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Graham drained the last drop of coffee from his cup and rose to go. “Not all women settle for cheap beads, old boy. Some want it all. Power, prestige and lots of cash. Especially cash.” Flicking off the light, he headed for the front door.
“Don’t tell me you’re back on that old gripe again. You need a good woman, Graham. That’s what’s wrong with you.”
“I need sleep. And I’m on my way to get some, right now. You’d better do the same. Anything might happen during the next week and a half, and probably will.”
Graham toyed with the keys in his pocket as he took the steps to street level. He was tired, but there was only one way he’d get any sleep tonight.
He’d have to make a quick stop at Touro first.
* * *
LINDSEY TRIED to catch her breath. She’d been running for hours, looking everywhere for something...someone. She couldn’t remember.
“Lindsey, are you all right?”
The voice seemed to come from nowhere. She tried to move, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. A strong hand wrapped around hers, stroking tenderly.
“That’s okay. Don’t try to wake up. The nurse says you need to sleep. I’ll be back in the morning, and you can tell me everything.”
She breathed deeply. It was Graham. He’d come to help her find...something, but what? It didn’t matter. Graham was here now. Everything would be all right. She closed her eyes and rested.
* * *
“HEY, Sleeping Beauty, welcome back to the land of the living. Or are you just passing through again?”
Lindsey blinked her eyes repeatedly, trying to bring the unfamiliar surroundings into focus. She was flat on her back in a single bed that was as hard as a rock, definitely not her own. The dimly lit room smelled of antiseptic and rubbing alcohol.
“I thought you’d never wake up. I’ve been sitting right here in this dreadful place for over two hours.”
“Brigit? What’s going on? Are you all right?” Lindsey reached out and grasped the hand of her friend, grateful for contact with warm flesh and blood and a semblance of normality.
“I’m fine. It’s you who passed out on us. You mumbled something about a soldier. Next thing we knew, you were lying on the floor of the float in a lifeless heap. Nearly scared us all to death.”
A soldier. The dashing man in uniform. The long dagger. The gush of red on the green velvet. It was coming back now. All of it. In living color. She squeezed Brigit’s hand as a frightening chill inundated her body.
“It was awful, Brigit. He murdered her in cold blood!”
With determined movements, she rose to a sitting position, throwing her bare feet over the side of the bed.
“Hey, take it easy. You’re not going anywhere. Not yet, anyway,” Brigit insisted, placing a hand on her shoulder.
“Get the police, Brigit. I have to talk to them. Now. While they still have time to catch the murderer.”
“You don’t need the police. You need a doctor, and you have one of the best. Dr. Benson, a friend of my dad’s. He says you’re suffering from a case of pure exhaustion. And an overdose of partying, of course.”
“Nonsense,” Lindsey protested. She maneuvered past Brigit’s well-meaning attempt to restrain her and pushed to her feet. Her resolve was short-lived. The room began to spin like a carousel. She sank back to the bed.
“The doctor said you’d be a little dizzy when you woke up. It’s the drugs. Aspe... Oh, I don’t remember. Something with a long name.”
The doctor was right. Now even the bed was spinning beneath her. And her mind was playing cruel tricks. She could have sworn it was Graham and not Brigit who had sat at her side during the night.
But of course it hadn’t been Graham. He didn’t even know she was in town. And even if he did, he wouldn’t be interested. It was just the drugs that were reviving thoughts she’d carefully tucked away, deep in her subconscious.
“I don’t understand it, Lindsey. What do you do up at that university that’s so important you don’t even take time to eat or sleep?”
Lindsey massaged her brow with shaking fingers. She had to clear her mind, put foolish dreams of Graham aside and remember all the details of the gruesome scene she’d witnessed. The drugs were not making it any easier. And as for working too hard, that was a way of life for her. A situation that wasn’t likely to change anytime soon.
“I don’t know what you or the doctor are talking about. I’m fine. But I need to see a policeman. We’ve wasted too much time already.”
“Good. I’m glad you’re ready for them, because after the way you talked to that old buzzard that was on duty when we arrived last night, I don’t think they’re going to be too friendly.”
Lindsey took a deep breath. A few hazy recollections were churning about in her mind, but none of them made much sense.
“You do remember talking to the cop, don’t you?” Brigit asked patiently. “I’m sure he remembers you. You were pretty much out of it, though. Mostly mumbling incoherently. You were a frightful—”
“So the police already know about the murder?”
“Now just stay calm, Lindsey. Dr. Benson says you shouldn’t get all choked up.”
“I have no intention of staying calm. A girl was brutally murdered. Now answer my question. Do the police know what I saw?”
“They know you were mumbling about some guy with a dagger, thanks to our benevolent head nurse. She couldn’t wait to report your so-called murder. I told her you were out of your head, but she didn’t budge from her position. Hospital policy, you know.” Brigit mimicked the nurse’s haughty manner, but Lindsey ignored her attempt at humor.
