Deadly Night (9 page)

“Yeah?”

“I’m going through the information I got. You?”

“I got what I could from Jonas. I’m about to start going through the files now. Where’s Zach?”

“At the house, with the contractor. He’s been playing on the computer, says he has some facts and figures that might prove interesting. He said we should meet at the house tomorrow. He’s convinced the place can be ready by the end of the month, so we can host that benefit for displaced kids.” Jeremy’s tone showed how grateful he was that at least one of his brothers was embracing his cause.

Strange, Aidan thought. We all look so damned normal and even strong. But every one of us gets obsessed, as if somehow we can erase the horrors of our past.

“Good. We can talk more tomorrow.”

Jeremy agreed. Aidan rang off and started on the files.

Jonas had been as good as his word. He hadn’t held anything back. He had in fact given Aidan far more than he’d needed to. Most of the files were worthless; they were just reports that had gone out, and the person might have been anywhere. Many looked as if no foul play was involved; they concerned people who had wanted to break with the past and start over somewhere else. Some were of people who had apparently disappeared, only to reappear.

But there were a few that seemed relevant, and one of those caught his attention right away.

Jenny Trent.

She’d left Lafayette for New Orleans three months ago, planning to spend one night before heading for the airport early in the morning. Her disappearance hadn’t been reported for over a month, because she was a teacher on summer vacation and had only one living relative, her cousin’s widow, Betty Trent. Betty, raising three children on her own, hadn’t reported that Jenny was missing until the school had called her, as next of kin, to find out why Jenny hadn’t returned to work.

Jenny was described as standing five feet three inches tall and weighing one hundred and ten pounds. At twenty-eight, she’d worked hard and, after six years of teaching, saved up for her dream trip to South America, where she had planned to remain for twenty-eight days. An investigation of her home computer had shown that she’d printed her boarding pass; checking with the airlines had shown that she’d never boarded the plane that was to take her to Caracas via Miami.

No one knew where she had stayed—or planned to—in New Orleans. Her credit card receipts hadn’t led the police anywhere.

If she was dead, it had only been three months. Not time enough for her body to have decayed down to nothing but bone. Unless the process had been given some help. If she’d been cut into pieces, then left out in the intense, baking heat of New Orleans or hidden in a shallow grave, it might just be possible. He wasn’t a forensic expert, but he’d been around enough crime scenes, and five-three would fit the length of the first bone he’d found.

He was grasping at straws, he knew, but he just had a feeling, and over the years, he’d learned to trust his gut. As he read the file, he felt a surge of indignation. Here was a young woman who had done all the right things: she’d studied, landed a good job. She’d worked; she’d saved. She’d planned a long-dreamed-of holiday—and she had disappeared. And with only an in-law—a woman trying to raise a family alone—to pursue what had happened, the trail had grown cold and the case had been shelved.

There were a few other files that appeared interesting, but Jenny Trent’s seemed to be the most on the money.

He picked up the phone and called Jeremy.

“I thought we were meeting in a few hours,” his brother said.

“We are. Do you have anything on a Jenny Trent?”

“Yeah, I have that file right on top, as a matter of fact.”

“What I have says there are no credit card receipts for a hotel, motel or bed-and-breakfast. I don’t have any of the other charge records. Do you have anything?” Aidan told him.

“I have a list of merchants. Most of them we’d have to track down, but…get this. She has a charge from a place we know and love,” Jeremy said.

“Yeah?”

“The Lair of the Undead.”

The name didn’t mean anything to Aidan. “And that is…?”

“The corporate name for the Hideaway—the bar where I played last night.”

“Ah,” Aidan murmured. He wondered why the owners didn’t just call the place The Lair of the Undead. It seemed a lot catchier. “What do you have for next of kin?” Aidan asked.

“Mrs. Betty Trent, cousin-in-law, Lafayette.”

“Same as I have. I think I’ll go talk to Mrs. Trent.”

“It’s a two-hour drive, Aidan.”

“I know. I need you to do something for me.”

“What?”

“Drop by Tea and Tarot, on Royal.”

“To see the very impressive Miss Montgomery?”

