Bonfire Masquerade (13 page)

The next folder was receipts—food mostly, and toiletries. The next was just a list of music. But on the fourth, I got lucky.

The file was brimming with real estate notices, mostly for buildings up for sale, or recently purchased, all around New Orleans. Looked like Nicole was hoping to expand her empire, or at least keeping track of the possibilities. It was the first clipping that really got my attention.

“Hey, Frank, look who it is.”

I held up the cutting from the
Times-Picayune
, which showed Aaron Pexa shaking hands with some city council member, standing in front of the burned-out shell of a building. The article hailed Aaron as a “native son of the Crescent City,” who was doing his “civic duty” by promising to restore the charred remains to their former glory.

“Am I being overly suspicious, or do you want to bet that building is one of the ones the gang burned down?” I asked Frank.

“No need to bet,” he replied. “I've got the list right here.”

He took out his phone and pulled up a notepad application.

“There it is,” he said. “Fourth on the list. The former home of Gisela's Hair Salon. What else is in the file?”

I began to read the addresses off the purchasing notices for different buildings. By the time we got to the fifth, Frank stopped checking. No doubt about it—they were all the buildings that had been destroyed.

“So Nicole's been keeping records on your fires,” I began.

“And she had a reason to off Daniel,” Frank finished my thought.

“But none of these list her as the buyer.” I riffled through the file. “In fact, her name isn't mentioned anywhere on them.”

“Do you think it's just a coincidence? That seems pretty far-fetched.”

“No, but what if she's some sort of amateur detective? I mean, as someone who owned a lot of property in the city, she did have a reason to want these guys stopped.”

“So you think those two guys were trying to … what? Kill her before she found out about them?”

“Maybe. Or maybe she controls the gang? I just don't know, Frank. Either way, she's not here.”

We'd gone from not enough evidence to far too much. Neither was helping us make heads or tails of this case.

I used my phone to take photos of all the relevant
real estate clippings, while Frank called ATAC. He'd have them watch for her name—both her names—on any bus, plane, or train headed out of the state.

We continued searching her office, but found nothing. Slowly it grew darker inside. The mountain of papers in Nicole's office seemed undiminished. We kept our ears open, but if anyone returned to the house, they did it in total silence. Finally it was too dark to see in the office.

“The last thing I want to do is go to this party,” said Frank, staring up from the pile of files he had assembled around him.

“I'm with you,” I agreed. “But we told Joe, George, and Bess we'd meet them there. Maybe one of them found something useful.”

We spent a few minutes putting things back as best we could, although since we couldn't understand Nicole's filing system, we probably made a mess of it. Then we headed out to Aaron's house.

The house couldn't have been more out of place. On a block full of Victorian mansions and old-school New Orleans houses, Aaron's house was a gorgeous glass box. The walls covered his property entirely, all the way up to the sidewalk. But he still had a lawn—it was just under glass. It looked like a giant aquarium, designed for people.

The party was set to start at eight p.m., and though
we showed up at eight thirty, we were still clearly early. The house was quiet when the butler opened the glass door.

“Ah, Ms. Drew and Mr. Hardy,” the butler said in a cold voice. “Mr. Pexa warned us you would be early. You are to join your friends in his office.” He sniffed loudly and stared sideways at our outfits. It was clear we were not dressed to his standards. I wanted to explain that we weren't early—we were, in fact, late—but it didn't seem worth it.

Frank rolled his eyes at the butler's back, and I had to stifle a laugh as we followed him up to Aaron's office.

“Nancy,” said Aaron, as he sprang to his feet. He kissed me on the cheek. He seemed incredibly excited, probably because his party was about to start.

“And Joe,” he said, grabbing Frank's hand and shaking it vigorously.

“Frank,” Frank corrected. Aaron smiled as though he hadn't quite heard him properly.

“Whatever,” Aaron said, his smile never leaving his face. “Come in, have a seat!”