She traced the folds in her hospital sheet, then stared out the window. Even through closed blinds, it was obvious the sun was high in the sky.
“What time is it?”
Brigit studied the jeweled timepiece that adorned her wrist. “Exactly 11:36 a.m.”
“Oh, no... All night and half the day wasted.” Taking a deep breath, she pulled her drugged body up to a sitting position again. She shivered. The room felt cold, and no wonder. The only thing covering her was a thin hospital gown, and it wasn’t covering much.
“Get my clothes, Brigit. I’m not exhausted, and I’m not ill. You know me. I’ve always had trouble with motion sickness. And I probably had a little too much champagne.” She rocked forward, cradling her spinning head in her hands. “Maybe way too much champagne.”
“It’s probably not the liquor, Lindsey. The doc gave you a shot. He said it would make you sleep. And it did, too. Right through the policeman’s questioning.” She suppressed a giggle. “Except when you told him to get his fat, lazy self out of here and catch murderers. Only you didn’t put it quite that nicely.”
Lindsey groaned and crawled out of the bed, bending over to look for her shoes. They weren’t to be seen, and a quick glance around the sparsely furnished room didn’t reveal any sign of her clothes, either. She stumbled toward the small closet, grabbing the back of a chair for support when her knees proved more the consistency of Jell-O than bone.
“Your clothes aren’t here. Grace Ann took care of that. You’re the victim of a Dominican Daredevils conspiracy. You need rest. Doctor’s orders. We plan to see that you follow them.”
The Dominican Daredevils. Funny, she hadn’t thought of that nickname in years. So much had happened since her days at old Dominican High. But for Grace Ann, Brigit and the others, life was just one long extension of the friendships and habits begun so long ago. Like so many others in New Orleans, they had never moved away, had even attended colleges that let them remain close to home.
She eased back to the bed to contemplate her next move. Her friends meant well, but obviously they were convinced she’d imagined the whole stabbing incident. And apparently the doctors and the police were just as certain. A cold shiver shook her body as the scene replayed in her mind. They were wrong. Somehow, she had to prove that to them.
“Ah, Miss Latham, I see you’re awake. And feeling a lot better than you were last night, I trust.”
Lindsey looked up and into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, playful and twinkly, peering from behind a multitude of wrinkles. The graying gentleman stepped closer and stuck a steady hand in her direction.
“Dr. Matthew Benson,” he offered, grasping her outstretched hand and shaking it firmly. “How’s the head feel? Still a little dizzy?”
“Yes,” she admitted, reluctantly. She didn’t want to argue with the doctor, but she was getting out of here. Now. Or at least as soon as she located some clothes.
“The drugs appear to be wearing off fast, but I think you’ll feel a lot better for the night’s rest. You gave your young friends quite a scare when you started hallucinating.”
Brigit smiled at the doctor in conspiratorial fashion as she backed away from the bed.
“But I told them we’d see what some sleep would do for you,” the doctor continued. “I’m glad I gave you the shot before the officer showed up. If I hadn’t, I’m afraid our determined man in blue would have harassed you half the night. And you weren’t ready for that.”
Harassed? What was it with these people? Did she look like a basket case, or were murders just so commonplace in the Big Easy that nobody even bothered to report them anymore?
“I appreciate your concern, Dr. Benson, but I must talk to the police at once. Coherently. A young woman was murdered last night, and I may well be the only witness.” She turned to Brigit for support, but she had conveniently disappeared through the open door. “For all I know, the killer is still on the loose, doing who knows what,” Lindsey continued. “Running for his life. Maybe even killing again.”
The doctor flashed a patronizing smile, but his words were stopped short by a strident voice from the hall.
“You’ll have to wait. Dr. Benson would have my hide if he knew I’d let you in last night after he specified no visitors. Though personally I don’t see why he’s so worried about just another girl who overpartied. Mardi Gras! I’ll be glad when it’s over.”
Two sets of footsteps, one heavy, one barely discernible, moved closer to the door.
“I have to agree with you on that. But I’m just doing my job, ma’am. Just like you’re doing yours.”
A man’s voice. Strong and husky. And familiar, like an old love song. Lindsey struggled for air. It couldn’t be Graham. She was losing it, imagining things. Maybe the doctor was right. If her mind was playing tricks on her now, how could she be sure it had been any different last night on the float?
She waited, her body tense, as the heavy footsteps grew closer. Waited until a tall figure stepped inside, smiling uncertainly, his eyes riveted on her.
Her breath caught, settling in her throat like hot coals. She’d known this day would come eventually, but not now. Not like this.
“Hello, Lindsey.”
That was it. Two simple words. Years had come and gone since their last meeting. Ten long years, and now it all came down to a simple hello.
