New Orleans Noir Read online

  “Another good reason you should forget Boston and stay here.”

  Pierre was a fairly new tenant. He’d moved in shortly after Elizabeth’s death and she’d only spent any time with him when she’d come home for Mia’s funeral.

  He’d been extremely thoughtful, offering to help in any way he could and then following up on that offer by phone when Helena had returned to her job.

  He was far more handsome than she remembered. Dark eyes and a dimple in his chin. Expensively dressed in a black, pin-striped suit, every bit as professional looking as she’d expect of a successful attorney.

  He smiled. “I saw your light on last night. I started to call and invite myself over for a nightcap, but I figured I’d best give you time to settle in.”

  “Thanks. I was exhausted but I’m fine today.”

  “Then how about dinner? There’s a new French restaurant in the Garden District. Haven’t tried it myself yet but the reviews all claim the food is délicieux.”

  “Now you’re going to show off by going French on me.”

  “Obviously it will take more than that to impress you.”

  “I do owe you a dinner,” she said.

  “I ask a pretty woman to dinner, I pay.”

  “No way. Not after you gave me all that free professional advice. But I’m not hungry enough to do justice to an expensive restaurant or even a dive tonight. I overloaded on Ella’s peach cobbler at lunch.”

  “Now I’m envious. What about tomorrow night?”

  She could hardly say no since he’d been so helpful when she needed it. Besides, she might even enjoy his company. It would beat the chance of facing Hunter again with all the disturbing reactions he ignited.

  “Seven?” he verified.

  “Works for me.”

  She turned to leave, but not quickly enough.

  “I suppose Hunter Bergeron has already stopped by to welcome you in his inimitable style,” Pierre said.

  “You don’t make that sound like a compliment.”

  “Hardly. The detective’s almost as enjoyable as a bonfire in August.”

  Hunter had his faults. Being likeable had never been one of them and from the way Mia and Ella talked about him that hadn’t changed.

  “What did he do to tick you off?” she asked.

  “His general modus operandi.”

  “Which is?”

  “Asking the same questions over and over in dozens of different ways like he thinks if he harasses you long enough, you’ll confess to something. Or maybe you’ll suddenly remember seeing an abduction that had just slipped your mind before.”

  Hunter had always been persistent, except where she was concerned. It hadn’t taken much to make him cut and run then.

  “I’m surprised he hasn’t driven off all your tenants by now,” Pierre continued. “Only reason I’m still here is that I signed a year’s lease.”

  “If Hunter is still asking questions, I’m sure he has a reason for it,” Helena said, for some reason feeling she had to defend him. “He’s a good detective.”

  Pierre shrugged. “If you say so.”

  “Mia trusted him,” she said, by way of explanation. “Now I better get going if I’m going to beat the rain.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “I’m prepared for the worst.” She pulled her rain jacket tighter to make her point.

  “Be careful,” he called as she walked away.

  “Be careful” had obviously become the new “See ya.” A bit foreboding for her taste, as if disaster might be lurking around every corner. Or maybe it was just talking about Hunter that upset her.

  She slid her hand into the front pocket of her crop pants as she reached the gate. Her fingertips brushed the edge of Hunter’s business card. Call him anytime.

  She wouldn’t. She couldn’t let herself fall under his spell again.

  There was a metal trash receptacle near the curb. She considered dropping Hunter’s card in it. She’d punch in 911 before calling him to the rescue.

  But the card remained in her pocket as she started on her walk.

  * * *

  ALTHOUGH NOT THE ideal day, it was pleasant enough for Helena to quickly relax among the familiar streets of the French Quarter. She walked to Jackson Square. The artists had taken their easels and left before the rain, but a young man in clown makeup risked the storm to make a few more dollars with his antics and balloon animals. The families standing around him seemed dismissive of the distant thunder, as well.

  Helena turned and strolled to the city’s famous Moon Walk, a promenade along the busy Mississippi River. A cruise ship was docked nearby and a steamboat paddled past it, the familiar music from its calliope making her feel even more at home.

  As excited as she was about her new job in Boston, this area was the setting for her best memories. And her worst, thanks to Hunter. And here she was letting him take up space in her thoughts again.

  Helena doubled back so that she’d pass Alyssa’s. Following the printed instructions on the placard, she rang the bell. She was about to walk away when Alyssa finally came to the door.

  “Did I come at a bad time?” Helena asked.

  “I’m with a customer. I won’t be but five minutes longer. Can you wait?”

  “Sure, or I can come back tomorrow. I just wanted to make sure you’re not having any more of those dizzy spells.”

  “There’s a story there,” Alyssa said, “but I think I have it all figured out.”

  “That sounds a bit mysterious.” The good news was Alyssa’s face was no longer ashen and her smile much more natural.

  Her long, colorful skirt made whispery sounds, background for her jangling bracelets and dangling earrings as she ushered Helena into the waiting room.

  “There’s water, wine, coffee or soft drinks in the fridge. Help yourself.”

