Waking the Dead

  Larue was surprised, too. He glanced up at Quinn, who merely shrugged.

  “Did the eyes hurt you? How did you wind up on the floor?” Danni asked Officer Franklin. “You were unconscious. Were you hurt?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You saw the eyes. Then what?”

  His gaze went blank, as if he was trying to see into the past. But he shook his head. “I don’t know,” he repeated. “I just don’t know.”

  “At the very least,” Quinn said, speaking to Larue, “he had a nasty fall. Want to let the EMTs take him?”

  Larue sighed in frustration. “Yeah, might as well. Okay, Officer Franklin, they’re going to bring you to the hospital now.” He spoke to one of the EMTs. “See that they keep him there for observation overnight, will you?”

  “I’ll give Emergency your message, Detective,” the young woman promised.

  Another policeman reported to Larue. “Back door was jimmied open, sir. Front door was broken, but from what I understand, that was Officer Franklin’s doing.”

  Larue nodded. “Keep searching. Doc—Ron—can you go through the house with my officers? Try not to handle any objects or touch walls or other surfaces, but see if anything’s missing.”

  “Of course,” Hubert said. He moved off, accompanied by several police officers.

  When everyone else had left, Larue addressed Danni and Quinn. “Let’s get to the point. Why attack the doc? Yeah, his name is Hubert, but he doesn’t own the painting and never did. Whoever wanted the painting has the painting, or so we assume.”

  “I don’t have an answer,” Quinn said.

  “I might,” Danni murmured.

  They both looked at her. “The intruder might have been after his family records.” She didn’t say that those same records were now sitting on her kitchen table.

  “Why?” Larue asked bluntly.

  “There could be something in them that explains what’s going on.”

  Larue’s voice was gravelly when he said, “What’s going on is that people are being killed. You need to tell me everything you know about this...magician.”

  “If we told you what we suspect, you wouldn’t believe it, anyway,” Quinn told him.

  “Hmph,” Larue said. “Then, answer me this. Why didn’t the killer finish off Officer Franklin and kill Ron Hubert?”

  “Maybe Hubert’s not supposed to be a victim,” Quinn suggested. “After all, he is a descendant.”

  “And maybe we got here before the killing began,” Danni added.

  “Or,” Larue said, “perhaps because of who he is, Hubert might still be on the hit list.”

  That was possible, too, Danni thought. Just as it remained possible that the killer or killers would come after Hattie Lamont again, since she was the legal owner of the painting.

  Maybe the damned thing was lethal—but vulnerable, as well.

  “It’s your turn,” Danni said. “You have to convince Ron Hubert that he can’t stay here—or anywhere—alone.”

  “My place or yours?” he asked dryly.

  Danni shook her head. “I’m starting to think we need—”

  “To gather everyone in one place,” Quinn finished. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Do you suppose that’ll work with Hattie Lamont?” Quinn grimaced as he spoke. “And maybe not so well with Ron Hubert, either. But it may be a case of listening to us and staying alive or—”

  “You don’t think an officer posted here will be enough?” Larue interrupted.

  “After this?” Quinn asked.

  “The first officer was outside. If we put a man in the house, he can prevent a back door break-in,” Jake said.

  Quinn shrugged. “Better yet if I can convince Hubert to come with us.”

  * * *

  Apparently, Ron Hubert did want to stay alive. When they asked him to temporarily move in with them, he agreed. “I’m not married, no kids to worry about. So...whatever you feel is best.”

  Within half an hour, they were in Quinn’s car, on their way to Danni’s house. By then it was after two. Quinn figured that until a final decision was made regarding their next step, it would be best for all of them to stay together. But if Hattie and Billie were managing, with Wolf on guard, he’d leave them until morning.

  Danni called Billie. Hattie was sleeping; Billie was fine. He’d dozed off a bit, well aware that Wolf would bark at the slightest change in the house.

  Danni told Quinn, “Billie said Father Ryan visited him, too. He’s supplied with ‘ammo.’ Father Ryan left him half a dozen twenty-two-ounce soda bottles filled with holy water. Billie is happy.”

  “You really think all of this is necessary?” Ron asked incredulously. “A priest running around doling out holy water?”

