Devil Dead (7 page)

“Yes, Luna,” she said obediently.

Her mother smiled, and then she knelt down in front of her and hugged her close. “You are going to be a good little Wiccan, my love. You will learn so much. You will be powerful someday.”

“But, Luna, you know that I can't remember things. I always forget stuff that you tell me. I am not very good at learning things.”

Her mommy looked into her eyes and gently cradled her face between her palms. She looked very serious. “That is because you are special. You are a very special child. Our gods made you different from the rest of us. You have trouble learning and remembering, but you are kind and trusting and you love nature and all that is good. You will never have to go to school with other children. They would not understand how special you are. They might say cruel words when you don't remember things. But that is all right. The God and Goddess love you very much, and so do I. I will teach you how to take care of yourself and live here and be happy, just the way you are.”

Diana tried to take all that in, but she still wondered why she had trouble understanding things and remembering the lessons her mommy taught to her. But she didn't want to go to school and be around other children. They sounded very mean. Anyways, she loved it here beside the bayou with Spirit and Mommy. At least, most of the time she did.

By the time Luna picked up the sharp knife, Diana had already forgotten what the thing was called. Luna waved it slowly in each direction, and she began saying words that Diana had never heard before. Next, Luna picked up a pretty little silver bell and rang it three times, then stood silently and waited for something. Diana just stood there and waited, too, and watched the pretty candle flames dancing all around.

When her mommy started making those low sounds again, the
ummmmmmmms
, she hummed it even slower than she had before. So Diana did it, too, along with Luna, and wondered how long they had to hum and pray and stand at the table and hoped it wasn't much longer because she was getting really sleepy and tired of it all.

After a while, Diana got so sleepy that she just curled up under the white towels and felt very warm and comfortable lying at her mommy's feet. She finally began to doze, but she could hear her mommy's prayers continuing, low and calm and comforting. The prayers were the last thing she remembered for a long time.

When she awoke the next morning back in her room and sunlight slanted in and made bright rectangles on her bed sheets, she wondered if all that happened in the Sanctuary had been a strange dream. And then she saw that she was still wrapped in the white towels and knew that it had all been real after all. But she felt good and happy, and she could hear her mommy singing down in the kitchen. She was singing very loud, that song about “You Are My Sunshine,” and it made Diana smile. She decided she was going to like being a Wiccan like her mommy, and if it made Luna so happy, maybe she could be happy, too. Maybe it would make Luna stop all the crying and locking herself in the bathroom and getting so angry with her and Spirit. So, now as happy as a lark, Diana dressed quickly and ran downstairs, eager to learn all about this new Wiccan stuff.

After Claire agreed to take the Andrea Quinn case, she wasted no time getting back home to New Orleans. They took off on Black's jet the very next morning. In one way, she hated to leave their cozy little private Garden of Eden, but in a larger way, she was excited when they lifted off the runway and headed northeast for her own stomping grounds. She wanted to find the missing girl and send her home to her grieving parents, ASAP. She wanted her first case as a private eye to be successful. She wanted to help people and have a halfway normal life while she did it, and this was her opportunity to see if it could work out that way. She wasn't at all sure it would, but she was willing to give it a go and see what happened.

During the long flight, she sat down with Black in his office on the plane. With Jules Verne, their pampered little white poodle, curled up asleep in her lap, Claire read over all the personal information that the Quinns had given her about their only daughter. Which wasn't much, and even less to go on, truth be told. Her parents insisted the girl was quiet, studious, interested in becoming a museum curator of all things. At the Louvre, no less. The girl apparently wanted to start at the top of the art world. Abigail Quinn had emphasized to them that Jonas had taught Andrea to be cautious, to watch her back, to handle a gun, to expect and be on guard for possible kidnapping attempts, all of which most Mafioso families had to teach their children early on and well, Claire supposed, and/or get them
mucho
burly bodyguards to dog their every footstep. Andrea Quinn did not sound like a party girl or a stupid girl or a sex addict, all of which boded well for her being alive and findable. Claire hoped.

“You feeling good about all this?” That was Black, hoping the answer was yes of course. He had been pushing for this move to go private for a very long time now. He probably still couldn't believe she was really going to do it.

“Not that good, not yet, but I am going to find that girl, wherever she might be.”
And I hope she's alive and breathing when I do
, she added to herself. She looked down at the studio portrait of Andrea that Abigail Quinn had given to her, still encased in its expensive sterling silver frame with lots of tiny fleurs-de-lis imprinted all over it. Andrea was a cute kid, very small and young looking for twenty, rich auburn hair, big brown eyes, a scattering of brown freckles across her nose, a nice big, friendly smile with perfect teeth. Not much makeup, not much arrogance in her expression, either. The kid looked happy and innocent and friendly, and not a bit ready for the real world and all the evil things that she was gonna find in it. On the other hand, Claire had found enough of that for both of them, and she hoped Andrea didn't have to experience it so young. “I hope Andrea's all right, but, Black, I have to say I've already got a bad feeling about this case.”

