The Dead Play On (4 page)

Tears squeezed between her lashes. She shook her head.

“An ex-boyfriend?” Larue asked.

She opened her eyes and glared at him.

“Lacey,” Quinn said, “we have to ask.”

“No,” she said. “My ex married the girl he was cheating on me with—three years ago. We’re actually all on fairly friendly terms. And he’s in Detroit now, anyway, playing some backup gig there.”

“Thank you, Lacey. I hope you understand, we have to ask. What about the drugs?” Quinn said.

Once again tears streamed from her eyes, silent tears that just ran down her cheeks.

“We argued about the drugs,” she said softly. “I said the pot was fine, but the coke...we didn’t need the coke. He didn’t deal, if that’s what you’re getting at. He just shared with friends. He always shared everything with friends. He helped down-and-out musicians. You don’t understand,
everyone liked him
!”

“What about his ex-girlfriends? Any crazy ones?” Larue asked.

“Crazy ex-girlfriends?” Lacey repeated. “Pretty much all of them,” she said. “But mostly crazy in a good way. And none living in New Orleans. Suzanne Delmer is working on a cruise ship, and she’s crazy like a happy puppy. Before her it was Janis Bruge, and she’s out in LA now. This can’t have been anyone we know—it
can’t
have been. There’s just no reason.”

“Okay, so let me ask you something else. When you reached the house, did you see anyone around? Anyone at all?” Larue asked.

She shook her head, biting her lower lip. “There were some kids playing with a football in the street. A UPS truck down a block or so. It was just kind of a lazy afternoon. Typical,” she said.

More tears fell.

“Lacey, can you give us a list of people he’d played with recently and the places he’d been playing?” Quinn asked her.

“Of course,” she said. “You want his hangouts, too?”

“Yes, any place he might have come into contact with the person who hurt him,” Quinn said.

She frowned and gave him a hazy look. He realized she’d been doing pretty well for someone who had just undergone surgery and was on heavy-duty meds.

“You know what I think?” she asked.

“What?”

“I think there’s a crazy person in New Orleans.”

There were lots of crazy people in New Orleans, Quinn thought.

“No one who knew Larry could have done this,” she whispered. “There’s a madman out there, a vicious madman breaking into houses and torturing and killing people.”

“Lacey, the killer didn’t break in. Larry opened the door to him,” Larue told her.

She began to sob in earnest. “’Cause he was so nice! He would have opened the door to anyone who needed help. I don’t...I just don’t believe he knew his murderer. You have to catch him. He’s a madman, and he’ll kill more people if you don’t catch him right away!”

* * *

“Danni?”

Danni was definitely relieved to hear Quinn’s voice.

“In the shop!” she called.

“Whatever that is in the kitchen, it smells great. Can’t wait to eat.”

Quinn strode into the shop like a force of nature, though without any intent of seeming so. It was just that he was well over six feet, broad-shouldered and striking, and when he moved, Danni thought, smiling, he drew all eyes to him without even trying. Whenever she saw him—and that was often, since they basically lived together now—she felt a little flutter in her heart, especially if they’d been apart for more than a few hours. No matter how often they touched, he still electrified her. They slept together most nights, and when he was near her, he aroused her; no matter how often they made love, he still thrilled her.

Of course, she reminded herself, she was in love with him.

Even when she wanted to kill him.

He was bright, determined, compassionate and strong.

Also pigheaded and very annoying when she thought she was right and he disagreed. He’d worked with her father, something she hadn’t known until after Angus Cafferty’s death. That had been hard to take at first, but then, she’d never known that her father had been something of a secret sleuth, handling the same kinds of items she and Quinn handled now.

The Cheshire Cat
had merely been the tip of the iceberg. Her father had dedicated his life to taking in or destroying items—old and new—with a reputation for being haunted, even evil.

“Oh, excuse me, sorry,” Quinn said when he noticed Tyler Anderson. He smiled slowly, and Danni realized that she was actually a little irked. Quinn’s memory was better than hers. He not only knew he had met Tyler before, he also remembered where and when.

Wolf naturally went trotting over to Quinn for a pat on the head. Quinn obliged absently, his attention on their visitor.