  “You’re in the backseat of my car, aren’t you?” Quinn asked him.

  “Yeah, I guess I am,” Hubert muttered.

  They’d just reached the shop on Royal Street. Once again, every light in the place was on.

  “My God, now what?” Danni groaned. She leaped from the car, racing out of the garage and through the courtyard. Quinn came up behind her as she was fumbling with her keys.

  “Bo Ray’s fine,” he assured her. “He’s a smart young man.”

  “But we left him here alone!”

  Quinn got the door open and she dashed in. He followed her quickly, aware that Ron Hubert was behind him—so close they both almost tripped.

  There was nothing out of order in the house, no sign of damage. It was easy to tell, and easy to get around, since every light was on. Danni bolted up the stairs. “Hey, be careful!” Quinn called.

  She didn’t answer.

  He caught up with her, and they searched together. But a thorough scrutiny of the second floor yielded nothing, and neither did a search of the attic. Where was Bo Ray?

  They tried Danni’s studio next, and then the shop. Hubert shivered as they headed down to the basement. But when they unlocked the door and went in, they saw nothing there, either.

  Danni’s giclée copy of the Hubert painting, still wrapped, leaned against the wall.

  Her cell rang and she pulled it out.

  Despite the hour, music blasted so loudly through the phone that Quinn could hear it.

  “Bo Ray!” she gasped.

  But whatever Bo Ray said, Quinn couldn’t make out.

  Then he heard Danni say, “We’re back. You can come home. You didn’t...you didn’t...”

  Danni gave a sigh of relief and closed her phone. “He said he woke up feeling as though someone was calling him. He got scared, discovered that we weren’t here and went to Bourbon Street.” Bo Ray was an addict; he’d been in recovery a long time, but Quinn could see that Danni was praying the situation hadn’t been a trigger, hadn’t driven him to hit the streets in search of drugs or go sit in a bar to drown his sorrows.

  “He sound okay?” Quinn asked, purposely keeping his voice casual.

  She smiled. “He sounded angry. We left without telling him.”

  A few minutes later, Bo Ray was back. Bourbon was just a street up and he’d gone to the Cat’s Meow, which was another block down once you got to Bourbon.

  They introduced Ron Hubert to Bo Ray and vice versa, then went to sit in the kitchen. While Quinn carried Ron’s box of family documents to the studio, Danni prepared tea. She’d learned about the calming properties of tea from Billie and from her father; it was obvious that none of them would be going to sleep right away, and a cup of tea might relax them.

  “Why didn’t you call me?” Danni demanded, turning to Bo Ray.

  “I was scared. I was worried that you were on a real mission,” Bo Ray explained. He glanced at her hopefully. “Nobody...died tonight, did they?”

  “No. Now, tell me exactly what happened here!”

  “You said that if I got scared, I should leave. So I did,” Bo Ray said simply.

  “But why did you get scared?” Quinn asked him as he entered the kitchen.

 
“I don’t know,” Bo Ray said slowly. “I was sound asleep and I suddenly woke up and it felt like...something was in my head. I got up and went down to the second floor—I thought you guys were sleeping there,” he told them reproachfully.

  “I’m sorry, Bo Ray,” Danni said. “We didn’t want to wake you, and...well, it sounded like the danger was at Doc Hubert’s place.”

  Bo Ray studied Hubert. “You really a descendant of that artist?”

  “Yeah, I really am,” Hubert said.

  Bo Ray continued to watch him closely. “And you’re a medical examiner? Huh. Weird.”

  “Young man,” Hubert said, drawing himself up. “Medical examiner is an honorable profession and I’m darned good at what I do.”

  Danni set a hand on Hubert’s arm. “Of course you are.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t mean anything by that!” Bo Ray mumbled. “I, uh, it’s just that I’m sure it’s really hard and you must be, uh, incredibly brilliant.”

  “Flattery, son, will not get you anywhere—especially since you seem to think there’s something creepy about me,” Hubert said, grinning slightly.

  Bo Ray grinned back. “Nah, honestly—I think you’re kind of cool. Really. But that painting’s definitely creepy and so is the way it came back into the limelight.”

  “No denying that,” Ron said.

  “Get back to what scared you, Bo Ray,” Quinn insisted.