“I wish we'd known about this sooner, all right.” Black leaned back in his brown leather swivel chair and gazed at her. “So, who's going to help you? Have you thought about hiring somebody?”

Sometimes Black was like her own personal and handsome bird dog, always on point. That was, of course, when he wanted her to do something his way. Which at the moment was the case.

“I want to offer a job to Zee and Nancy in New Orleans, if they wanna come aboard. Probably just for certain cases we work in the NOLA area. I don't think either of them would want to leave Lafourche full-time. They're happy working down there under Sheriff Friedewald. And Gabe will help us when he can. It's good we have a trusted confidant at NOPD, in case we need him or want him to run prints or names through their databases. I plan to do most of the work on my own. I know what I'm doing.”

Black sat back and listened to everything she said. Then he added, “They say private work is a lot different from carrying a legitimate badge.”

“Yeah, it'll be different, all right. But I know how to find this girl, and I will.”

“That's true. On a more practical side, we need to set up your business. You know, for taxes, payroll, facilities, all that stuff that you probably don't want to think about.”

“You got that right. Go ahead, take care of all that if you want. I don't care about that kinda stuff. I'm gonna get right on the case as soon as we touch down. Good God, it's been a week now. I can't believe they haven't called in the police yet.”

“Well, they have a good reason. This case would hit the newspapers, and Andrea's relationship to Jonas would come out and put her in even more danger. On the other hand, concerning your business, there's no time like the present. First off, as I'm sure you know, you've got to have a Louisiana private investigator's license. That might take some time.”

“How long?”

“Well, I looked into it a few months ago, the first time I asked you to consider this move. The waiting period is around three months.”

Claire shot a look at him. “That long? With my experience and credentials?”

“Afraid so. However, in the meantime, it is legal for you to find a Louisiana licensed private investigator to work with, just until you officially get your own license. That's allowed. My lawyers and accountants can set you up with everything. Taxes, employee benefits, salaries, the works. You just need to decide your fees and how you want to be paid.”

Claire put down the framed photo and leaned forward. “C'mon, Black. I already told you that I want to work alone, and I want to do most of it pro bono.”

Black laughed, as if she were just such a funny little critter. “That's a nice thought but not a particularly astute business decision.”

“Well, I'm not a particularly astute businesswoman. I just want to find this missing girl, the sooner, the better. I don't have time to waste on all that business crap. And I don't want to wait any ninety days, either.”

“No, but you'll have to, if you want to go into this job legally. I don't want you to have to wait, either, so the best thing to do is to find you a temporary partner. That shouldn't be hard to do. There are lots of private investigators in south Louisiana.”

“Great. As long as I can give the guy my stamp of approval first.”

“Of course. Okay, that's settled. I'll handle everything on the business end. That's what I do with my hotels. I want to help you get going with this and make it a lucrative endeavor.”

“Fine. Do it however you want. Doesn't matter to me.”

“So do you know anybody who works private and can help you out on this first case? He or she has to have a state private license in good standing.”

“I'll think of somebody. And I'll look at anybody you find. Just find them in a hurry. I prefer to work alone, but I'll do whatever I've got to do to find Andrea Quinn.”

Black stared at her for a moment. “It just occurred to me that I know somebody you might want to work with until you're granted a license.”

Claire narrowed her gaze. Just occurred to him? Yeah, right. “Who?”

“I know a guy. I met him through Jack Holliday. He's been working private around New Orleans for years. And he's good at it, experienced. If he's interested, I'd like for you to meet him. See if you think he'd work out.”

Jack Holliday was a good friend of Black's. Claire had met him on a pretty hairy case not so long ago. He was a nice guy, too, a good friend, and he was trustworthy. “Jack's cool. He wouldn't lead us down the wrong path. So, who is it?”

“His name is Will Novak.”

“Okay. Tell me more.”

“Well, I don't know a lot more. Actually, I don't know him all that well, not personally anyway. I just met him a couple of times when he was with Jack, and he seemed stand-up. He played football at Tulane when Jack was quarterback out there. He and Jack are tight. So he's going to know every inch of Tulane University. Jack told me that Novak knows New Orleans and the surrounding area like the back of his hand. As I understand it, he's got some property down in the bayous around Lafourche or Terrebonne, somewhere like that, a big place that his family's owned for years. He also inherited an apartment in the Quarter, from his mother's side of the family I think. That means he's probably got contacts everywhere, contacts that can be helpful in your cases.”

“But you can't really vouch for him yourself?”

“I trust Jack's opinion, and so should you. He says this guy is good at what he does. Actually, Novak's done a couple of jobs with Booker, too, and Book says the same thing. Novak knows his stuff. So, how about giving him an interview when we touch down? See if you like him? Then you can get right to work.”

