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“No, it isn’t that. As I said, the doll is beautiful. But there are some fairly convincing imitations making the rounds these days. A few of Savannah’s former students have mastered her technique, and I know of one or two who have actually tried to pass off their work as hers.” The woman paused, her gaze dropping to the doll. “Do you have the certificate of authenticity?”
Travis had thought that might be a problem, but he was prepared to bluff his way through it. After all, bullshitting was second nature to him. Just like stealing. “If you’re the expert you claim to be, you should be able to tell just by looking at her that she’s the real deal.” He reached out and flipped one of the doll’s golden curls with his fingertip. “You said yourself you’ve never seen such quality.”
The woman slid the glasses up her nose and bent back over the doll. “I’m ninety-nine percent certain she’s genuine, but if you could obtain her paperwork, the value would double.”
“Sorry, but I’m offering her as is. You don’t want her, I’ll go elsewhere. I figure there’s plenty of shops and private collectors out there who’d like to get their hands on a fine piece like this.”
“Perhaps. But you have to understand my position. My livelihood hinges on my reputation. If you could at least tell me how and where you acquired her…?”
Travis didn’t like the sound of that. The last thing he needed was for the old biddy to call the cops. “Why do you need to know that?”
“As I said, I have a reputation to consider. I have to be cautious.”
This wasn’t going as well as he’d hoped. The woman was playing hardball and he now had two options. Stay and haggle or take the doll and walk. By this time tomorrow he’d probably have another buyer, but he didn’t much like the notion of driving all the way back home, knowing those glass eyes would be watching him another night.
“Okay, it’s like this. The doll belonged to my girl-friend’s kid. The little girl up and died suddenly, and my old lady can’t have a reminder like that lying around the house. She asked me to get rid of it for her. Considering everything she’s been through, I don’t see how I can worry her about the paperwork. You understand.”
“Of course I do. How awful to lose a child. And one so beautiful.” She stroked the doll’s smooth check. “I have two little granddaughters. I can’t imagine anything more tragic—”
“So we got us a deal or what?”
The shopkeeper’s attention lingered on the doll. She couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away. “Cut ten percent off the price we discussed on the phone and we’ll call it a day.”
“Sounds fair enough.”
She smiled, satisfied. “Good. If you’ll wait here, I’ll write you a check.”
Travis’s hand snaked out to curl around her wrist. “Like I said earlier, I’m partial to cash.”
The woman’s eyes flickered. He could see suspicion working its way back to the surface, but she wanted the doll so bad she was willing to ignore her instincts. She shook off his hand and gave a curt nod. “I’ll be right back.”
She reappeared a few moments later and handed him an envelope. “It’s all there—the amount we agreed on earlier, less ten percent. But feel free to count it, Mr….”
Travis pocketed the envelope with a grin. “I trust you. Besides, if you short me I know where to find you.”
The woman’s hand fluttered to her throat and she turned a little pale, as if suddenly realizing that she’d just struck a bargain with the devil.
Lady, if you only knew.
She followed him to the door and after he stepped outside, he heard the click of the dead bolt behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the woman’s silhouette in the window, but she quickly shut off the light and pulled the shade.
Travis stood on the sidewalk for a moment, deciding whether he wanted to go straight home or stop off somewhere for a drink. It wasn’t often he had spare change in his pocket. Might as well do a little celebrating.
Across the street, a shadow darted into a doorway, and his heart raced. For a moment he thought it was the woman he’d seen earlier on Bourbon Street, but as he peered into the shadows, he couldn’t make her out.
He was seeing things, probably. A guilty conscience could make a man jumpy.
Whatever the hell was wrong with him, he couldn’t wait to get out of New Orleans. Too many weirdos hanging around to suit him. He’d leave the city before having that drink. Maybe stop off at a little place he knew on the way home, buy a bucket of shrimp and have a few beers. Later he’d make a liquor store run with Desiree, and the two of them could sit out on his back porch getting shit-faced as they watched heat lightning over the Gulf.
It all sounded good.
Hunching his shoulders against a light rain, he headed east toward Bourbon Street. At the corner of Chartres and St. Louis, a group of tourists had stopped to watch an old black man tap-dance beneath a balcony. The rat-a-tat-tat of his shoes resonated in the darkness, and for some reason the sound made Travis feel lonely.
He stopped to stuff a couple of bills into a beat-up coffee can, then quickly moved on, discomforted by the man’s toothless grin. The old geezer looked to be pushing eighty. He should have been tucked away somewhere in a rest home instead of busting his hump on a street corner in the rain. But that was New Orleans for you. The old didn’t die here. They were just forgotten.
“You don’t get yourself straightened out, that’ll be you someday, boy,” he could hear his daddy goad him.
Travis didn’t want to think about his father or the future or even what he was going to do with himself beyond the next drunk. He tuned out the echo of the old man’s taps as he neared the cathedral and turned up St. Peter.