“Impressive?” Aidan asked. Yes, she was impressive, he admitted. But why was Jeremy saying so?

“Oh, that’s right. You missed her performance last night,” Jeremy said. “She’s quite a singer. I wonder why she’s running a psychic place,” Jeremy mused. “So…why am I going to see her?”

Aidan looked at his watch. He needed five hours.

“Tell her I’ll pick her up at her place at seven-thirty.”

“Okay.” Jeremy didn’t ask why, but the question was in his voice.

“I think she can tell me more about the Flynn plantation.”

“Sure,” Jeremy said.

“And…I’d like to find out more about her relationship with Vinnie.”

“Vinnie from the Stakes?” Jeremy asked.

“Yeah. Your buddy. How well do you know the guy?”

“Not well at all, really, other than musically.”

“Doesn’t he seem a little weird to you?”

“The costume?” Jeremy asked, amused. “Hell, brother, it’s Bourbon Street.”

“Hang around for a while. See if you can find out more about Vinnie and Mason Adler.”

“Because they know her and hang out at the bar? Aidan, you’ll have to get to know half the people in the city if that strikes you as suspicious—the place is a local hangout.”

“Might as well start with two out of the tons, huh?”

“Sure. No problem.” Whatever Jeremy was thinking, he didn’t say more. They rang off, and Aidan called down for his car.

Kendall felt like absolute hell. It wasn’t a hangover; it was the lack of sleep, or rather, the unmercifully restless sleep she had endured after discovering the diary in her bed.

She couldn’t escape the feeling that it wanted to be read.

Ridiculous. People wanted other people to read books; books themselves didn’t ask to be read. But no one had been in her apartment in the last few days, except for Aidan Flynn, and he had never been alone in her room.

Besides, as much as she resented the man, she couldn’t see him sneaking into her bedroom to slip a book beneath her covers. People sometimes did things subconsciously, so she must have taken the book out of the backpack herself, and for some bizarre reason, put it in her bed, then forgotten what she’d done. Easy enough, a sensible answer. She must have been thinking about something else and remembering that she hadn’t finished the diary, absentmindedly picked it up and tossed it on the bed. She should have been more careful with it. The diary was remarkably well-preserved, but it was still over a hundred and fifty years old and probably very valuable.

And it definitely needed to go back to the heirs.

But not until she finished reading it.

She thanked God that morning that she never opened until ten, that Mason was capable of taking care of things until she showed up, and that things would probably be slow, since it was a Wednesday. Weekenders might take off a Friday, or even a Thursday, to create a mini vacation. Or, they might stay over Monday, or even Tuesday, in the same vein. But Wednesday was usually the deadest day of the week. Once she pulled herself together and went in, she might even be able to make herself a cup of tea, munch on a pastry and chill out in the back, reading, all day. Not especially good for the bottom line, but today, it would work.

She wrapped the diary in a protective book cover stitched by a local artist, slipped it into her large carryall and headed out.

When she reached the shop, Mason was there and hard at work, dealing with boxes strewn all over the place.

“Halloween,” he said happily, as she entered. Then he paused, looking at her. “Coffee is brewed. And you look like shit.”

“Thanks so much.”

“It’s true.”

“I couldn’t sleep last night.”

“Hangover?” he teased.

“If I had a hangover, it would be all your fault. But, honestly, I just didn’t sleep.”

“Coffee will help,” he said. “We have to deal with all this. We’re running late getting the decorations up.”

So much for her dream of spending the day in reading and recovery.

They
were
running late. Even with Vinnie’s help, Mason couldn’t do everything, and she had been gone so much when Amelia was ill. Even though her friend had died several months ago now, Kendall still felt as if she were playing catch-up.

“Coffee,” Mason said, handing her a cup.

Tea might be their specialty, but she carried flavored coffees, as well, and Mason had brewed a pot just the way she needed it: strong.

She sipped it as she watched him unwrap a lifelike skeleton wearing a pirate hat and carrying a realistic, albeit plastic, sword. “By the door,” she told him.

“Absolutely,” he agreed.