John Booker was Black's friend, too, and his personal go-to private investigator, but he lived at Lake of the Ozarks where Claire had her own house. He also had a family there, a wife and son whom he adored, and probably wouldn't move them to Louisiana just because Claire needed a temporary partner. He was good at what he did, too, very good. And he might do jobs for them in his Missouri neck of the woods, which would suit Claire just fine. On the other hand, this Novak guy? He sounded like he just might be part of Black's little band of ex-military buddies. Claire put down her pen and studied Black's face for a long moment. Suspicious, oh, yeah. A wave of annoyance swept through her. “Wait just a minute, Black. What is this? You tryin' to set me up with your own handpicked bodyguard? That it?”

Black looked like she had caught him with his hand in the I'm-gonna-protect-you-at-all-costs cookie jar. “Well, no. You don't need a bodyguard. What you do need is a partner who'll have your back, just like Bud and Zee did when you worked with them. And Novak can do that, trust me. All I'm asking is for you to meet the guy and see what you think. That's it. If you don't like him, fine. We'll find somebody else who is licensed and willing to work with you. Or you can find whoever you want. Just forget it, if you don't like the sound of him. Doesn't bother me.”

He shrugged with a noncommittal little gesture that said loud and clear to her:
Me? Interfere in your business, uh-uh, not me.
Only thing, though, Claire knew good and well that he interfered in her business whenever he thought it would keep her safe, because since they'd been together, he'd seen her hurt and in the hospital way too many times to count. Claire stared at him some more, still frowning, and still pretty sure Black had handpicked this particular guy for his own reasons. But Black's reasons were usually pretty much right on, so why not? “Okay, I'll meet this guy, but I'm going to make the final decision. You do get that, right, Black? I decide who I work with. I'm going out on my own, but only if I'm the one in charge.”

“Sure, I know that. I'm just trying to help you get started.”

And he was, Claire was pretty sure. After all this time waiting for her to hang up her badge, he wasn't about to throw a kink in the gears. “Okay, when we get home, bring him in and I'll interview him.”

Black looked pretty damned relieved to hear that, or maybe it was just some well-disguised smirk of triumph. “Good deal. I think you'll want him to come aboard, but it's strictly up to you. No problem. I am absolutely swamped with work. That means I'm going to have to do some traveling after we get home. My Paris clinic needs me to see a difficult patient over there, and something's come up at the hotel down in Miami, too. Wish you would come with me.”

“You've spent twenty-four-seven with me for two whole months. Time alone might do you good. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and all that saccharine stuff.”

“Don't know about you, but I wish we were still lying on that nice warm beach, no worries, no problems, just us, making love under the stars.”

“It was wonderful while it lasted, but it's gonna be good to get home, too. Admit it. And they have stars in New Orleans, too.”

He grinned. “Yes, I've seen them on occasion. But, to answer your question, I am looking forward to getting home, I have to say. I've got a lot of patients to see, though, and in a lot of different clinics. I'm going to be busy.”

“Okay, it's settled, you go right ahead and set up the agency however you want and get me a meeting with this guy, Novak. But I'm not making any promises.”

“Okay, so that's settled. Now, how can I help with the wedding?”

“I'm on that, too. Nancy and Laurie are helping me, and we've got everything under control. Don't worry your little head. It's my surprise. And it's all gonna get done.”

“Good. July's getting closer every day.”

“I'll find Andrea Quinn, and then we'll get married and go wherever you want on the honeymoon and live happily ever after. So stop with the questions about the damn wedding already.”

“Okay, then.”

Black smiled and kissed her on the cheek, but that's as far as they got with any kind of sweet nothings before his cell phone chirped insistently and he moved off to make some of his wise and insightful decisions about hapless basket cases, no doubt. Claire looked back down at the notes she'd taken when talking to the Quinns, all the details of their daughter's not-very-exciting personal life, and felt a huge wave of impatience at the long flight ahead of them. She needed to get back to New Orleans and get going on the girl's trail immediately, because she wanted to find Andrea Quinn alive and well and partying topless at some bar somewhere, not floating facedown in some filthy, stagnant swamp.

Just over eleven hours later, they touched down at Louis Armstrong International Airport in New Orleans, Louisiana. By that time the missing girl had been gone for almost eight days. Once they lugged their bags back to Black's elegant walled mansion on Governor Nicholls Street in the French Quarter and caught a few hours of sleep before the sun came up, Claire found that Black had been busy being his usual efficient, take-charge self. Because that's when she found out he had called from the plane and ordered a couple of offices just off the lobby in Hotel Crescent, the boutique hotel he owned, to be reconfigured for her agency. Since the hotel backed up to the high wall that separated their own private courtyard from the hotel's back terrace and gardens, having an office inside the hotel would be most convenient for both of them.