Heather Graham - The Dead Play On

Tyler was immediately recognized by a pretty blonde woman in black leggings and a corset-style blouse that was white with red trim; Danni saw the same blouse on another woman and figured it had to be a waitress uniform. The blonde wore it well; she was pretty without looking as if she should have been working at one of the nearby strip clubs.

“Tyler!” she said, kissing his cheek and smiling at Danni and Quinn. “I thought you were taking the night off.”

“I was—I am,” he said. “I was just bringing some friends by.” He introduced them all to each other.

The young woman was Jessica Tate. She seemed glad to meet them—“any friend of Tyler’s...”—and especially enthusiastic when she discovered that Danni owned The Cheshire Cat . “I love that place. I haven’t seen you there, though. There’s a guy who looks like Billy Idol most of the time when I’m in—sweet accent on him, too,” she said, smiling.

“His name is Billie,” Danni told her.

“I’m talking away,” Jessica said, “and I’m supposed to be working. What can I get you?”

They ordered soda with lime and took seats at a table near the band.

“The band breaks for a few minutes every half hour,” Tyler said. “You can talk to them soon.”

“Terrific,” Quinn said. Danni watched him as he studied the group. Quinn loved music. She wondered if one day, far in the future, he would have a chance to go where he wanted, play when he wanted and revel in his guitar.

After a few minutes she turned her attention to the group. Shamus Ahearn definitely looked stereotypically Irish. His hair was strawberry-blond, his skin pale and his eyes were light. Gus Epstein had dark, curly, close-cropped hair and was thin and wiry. He seemed totally focused on his guitar as he played. Blake Templeton—dark-haired, dark-eyed—was on keyboards. He was doing the lead vocals, too, and had a strong, smooth voice with a tremendous range.

“Nice!” Quinn called to Tyler over the music.

Tyler grinned. “We’re even better with a sax. I thought Eric—the bartender—might sit in for a few, but I guess it’s just a little too busy.”

“It’s busier now than when we got here a few minutes ago,” Danni noted, looking around at the growing crowd.

“Yep,” Tyler said. “But tomorrow night at this time... Well, you two are from here. You know. Friday nights in the Quarter...”

They talked about the reemergence of the French Quarter since the storms. Jessica brought them their drinks, apologizing for having taken so long. Danni watched her as she headed back to the bar, stopping to take an order along the way. She saw the bartender come over to her and smile as he listened to her recite the drinks she needed. He seemed to enjoy his job; the sudden influx of customers didn’t get to him. There were eight seats at the bar, and every one of them was filled. He was friendly, calling out to the guy at the end that he needed just a minute as he filled Jessica’s order.

Danni turned back to watch the band. Shamus suddenly noticed Tyler in the audience and looked at him curiously then studied her and Quinn—and never missed a beat.

A few minutes later Blake announced that they were taking a five-minute break and turned on the music system so that Lana Del Rey spilled out over the speakers, and then the whole band headed to the table.

“What gives, Tyler?” Shamus asked, sliding into the chair next to Quinn. He quickly offered Quinn a handshake as he studied Danni. “Hi, Shamus Ahearn. Nice to meet you.”

They went around the table making introductions. Then Tyler addressed his bandmates. “They want to ask you guys about Arnie’s last night,” he said flatly.

“Oh,” Shamus said, studying Quinn again. He grinned. “I should have realized you were a cop,” he said.

“I’m not a cop,” Quinn said. “Private investigator.”

“Oh. Okay,” Shamus said.

The rest of the band looked at one another then all shrugged as one. Speaking for the group, Gus said sure, they would be happy to do what they could.

Jessica came by with a tray holding three glasses of water and set them down in front of the band.

“Thank you, love,” Shamus told her.

“Pleasure.”

“You going to sing with us tonight?” Blake asked her.

“Can’t. It suddenly got too busy,” she said. “You guys okay?” she asked Quinn and Danni.

“Just fine, thank you,” Danni assured her.

“What about me?” Tyler teased, raising his eyebrows in a mock leer.

“I know you’re fine—and if you weren’t, you’d lean over the bar and pour yourself a soda,” she said. “So don’t get fresh with me, Tyler Anderson.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Jessica moved on.

Gus Epstein was sitting next to Tyler. “I don’t know what we can say that would help. We finished up here about 3:00 a.m. on the night he died. And he was his usual self all night. Friendly, happy. He was just a great guy.”

“Amen to that,” Shamus said.

“Actually, we asked him to go for pizza with us,” Blake said. “We were all starving, so we were going right down the street. But he said he was tired.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Shamus agreed. “He said he wasn’t hungry, that he just wanted to go home and get some sleep. We all said good-night and went our separate ways. Oh, and if you’re asking these questions on behalf of some cop, you can check out my story. Marianna Thomas—a cranky old witch if there ever was one—was waiting tables that night, and she’ll vouch for us.”

“Arnie didn’t say he was going to meet anyone, did he?” Quinn asked.

“No. Like Blake and Shamus told you, he said he was going home to bed,” Gus said. “When we heard about him being...dead, we were all...”

“Fookin’ stunned!” Shamus said.

“And devastated. He was one of the good guys,” Gus added.

“But they said—” Blake began then broke off at a look from Tyler. “You know how they found him,” he said.

“So you’re a private eye,” Shamus said, looking at Quinn. “I guess you don’t think what they’re saying is right.”

“Nope, I don’t,” Quinn said. “Two other local musicians are also dead—Holton Morelli and Lawrence Barrett. Murdered. In their own homes.”

Danni watched the three musicians closely as the conversation continued.

“I heard about Morelli,” Gus said, his tone a dry thread. “But I didn’t think... Well, he was kind of heavy into drugs. Never played straight that I saw. I figured that...”

“Larry Barrett too ?” Blake asked. “You sure? I haven’t heard anything about him.”

“I guess it hasn’t hit the news yet, but yes, I’m sure,” Quinn said.

“I knew Larry, too,” Shamus said. “I was jealous as hell of him—he did so much studio work he made a fortune. But he liked his coke, too, you know. Maybe...it’s got to be the drug scene. And we don’t do drugs.”

“Neither did Arnie,” Tyler said.

“Be careful,” Quinn warned them. “Be really careful. It’s looking like both men were killed by someone they thought was a friend. Someone they let in the front door.”

They stayed a few minutes longer, until the band’s break was over. The whole group seemed to be in shock that another musician was dead. They sounded just a little bit off when they returned to the stage.

They parted with Tyler at the club, too. He was going to stay and finish out the night with his band.

On the way back to Royal Street, they were quiet, walking hand in hand.

“What do we do now?” Danni asked.

He looked at her, a slow smile forming on his lips. “We go home, go to bed. Perhaps do something incredibly life affirming. Something distracting, so we can return to this dilemma with fresh minds and a new perspective.”