She finished her coffee and, with the renewed energy it brought, her desire to go through the boxes of decorations awoke. She sat on the floor and dove in, and between them they soon had the place looking ready for Halloween, boxing a few of the more ordinary items that had been on the shelves to make room for the holiday pieces.

In an hour, Vinnie made an appearance. He had a grin on his face as he looked at Kendall, as if he had arranged for her to win the lottery.

“Well?” he demanded.

“Well, you took me by surprise, all right,” she told him.

“Kendall, you were fabulous. Everyone was clamoring to hear you up there again.”

“Vinnie, I could kill you. We wrote that a decade ago, at least. And don’t you think you might have asked me if I wanted to join you?”

“If I’d asked, you’d have said no. You’ve got to start working with the band. And what about that dream you had in college of founding a community theater?” he demanded.

“I opened a shop, and I love my shop,” she said.

“So keep the shop. It’s a good backup plan. Come on, you have to start working with me again. You used to have dreams, remember?”

“And now I have bills. Vinnie, help Mason get that pumpkin hung up, huh?”

“You look beat,” Mason commented, when Vinnie went over to help him.

Vinnie flushed. Kendall found herself studying her friend. He was still as slim now as he’d been in college, but the darkness of his hair and eyes gave him a compelling appeal; he would fit right into any vampire movie. He did look tired, though.

But he smiled. “I had a hot date.”

“Oh?” Mason asked.

Vinnie grinned again. “A cute little coed out of Boston. Hot, hot, hot.”

“You seeing her again?” Mason asked.

Vinnie laughed. “No, she’s heading home today. But I didn’t mind being her New Orleans adventure. I mean she could—”

“Vinnie, we do not want details,” Kendall protested.

“I do,” Mason said.

Kendall groaned.

“Maybe you
need
the details,” Mason teased her. “I’m worried you’ve forgotten how it’s done.”

Before Vinnie could answer, the little bell above the door jingled and Jeremy Flynn entered. “Hey,” Kendall said, surprised to see him. She hadn’t thought of him as a tea drinker.

“Place looks great,” he said. “All ready for Halloween.”

“We’re getting there,” she told him.

“You want to play with us again tonight?” Vinnie asked him.

“Probably not tonight,” Jeremy said. “I’ve got some work to take care of.”

“Are you interested in a tarot reading?” Mason asked.

“Not today,” Jeremy said. “I just came by to tell Kendall that Aidan is going to pick her up at her apartment tonight at seven-thirty.”

Kendall felt her face redden deeply. Both Vinnie and Mason stared at her.

“Oh,” Mason said.

“Oh, indeed,” Vinnie echoed.

“Thanks, Jeremy,” she said. She was tempted to ask him to tell his brother that she couldn’t go. After all, she had agreed merely to get him to go away. “He wants to talk about the house,” she said, looking at Mason and Vinnie, then realized she had snapped out the words.

The bell rang again, and a pair of pretty young women entered. One was wearing a Saints T-shirt; the other was in a halter top. “Oh, my God, this is the neatest place!” exclaimed the girl in the halter top.

“Thanks, may I help you?” Kendall asked, glad of the interruption.

The two girls started to giggle. “Sorry,” said the shorter girl, “we’re just a little nervous. We came for readings. Is it possible?”

Kendall didn’t know why she hesitated before answering. Yes, she did. Jeremy Flynn was there. She was afraid he would tell his brother and Aidan Flynn would think she was even more of a nutcase.

“Absolutely.” Mason stepped forward and said, “Vinnie, you gonna hang around a bit?”

“Sure,” Vinnie said, “I can watch the place. Hey, Jeremy, you want some coffee? I see it’s already made.”

“I’d love some,” Jeremy said.

“Perfect,” Mason said, then turned to the girls. “Kendall and I will be glad to read for you.”

Before Kendall had a chance to object, he had everything arranged.

Kendall told herself to calm down. So what if Jeremy Flynn went back and told Aidan what she’d been doing? This was her business. It was how she lived. She entered the little room where she did her readings, introduced herself and discovered that the girl she was reading for was named Ann, asked her if she was enjoying New Orleans, then handed her the tarot deck, instructing her to cut it.

