Bitter Reckoning Read online

  Colleen nodded bleakly. “Yes, I believe in people, and I believe in love, but…”

  “Did Tracy find you?”

  Colleen nodded again. “I—I told her I was fine. I asked her to see to the guests.” She shook her head again. “I try to do good things—and they turn out like this!”

  “Your heart is beautiful, and you do good things. You have to keep doing good things—because that helps balance out the bad in the world,” Danni told her. “Colleen, you have to be strong—people will be looking to you for help and guidance.”

  “I should cancel everything,” she said. “No, I can’t. For some people, this has been a big splurge. I mean, we’re very reasonable in what we charge, but people may get one vacation a year…time off from work, transportation…oh, I don’t know! What would be right? What would be wrong?”

  As if in answer to her questions, there was a knock at the door. Danni leapt up and hurried to open it.

  Tracy was there. She looked at Danni hopefully, as if anxious to see if Danni had managed to make Colleen feel any better.

  “Tracy, come on in!” Danni said.

  Tracy did so and said, “What I really want to do is get Colleen to come with me—some of us from the main office want to get together—have our own little memorial. We’ll talk about Ally, the good and the bad, and decide what to do.”

  “That’s a great idea. You need to be with people, Colleen,” Danni said.

  For a moment, she wasn’t sure how Colleen was going to react, but suddenly she stood—as if resolute.

  “Yes! We will talk about Ally; we will remember her,” she said.

  “You’re welcome to join us,” Tracy told Danni.

  Danni thought about the diaries and books in her room—about the fact she still hadn’t had a conversation with Quinn, but being with this group just might give her something that couldn’t be gotten anywhere else.

  Except, Colleen was right. It was hard to figure how a determination to kill one woman could connect with murders back in New Orleans.

  There was still so little they knew!

  “Of course. I didn’t know Ally, but—”

  “We could use you!” Tracy said.

  “Okay,” Danni agreed. “Let’s go. Wait, where are we going?”

  “The restaurant has set us up at a back table,” Tracy said. She hesitated. “After…Colleen, one of us needs to make a little speech to the guests.”

  “I will make the speech; it’s my responsibility,” Colleen said. She forced a smile through her tears and walked out the door leaving Danni and Tracy to follow.

  ***

  “She took one look at me and decided I was trash,” John Appleby said, shaking his head and looking from Peter Ellsworth to Larue and on to Quinn. “I just wanted to help. I could see she was standing there, and I couldn’t see anything in the damned cemetery. If some jerk was playing a trick on her and disappearing, I was more than happy to get her where she needed to be. Lord, Peter,” he said, addressing the parish cop, “you know me! I guess I’m not so pretty, but then again…I’m trying to feel bad about what happened, but she looked at me like pure trash. Can’t say she was a sweetie or anything like that. Not that anyone should be murdered!” he added.

  “Did you see anything in the cemetery at all?” Larue asked.

  Appleby shook his head. “It was dark. I kind of figured if the fool woman wanted to run into the cemetery to find her driver or whatever, let her do it. I mean, usually…well, you know, the folks you find in a cemetery don’t usually do you much harm, right?”

  “No, not usually,” Quinn murmured.

  They’d met up with Appleby in the large circular drive in front of the grand entry for the hotel. The place had been built to resemble a beautiful Victorian façade with the driveway being especially large and inviting, arcing around a circular garden area with benches and little statues.

  Appleby sat on a bench—not intimidated by the two cops and Quinn who stood and listened to his story.

  Quinn was glad; he didn’t want anyone else hearing the man. It might not pay to have someone think there had been a witness—even a witness who hadn’t seen anything except for Ally running into the cemetery.

  “What about the car you saw?” Quinn asked. “Do you remember anything about it?”

  “Oh, yeah, it was a black sedan. Nice car, and up to date. One of those vehicles car services use, clean, spiffy, all that. Seen a bunch of them in the last few days—bringing in Miss Rankin, her staff and guests, too. To get here, you know, you’re going to land in Baton Rouge or New Orleans, maybe even Lafayette, but you’re still going to have to take a car to get to the Honeywell Lodge.”

