Let the Dead Sleep by Heather Graham
Still, he stepped over to the door and looked out. Nothing there. His hypersenses were on heightened alert and not really working, he thought. They were overworking, if anything. Of course, he was never completely sure if he actually had hypersenses. After he’d flatlined at the hospital and begun his long journey back to health, he’d seemed to have more strength, to see more clearly—to hear with greater clarity.
Maybe it had been so long since he’d been clearheaded, in those years before his death, that it just seemed he had hypersenses.
“What is it?” Danni asked.
“Nothing.”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded, eyeing the dog. “So, we’ll go down to Decatur this evening,” he said.
“I really just need to show up and stay for a bit—and clap a lot.”
As they started to leave the room, he hesitated and looked back at the painting of Gladys Simon.
“I’m going to give it to Cecelia Simon. Jane suggested I do that. I thought it sounded like a nice idea,” Danni said.
“Yes, nice,” Quinn agreed.
They left the room, but before he closed the door, he looked at the painting again.
She was definitely Angus Cafferty’s daughter.
Chapter Ten
THE BAR ON Decatur was old. The building had housed apartments since the mid-1800s and still did.
The bar was next to a souvenir shop. Just as it had housed apartments from the time it was built, it had housed shops—and restaurants and bars.
Danni had always liked the bar. It combined the best of the old with the new in a way that created living history and a comfortable environment. The bar itself had been there since the establishment was opened as a tavern. Booths were old, but covered with new upholstery. The stage was about a foot and half off the ground and, when they arrived, Jenny and Brad were just finishing the setup, along with their drummer and bassist. The group stopped their sound check long enough to say hello. Of course, Jenny had shouted her name with a whoop from the stage as soon as she’d seen her enter.
Danni swung around in Jenny’s exuberant hug and then she did the same with Brad, and—what the heck—she knew Steve, the drummer, and Luis, the bassist, so she greeted them with warm hugs, too. When she was back on the ground, she turned to introduce Quinn, except that Jenny was already talking to him. “I know you—I mean, I know about you. Wow, that’s not coming out right. You’re Michael Quinn, one of the most brilliant quarterbacks to go through our high school and then you were a college darling and then—” She broke off, blinking.
“Hey, man,” Brad said, stepping in and shaking Quinn’s hand. “I heard you died on the table, but they said you made a miraculous comeback and would make a full recovery. But you never went back to the game.”
Quinn was pleasant to Brad and Jenny, giving Jenny that smile that had surely collected hearts all his life and grimacing as he replied to Brad. “No more football. I went into the military, got out, joined the P.D. and finished up my degree.”
“So you’re a cop now?” Jenny asked.
“Worse,” Quinn said solemnly. “A private investigator.”
They laughed at that. “We’ve got to open at nine on the dot,” Brad said.
“Go, go, finish your setup,” Jenny told him. She stood back, looking at Danni with happiness. “I was so afraid you were going to ditch me!”
“We can’t stay long, but...”
“Long enough to give us an audience until the drunks and tourists come in!” Jenny said. “Thank you, thank you.”
“It’s just that if we disappear in the middle of one of your sets, please don’t be upset.”
“Grab a table. Looks like we’re actually getting people,” Brad said.
“It’s a bar. Of course, we’re going to get people!” Jenny scoffed as they returned to the stage.
Quinn pointed out a table where they’d have a good view and not be directly under the speakers. He asked Danni what she’d like to drink and she asked for a zinfandel. She slid into the booth they’d chosen, then casually turned to watch the door. There were obviously tourists walking in, but she noted that a few of her other friends from days gone by were arriving, as well.
When Quinn joined her again with her glass of wine, he had a dark beverage for himself.
“What is that?” she asked him.
“Coke,” he told her.
“I guess I shouldn’t have gotten this since we’re heading out to a ceremony. I’m glad you’re the designated driver.”
He shrugged. “Not to worry. I just don’t do much these days,” he said.
“Much of what?”
He’d slid into the booth next to her and was watching the stage. “Don’t do much of anything, really. Don’t do drugs, seldom drink.” He turned to look at her. “Let’s see, I went from being a decent kid with great grades lucky enough to have size and physical coordination—to an idiot who took every pill and bottle offered to him and fooled around with all kinds of girls, careless of anyone who actually cared about me. And then I died. I had alcohol poisoning and I was hit by a car. My folks nearly had heart attacks themselves that night. Hey, guess what else I figured out the night I died?”
“What?”
“I like the world when I see it through an unaltered mind. Okay, sometimes the world sucks. But music is great when you really hear it.”
She smiled at that. “Do you play anything?”
“Guitar—but not like your friend, I’m sure. You?”
“Piano. I had a lot of lessons. My dad wanted me to learn the bagpipes, but he tried to start me so young, I couldn’t hold the damned thing, so...I went to the piano.”
She fell silent as Jenny welcomed the crowd, announced the band and then looked at her and thanked special friends for coming.
Jenny and Brad and their group—the Night Walkers—were good. They did a number of covers that were loved in the city, but they did some original songs, too. They played for forty-five minutes, then took a break.
