The Forbidden Page 7

  Avalon glanced at Fin.

  “Sorry, sorry, it just came to mind, I mean... I am so sorry. I was horrified to recognize the young woman who had been killed!” Miss Connor said quickly. “I’m not sure how accurate I can be at all. But yes, if you think it can help in any way, I’m happy to talk to a police artist.”

  “Thank you. Sincerely, thank you,” Fin told her.

  “Uh, would you two like some pizza?” she asked.

  “No, thank you,” Avalon said.

  “Sure—thanks,” Fin said.

  “There are a few little round tables right there to the side,” said Miss Connor, pointing. “Cheese, pepperoni—we have everything.”

  While Fin ordered, Avalon went ahead to take a seat at one of the tables crowded into the small shop.

  “Sorry,” he told her as he sat. “I’m hungry. I wore more of the beignets than I ate.”

  “So we’re looking for...a vampire?” Avalon asked.

  “Someone dressed as a vampire.”

  “Well, I can assure you—it wasn’t Kevin! He was with me.”

  “Are you two a...couple?”

  “Kevin is gay. He’s an amazing friend, actor and man. He helps everyone. And as soon as she said the word vampire, I figured that you—”

  “No,” he told her.

  “No?”

  “It doesn’t make him a suspect. Anyone can dress up as a vampire.”

  “Right,” she said. She shook her head. “I still can’t believe it was anyone involved with the film. I mean there were caterers and extras I never met before, and we didn’t keep our filming schedule any kind of a secret. Boris was doing his best to be both within regulations, and within budget. But we were on an island.”

  “All of you left the island every night, and headed back by day,” he reminded her.

  She nodded. “Kevin, Lauren and I took the same car service back to our hotel. We were together the whole time.”

  “What about Boris? And the other actor—Leo Gonzales?”

  “Boris and Leo were together—we couldn’t get one of the big cars, so we took different cars.”

  “Leo is tall, and talented. A mime, right? A guy who could pull off a lot?”

  She shook her head. “You’re barking up the wrong tree there. Leo is gentle, and he loves what he does far more than money. He loves kids—loves to just play with them, creating doors or whatever out of the air on the streets. And unless he is purposefully doing a performance for money, he just does it to be a good guy and entertain kids.”

  “Boris...”

  “Please! Boris put his everything into this!”

  “And again,” he reminded her, “that could mean he’d bring whatever attention he could to the project.”

  “That’s just sick. And it’s not Boris. He loves movies and he’s great with people. He was friends with Cindy.”

  “Okay. What about the other guys, the set designer and the cameraman?”

  She sighed. “Terry and Brad—”

  “Terry found the tomb for you to lie on and together they did the storyboards for the scene?”

  “Trust me—they’re not crazed killers! Terry’s horrified his work was copied in such a heinous and cruel fashion. I think he almost feels guilty. I’m telling you, I know these people.”

  “I hope you’re right,” he said softly.

  She let out a sound of frustration. “I know I’m right!”

  “As I said, I hope so. Anyway, we found what we were looking for—once Ryder gets here with his sketch artist, I’ll walk you back.”

  She couldn’t help the emotion churning within her. He now seemed so decent in so many ways; she’d recognized that he had something about him—more than his shared ability to see the dead. She’d recognized the fact that he was infuriating her. She was burning inside. But burning made her want to...

  Smack him in the head—but also touch him, feel his skin, sense the heartbeat beneath.

  Nope. She couldn’t think that way. “I’m perfectly capable of walking myself back a few blocks. I know this city.”

  “You’re from here?” he asked her.

  “No.”

  “Where are you from?”

  She gritted her teeth and didn’t answer. Miss Connor was walking over with a smile and a large cheese pizza.

  Fin thanked her politely for the pizza and then thanked her again for helping.

  The poor woman just about drooled over him.

  “I can’t believe I can help in something so horrible, but if I can, I’m very glad to do so. By the way, my name is Mindy.”

  “Thank you, Mindy,” Fin said with a dazzling grin.

  Avalon felt an even stronger desire to hit him.

  Mindy Connor left them, and Fin turned his gaze back to Avalon. “Sorry, so where are you from?”

  “You don’t know? You’re the FBI.”

  “I don’t know. But you’re right. I can find out. It was really just a casual question.”

  “Originally? St. Augustine. I still love the city. I went to school in Central Florida. I know this city. I spent a few summers up here. I worked at the theater one year and did a series of promos for the city another year.”

  “Where are you living now?”

  “In a rental in the French Quarter.”

  “No, I mean, where are you living when you’re not in a rental room?”

  She wasn’t sure why she was annoyed by even his casual questioning and conversation.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  He arched an eyebrow. “Okay.”

  “We were going to get through this project. Lauren has been talking me into moving in with her. She has a little house off Frenchman Street just the other side of Esplanade. She could use a roommate, and there is a lot of activity up here—for web design, and for movies and theatrical projects. Anyway, you don’t need to walk me back anywhere.”

  She wondered if he was even paying attention to her. He seemed focused on the slice in his hands.