Kendall turned over the first card. Death, personified by a skeleton, appeared, and suddenly the room seemed to fill with fog.

And the skeleton on the card seemed to come to life.

A
dog barked from somewhere as Aidan pulled up at the suburban home of Betty Trent. The houses weren’t large or expensive, but the lawns were manicured and the fences were painted. It seemed like a place where people didn’t have much but worked hard with what they did have.

As he exited the car, he saw a gate to a backyard, where a woman of about thirty-five was hanging laundry. Near her, a child of four or five was playing on a tricycle.

He didn’t want to startle the woman, so he called out as he approached, asking if she was Betty Trent. She frowned as she looked up, then studied him with curiosity. She looked wary but not frightened.

“Yes, I’m Betty Trent. Can I help you?”

She had probably been a beauty at a younger age, and she remained an attractive woman, but he saw her hands as she finished hanging a shirt, and they were worn. Deep creases lined her forehead.

He extended his hand. “Hi. My name is Aidan Flynn. I’m a private investigator, and I recently came across your cousin-in-law’s file.”

A look of hope appeared on her face and was quickly gone as she met his eyes. He realized that she had hoped at first that he had come with good news and knew now that he hadn’t.

“Beginnin’ of October, and the days are still mighty hot. Would you like some iced tea, Mr. Flynn?” she asked.

“That would be nice,” he said.

She called to the child, whose name was Billy, and explained that her twins were still at school, but that kindergarten ended earlier. She led him into a comfortable ranch-style home with threadbare furniture covered by handsome needlepoint throws.

They sat in the living room. “Well, at least there’s interest in the case again,” she said. She lifted her hands as if she understood an explanation that had never been given. “They’ve been busy, the police have. I know that. But it just seems to me that they investigated so far, came to a dead end…and didn’t try any detours.”

“So according to the records, Jenny’s car was found in a public lot. And she checked in for her flight on the computer before she left home, and had something to eat and drink at a place called the Hideaway. Can you add anything to that?”

“That’s what I’ve heard. I told them everything I knew, which wasn’t much. It’s as if Jenny just…vanished. She told me she was going to spend a night in New Orleans before she left, and that’s really all I know.”

Betty stood and walked across to an occasional table by the door. She picked up a picture and brought it back to Aidan. It was probably a few years old, but the woman in it had pretty brown eyes and soft brown hair, both glowing. Her smile was hopeful. Her energy and happiness had somehow come out in the picture. Aidan felt a twist in his gut and was glad.

Glad that he was feeling pain? Yeah, it was a good thing. It was better than being numb. And the girl in the picture deserved more than just his obsessive drive; she deserved someone on the case who cared.

“That’s Jenny. My husband, Phil, didn’t have any family left to speak about, just Jenny. She was eight years younger than he was, but they were pretty close. And I have to say, I grew to love her. She was wonderful with my kids. She had no-account parents who drank themselves to death. Well, Jenny’s dad died in the oil fields, but that was because he went to work drunk. She worked so hard and came out on top of it all. She paid her own way through college, and the kids where she taught loved her. She tutored on the side, and in the summers she worked banquets for one of the local catering companies to earn the money for that trip.” She paused, looked at him suddenly, and frowned again. “Did someone hire you, Mr. Flynn? You did say you’re a
private
investigator, right?”

Even if he’d had some kind of smoke-and-mirrors explanation planned to account for his interest, he wouldn’t have used any subterfuge. This woman deserved better.

“No. As it happens, I have just come into some property in the area, and I heard about Jenny in the course of something I was looking into and thought maybe I could do something.”

He was startled when a tear suddenly slid down Betty’s cheek.

“I don’t have any money,” she told him.

She looked as if she were going to collapse. Billy had been playing with a Lego set, but now he looked up, distressed.

“Mama?”

“Mama’s fine, Billy,” Betty said quickly, wiping her face.

“I don’t want any money, Mrs. Trent,” Aidan assured her firmly. “But if you don’t mind, I
am
going to say that you’re my client.”