Brad and Jenny came over to join them. Jenny, flushed with pleasure, said, “It’s going well, isn’t it?”
“Great,” Quinn told them. He asked Brad something about his guitar; Brad got up enthusiastically and encouraged Quinn to follow him.
Jenny leaned toward Danni. “Oh, my God! Where did you meet him? I’ve seen his old pictures in the hall at the school, you know, in uniform. And I saw him in dozens of news stories years ago, but...wow. He’s better in real life. He’s so tall. He’s so...built. He’s so mysterious—I mean, he was a candidate for either rehab or prison...and here he is. With you!”
“He was a friend of my dad’s. I didn’t know it until recently,” Danni explained.
“I guess you got him at a good point. Strange, he was such a local superstar in the sports arena—and I think, in his heyday, he even did some commercials. For some brand of sneakers. He was given just about everything in the world, and I guess he took it all as his due. He went through women like toilet paper, but they still flocked around him. Hey! Has he told you about his near-death experience? Wait, how can it be near-death? He flatlined on the table, but then he came back. So, what would you call that?”
Danni lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “He doesn’t like to talk about it. But he got a second chance. Maybe a second chance makes you clean up?”
Jenny grimaced. “I don’t know. We had a few friends who had miraculous second chances—but they couldn’t do it. They’re dead now. But, hey! Are you two an item? That is so neat!”
“No, no, we’re not an item. We’re...friends,” Danni said. They were friends; they’d gotten that far.
“A P.I.! How cool,” Jenny said. She leaned even closer, a mischievous look on her face. “You should be an item. But then again, you threw Elliott Carver away
He was! she thought.
Her last half-serious relationship had been with a local filmmaker. He’d let his successes go to his head. He became rude in restaurants and pretty much heedless of anyone but himself.
“Elliott and I saw life differently,” she said.
Jenny laughed. “I haven’t seen him in a while. He used to hang out on Frenchman for a while, but I guess he’s above us locals now. So, what about this guy?”
Danni raised her eyebrows. Quinn could come across like bulldozer, but that was only when he was in hot pursuit of someone—or something.
“So far,” she said, “he seems to be very polite in restaurants.”
Brad and Quinn came back to the table then. Quinn looked at his watch and gave Danni a questioning glance.
Danni saw that the place was filling up; people were three-deep at the bar.
“We’re going to get out of here. Looks like you’re doing just fine.”
Jenny sent her a happy smile. They went through the ritual of saying goodbye, with hugs and handshakes all around. Brad and Jenny returned to the stage, and Quinn and Danni slipped out the door.
“Thanks for that,” Danni said.
He looked at her with a smile. “I like music. No problem. Your friends seem nice.”
“They are.”
“And curious.”
She looked back at him. “Well, people are going to be curious, you know.”
He nodded. “We don’t ever really live down the past.”
“But you’ve redeemed the present—and future.”
“Said like a true schoolmarm,” he told her. “Very uplifting.”
“Hey!”
A few minutes later, they were driving out on I-10. “Wolf is all right at your place?” Quinn asked.
“Billie loves him.”
“I get the impression he makes Jane nervous.”
“She’s never had a dog...I don’t think. And besides, she leaves the shop by eight every night. If we’re open late, Billie closes up.” She turned to face him. “You never left Wolf with my father.”
He kept his eyes on the road.
“Oh, I see. You didn’t feel my father needed protection. He could take care of himself.”
He seemed about to speak but she could tell he wasn’t sure what to say.
“Never mind—I get it. My father could take care of himself. We need to go back to a shooting range. And maybe I should get a weapon.”
“Not until you know how and when to use one,” he said.
“That’s reasonable.”
They exchanged another smile.
They really had become friends. And quickly. Maybe running around in a cemetery, beneath a cemetery, in fetid water and in dusty tombs helped form a lasting bond.
Quinn seemed to know where he was going; she assumed he’d been out to a ceremony or two.
The road that led to Natasha’s peristyle was nothing but dirt and rock—and flooded in bad weather. She owned the property, though, and Danni knew that over the years, no matter what the weather or circumstances, Natasha had been available to her parishioners.
The peristyle was a hut with a thatched roof that had been repaired and rebuilt dozens of times. The sides were open and the platform flooring was about five feet above the ground. It could accommodate a number of crates and dozens of people. There were steps and a ramp for the aged or handicapped.
When they arrived, there were already many people in attendance. The majority were African-American or of mixed race, but there were at least ten who would be labeled white. A few of the parishioners viewed them as outsiders, but they were immediately greeted by Jeziah, Natasha’s assistant, and it seemed that once he’d okayed them, they were all right.
They hadn’t been there long, conversing with others—accepting some kind of drink that tasted like pure rotgut alcohol—before Jez began the setup. The crowd naturally made way for him, and he announced their intentions for the night: To put to rest the full spirit of the departed. He spoke about the voodoo belief in, respect for and love of their ancestors, and he spoke about Natasha. At a very young age, she’d been bitten by a snake—a snake that would kill most people but she had survived. And she was alive with the powerful spirit of the snake; the snake was her loa.