  “There’s not much to tell. I felt like someone was in my head, calling me. That was it. It was sort of like...Come to me, come to me... Like out of a vampire movie! Anyway, I was scared, turned on all the lights everywhere and started running like a maniac—right out the courtyard door. Not to worry. I made sure I locked it before I left.”

  Danni frowned. “A voice in your head,” she murmured.

  “I’m okay now,” Bo Ray said. “I just scared myself. I’m kind of new to this stuff and I’m not...” He hesitated, lowered his head and then grimaced as he looked up again. “I’m not like Quinn,” he said quietly. “Ready to face anything—like a superhero.”

  “You’re doing fine, Bo Ray,” Quinn said in a reassuring voice. “Hey, there are people in this city who still remember that I was a successful college football player—and then a no-good entitled jerk. So, we all move along our own paths. I had to die to straighten out—to find my way. And it didn’t make me a superhero, just a man who’s prepared to fight some of the bad things that happen in this world. Some of them not so easily explained... Perhaps like death itself.”

  “How does one define death?” Ron Hubert asked philosophically. “In your case, you did flatline. I remember that clearly because your case was in medical journals. The hospital did a fantastic job with CPR. You were damn lucky.”

  “I know,” Quinn said quietly. “All right. I suggest we get some sleep. Now. Tomorrow, we have decisions to make. Danni, where are we putting Ron for the night?”

  “The guest room,” she replied. “Come with me, Ron. I’ll take you up there.”

  Bo Ray got to his feet. “Hey, I did a Led Zeppelin tune tonight and I was good!”

  “When this is all over,” Danni said, “we’ll go back to the Cat’s Meow and you can do it again for all of us!”

  Bo Ray went ahead of Danni and Ron. Quinn walked around the premises, pausing to see if he saw, heard or felt anything. He didn’t. He turned off most of the lights, reset the alarm and went on up the stairs; they were well into the wee hours of the morning.

  It was almost 4:00 a.m.

  He slipped into Danni’s room to join her at last. She was stretched out in her clothes, sound asleep.

  He didn’t disturb her. When he lay down beside her, she eased against him, and he placed an arm around her, pulling her close.

  To his amazement, he didn’t lie awake trying to puzzle out the situation—or the right way to put the pieces together.

  He slept.

  * * *

  Danni was at the kitchen table, carefully going through Ron Hubert’s family records, when Quinn came down. She had piles of paper in neat stacks. Some of the pages were yellowed and curling with age. Others were newer, some obviously recent copies, while the rest were the real thing.

  He poured himself a coffee. “Where’s our guest?” he asked.

  “Bo Ray drove him to work.” Danni’s forehead wrinkled in a frown. “That’s okay, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, he should be fine at work. At least, I hope so. I still don’t know why there was a break-in at his house.”

  “I think someone wants these. I really do,” Danni said.

  “You could be right. It’s just that...well, I thought the bad stuff only happened where the painting was. That the painting had to be activated or ‘awakened’ as you said. But it wasn’t, and never has been, at Hubert’s place.”

  Danni looked pensive. “Yes, but if someone was after these papers... They do reveal a lot about the artist. So, say the painting was awakened. Maybe our living intruder and/or murderer, whoever he is, was able to ‘wake’ the painting and bring whatever evil is in it with him on...on a house call,” she said. “Or maybe, although this seems unlikely, he brought the painting itself. To get these papers back.”

  “Could be,” Quinn agreed. “The question is how someone knew about the papers. But I suppose if he did his research, it wouldn’t be that hard to figure out. All of which means it’s a good thing we have the papers—and that we need to keep them with us wherever we go.”

  “You really want to go to Switzerland?” she asked. “You believe that destroying Hubert’s body, burning it, will be the end we need?”

  “I honestly don’t know,” he answered. “But we haven’t got a clue as to where the painting is. We’ll probably follow a trail of blood. We’ll learn more when the next person’s killed. I’m sure it’s going to happen, but we don’t know when—or where—that’ll take place. But as I told Ron, we do know where to find Henry Hubert’s body.”