  “Right, of course,” Quinn said.

  “Anything else at all?” Larue asked hopefully.

  “Really, anything at all, about Miss Cantrell or the car. Anything,” Quinn said.

  The old man thought for a minute and suddenly brightened. “Masks!” he exclaimed suddenly.

  “Masks?” Quinn asked.

  John Appleby nodded, happy to have something to say. “You know, hanging from the rearview mirror—like some people have dice. Fuzzy dice or other stuff…this car had little Mardi-Gras masks, a pair of them, hanging from around the mirror. They were purple and gold. Half-masks. I remember seeing them when I drove on and glanced in the car.”

  A license plate or even a few letters or numbers from the plate would have been nice.

  But he’d given them something.

  “I wish I had more—I just don’t,” Appleby said. “I was…well, dang it, I was pissed—can’t help it. A man doesn’t like to be looked at like trash, you know? I just happened to see the masks. If I’d any idea people were going to wind up dead, I’d have read the damned license plate. I just happened to notice the masks.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Appleby. Your words may help a great deal,” Quinn said.

  “Can I go now? The dinner invite was great, but I’ve got the grandkids coming by today, and you know, my place is on the other side of all the land owned by Trent Anderson—thankfully. I’m not a-scared of cemeteries, but right now, with the kids coming…I’m just glad there’s a little distance between us.”

  “Yes, of course, Mr. Appleby, thank you so much for coming to talk to us—deeply appreciated,” Quinn said, and Larue and Ellsworth echoed his words.

  Appleby nodded his thanks to them, stood, and surveyed the three of them. “You know where to find me if you need me. And you know about this area…legends and all. The witch who killed her husband and servant and then mysteriously wound up dead herself—three on scarecrows, just like this. Yep. Three on scarecrows. Someone brought it all the way to New Orleans. How do you like that? Our legend in the big city.”

  He paused suddenly, frowning. Then he shook his head.

  “What is it?” Quinn asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “What?” Peter Ellsworth asked anxiously. “John, if you have something…”

  “I wish I had something. I was just thinking. There was something hanging with the masks…something like strung on the mirror, too. But tiny—like someone’s necklace or a medallion or something like that. But…I may not even have seen it. I was just trying to picture in my mind’s eye when I drove by…thought something glittered in my headlights. I could be wrong. I don’t know what it might have been. Probably doesn’t really matter. The car’s gone, right? And the driver? Though the driver is probably the guy who died with Miss Ally. Anyway, don’t know more, but I intend to be careful. You gentlemen watch yourselves, too, you hear?”

  “We will do so,” Peter Ellsworth promised him gravely.

  John Appleby headed over to the circular drive and his truck.

  They watched as he walked away with a surprisingly swift and agile walk.

  “I’m heading up to my room. I want to check in with my people back in NOLA,” Larue said. “Colleen told me this morning just to check at the desk. She’d see there were keys left for me.”

&nb
sp; “Call me,” Quinn told him.

  “And me,” Ellsworth said. He looked at Quinn. “We need to spread out. I’m going to check the registry here—Find out who has been here too long to have murdered anyone two nights ago in New Orleans. Although,” he said, and paused shaking his head. “It’s a two-hour drive. Just a two-hour drive. If it was in the middle of the night…”

  “Yeah,” Quinn said. “Still, can’t hurt to know. If we could find the car John Appleby saw, that might help a hell of a lot, too.”

  “Officers from both parishes are on it,” Ellsworth assured him.

  “I’m going to find Danni and see what she’s discovered. You never know what information might have something that has to do with…something we’ve learned.”

  Ellsworth looked at him bleakly. “Only we haven’t really learned anything,” he said.

  Quinn sighed, lowering his head, raising it again—surprised Ellsworth needed a pep talk.