Then Natasha appeared. She spoke in Creole, addressing the crowd, and Danni tried to follow her words. She talked about the deceased, about his goodness as a human being. She said he must be given the rest he deserved. It was the fault of his surviving family if his spirit became sick as it wandered, if it created sickness among his family and friends, and brought them harm. Thankfully, the deceased had a loving family. They would ask that the departed man’s gros-bon-ange join them that night and meld with the ti-bon-ange, so that eternal peace might be found beneath the all-powerful spirit through the gentle guidance of Mawu, the moon, and Lisa, the sun, both parts of the great Nana Buluku, male and female aspects of the supreme being.
And then she was offered a massive snake—a constrictor rather than a viper—and she began to dance. Other snakes were taken from crates by several people, following Natasha’s movements. As she moved, drumbeats sounded, and soon, everyone was joining her in the exotic pulse of the dance.
Danni didn’t understand all the words being spoken, but she was carried away with the others, moving on the platform. Quinn, doing the same, towered over almost everyone.
Jez danced near Danni to warn her, “Do not touch Natasha, because she is the priestess here. It is bad luck. Some believe it can cause injury or death.”
She nodded; he moved on. The dancing continued. She was surprised by the power of the chanting and the beat as they rose up. And she was astounded to feel as if energy did rip through her, as if she were part of the whole. There was definitely a carnal feel to the movements—sensual, fluid, erotic—although no one had disrobed. No one even touched another.
The drumbeats rose to crescendo. Then they halted.
Many of the dancers fell to the floor.
Natasha cried out and bent over.
All on the platform were silent.
But then Danni heard sobbing from the rear of the platform. She looked in that direction.
She didn’t know how she hadn’t seen the man before. He was enormous, about Quinn’s height, and broad with heavy shoulders, enormous legs and a massive presence.
He had to be Big-Ass Mo Fo.
She realized that Quinn had seen him, too, that he’d slipped through the crowd to get closer to the big man.
She’d been distracted; she heard Natasha speaking again. She was using some kind of feathered talisman to wave over the crowd as she spoke.
Then she heard people speaking the way they’d speak on the street, greeting one another, saying goodbye, making plans to meet for lunch....
Conversations that might be heard anywhere.
People said respectful goodbyes to Natasha. The crowd thinned.
Danni heard sobbing again from the rear corner of the platform.
The giant known as Big-Ass Mo Fo—Carl White—was on his knees. Quinn knelt beside him, speaking gently.
Natasha, too, heard the sound, and sent away the last of her parishioners with a somber nod that assured them she cared for them, but that she was needed.
Danni felt an urge to join the small group in the most quiet and nonintrusive way possible. When she reached them, she felt as if the world had gone away. It was quiet in the bayou, other than the man’s sobbing and the sounds of insects and the occasional splash as a fish jumped or a gator thrashed by.
She went down on her knees by Natasha, facing the man. Natasha was speaking to him in Creole; her words were so quickly spoken Danni became lost. She saw that Quinn was looking at her.
&
Danni didn’t know what house she meant but taking her cue from Quinn she rose. Natasha led the way. She paused to speak with Jez, who was collecting the talismans they’d used that night and securing the snakes in their crates to go in the back of his truck. He nodded gravely and kept up his task.
“Come,” Natasha said again.
It was a good thing that Quinn was tall and fit. The big man leaned on him heavily, still muttering in Creole as they moved through the growth by the swamp. Natasha led them along an overgrown trail to a wooden shack that sat on pilings just over the bayou. She went up the steps, pausing to get matches and a lantern from the porch. She struck a match and lit the lantern, then let them into the little shack.
It was one room. There were old upholstered chairs across from a fireplace, a cot covered with an antique quilt to the side, and in the far back corner of the room, Danni could see a water pump, a few cabinets and a counter.
“It’s chilly. Perhaps a fire?” Natasha said to Quinn.
He nodded and began to build up kindling to light the logs. Natasha brought Carl to a chair, urging him down with a soothing singsong voice as she spoke to him in Creole. Danni struggled to follow her speech. Natasha was telling him that Quinn and Danni could help him.
Natasha went to the water pump, filled a kettle and returned to set it over the fire that was beginning to burn.
“Tea. Tea is always good,” she said, reverting to English. “I had a great-great-great-grandfather who was Irish. His ways have come down to us,” she said cheerfully.
Quinn stepped away from the fire. He took a seat opposite the big man and nodded to Danni, who sat on Carl’s other side.
Natasha checked the tea water and joined them.
“Now, Carl, tell Danni and Quinn what happened. Tell them about Leroy—and the night he was killed.”
Carl inhaled, looked at Danni and Quinn, lifted his massive hands and released a long sigh. “I do business, yes. I buy and sell some drugs—nothing dangerous, I swear it. No heroin, no fancy street drugs cut with who-knows-what...and I own clubs where women sell their bodies, but only those who choose. They are treated well by me. I have been a bad man, perhaps, in the eyes of many. But I have never been an evil man.”