bayou at night, just a body, screaming for his head. I have no idea how he screams, now that I’m old enough to realize you can’t scream if you don’t have a head. But urban legends are usually based on something, so I’m assuming the stories I heard were based on Hunter Martin.”
He dug his phone from his pocket and glanced at the time. It was after ten, but he went directly to his speed dial. At least he wouldn’t be asking Larue to come and get him out of another fray that involved gunfire and bodies.
“What are you doing?” Danni asked.
“Calling Larue. I want him to find the info on who owns the plantation.”
“This says it’s owned by the Detona Group.”
“That could mean anything. But thanks. I’ll get him searching.”
Larue answered almost immediately. His voice was level—but wary.
“All is fine,” Quinn assured him. “With the two of us, anyway. No guns, no bodies.”
“That’s a relief,” Larue said.
Quinn explained that he needed to know about a piece of property. He gave Larue the particulars and then received his lecture on private property and constitutional rights. That was followed by a warning about trespassing.
“We can’t just burst into that place. And neither can you. Legally, I’m saying. The key words here are private property,” Larue said.
“If you have to arrest us, we’ll make bail.” Quinn could almost see him rolling his eyes.
“If you call for help, of course, we’ll have to come in.”
Quinn smiled at that. “See what you can find out through all your legal sources, okay?”
Larue told him he’d call back in the morning.
He hung up. Danni was watching him.
“He’ll call us tomorrow,” he said.
“Larue is a good guy, huh? You two seem to get along.”
“We do. I worked with him. We were partners once. After I left the force, he got a raise and now handles major crime throughout the city.”
“You’re lucky he doesn’t think you’re some kind of weirdo.”
“Oh, he probably does. But we’re friends—and I’m a weirdo who gets results, so...yeah, I guess I’m lucky. What else have you got?” he asked, rising up on an elbow to watch her.
“Comfy?” she asked him.
“Yes, thanks. What else did you find?”
“Well, the way I see it, we have three possibles. In one cemetery, you have a large mausoleum that was built for the Sisters of Mary’s Virtue. The sisters were cloistered nuns who lived in a now-demolished convent before the Civil War. They spent their days in silence, tending to people stricken with contagious diseases. Then, next door, so to speak, you have a mausoleum built for the priests of the Little French Chapel. It’s also gone, but their mausoleum still exists. And there’s one more place someone might notice and expect to be sacred. It was built by the Society of Angels. They were a mixed group—do
ctors, priests, nurses—who set to work following the war to support and heal wounded soldiers from both sides of the Mason-Dixon Line. They raised money to help amputees and others who were disabled, and they, too, cared for patients most people didn’t want to touch, such as malaria victims.”
“We’ll bring Wolf and Billie and check out all three,” Quinn promised.
She got up from her chair, stretched and yawned.
He started to rise but she came over and sat on the foot of the bed, studying him.
“You didn’t...become an angel, did you?” she asked him. There was a teasing note in her voice. Was she serious?
“What? No! Far from an angel, I’m afraid.”
“Hmm.”
“Why?”
“Just curious.”
“In what way?”
“Well...” To his surprise, she stretched out beside him. He was instantly aware of her, although she wasn’t touching him at all. Her expression was somewhat perplexed, as if he were a great mystery. And she hadn’t made any effort to seduce him—although, in her flannel pants and a T-shirt, she had far more appeal than a half-naked beauty queen. She had those enormous dark-framed blue eyes, and that flow of mahogany-red hair. And he loved the way the soft cotton of her T-shirt clung to her breasts....
He felt his breath catch. He forced himself not to move, raising an eyebrow instead.
She grinned suddenly. “Did you take a vow of chastity?”
He smiled in return; he couldn’t help it. “No.”
“That’s it? No?”
Good God, was she seducing him? “Um, no...I didn’t take a vow of chastity.”
“Oh. Oh, well, okay.” With a shrug, she began to get up.
He reached out, drawing her back to him. “Oh, well, no—not okay. What was that all about?”
His hand lay on her arm. They were actually curled toward each other now. Close. He felt feverish, his skin heated.
She glanced at his arm, and then her eyes, so very blue, met his. He thought he could as easily be lost within them as in any sea or sky. There was a dazzling sparkle of amusement, too. She wasn’t looking at him as though he shouldn’t be touching her.