“Hey y'all,” said Bess, with a fake Southern drawl. “Take a load off.”

“You sound more cowboy than Southern belle,” said George, laughing. Everyone seemed to be having a great time.

“How was the party setup?”

“Great!” said Bess. “There was nothing for us to do. Aaron told us all about the parties he's thrown in the past.”

“It sounds like tonight is going to be amazing,” added George. “If his previous parties are anything to go by.”

“You girls flatter me,” said Aaron. He paused for a second. “No, I deserve it.”

We all laughed.

“Now, the party will be starting momentarily, so here.” He handed large packages to each of us. “Frank, we should leave the girls to get dressed in private. You can use the bathroom in the master bedroom. I'll show you where it is.” He and Frank left the office.

The packages were heavy, and covered in silver paper. Bess tore into hers in record time.

“I've been so curious!” she said.

She pulled out a long, simple black robe. It was floor length, long-sleeved, and hooded. It had a mask that went with it, made of silver, with black material that went over your head at the back. George and I opened our packages to reveal identical outfits. Once they were on, no one would be able to tell us apart!

“Well, this is interesting,” said Bess, though she sounded doubtful. “But I was expecting a little more. I wonder if everyone will have the same robe.”

“The masks are strangely heavy,” said George. “And look, they have little plugs at the back!”

“There is a matching socket on the robes,” I said. “It looks like there's more to this outfit than meets the eye!”

Bess pulled hers on. She had a little trouble fitting the plugs into the socket, but once she did, we all gasped. The material of the robe had slowly begun to light up, a spreading pattern of silver that moved as she moved.

Bess saw her reflection in the window and clapped her hands. “Fantastic!” she yelled.

I turned and began to pull mine on when something caught my eye. Aaron's office, like the rest of his house, was a lot of glass. The pieces of glass that faced the inside of the house were one way, so we could see out, but no one could see in. Above his desk was a giant map of New Orleans, blocking out all the different properties he was working on.

Something about the map nagged at me as I got dressed. It looked familiar somehow. As I plugged the mask into the robe, it clicked.

The addresses were the same as the ones in Nicole's file! Each of the properties Aaron was working on had been burned to the ground by the mysterious gang. It all came together for me then. The arson wasn't to cover the robberies—the robberies were an excuse for the arson! That was why none of the stuff ended up on the black market. No one really cared about the thefts.

What connected all the crimes wasn't the places
they were before the fires, but what was going to be built there afterward. And Aaron had been smart—I imagined that most of those buildings were owned by friends of his, like Andrew, or people he did business with. That way his name wouldn't connect them all, unless you knew to look deeper. Aaron was at the heart of all of it. By burning down the properties he wanted to develop, he could buy them for a song!

“Bess! George!” I yelled. My brain was flying. Had Nicole figured this out? Where was she? Had Aaron killed her? Were we next? I had to tell them what I had figured out, but first we had to find Frank and get out of here.

But before I could say anything, two more masked figures entered the room. I reached up to pull my mask off, when Frank's voice came from the masked figure on the left.

“Don't!” he yelled. I paused.

“Frank! We have to get out of here. Aaron is the one—”

The other masked figure began laughing. It was Aaron, of course.

“I knew it was only a matter of time before you figured me out. I would have run yesterday, when you accused that fool, Andrew. But I had some business interests to take care of. I'd hate to escape the country only to find myself broke, you know. And besides,
the masses of New Orleans were waiting for my party. I hate to disappoint my public. And believe me, this party is going to be a blast.”

Bess and George were frozen. I realized they had no idea what was happening.

“His properties!” I said. “He's developing all the burned-down buildings into new places.”

“That's not very important now, Nancy,” Aaron said, his voice sickly sweet. “You want me to go over my crimes, one by one, so you can mark them all down? That's not going to happen. What's going to happen is this: I hear my guests arriving so I'm going to go downstairs, have a great party with my friends, and then get on a plane. And you're not going to do anything about it.”