  “We’ve learned the identity of the corpse that was dug up. We know the killer started in New Orleans and brought his lethal appetites out here. We know there are all kinds of legends that go with that cemetery—and usually, there’s a grain of truth that goes with legends. Which doesn’t mean the killer is a wiccan or a voodoo priestess or any other such thing, it might just mean the killer knows the legends and wants us to believe what’s happening now has to do with the past, with ghosts or goblins or something evil. Now, we need to narrow down suspects, and determine if it is something local—perpetrated by a person or persons—who knew the legend, or just someone who found out bits and pieces about the legend and decided it would be a nicely confusing way to commit murder.”

  “But a girl and a drunk in New Orleans. Then Ally Caldwell and a John Doe here—and a corpse. I can’t even figure a direction to go in that makes real sense.”

  “You’ll need to find out what you can about the local population. I’d say Trent Anderson could use some scrutiny,” Quinn told him.

  Peter Ellsworth nodded and turned back for his car. He lifted a hand in the air. “You start here. I’ll be back. I will pay a visit to Mr. Anderson. After all, he is a next-door neighbor to the old harvest of the dead!”

  Quinn wanted to talk to Trent Anderson himself, but first, Danni and a few of Colleen Rankin’s employees. He headed in, dialing Danni’s number as he did so.

  He thought he heard her phone ringing in response to his call.

  He did.

  Looking past the coffee shop to the more elegant restaurant, he saw she was at a circular back table.

  She was with Tracy Willard, Larry Blythe, Albert Bennett, and Colleen Rankin.

  Colleen’s face remained flushed and tear-stained, but she looked better than she had. It had only been that morning she’d discovered one of her most prized employees and presumed friend was dead—brutally murdered.

  Danni hadn’t seen him, and she was excusing herself to answer her phone, standing and stepping a few feet from the table.

  “Hi,” Quinn said.

  “Hi—a long time since I’ve heard from you!” she said. “Are you…coming back here soon?”

  “Very soon—” he told her, “I’m looking right at you,”

  She frowned and looked up. By that time, he’d reached the restaurant entrance. She strode toward him, speaking softly and quickly, “Quinn, I found some incredible treasures at the library—not sure they’ll help us any, but I have a diary by a young woman named Yvette, and I think she might the Yvette who brought about the legend. The librarian was wonderful. Quinn, I have research material no other library in the country would have let out of their sight. Which may not help. Anything—do you have anything at all?”

  “Slow down. We’ll talk. Should we join your party? Have you learned anything from them?”

  “I can tell you all about it when we’re alone,” Danni said.

  “Let’s make that soon. I need to get on the computer.” He was quiet a minute. “Maybe we’ll go for a drive.”

  “A drive?”

  “I want to find that car. Check out any other cemeteries.”

  “Maybe the fairgrounds,” Danni said.”

  “Fairgrounds,” he murmured.

  “The Harvest Festival Fairgrounds,” Danni said. “Jeanine—our lovely waitress—has been telling us all about the fair. It’s a huge deal around here.”

  “Right. I heard that. And yes, we need to check out the fairgrounds. Beyond a doubt. But it’s Wednesday night, how late could a fair here be open?”

  “Late enough. They’ve taken a bit of a cue from New Orleans. Monday through Friday, they’re open until midnight—and give guests another hour to make their way out. Saturday and Sunday night, they stay open to two or half past, giving guests, again, another hour to get out.”

  “So, they’re wild and woolly out here.”

  “That from a man who lives a block off Bourbon Street?”

  “Hey, Royal is quiet and refined. We’re the restaurant-slash-museum-art shop and antiques street of the Quarter, remember?” he said lightly.

  “Don’t forget, Colleen’s harvest ball is Saturday night. It has me uneasy. Everything has me uneasy. I’m worried about other cemeteries, the fairgrounds—and this lodge,” she said softly.

  “Danni,” he said softly, “your friends are looking at us.”

  “Well, they know you’re a P.I. involved with the cops,” she reminded him. “Don’t play around it; answer what questions you can.”

  Albert Bennett and Larry Blythe rose politely as they neared the table. Danni took her seat; Quinn paused to give Colleen a hug. He didn’t ask how she was doing. He took a seat at the table.

  Naturally, everyone was staring at him.