The street was nearly deserted here except for a woman who stood in the glow of a shop window. She wore a green skirt, and when she moved her head, light sparked off her silver earrings.
Travis slowed his steps. She was the same woman he’d seen earlier on Bourbon Street.
Their gazes connected as he approached, and a shiver slid up his spine. She had the palest face he’d ever laid eyes on. He knew he’d never seen her before tonight, but there was something eerily familiar about her features. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was.
She smiled, and the skin at the back of his neck crawled. Who the hell was she?
Spooked by that smile, Travis decided to keep on walking, but as he passed her, she said in a low voice, “Can I trouble you for a light?”
Not exactly an original line, but curiosity got the better of him and he reached in his pocket for a lighter. Turning, he shielded the flame with his cupped hand as she lifted a cigarette to her lips. They were nice lips. Not too full, not too thin. It was only when she smiled that something seemed off about her mouth.
She took a pull and slowly exhaled the smoke, then handed the cigarette to Travis. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do with it, but when he took a drag, she didn’t seem to mind.
“So what are you doing out here all by your lonesome?” he asked.
“Killing time.”
“Kind of dangerous to be here alone. Nothing but freaks in the Quarter.”
She smiled. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
That smile. Travis wished she’d stop doing that. It wasn’t a nice smile and it kind of ruined the mood for him. He glanced away.
“Do you like to party?” she asked.
“Doesn’t everybody?”
“My place is just back there.” She nodded toward a narrow alley that ran between two buildings. “Got a nice little courtyard where we can sit and watch the rain. Come on,” she said, and started walking. “I’ll buy you a drink.”
Her smile might not do anything for him, but the way she walked sure as hell did. Travis followed her into the alley. He didn’t know if she was a hooker or just some bitch out for a good time, but at the moment, he didn’t really give a shit. The money he’d made from the doll was burning a hole in his pocket.
She was a few steps ahead of him, humming something under her breath.
“What’s that you’re singing?”
“It’s an old song. Something my mother used to sing to me at bedtime.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Do you like it?”
“Yeah, it’s nice.” He hurried to catch up with her. “My mama didn’t believe in music. Or dancing.”
“How sad for you.” She paused to adjust the strap on her sandal, and when she lost her balance, she grabbed Travis’s arm to right herself.
He stared down at her in the darkness. She laughed softly, and the next thing Travis knew, he had her backed up against the brick wall.
She laughed again, a breathy sound that spiked his heartbeat. But when he tried to kiss her, she turned her head so that his lips only grazed her pale cheek. He moved to her ear, then nuzzled her neck as he put a hand on her narrow waist, letting his thumb slide up beneath her breast. She was small there, too, but he didn’t mind. “What’s your name?”
After a slight hesitation, she said in a husky whisper, “Madeline.”
“That’s a nice name.” Travis figured she’d made it up on the spur of the moment, but he didn’t care if she had. After tonight, they’d never see each other again, anyway. “You smell good, Madeline.”
He again tried to kiss her, but she gave him a playful shove. “Take it easy, okay? We’ve got all night. Don’t you want that drink first?”
He rubbed up against her, grinding his hips against hers. “You know what I want.”
“Sure I do, baby.” Her hand slid between them and she ran it up and down his fly. “But it’ll cost you.”
“How much?”
“A hundred and fifty.” Her hand squeezed him. “You got that much?”
He fished in his pocket for the money and handed it to her in the dark. “For that kind of dough, you better be something special.”
“Oh, I am.” She slipped the folded bills into her bra. “I’m very special. You’ve never been with anyone like me before, honey.”
Reversing their positions, she pushed him up against the wall, then wet a finger in her mouth and traced his lips. “You want it fast or slow?”
“Right now, I want you on your knees,” he said, and unzipped his pants.
“Patience, baby. Good things come to those who wait.” Her fingers closed around him as she slid her other hand over his shoulder.
Travis let his head fall back against the brick wall, his breath quickening as he swelled in her hand. An instant later, he felt a sharp sting in the side of his neck, and pushed her away. “What the hell was that?”
She smiled in the dark. “You’re going to need something for the pain.”
“Pain?” His voice rose in fury as he lifted a hand to his neck. “What did you do to me, you fucking bitch?” Light from an apartment overhead filtered into the alley, and he could see her eyes staring back at him. He hadn’t noticed before how blue they were. And then in a flash, it came to him where he’d seen that face before.
Fear and revulsion rose in his throat a split second before his muscles collapsed. He tried to stay on his feet, tried to grab her around the throat, but he had no control over his limbs. He fell to his knees, his gaze locked on hers. His mouth gaped open, but no sound came out.
“You took something of mine and now I’m going to have to do some very bad things to get her back.”