“Fat chance,” said Bess.

“If you think that's happening, you really don't know Nancy,” said George. “Or Frank.”

Aaron laughed again.

“Those lovely light-up robes you're wearing? They're my special design. The power centers at the back of the neck? They're rigged to explode if you take them off. Or wander outside my house. Right now, there's an entire ballroom filled with living, dancing bombs. Tell them the truth, and they'll panic. Half of them will be pulling their masks off while the other half runs out the door. And when they all explode, it'll be your fault.”

I had no idea if Aaron was telling the truth. But the
only way to find out was potentially fatal. He continued talking as he paced around the room.

“Anything that scares my guests—like the police showing up—might terrify someone into removing their mask, and you wouldn't want that, would you? Now, I'm being a terrible host. So I'm going to go downstairs and dance. Have a wonderful evening. I'll send you a postcard from somewhere tropical when I get there.”

And with that, Aaron slipped out the door.

CHAPTER
16

JOE
TO THE RES-KREWE!

“So you don't recognize him?” I asked, for what felt like the thirtieth time.

The guy in front of me shook his head. His gigantic, floppy mustache waggled around his face like a pair of fins. It was hard to take him seriously.

“Sorry, man,” he said. “I ain't seen him.”

Lenni and I had been showing pictures of Andrew all around the Bywater, hoping to find someone who knew him and might be able to identify his accomplices. So far, we'd turned up nothing.

This guy was the last one hanging out in the Krewe de Crude warehouse. I hadn't had much hope, but I figured we had to talk to everyone, just in case. What if the one person I didn't ask was the one who knew something?

“Any luck?” asked Lenni, as she zoomed past on a borrowed unicycle.

“No,” I replied. “Where did you learn to do that?” She was awesome on anything with wheels!

“Just picked it up. That girl over on the couch showed me how. She didn't know Andrew either. I think we've struck out. I told you, these kids wouldn't deal with a guy like Andrew.”

My phone rang while Lenni was chatting. It was Frank—right on time for me to tell him that we had found out exactly zero. I hoped he had better news.

“Joe! We're in trouble,” Frank said as soon as I answered the phone. As he explained the situation, my jaw dropped. Man, he wasn't kidding!

“Joe?” asked Lenni, watching my facial expression. “Earth to Joe? Yo, Joe! You're scaring me, man. What's going on? Joe!?”

Frank hung up, and I turned to Lenni.

“They're in trouble. Aaron has taken his whole party hostage. They can't call the police—they need backup.” I explained the situation to her.

“Backup?” said Lenni. “Like, say, a crew of bike punks who can show up and just look like part of the party?”

She gestured around us.

Brilliant!
I thought.

I hopped up on a nearby table.

“Hey! HEY! Everyone!”

A few people looked up, but most of them continued with what they were doing. There went my brilliant backup posse plan.

Then Sybil stood up.

“HEY! Listen up,” she said. She didn't scream, she was just loud enough for everyone in the warehouse to hear her. But still, everyone snapped to attention.

“Thanks,” I said. Sybil nodded and gestured for me to continue. It felt a little bit like I was in a scene from
The Godfather
! But everyone was quiet, so I took a breath and went for it.

“So, you know those guys I've been asking about? The ones who've been burning down the city?”

“Yeah!” came a yell from the audience. “They suck!”

“Well, they've got my friends—and a whole lot of other people—held hostage in a building in the French Quarter. Most of the people don't even know what's going on, they just think it's a normal party. But if the police show up, they're going to kill everyone.”

The crowd grew quiet. It was a tense, scary quiet.

“They need backup. They need people who can help them out, without tipping off their captors. They need a gang that can look like a normal Mardi Gras krewe. They need you!”

It seemed like no one was breathing. Then Sybil stood up.

“You heard him! Our city needs us. They've tried to burn us out! Are we going to sit by and let these guys get away with it?”