  They heard footsteps in the courtyard, and Quinn walked to the door. Billie, Bo Ray and Hattie Lamont were standing there. Bo Ray was carrying Hattie’s bag again, while Billie clutched Wolf’s leash, with the dog wagging his tail excitedly.

  Quinn realized Danni was behind him. He turned to face her, a question in his eyes.

  “Oh, I asked Bo Ray to pick them up. You said earlier that we all need to be together under one roof,” she reminded him.

  “So I did,” he agreed. “And here we are.”

  When he opened the door, Hattie sailed in. “This moving about is quite tiresome, Quinn. Billie and I were actually settling in nicely. Your home is lovely. You’re a lucky young man to have your parents give you such a house.”

  “I bought the house,” Quinn said, trying not to bristle at her tone. “I’ll admit my folks sold it to me at a good price. But I bought it.” He bent down to rub Wolf’s ears, greeting the dog, then ordering him to sit.

  “That is commendable,” Hattie said. “Your industriousness, I mean.” She glanced at the closed door to Danni’s studio and shivered. “If you consider it important, I shall make do here.”

  “Kind of you,” Danni said wryly, crouching to hug Wolf and whisper endearments to him.

  “Oh, my dear, you keep a charming place, it’s just that...well, it does also function as a shop,” Hattie said.

  “Gotta live somehow,” Danni murmured.

  “I’ll bring Hattie’s things upstairs. Where am I putting her?”

  “Let Hattie have my father’s room,” Danni said. Quinn looked at her curiously. To the best of his knowledge, Danni hadn’t let anyone in her father’s room. He sensed that it was something of a shrine, although she’d never said as much.

  He supposed this was progress. They’d all loved Angus, but Angus was gone.

  “I’m opening the shop,” Bo Ray announced.

  “Is there coffee?” Hattie asked.

  “Yes, of course. Quinn and I were just in the kitchen—”

  “I should love some coffee,” Hattie s
aid imperiously. “And then you can tell me about your plans. This must be stopped. Billie told me there was an incident at a medical examiner’s house, and I understand this medical examiner is a direct descendant of Henry Hubert. Do you think he’s causing all of this somehow? Pretending to be under attack when he’s the culprit himself?”

  “No, I don’t.” Quinn shook his head. “I’ve known Ron Hubert a very long time. He’s a good man.”

  Maybe it was natural that someone might suspect Ron; still, Hattie’s voice—and her attitude—grated on him.

  “Let’s go back and have some coffee, shall we?” Danni suggested.

  She led the way. Quinn made an exaggerated bow, sweeping his arm to indicate that Hattie should go ahead of him. As Danni made coffee for her, Quinn pulled out a chair.

  He’d been raised to be polite; he would have pulled out the chair for anyone. Somehow, though, with this woman, he felt that she expected it, that she had delusions of her own importance.

  He took his own chair and gulped down his coffee as if he were a drunk in need of a shot. Danni tried to hide a smile and poured him another cup before resuming her seat.

  “We don’t know if it’ll work or not, Hattie,” Danni began. “But...it just might. We’re planning to take a trip to Switzerland.”

  “Lake Geneva?”

  “Yes. And to tell you the truth, we’re afraid to leave you here, in the city, alone,” Danni said.

  “Shall I accompany you? That’s probably best. There’s English spoken almost everywhere, but you may, at times, need someone with a thorough understanding of the French language,” Hattie said.

  “I’m not exactly fluent,” Danni explained, “but I did grow up in the French Quarter with a number of Cajun friends—”

  “Oh, my dear! Cajun French is...Cajun French,” Hattie said, patting her hand sympathetically.

  Danni bit her lip and sent Quinn a sly glance. He almost laughed out loud.

  “Well, it doesn’t really matter,” Danni said cheerfully. “I’m sure your linguistic abilities will come in handy.”

  “We’ll be traveling with a rather large party,” Quinn pointed out.

  “Oh?” Hattie said.

  “Natasha will be with us—oh, she’s a voodoo priestess.” Quinn couldn’t help smiling. “Also Father Ryan. He’s a Catholic priest. And Billie, who’s been working this type of situation longer than either Danni or me. And, of course, after last night, I’m not leaving Bo Ray alone.” He paused. “I’m also going to do my best to talk Ron Hubert into joining us.”