With a foot on his chest, she shoved him backward. Paralyzed, he fell to the dirty pavement, his gaze fixed on those blue eyes.
She removed a scalpel from her bag and knelt beside him. “This is going to be a little crude and messy, I’m afraid, but I can’t have the police tracing you or the doll back to me.”
A fresh wave of terror washed over Travis. He wanted to get up and run. He wanted to scream for help. He wanted to fight for his life.
But he could only lie there helplessly as she lowered the blade and began to cut off his fingers.
One
Twilight always fell anxiously over the Big Easy, especially when it rained. That’s when the ghosts came out. A wisp of steam rising from the wet pavement. The murmur of voices from a hidden courtyard. Something dark and stealthy moving in the shadows, and suddenly you were reminded of a past that wouldn’t stay buried.
New Orleans was like that. A city of memories, Dave Creasy always called it. A city of secrets and whispers and the kind of regret that could eat a man up inside. Like the wrong woman, she’d get in a man’s blood, destroy his soul, make him feel alive and dead at the same time. And on a hot, rainy night—when the ghosts came out—it could be the loneliest place on earth.
Welcome back, a voice whispered in Dave’s head as he lifted his face, eyes closed, and listened to the rustle of rain through the white oleanders that drooped over a crumbling brick wall along St. Peters.
It was strange how the city could still seduce him. He’d been born and raised in New Orleans, and like everyone else he knew, there’d been a time when he couldn’t wait to get out. Now he couldn’t seem to stay away. The ghosts wouldn’t let him.
A car slowed on the street in front of him, and a child stared out at him from a rain-streaked window. She looked a little like Ruby, and Dave watched her until the car was out of sight, the pain in his chest as familiar now as his heartbeat. Then he started walking.
Around the next corner, a neon half-moon sputtered in the gathering darkness. He wanted to think of the light as a beacon, but he knew better. The Crescent City Bar could never in a million years be considered a haven. Not for him, at least.
As he entered the room, an infinitesimal chill slid over him. Welcome back, that taunting voice whispered again.
The bar was nearly empty. A handful of zombielike patrons sat with heads bowed over drinks, the only acknowledgment of their coexistence a mingling of cigarette smoke that drifted up from the tables. The old wood blades of the ceiling fans rotated overhead, barely stirring warm air that reeked of sweat, booze and despair.
Welcome back, welcome back, welcome back.
Dave took a seat at the end of the bar, where he could watch the door. He hadn’t been a cop for nearly seven years, but old habits died hard.
From the other end, the hulk of a bartender watched him with open suspicion. He was tall and tough, with skin the texture of leather. Jubal Roach had to be at least sixty, but the forearms underneath his rolled-up shirtsleeves bulged with muscle, and his sullen expression reflected, as Dave knew only too well, a still-murderous disposition.
Dave’s old partner had once warned him about Jubal’s temper. They’d stopped in for a beer after their watch one night and the surly bartender had copped an attitude from the get-go. Back in the day, Dave hadn’t been one to turn the other cheek.
“Man, let it go,” Titus had said in a nervous whisper. “You don’t want to tangle with that S.O.B. Once he start in whaling on you, he like a big ’ol loggerhead. He ain’t gonna let you go till it thunders. Or till you dead.”
It was good advice. Too bad Dave hadn’t had the sense to heed it.
He and Jubal played the staring game for several more seconds, then, with a hardening of his features, the older man ambled down to Dave’s end of the bar.
“Jubal.” Dave greeted him warily, mindful of the nightstick and brass knuckles the bartender kept under the counter. “How’s it going?”
“Dave Creasy. Been a while since I saw your ugly mug in here. Kinda thought you might be dead.”
Kinda hoped was the inference. “I bought a place in St. Mary Parish awhile back.”
“Same difference, you ask me.” Jubal got down a glass and a bottle of whiskey. “The usual?”
“Nah, I’m on the wagon these days.”
“Since when?”
Eight months, four days, nine hours and counting. “Since the last time I got thrown in jail for disorderly conduct.”
Jubal’s gold tooth flashed in the light from the Abita Purple Haze sign over the bar.
Dave touched the area over his left eye. His memories of that night had faded, but the scar hadn’t. It had taken him two days to get out of the drunk tank, another five before he’d stumbled into the nearest emergency room with a raging fever. The infection had laid him flat for nearly two weeks, and by the time he got out of the hospital, fifteen pounds lighter, a jagged scar was the least of his worries.
“You’re lucky you didn’t lose your eye,” the young intern had scolded him. “However, at the moment, I’m more concerned about your liver. You have what is known as alcohol hepatitis, which can be treated but only if alcohol consumption is stopped. Otherwise, this condition is likely to cause cirrhosis, Mr. Creasy,” he’d stated bluntly. “If you don’t stop drinking, there’s a good chance you won’t make it to your fortieth birthday.”