She looked at him, shaking her head. “I…don’t mean to be looking for charity. Phil died so sudden, of a heart attack…and he was young, and we didn’t have life insurance. I don’t mean to be complaining—there were so many who lost everything, and I have my boys. But I haven’t ever taken any kind of charity, and—”

“Mrs. Trent,” he interrupted, “
you’d
be doing
me
the favor.” He set the picture aside and took her hands. “Frankly,” he said solemnly, “right now the police just think that I’m being a pain in the a—” He remembered Billy and amended what he’d been about to say. “In the butt. With a contract, I’ll have a legitimate reason to be a huge pain in the behind and follow any lead I want to. We can draw up a contract in which you pay me a dollar. How’s that?”

“But…why? Why would you do this for me? For Jenny?” she asked.

Why?

“I need to know,” he told her honestly. “I’m…” He hesitated, but he couldn’t think of a better word. “I’m
haunted
by all this. Now, please, sit down and tell me about Jenny. What she liked, what she didn’t like. Did she have a boyfriend? Was she friendly, trusting…?” He hesitated for a moment. “Betty, did you ever get any of her things? They said her car was found, but what about her luggage?”

Betty shook her head slowly. “No. And to be honest, I never thought about it. I hadn’t expected her to contact me. I prayed for a long time that maybe she had just decided for some reason to go off with someone, go somewhere else. But I knew it wasn’t true.”

“How?”

“Because I knew Jenny. Oh, the FBI got in on it and everything, thinking maybe she’d crossed state lines or something. But I know it’s not true, because if she could have, Jenny
would
have called me. She loved me. And she loved the boys.” She took a deep breath. “I know that Jenny is dead. I know it. But I still sure would love to know the truth. Have an ending to it, and see whoever killed her locked up or executed. You didn’t know her. They say good Christians shouldn’t support the death penalty. But I knew Jenny. I’d happily pull that lever myself if I knew who had hurt her. She deserved to live. Don’t you see? She was everything good about the world. I’ll do anything I can to help you find the truth.”

“Pay me a dollar, Mrs. Trent. That will do it.”

He looked at the picture of the lovely young woman with all the promise in her eyes.

And for some reason, just like Betty Trent, he
knew
that she was dead.

And he was almost certain he had touched a part of her earthly remains.

It was as if the card were staring up at Kendall. As if it were mocking her. She could have sworn she heard diabolical laughter, as if Death were being given a gift and she was privy to the knowledge of it, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. She was cold, icy cold, as if the skeleton’s fingers were clutching her very bones.

“What? Oh my God, what is it?” Ann cried, alarmed.

Kendall blinked hard and fought the vision. She tore her eyes from the card and focused on the young woman in front of her. “Nothing.” Her voice had a tremor. She forced herself to stare at the girl and not down at the card. “It’s nothing. I’m so sorry if I frightened you.”

“But that’s…Death.”

“No.”

“Yes, look at it!” the girl said.

“No, no, honestly,” Kendall insisted. “People see this card and they automatically think the worst, but I swear, that’s not the case at all. What this signifies is change, the end of something and the beginning of something else,” she went on, forcing her tone to be smooth, even and relaxed.

Even though inside she felt as if she were going crazy.

“An end and a beginning?” the girl asked blankly.

“Have you broken off a relationship lately?” Kendall asked Ann.

Ann’s jaw fell. “Oh my God! How did you know?”

Relief swept through Kendall. She was going to be all right.
Ann
was going to be all right. The whole ridiculous thing was going to return to normal.

She started turning over the other cards. “Here, see. Are you planning a trip, maybe?”

“Yes,” Ann said in amazement. “I’m heading out on a cruise ship from here.”

“That’s wonderful,” Kendall said, adding silently,
You need to get out of here.

Oh, God, what had made me think that?

Ann frowned then, totally unaware of Kendall’s thoughts. “I’m not going to fall for the same lines and go back with Rodney, am I?”

“Not if you’re strong,” Kendall answered. That was an easy one.

“Rodney and I…he was a jerk. Such a jerk. He cheated on me, and I knew it. He even hit me once, and then he apologized all over the place, so I took him back, like an idiot. I am
not
going to do it again.”