  The odor of fresh brewed coffee lured Helena to the small room Alyssa used as a convenient living area near her workspace. By the time she’d poured herself a cup and taken a few sips, Alyssa was seeing her customer to the door.

  She turned her sign to Closed.

  “Don’t lose paying customers on my account,” Helena insisted.

  “Believe me, I need a rest after Annabelle. She’s in here every week with a new problem she wants me to solve. This time she thinks her husband is having an affair because he doesn’t talk to her at bedtime. My bet is he can’t get a word in edgewise.”

  “Well, you should know. You’re the psychic.”

  “I’m not, but I’m starting to feel like one and that’s downright scary.”

  “Tell me more.”

  Alyssa took the other chair. “I think it’s all related to the French Kiss Killer, though I hate that something as sexy as a French kiss is tied to something so depraved.”

  “How did he get that nickname?”

  “No one seems to know, or if they do they’re not admitting it. At any rate, I have the feeling that he is just about ready to strike again. Not psychic, more like how my arthritis lets me know the weather is changing.”

  “A lot of people seem to have that same intuition these days.”

  Helena didn’t believe in psychics, but she didn’t necessarily not believe in them, either. Some people might have a sixth sense, sort of the way she saw visions in her head before she painted them.

  “There’s more,” Alyssa said. “I’m starting to feel like I’m caught up in a horror movie.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Two very attractive young women were in here earlier and one of them reminded me of Elizabeth. Not just her looks, though I swear they could pass as twins—both as beautiful as supermodels. It was also her personality. You know, lively and charismatic.”

  “Some people think everyone has a double,” Helena said, doubting they were exactly
alike. “I can see how seeing Elizabeth’s double might shake you up, but Elizabeth was an only child, so no mysterious twin sister.”

  “But what if the serial killer is still in this area? If Elizabeth was his type, then this lady must be, too.”

  “You have a point there. Do you have the young woman’s name or know how to get in touch with her?”

  “All I know is that her friend called her Lacy and they’re staying at the new boutique hotel on Decatur.”

  “The Aquarelle?”

  “That’s it. Not a name that sticks to the tip of your tongue.”

  “I’ve never been in that hotel,” Helena admitted. “You really think this young tourist could be in danger, don’t you?”

  “It’s this niggling fear that won’t go away.”

  “You should call Hunter. If nothing else, you’ll feel better if you share your concerns with him.”

  “He’ll think I’m crazy.”

  “At least you’ll know you did what you could. Now I should get out of here before we get a downpour and I have to swim back to the carriage house.”

  “Okay. Thanks for stopping by, and I think I will give Hunter a call.”

  “It can’t hurt,” Helena agreed. She stood to leave. “One other thing,” Helena said as she reached the door. “If seeing someone who reminded you of Elizabeth set off your concerns today, what had you so rattled last night? Was that another specific intuitive moment or just general serial killer-induced fear?”

  Alyssa hesitated. “Last night I...” She shook her head. “I don’t know. It could have been that I was just excited about seeing you.”

  That made no sense, but Helena let it go. Alyssa seemed to have enough to deal with for now.

  * * *

  HELENA MADE A sudden detour that would take her right past the Aquarelle Hotel. Not that she expected to run into the two tourists Alyssa had described, but it was possible. Her curiosity was definitely piqued.

  The serial killer scenario was playing weird tricks on her mind as well, especially knowing that he’d actually talked to Mia by phone.

  A streak of lightning split the dark clouds followed by a loud clap of thunder. She instantly regretted making the turn onto Decatur. The first drops of rain pelted her when she was a few feet from the hotel’s canopied door.

  Instead of raising her umbrella, she made a run for it, making it to cover just in time not to get soaked.

  The reception area was empty except for a couple who appeared to be checking in and a bellboy manhandling a cart overflowing with luggage.

  As expected, there was no sign of the young woman who’d thrown Alyssa into a tumultuous tizzy.

  A quick stop at the ladies’ room to finger brush her slightly damp hair away from her face and then Helena followed the carpeted walkway to the bar area.

  It was not only busy but ringing with loud voices and laughter as you’d expect from revelers visiting the French Quarter on a stormy late afternoon.

  If anyone here was panicking over a serial killer on the loose, they were doing a good job of hiding it. Helena scanned the room and found the perfect spot for people-watching, a table near the end of the bar with a view of everyone who came or went.

  Truth be told, she felt a bit like a spy, searching for the type of young woman the killer might be looking for. That was also a little sick. She needed a martini and a jolt of reality. She was neither a spy nor a detective and wouldn’t know a clue if it sat down beside her.

  Within minutes she was sipping a lemon drop martini from a sugar-frosted glass. Rain continued to splatter the windows. An attractive, middle-aged woman trilled the keyboard at a grand piano near the front of the bar.

  Within minutes the music paired with alcohol soothed Helena’s troubled mind. She sipped slowly.

  The lights lowered after a half hour or so. More customers wandered in and happy hour began to morph into the dinner hour. The waitress stopped by to see if Helena wanted another drink before the happy hour prices disappeared.

  The offer was tempting, but she resisted. She wanted her mind clear if she decided to check out more of Mia’s highlighted material or handwritten notations in her research sources.