  “Anything?” Tracy asked anxiously.

  “Our investigation has just begun,” Quinn said gently.

  Tracy sat back, disappointed. “The news seems to have more info than the police,” she said. “Everyone knows a tourist was found dead like Ally in New Orleans—with another guy and then an already-dead guy. Weird. Of course, you didn’t discover anything—this has to be the work of a cult—crazy people who think they’re reborn witches. Some awful group determined to bring out pagan rituals or something like that. Such a shame Ally got caught in it!”

  “Yes sad. It’s sad when anyone is so brutally murdered,” Quinn said, “and you can’t bring anyone back, but you can find justice for them.”

  Tracy sighed. “I hope so!” she said fervently. “But…well, this person could be done and gone and…well, they never caught Jack the Ripper or the Zodiac or dozens more. That could be the case here.”

  Colleen let out a little sniffle.

  “We won’t let that be the case here!” Danni said passionately. The group turned to look at her and she blushed lightly. “I, uh, know Detective Larue out of New Orleans, and he—and Quinn—will not let that happen.”

  “Do you think the killer has already moved on?” Larry asked anxiously, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

  “Never count on a killer having moved on. People need to stay safe—and watch out for strangers,” Albert Bennett said. He frowned then. “Quinn, you’ve been out on this all day. Can we get you something to eat?”

  “No, no, I’m good, thank you!” Quinn said. He wasn’t—he was starving. But he knew the hotel had room service, and he wanted to get to the room. “I would really like a shower, so I think I’m going to head on up.”

  “Of course!” Tracy said. “You’ve been dealing with corpses.”

  Colleen let out another sniffle.

  “Oh, God, I’m so sorry!” Tracy said.

  Colleen shook her head. “No, no, I’m all right. I’ve sent out an email to all of our guests, telling them I’d like a word with everyone—or anyone who can make it—in the lobby at 8:30. It’s just about time.”

  “You sent out an email?” Albert said, surprised.

  Colleen nodded firmly. “Yes. I’m going to be strong. I need to tell everyone they’re free to leav
e with no penalty if they wish. I’m going to say we’re in mourning—we have lost a beloved colleague, but we know how much this event means to people, and we will be going on as intended.”

  “Bravo, Colleen,” Albert murmured.

  “I think that…I think we can’t just fold up with so many people here, and you are entirely right,” Tracy said.

  “I guess,” Larry murmured.

  “Everyone was here for the opening event last night, right?” Quinn asked lightly.

  “I know you know I was here. I spoke with you,” Albert Bennett said.

  “Me, too,” Tracy murmured.

  “That’s right. I saw when Danni introduced you to Quinn,” Albert said. “You may not remember, because you were ogling that millionaire.”

  “Albert, I was…welcoming an important guest!” Tracy said.

  “We’re supposed to be making connections for others here,” Larry said, looking at Tracy.

  “We make the right connections with the right people,” Tracy said, glaring at the other two.

  Colleen didn’t even seem to hear them. She glanced at her watch. “Just a few minutes now.”

  “Yes, of course, Trent Anderson was here, too,” Quinn said, his smile totally innocent as he looked at Tracy.

  Tracy stood up, quickly talking to Colleen. “If you’re making an announcement in just a few minutes, we should get out to the lobby.”

  “Yes, excuse me,” Colleen said.

  “We’ll all go,” Quinn said. “I, uh, do we need to get a check?”

  “They know I’ll take care of them,” Colleen said, and she smiled at him, as if very grateful he was there. He gave her a nod of encouragement, and her head seemed to hike up just a bit.

  Danni slipped her arm through Colleen’s.

  “Ready?”

  They led the way out. In the lobby many of the guests were milling already—talking amongst themselves. They all stared at Colleen, some giving her pitying glances and a few looking wary as if they dreaded what her words might be.

  “There’s a steady chair there Colleen can stand on,” Quinn said quietly to Danni. “I’m going to get it. It will let her tower a bit above the crowd.”

  A minute later they had Colleen standing high on the chair; no one had to ask for silence, the room went silent. You could have heard a pin drop.