  “You should eat—it’s really good,” he said.

  “Where are you from?” she asked him, grudgingly accepting a piece of pizza.

  “The Kenner area—near the airport.”

  “Oh!”

  He nodded. “I grew up with all the pirate tales and stories about Barataria and Lafitte. And stories about the haunted island that Christy owned.”

  “I see. Is that why they put you on this case?”

  He shrugged. “I was already here. And, yes, I’m sure my knowledge of the area had something to do with me being here.”

  She fell silent and bit into the pizza herself. She had several bites—it was very good—and then remembered it was Cindy’s last meal.

  She didn’t have to explain her sudden loss of appetite; Detective Ryder Stapleton arrived with a young woman carrying a computer case. Fin rose and approached him, then introduced him and the young woman to Mindy Connor.

  Avalon took the opportunity to slip from the table and go outside. She hurried along the street toward her temporary home, afraid Fin was going to follow her.

  He did not.

  She was surprised to feel something as she hurried along; not a tug, but something gentle like the stroke of a soft breeze against her arm. She turned quickly and saw someone she knew.

  A dead friend.

  “Dear one, are you okay?”

  The ghost asking the question was Kathryn Anne McNeil, a young woman who had been, in her day, one of Jean Lafitte’s friends. She must have been an unusually independent woman, for she had told Avalon that yes, indeed, they’d had a “heated” friendship, but he’d kept a woman named Marie Villard at his side and had several children with her.

  Kathryn hadn’t intended to be tied down in any way. She’d inherited a certain wealth of her own
and loved the opera, which she did enjoy with Lafitte. Her place in society had allowed her to live as she chose. She had also enjoyed politics—had attended several events that had included Andrew Jackson—and the company of whomever she chose, when she chose. She’d died soon after the Battle of New Orleans, a victim of a fever that plagued the city, and was interred at the St. Louis Cemetery #1.

  Avalon had met her during the months she’d been cast in a regional summer theater production of Hamlet.

  Kathryn had told her that her first love was opera, but a play by William Shakespeare was hard to resist.

  “I—” Avalon realized that she’d stopped dead in the street, something she had taught herself not to do when approached by spirits.

  She started moving again, more slowly, and pulled out her cell phone to avoid the appearance of talking to herself.

  “I’m...fine.”

  “No, you’re not. You were on the island. I’ve seen the news. Oh, darling, I am so sorry! I hate to see you in discomfort. While I do love this city as I did in life, I do not wear blinders. It can be dangerous. I really don’t think you should be running about alone.”

  They were in the French Quarter; it was still daylight. There were people everywhere.

  Avalon paused in front of a store window and smiled at Kathryn. “I’m okay. Kathryn, there are people milling everywhere. And I’m headed back to the house where I’m staying. Thank you so much, but I’m fine.”

  “If you’re so fine, why did you run away from that very fine specimen of a man?” Kathryn asked shrewdly.

  She smiled and shook her head. “Because he’s accusing my friends of murder.”

  “And you’re so certain they’re innocent?”

  “Kathryn, I really am.”

  “I should have hitchhiked to the dock and popped on a boat over to the island,” Kathryn said worriedly.

  Avalon hesitated. “There are those who still haunt the island. Though I haven’t met them. And none saw anything...to the best of my knowledge.”

  “The living look out for the living—not the dead,” Kathryn said. She shook her head and then stared hard at Avalon. “I did see the man with the young woman who left the pizza shop.”

  “What?”

  “There was a lovely band playing at the bar across the street. A jazz band. And I do love jazz—it didn’t exist in my day, but the first time I heard Satchmo playing...well, that’s neither here nor there. I was mesmerized, just leaning against the wall there, and I saw a woman leave the pizza parlor, see the man, start to laugh and then offer him pizza.”

  “Who—who was it, Kathryn? Please—”

  Kathryn shook her head sadly. “I can tell you it was a man. He appeared to be tall, but I didn’t look at his shoes. These days, you’ll see men in lifts!”

  “Kathryn.”

  “He was...well, I couldn’t see his face. The collar of his cape stood up high. And I was listening to the music. I’d no idea that...well, darling, you must take care. And watch out for men—tall men who were on your island. Don’t be there alone!”

  Avalon sighed. “Kathryn, I promise. I won’t go anywhere with anyone alone. The police and the FBI are working on the case. And, trust me, they are suspicious of everyone.”

  “Nevertheless, I shall walk you to wherever you are going.”

  Avalon smiled and looked back.

  Fin was not following her.

  She wasn’t sure if she was relieved...or disappointed.

  “Sure, Kathryn. Thank you. So, what have you seen lately?”

  “Well, I have been spending quite a bit of time at the Monteleone. I do so love that hotel, and while they’ve had no theatricals there, they have been having exquisite entertainment and I find the Carousel Bar to be a lively and wonderful place.”

  “It is wonderful, historic, beautiful...”

  Again, Avalon looked back.

  Then she tried to give her attention to the woman at her side. She smiled slightly as she saw some people shiver and look about, as if they had that “someone walked over their grave” feeling as Kathryn passed them by.