  She jerked to attention when a tall man stopped at her elbow.

  “Hello, Helena.”

  It took her a second to recognize her soon-to-be moving tenant.

  “Hi, Connor. I was hoping to run into you. I just didn’t expect it to be so soon.”

  “I saw a light on in the carriage house last night and figured you were home,” he said. “We’ve all been wondering when you’d move back and take over. Are you having dinner with us tonight?”

  “With us?”

  “Yes, here at the hotel. I’m the food and beverage manager at the Aquarelle Hotel now.”

  “I didn’t know. You must be doing a lot of things right. The place is hopping, and my lemon drop martini was superb.”

  “Nice to hear. Would you like another drink?”

  “Thanks, but I’ll pass on that this time. How is the position working out for you?”

  “I’m loving the job so far. The work is challenging but rewarding and the pay is much better than I was making managing that bar on Bourbon Street.”

  “Moving on up. Is that why you’re giving up your lease on your apartment?”

  “You heard? Sorry about that. I’d have told you in person if I’d known you were coming back here so soon. I hate to leave. Three years, that’s the longest time I’ve ever lived anywhere since I left home to go to LSU.”

  “I hate to see you go. Why are you leaving?”

  “I’ve got a new girlfriend.”

  “Sounds serious.”

  Connor nodded. “I think this may be the one, and I figure it’s time I settle down with one woman. I’ll be thirty-two next week.”

  “When’s the wedding?”

  He shoved his hands into his front trouser pockets and grinned. “Not quite that serious yet. We’ve decided to cohabit for a few months first. You know, make sure our clothes can stand tossing around in the wash together.”

  “So, you’ll be moving in with her?”

  “No way. Her bathroom is barely big enough for two toothbrushes and I’d never fit my clothes into her one tiny closet.”

  “Then why move?” Helena asked. “The apartment you’re in has quite a bit of storage and a roomy bathroom if I remember correctly.”

  “Yeah. The size is great, but my lease specifies one occupant.”

  “That’s probably because you were single when you signed it. We could update that.”

  He pulled out a chair. “Mind if I join you for a few minutes?”

  “Of course not.”

  “There is another issue,” he said, keeping his voice low, obviously not wanting to be overheard by his hotel guests. “Hannah’s all hung up with this serial killer hype. Says she’d be afraid to ever stay by herself in my apartment.”

  “Did you explain that there’s no evidence that Elizabeth’s killer was ever on the carriage house property?”

  “A dozen times. The only way my staying in the apartment is going to work is if the French Kiss Killer gets arrested—which I keep thinking is bound to happen soon. Detective Bergeron is a cop on a mission. No doubt about it.”

  And now they’d circled back to Hunter. Was every discussion in this town destined to do that?

  “Do you see a lot of Hunter Bergeron?” she asked.

  “Not lately, but I ran into him fairly often when your grandmother was alive. She raised a lot of money to help the police catch the killer. So far it hasn’t helped.”

  “Did you ever feel like Hunter was interrogating you more than necessary?”

  “No way. Where did you get that idea? He asked some questions. That’s his job. I only wish I’d had some answers for him. Nice te
enager like Elizabeth. She deserves justice.”

  “How well did you know Elizabeth?”

  “I’d only seen her to say hello when she was visiting Ella until her last trip down here. Then we sat around the fountain a couple of nights and talked about her graduating high school and heading off to college.”

  Connor pushed back in his chair. “I wish we’d talked more. Then I might have been able to tell Hunter something useful to the investigation.”

  “We all wish that.”

  “I better get back to work now.” Connor stood, adjusted his tie and smoothed his well-fitting sport coat. “Welcome back to New Orleans,” he said. “Your drink’s on the house. I’ll let your waiter know.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Yeah. Sorry about moving. I really like living there. Not much chance we’ll find another courtyard as beautiful as yours.”

  The rain had slowed to a gentle mist when she left the hotel and started home. There was still no sign of Lacy and her friend.

  * * *

  HELENA SLOWED AS she approached home. Her heart jumped to her throat when she spotted Hunter leaning against the gate, his right foot propped against the metal scrolls behind him, his thick hair mussed as usual. No one should look that good.

  “Are you looking for me,” she asked, “or is this more of your good-cop routine?”

  “A little of both. We need to talk.”

  “We just did that a few hours ago.”

  “Something new has come up since then.”

  “Something that has to do with Alyssa Orillon?”

  “Ahh. Another psychic in our midst.”

  Hardly. If she were, she would have seen her breakup with Hunter coming in time to pull out with some of her dignity intact. When she ignored the question, he punched in the code, pushed the gate open and stepped back to let her enter first.

  “Who gave you the code?” she asked as he followed her into the courtyard.”

  “Your grandmother. She considered me one of the good guys. This would probably work easier if you did, too.”

  “I knew you better than she did.”

  “Touché. Now that the rain’s stopped, how about we walk over to Maspero’s and grab a sandwich and coffee? I could use some grub. Lunch lost out to a new lead and a request for a warrant.”