“Tyler Anderson. I know your music, man,” Quinn said, walking forward. He shook Tyler’s hand. “I watched you play years ago when you were at Paisley Park on Frenchman Street. I heard you were still playing around the city. I’ve been meaning to look you up. Great to see you.”

“Thanks,” Tyler said.

“So where are you playing? We’ll come see you,” Quinn said.

Tyler looked at Danni.

“Quinn, Tyler’s here to ask us for help,” she said.

Quinn looked at her, brows hiked high over his hazel eyes. “I...see,” he said slowly. “So, Tyler, you hungry? We’re having something wonderful. I have no idea what it is, but the whole place smells divine.”

“I’ll go see how Billie’s doing,” Danni said. “He should be done with dinner by now.”

The house that contained her shop was one of the oldest in the French Quarter, having survived two major fires that had ravaged New Orleans in the early years. The ground-floor entry led straight into the store, and a hallway led back to the kitchen, dining area and Danni’s studio/office. There were bedrooms upstairs, and a large apartment in the attic, where Billie and Bo Ray Tompkins, who also helped out in the shop, each had their rooms.

She would have called Bo Ray down to help, but he’d had his wisdom teeth extracted earlier that day. He was sleeping, and she didn’t intend to wake him up.

The basement held Angus’s old office, along with a number of items that never would be on sale.

“Tyler,” she said, “come on with me and I’ll introduce you to Billie. Quinn, can you watch the shop for me for a sec?”

He nodded, and she smiled her thanks.

“Billie?” she called, heading through the shop and back to the kitchen.

Wolf trotted after her.

“Just finishing up,” Billie said as they entered. “Hello,” he added, noticing Tyler’s presence. He stood, dusting his hands with his napkin and then offering one to Tyler. “Nice to meet you. I’m Billie. Billie MacDougall.”

Tyler introduced himself in turn.

“Well, then. Table is set, though you’ll need to grab another plate. The lasagna is wonderful. Italian food is delicious, though I assure you, you’ll find many an excellent restaurant in Scotland,” Billie said, looking at Danni.

She laughed and turned to Tyler. “I offended him somehow by liking Italian food,” she explained.

Billie sniffed. “I’ll be watching the shop,” he said, excusing himself. “Wolf, come along with me. There’ll be a treat for you when we close up, I promise, a few bits left over from a good Scottish leg o’ lamb,” he said, looking sternly at Danni before he left the kitchen.

A moment later Quinn walked in and looked at her curiously. “What’s up with Billie? He looked upset, like you offended him or something.”

“Didn’t mean to,” she said, reaching for another plate. “Tyler, please, have a seat.”

Quinn dug into the refrigerator. “Tyler, what will you have to drink?”

“Water would be fine.”

Quinn got another glass and poured them all ice water. Billie had already cut the lasagna into neat serving-size squares, which she dished out before sitting.

“So,” Quinn said, meeting Tyler’s eyes. “Tell us what’s up.” Then he took a bite and started chewing enthusiastically.

Danni lowered her head for a moment. Quinn had probably skipped lunch; he seemed to be starving. Tyler hadn’t even glanced at his plate, and she wasn’t sure whether to be worried about him and his fears or not.

Tyler pushed the food around on his plate. “I think my friend was murdered.”

“Ah,” Quinn said, without seeming surprised. “And your friend’s name was...?”

“Arnie—Arnold Watson,” Danni put in.

Quinn sat back and took a drink of water. Danni saw his brow furrow as he considered her words.

“I read the obituary,” he said quietly. “I thought it was a damned shame. He sounded like a wonderful person. A soldier who gave what he could to his country. It’s hard, though, coming back, sometimes. I’ve known guys who believed they were fine then woke up in the middle of the night shaking and screaming, sweat pouring off them. Even with everything we know about post-traumatic disorders, sometimes...the depth of a guy’s depression is invisible because
he
thinks he’s all right.”

Tyler Anderson put down his fork. “He didn’t kill himself. And he wasn’t an addict.”

“Of course he wasn’t,” Danni said gently, resting a hand on Tyler’s where it lay on the table.

“No, you don’t understand. I’m an addict—in recovery, but an addict all my life. I would have known if Arnie was into drugs, too, and he wasn’t, not in any way.”

