"What?" He looked at her, green eyes like gems, giving away nothing.
She sighed. "You and Massey."
"Just a rehash," he said briefly. "Strange, though, huh? Everybody out tonight."
"Well, we're out," she reminded him.
"And Mitch. And Julian. And that woman who runs the café."
"And Detective Massey," she said impatiently. "What are you getting at?"
"Nothing," he said. His eyes were on the street. More people were beginning to stir, but it was still dark and fairly quiet. "It's just a strange night. So many of the living about, and other than that… "
She frowned, looking at him. A little shiver stirred in her. "Do you see ghosts all the time?" The question seemed absurd. But it was real. And unnerving.
"No. Not all the time." He hesitated. She knew that he didn't like to sound absurd himself. "New Orleans… it's one of those places," he said simply. Then he said flatly. "The dead are quiet tonight. The living seem to be in an uproar."
"Hardly an uproar," she murmured.
"We need to take a left. To get to my bed-and-breakfast. And my clothes," he said.
She knew the house off Conte where he had chosen to stay. It dated back to the mid-Victorian period. He fitted his key quietly in the front door, and they made their way even more quietly to his bedroom. He packed a small leather duffel bag, while she sat on the bed, waiting. Then they slipped back out, Brent testing the door to make sure it was locked when they left.
The very first streaks of dawn were beginning to appear in the sky as they headed for her apartment.
"Curious," Brent said, almost to himself.
"What?"
"Your friends all being up and about."
A knot of tension formed in her midriff. "Why is that curious?"
He looked straight ahead. Instead of answering her, he said, "There was no sign of forced entry at Andrea Ciello's apartment," he said.
"Oh, I get it. So she was murdered by someone she knew."
He didn't reply.
"Don't go getting suspicious of any of my group," she warned him.
"Don't go getting angry," he said. "Whenever you're looking for anything, you get rid of the impossible. Then you look at what you're left with. No matter how improbable, your answers have to be there."
She pulled away from him, staring at him. "Ghosts are supposedly impossible," she said angrily, then walked on quickly.
She suddenly had a feeling, like a premonition.
Her world was about to split wide open.
Treacherous times loomed ahead. Fear, anger… mistrust.
She suddenly, desperately, wanted the future never to come.
When they entered her apartment, she turned to him, pulling the duffel from his shoulder, casting it to the floor. "We can fight later." She realized that her voice grew thin as she spoke. "But this morning… let's pretend that we don't see ghosts. Let's not think or talk about anything that's terrible or frightening or… deadly. Please."
She touched his cheek with the palm of her hand, gentle, entreating.
He caught her fingers, keeping them there, against his face.
A split second later, she was in his arms.
Clothing was strewn even as they moved up the stairs. She felt his touch on the naked flesh of her back, and then they were in her room, in her bed.
The sun rose over New Orleans, and the new day began in earnest.
In the draped shadows of her bedroom, Nikki chose not to notice.
Chapter 13
Nikki and Brent made it to Madame's at about nine-thirty. Mitch was already at their regular table, Patricia and Nathan arrived a few minutes later, and then Julian.
"So you had a wild night, huh?" Mitch teased Julian.
"What?" Julian said, startled as he took a seat.
"We heard you had a tête-à-tête last night at Maxie's," Mitch informed him.
Julian stared at Mitch, then the others. "Wow. I didn't think the city was that small," he said.
"Brent and I went out to Maxie's, too," Nikki said.
"And Mitch… ?" Julian asked, puzzled.
"Showed up separately," Brent offered.
"Give," Patricia teased. "Who were you with?"
Julian grinned. He didn't seem disturbed that everyone knew he'd had a date. Brent wondered if Nikki really had heard someone at her door, trying to connect that to the others, given that everyone he had recently met in New Orleans seemed to be running around at all hours of the night.
"Was it that girl you met in Lafayette Number 1 yesterday?" Nikki asked, smiling.
"Yes, and I guess I owe you my thanks," Julian said. "Wouldn't have met her without you, Nikki." He looked pleadingly at her. "Nikki, can you and Brent take the Lafayette tour first this afternoon? Patricia and Nathan can do the St. Louis, and I'll pick up on the Vieux Carré tour tonight with Mitch—if that works for everyone. Please?" he entreated.