“Hello, Graham,” she answered, her shaky voice little more than a whisper. A thousand sleepless nights she’d wondered if her memories were accurate. If his smile was really that captivating, if his hair actually fell in lush, dark waves about his high forehead, framing his classic features. Now she knew just how deceptive memories could be. They hadn’t done him justice.
“Detective Graham Dufour, homicide,” he announced, flashing his badge for her and the others to see. His voice had almost broken on the simple hello, but it was all business now—and that was a message she needed to heed. Whatever they had once shared had died a long time ago. At least it had for him.
“I’m Dr. Benson.” The doctor broke the painful silence. He extended his hand, but the warmth he’d flashed at Lindsey was missing in his greeting to Graham. “It appears you’ve already met Miss Latham.”
“Yes. Lindsey and I are...old friends.”
Suspicion pulled at the lines of the doctor’s smile. “I’m going to let you have a few minutes with my patient. If she’s ready to see you, that is. But I want you out of here in ten minutes. She needs rest. So ask your questions fast and be on your way.”
“I’ll be fine, Doctor.” Somehow Lindsey managed a reassuring smile.
Graham’s gaze traveled over her, scrutinizing her face, her eyes, the outline of her body beneath the revealing covers of the hospital bedding. She pulled the sheet higher and raked her fingers through her long brown hair, pushing the wispy curls away from her face.
The doctor stepped to the door, then stopped. “When you’ve had enough, Miss Latham, just push that button on the edge of your bed. We’ll escort your young detective out of here.”
He pulled the door to, leaving behind a cloud of silence that threatened to suffocate her. She struggled for composure. She didn’t dare sit up, didn’t want to deal with Graham in her weakened condition. He’d surely notice the dizziness that once again had the room spinning unmercifully. He’d seen her weak and vulnerable before. He wouldn’t get that chance again.
She turned to slide the pillow higher, needing the added support.
“Here, let me help you with that.”
He stepped beside her. The smell of him assaulted her senses. A clean smell, soap and after-shave, and something more. That unmistakable musk that had always clung to him like a personal aura, a permanent badge of his masculinity.
“No, that’s okay. I can get it.”
“Of course. You always could take care of yourself, couldn’t you?”
“I manage.” At least she had been managing. Suddenly all her independence was going up in smoke. Her body longed to reach out to Graham, to bury itself in his strong arms, the way it had done last night in her dreams.
“So, what brings the famous Nashville research doctor back to old New Orleans? Surely not Mardi Gras. You were never one to mingle with the poor masses. This was always your week for skiing in the Alps.”
Sarcasm edged his voice and hardened the lines in his face. Nothing had changed in the ten years since she’d seen him. Nothing ever would. Those were the facts she needed to keep in front of her, not some romantic fantasy from her dreams.
“This isn’t about me, Graham. Things will go better for both of us if we just keep to the reason you’re here.”
“You’re right. So tell me what happened, before the good doctor runs me out.”
“I witnessed a murder last night. A young woman.”
“And where were you when this happened?” he asked, his expression cold and stony, successfully masking all feeling.
“I was on a float, in the Minerva parade.” The words came slowly, rolling off a tongue that felt too big for her mouth. No doubt another side effect of the drugs. “We had stopped. The crowds were pushing closer and closer. I backed away, against the support frame. I was just staring into the horde of spectators.”
Graham pulled up a chair and straddled it, his long legs stretching to the edge of her bed. “And you think you saw someone murdered in the crowd?” he asked, doubt clearly written in his face. “But no one else saw it?”
“No. I don’t think anything. I saw a murder.”
“Point made. And taken.” He settled in his chair.
Lindsey chose her words carefully. She needed to be as accurate as possible, in spite of the drugs. “I’m not sure where we were exactly, the route was so long. But it was somewhere in the Uptown section.”
“Was it near the beginning of the route?”
“We were about an hour into the parade, but we were moving slowly. I know we were on one of the avenues. There was a grassy neutral ground separating the two sides of the street. Almost all of the houses were huge, and they had balconies loaded with people,” she continued. “But not this one. It was dark as night, except for a sliver of light from an upstairs window. The window and room were rounded, like a turret, jutting out from the rest of the house.”
Lindsey tried hard to concentrate on her story. But everything seemed hazy. She wished she could blame it solely on the drugs, but she couldn’t deny the effect seeing Graham again was having on her senses. And the way he was staring at her now was definitely not helpful.
Detective Graham Dufour. He’d always talked of joining the police force, and she’d thought his aspirations far too limiting. But she’d been only seventeen. What had she known then of life...or love?
“And you saw something in this window,” he offered, keeping her on track like a good detective.
“Yes. A young couple, in costume.”
“A soldier and a Southern belle?”
“That’s right. How did you know?”
“It was in the report from the hospital. A patient named Lindsey Latham admitted for treatment. Slightly inebriated and talking out of her head, mumbling incoherently about the dashing soldier who’d stabbed the beautiful Southern belle.”