Danni nodded. “But...I’ve seen things happen to men who come home from war. And maybe that was the problem. He wasn’t an addict, but maybe he
was
in pain. His death was accidental because he only tried it once or twice, and—”

“He
tried
it once,” Tyler said. “Only once. If you don’t believe me, ask the police. There were no other track marks on him, just the needle mark from the one injection. But it sure in hell wasn’t something he did, and it wasn’t an accidental overdose. Someone did it
to
him. Someone
killed
him!”

“I don’t disbelieve you,” Quinn said. “But...how do you know? How can you be so sure? Things can happen overnight, things we don’t expect. I’ve seen cops who can’t take a case for whatever reason, and suddenly, they’re ingesting every substance out there.”

He’d asked the questions, Danni thought, but he already believed Tyler.

“The sax told me,” Tyler said.

For a moment, just for a moment, Danni thought she had misheard him. That he had said, “The
sex
told me,” as if he had been referring to a girl he’d slept with or who had slept with Arnie.

But then she remembered what he’d said when he came into the shop and realized he was talking about the saxophone.

The musical instrument that now lay in its case by his side on the floor.

“The
sax
told you?” Quinn repeated.

Tyler nodded gravely. “I was playing...just the other night. It was his sax, you see. It’s really old, some kind of an antique his grandmother bought for him. A silver-plated Pennsylvania Special. I don’t know what it’s worth or the rest of its history. I just know it’s a damned good instrument and Arnie loved it. Said it was special. But the point is, I was playing
his
sax. And suddenly I was playing
his
song, and I could see his life—his life before he came home. I saw the war. I could feel the damned sand, it was so real. And then I heard his killer.”

“His dealer?” Quinn asked.

He was really pushing Tyler, Danni thought. Testing him.

Tyler thumped a hand on the table. “His
killer
,” he repeated. “I heard him talking to Arnie just before he shot him up so full of poison that he died within minutes. I heard him, I’m telling you. I heard him say, ‘
You’re dead, buddy. You’re dead.’”

Danni and Quinn turned to look at each other, silent for a moment.

“Are you saying the sax...talked?” Quinn asked.

Tyler closed his eyes, looking as if he was in pain. “No. I was playing the sax,” he said quietly. “But while I was playing I saw what Arnie saw, felt what he felt, heard what he heard.”

“You didn’t happen to see the killer, did you?” Danni asked.

He stared at her. “Are you mocking me?”

“I swear, I’m not,” she said softly. “But if you really believe that he was murdered, why didn’t you go to the police?”

“The police?” Tyler asked drily. “Yeah, right. I wish you could see the way
you’re
looking at me, and you’re open-minded enough to believe me. The police... I can just imagine the snickers. I’m not sure they’d even
try
to keep straight faces. You both said you read the newspaper articles about his death, so you know what they’re saying. The same crap you hear everywhere. ‘He just hadn’t adjusted. He was like so many soldiers. Strong, stoic, not about to admit to having nightmares he couldn’t handle, nightmares so bad that he’d turn to drugs to wipe them out.’ Especially not a marine like Arnie. Admit it. That’s all stuff you believed about Arnie when you read he was dead. And like everyone else, I bet you thought, ‘What a waste, what a tragedy. A man comes back from the war and takes his own life. Makes you stop and think.’ But no one stops to think, ‘Hey, whoa, maybe he
didn’t
kill himself.’”

Tyler was certainly passionate in defense of his position, Danni thought. Of course, he’d been Arnie’s friend. His best friend, she imagined.

“Tyler, how long have you had the sax?” Quinn asked him. “You said it’s special, but would anyone else know that?”

“Probably,” Tyler said and then shrugged. “I don’t know. He told everyone in the band back in high school it was special, that his grandma told him so. I’ve had it since about a week after he died. His mom said she had to give it to someone who would love it the way Arnie had loved it, would take care of it the way he did. She used to love to listen to him, and then she’d laugh. She told us both that Arnie got to be as good as he was because of the sax. His grandmother told him it was special, kind of...magical. But according to his mom, the magic was because he believed it. Plus he loved playing, and he practiced all the damned time. And practicing made him the musician that he was.”

Quinn nodded. “I read in the paper that the family intended to sell his sax, along with his other instruments, and donate the money to a foundation helping veterans.”