“What the cards really do is tell us what we need to look for in ourselves,” Kendall said. “And the important thing—always—is to know that what happens in our lives depends on us.”

“Right.”

Kendall tried to move on to the other cards without looking at the skeleton again.

But it was still there, mocking her, grinning.

She tried to tell herself that she just needed more sleep. That Ann was not going to die, that she was going on a nice safe cruise. But her thoughts wouldn’t stop racing.

What about yesterday, and Miss Ady and the cancer?

Things like this didn’t happen to her, she told herself firmly.

But the evidence said they did.

Her hand suddenly jerked across the table.

Ann started again, and Kendall forced herself to laugh. “I’m sorry. Late night last night, I’m afraid.”

“Wait, I recognize you,” Ann said.

“You do?”

“I saw you sing last night—you and that guy out there, Vinnie. Hey, you two were great.”

“Thanks.”

Ann kept talking. Vinnie was really wonderful. Vinnie was so cute.

Kendall just nodded absently. Vinnie did have that effect on women. Meanwhile, she couldn’t seem to concentrate. All she could think about was the strange things that seemed to be happening.

Weird sensations. Cards…coming to life. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before, although once or twice she had felt unnerved, uneasy, and the cards had looked…off.

As if she needed an eye doctor.

More sleep.
That
was what she needed.

She heard her own voice. Somehow, despite the absurd panic that kept seizing her, she was speaking, even making sense. She was rising and wishing Ann a great trip and a good life, reminding her that her fate was in her own hands.

Ann left, and Kendall could hear her talking excitedly to her friend and the two men up front in the shop.

“What’s with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Mason asked from the doorway of the room where he’d been doing his reading.

“I’m tired. I told you that,” Kendall said.

Mason looked past her into her room. “Hey, your cards are all over the floor,” he told her, and swept in to pick them up. “Grab that one right under your feet.”

She looked down. The skeleton was looking up at her. Doing nothing, nothing at all.

It was just a tarot card.

And yet, as she reached for it, she felt again as if ice-cold fingers of bone were somehow closing around her heart.

Somehow Aidan managed to get back to the city by six.

He’d made a couple of calls from the road, so after he returned his car to the hotel valet, he walked down the street to meet Jeremy at a quiet place near the old convent school. He filled his brother in on the information he had learned about Jenny Trent, and Jeremy showed him what he’d gotten on her credit card files.

All her charges in the city were from a single day. She had gotten gas at a station just off I-10; she had charged a café au lait and a beignet that morning at Café du Monde. She had purchased a T-shirt on Decatur Street, lunched at Bambu in Harrah’s.

He knew already that she’d been to the Hideaway on Bourbon Street that night, and a charge to a business listed as Dreams, LLD, was the only other item.

Aidan looked up at Jeremy. “That address…”

“Yeah, it’s Kendall’s shop.”

“Did you ask her about Jenny, by any chance?”

Jeremy shook his head. “The only picture I have is really grainy. Besides, I knew you were seeing her tonight.”

“I have a better picture. Betty Trent provided it.” Aidan frowned. “Kendall didn’t object when you told her what time I’d be picking her up, did she?” He should have asked if she had protested his coming by for her, period.

“No. She didn’t say anything. They had customers. Looked like a couple of Valley girls,” Jeremy told him.

Aidan looked at his watch. Six-thirty. He had to be at Kendall’s apartment at seven-thirty, but they could walk the few blocks to Bourbon and he could still get back to pick up his car again with time to spare.

“Let’s go,” he said. “I feel like stopping by the Hideaway.”

“Hoping to catch the Stakes again?” Jeremy asked.

Aidan only nodded.

It was exceptionally early by Bourbon Street standards, but the Stakes managed to bring in the locals looking for a quick drink on their way home from work. Jeremy paused to say hello to a few of the cops in the place, probably those who had helped him. Aidan noted that there were a few single people sitting at tables in the shadowy far corners of the place. He chose a spot close to the band. When the waitress came with the beer he’d ordered, he drew out the picture of Jenny Trent.

“Thanks,” he said, as she set down his beer. “Mind if I bother you for a minute?” He smiled and dropped a bill far larger than his tab on the tray.