  Some felt her; most did not.

  And yet there was one thing oddly reassuring about the day.

  She’d discovered that in having her sixth sense—or whatever it might be—she was not alone.

  She had to wonder, too, why it couldn’t work more conveniently. Why Cindy didn’t come to her and simply tell her who had done this horrible thing.

  * * *

  Mindy Connor was right about one thing: she couldn’t describe the man’s face.

  But she did allow them to have an image that might be shown through the media, and thus, alert anyone else who might encounter such an individual, or perhaps draw someone out who had seen the man’s face.

  Fin noticed when Avalon left; he was unhappy the minute she walked away.

  But he had no right to stop her.

  He sat with Ryder and the artist, and then, when his phone rang and he saw that Angela Hawkins was calling from Krewe headquarters, he excused himself and went outside to speak with her.

  The afternoon was fading to dusk; night was coming. With the darkness on the way, a more fevered existence was coming to Bourbon Street.

  More people on the streets, neon lights blazing. Music playing louder, and lovely characters stepping out on the streets to advertise the delights of the strip clubs.

  “Anything on anyone?” he asked Angela.

  “Parking tickets. We’ve had our whole tech department on this throughout the day, and the best we can come up with against anyone—including extras, caterers, boat captains, et cetera—is parking tickets. But I do have something strange for you. I don’t know if it’s related or not.”

  “What is it?”

  “Mississippi—two years ago. I’m sending you some crime-scene photos now. The killer was never caught. Often enough, serial killers are into display, but seldom so...designed as the murder you’re investigating. This was similar. A young woman was found near a historic house close to Biloxi owned by a Civil War general in the 1850s, open to tours now. It’s not a major destination, and they have one old caretaker who sits out at the gatehouse. No fencing or anything to stop anyone from entering via the surrounding woods. He came to work to open one day and saw a young woman in an antebellum dress sitting in the rocker on the porch. He went to ask her what she was doing there and realized she was dead. Her name was Ellen Frampton and she was from Minneapolis, but she’d been staying at a casino in Biloxi with friends. It’s eerie, Fin. She looks like she’s alive. He touched her, thinking she was being a wise-ass, or that something was wrong with her, and discovered that she was stone-cold. There was pressure on police from the state and all over, but the case dried up. May have nothing to do with your murderer, but you might want to speak with the detective who was handling the case. His name is Tom Drayton, and he retired last year, but he’d be happy to speak with you and share anything he has.”

  “How was she killed? Puncture marks?”

  “Stabbed through the heart—then, apparently, cleaned up, dressed and posed.”

  “This is...yes, too similar. I hadn’t heard about the case.”

  “The FBI wasn’t involved. It was a local matter and bizarre as it was, the national media didn’t take hold of it.”

  “Thanks, Angela. I’ll look into it right away,” he promised.

  “I’m already following up, seeing which of your suspects—if any—was known to have been in Mississippi at the time. You have to remember, however, that it’s an easy place to drive to, especially from where you are.”

  “I know. And thanks.”

  Fin still couldn’t believe he hadn’t heard about such a bizarre case. Then again...the murder rate was terrifying when known—approximately forty-six people a day in the United States.

  But this
one...

  He ended the call and looked at his messages; there was the picture Angela had promised.

  A beautiful young woman sat on a white rocking chair on a broad, columned porch. She was in a dress that emphasized the Victorian style popular during the Civil War—she could, in fact, have walked off the pages of Gone with the Wind. The dress was white with delicate green flowers and a broad sash that made her waist appear exceptionally tiny. She wore a sun hat that just shaded her eyes, yet showed the perfection of her lower face. Her hands rested on the wicker of the rocking chair.

  He poked his head back in to get Ryder’s attention, drawing him outside to show him the picture.

  Ryder stared at the murder scene in silence for a full minute and then uttered an expletive.

  “It could have been done by the same person. Our person could be a copycat...serial killers... I mean, he went two years before doing it a second time?”

  “There is no telling what a killer’s vision and needs may be. Our profilers have studied the worst many times, and there is no real guidebook to tell you—at this stage, at least—just what is going on here. We can’t even say yet that these murders are related.”

  “But serial killers can escalate, too,” Ryder said.

  “And we’re dealing with someone really twisted. They didn’t catch whoever did it. I’m going to drive over and see the lead on the case. There and back tonight—ninety minutes there and ninety minutes back, hopefully.”

  Ryder nodded. “Keep me updated on anything.”

  “You bet.”

  “I’m going to get this sketch out—see if we get anything. Beyond attention seekers.”

  “Right,” Fin said, and hesitated. “I still have concerns about that film crew and cast.”

  “I know where they are. I’ll have an officer keep an eye on them.”

  “And the family—Cara and Gary Holstein, Julian Bennett and Kenneth Richard.”

  “Yes.”

  Fin started to turn, but then spoke again. “Ryder, Cindy West was made up and laid out to look just like Avalon Morgan did in the scene that was filmed right before Cindy was found. I’m worried about Avalon.”

  Ryder smiled. “Trust me. We’ll watch out for her.”