"Another hot date—in the afternoon?" Mitch queried.
Nikki was smiling at Julian. She seemed to be having a good time, Brent thought.
It was almost as if, since they had returned to her place last night, she had allowed herself to forget, for a few hours, what had happened.
Madame made an appearance just then with her coffee urn. "Any refills here, mes petites?" she queried.
"I'd love more coffee, Madame," Nikki said.
"Thanks," Brent agreed. "So you were out late last night, huh, Madame?"
She arched a brow at him. "Goodness, how do you know that?"
"Our friendly local police detective was out dining on po'boys, too," Nikki replied.
Madame laughed. "Well, he sure keeps his eye on us. Then again, it's hard not to notice when people you know are around. Let's hope he also keeps his eye on things that matter a bit more, eh?" She smiled. "Strange night, though. I simply couldn't sleep."
"You shouldn't be walking around alone at night, Madame," Julian said firmly.
"Oh, good heavens, child, I know this city. I'm careful. I know where to be—and where not to be."
The fact that Andy Ciello had considered her apartment a safe place suddenly seemed to hover unspoken on the air between them. Brent was dismayed to see Nikki suddenly turn ashen.
"Just be careful," Julian said.
"I will. And thank you for being concerned," Madame said. "But I also travel with my trusty pepper spray at all times." She smiled, then looked past them. "Goodness, that's Harold Grant coming into my place for coffee!" She seemed pleased. "He must think he's about to lose his seat to that young whippersnapper Billy Banks. He's looking positively haggard."
Brent turned to look. Harold Grant had to be somewhere around sixty years old. He was sturdy looking, tall, broad shouldered, with a thick crop of iron-gray hair. He had a reputation for grave care in his decisions, but not a lot of humor or charm.
"He and Billy Banks are having a debate in Jackson Square this afternoon," Madame said. "There will be cops all over today, that's for sure. That means a brisk business for me. Our boys in blue do love my café au lait and beignets." She gave them a wave and left the table.
Brent's cell phone started to ring, startling them all. With an apologetic look, he answered it. "Blackhawk."
"It's Massey. Can you come down to the station for a minute?"
He looked at the others. They were all staring at him. "Sure. What's up?" he asked tensely.
"Just get down here as soon as you can." There was no accusation in the words, just weariness.
"I'll be right there."
He snapped his phone shut. "We start at Lafayette at twelve, right?" he said to Nikki.
"Twelve," she agreed, studying him with a curious frown.
"Will you two stay with her… go with her over to Lafayette?" he asked Patricia and Nathan.
"It's broad daylight—there are tourists everywhere," Nikki said. "And there are cops all over the city, too—didn't you hear what Madame just said?"
"We'll be happy to hang around with Nikki and get her over to Lafayette," Patricia said.
"Sure… we can even hang around and help with the tour, if you want," Nathan said.
"Please," Nikki protested. "I repeat—it's broad daylight, there are cops roaming the city as thick as flies."
"Sure, that's great. You all stick together," Brent said as if she hadn't spoken, rising.
"I don't need anyone," Nikki insisted.
"We all need someone," Brent said wryly. "Nikki, please, your friends want to hang with you. Let them," he said.
She threw up her hands.
"Hey, let's wander over to Contessa Moodoo's Hoodoo Voodoo shop, huh?" Patricia suggested.
"For what?" Nikki demanded. She didn't want to say, certainly not when they were all behaving this way to begin with, that she was uneasy, that she had been there with Andrea not long before she had been murdered.
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe you should buy some chicken feet, dance around, raise a little ruckus," Julian told her. "I thought you liked the place."
"Go with her," Brent said firmly to Nikki. Something was bothering her. Being with her friends? He doubted that. Going to a voodoo shop?
She offered him a smile, aware that he wouldn't go if he wasn't feeling secure about her. "If you've never been there, I'll have to take you some time," she told Brent.
He smiled and nodded. He knew the place. The woman had been around a long time.
Certain that Nikki wouldn't be alone, Brent turned and left them on the terrace, hurrying toward Royal Street, anxious by then about what Massey wanted.
When he arrived, Massey was waiting for him alone in his cruiser.
