Heather Graham - The Dead Play On

Of course, she reminded herself, she was in love with him.

Even when she wanted to kill him.

He was bright, determined, compassionate and strong.

Also pigheaded and very annoying when she thought she was right and he disagreed. He’d worked with her father, something she hadn’t known until after Angus Cafferty’s death. That had been hard to take at first, but then, she’d never known that her father had been something of a secret sleuth, handling the same kinds of items she and Quinn handled now.

The Cheshire Cat had merely been the tip of the iceberg. Her father had dedicated his life to taking in or destroying items—old and new—with a reputation for being haunted, even evil.

“Oh, excuse me, sorry,” Quinn said when he noticed Tyler Anderson. He smiled slowly, and Danni realized that she was actually a little irked. Quinn’s memory was better than hers. He not only knew he had met Tyler before, he also remembered where and when.

Wolf naturally went trotting over to Quinn for a pat on the head. Quinn obliged absently, his attention on their visitor.

“Tyler Anderson. I know your music, man,” Quinn said, walking forward. He shook Tyler’s hand. “I watched you play years ago when you were at Paisley Park on Frenchman Street. I heard you were still playing around the city. I’ve been meaning to look you up. Great to see you.”

“Thanks,” Tyler said.

“So where are you playing? We’ll come see you,” Quinn said.

Tyler looked at Danni.

“Quinn, Tyler’s here to ask us for help,” she said.

Quinn looked at her, brows hiked high over his hazel eyes. “I...see,” he said slowly. “So, Tyler, you hungry? We’re having something wonderful. I have no idea what it is, but the whole place smells divine.”

“I’ll go see how Billie’s doing,” Danni said. “He should be done with dinner by now.”

The house that contained her shop was one of the oldest in the French Quarter, having survived two major fires that had ravaged New Orleans in the early years. The ground-floor entry led straight into the store, and a hallway led back to the kitchen, dining area and Danni’s studio/office. There were bedrooms upstairs, and a large apartment in the attic, where Billie and Bo Ray Tompkins, who also helped out in the shop, each had their rooms.

She would have called Bo Ray down to help, but he’d had his wisdom teeth extracted earlier that day. He was sleeping, and she didn’t intend to wake him up.

The basement held Angus’s old office, along with a number of items that never would be on sale.

“Tyler,” she said, “come on with me and I’ll introduce you to Billie. Quinn, can you watch the shop for me for a sec?”

He nodded, and she smiled her thanks.

“Billie?” she called, heading through the shop and back to the kitchen.

Wolf trotted after her.

“Just finishing up,” Billie said as they entered. “Hello,” he added, noticing Tyler’s presence. He stood, dusting his hands with his napkin and then offering one to Tyler. “Nice to meet you. I’m Billie. Billie MacDougall.”

Tyler introduced himself in turn.

“Well, then. Table is set, though you’ll need to grab another plate. The lasagna is wonderful. Italian food is delicious, though I assure you, you’ll find many an excellent restaurant in Scotland,” Billie said, looking at Danni.

She laughed and turned to Tyler. “I offended him somehow by liking Italian food,” she explained.

Billie sniffed. “I’ll be watching the shop,” he said, excusing himself. “Wolf, come along with me. There’ll be a treat for you when we close up, I promise, a few bits left over from a good Scottish leg o’ lamb,” he said, looking sternly at Danni before he left the kitchen.

A moment later Quinn walked in and looked at her curiously. “What’s up with Billie? He looked upset, like you offended him or something.”

“Didn’t mean to,” she said, reaching for another plate. “Tyler, please, have a seat.”

Quinn dug into the refrigerator. “Tyler, what will you have to drink?”

“Water would be fine.”

Quinn got another glass and poured them all ice water. Billie had already cut the lasagna into neat serving-size squares, which she dished out before sitting.

“So,” Quinn said, meeting Tyler’s eyes. “Tell us what’s up.” Then he took a bite and started chewing enthusiastically.

Danni lowered her head for a moment. Quinn had probably skipped lunch; he seemed to be starving. Tyler hadn’t even glanced at his plate, and she wasn’t sure whether to be worried about him and his fears or not.

Tyler pushed the food around on his plate. “I think my friend was murdered.”

“Ah,” Quinn said, without seeming surprised. “And your friend’s name was...?”

“Arnie—Arnold Watson,” Danni put in.

Quinn sat back and took a drink of water. Danni saw his brow furrow as he considered her words.

“I read the obituary,” he said quietly. “I thought it was a damned shame. He sounded like a wonderful person. A soldier who gave what he could to his country. It’s hard, though, coming back, sometimes. I’ve known guys who believed they were fine then woke up in the middle of the night shaking and screaming, sweat pouring off them. Even with everything we know about post-traumatic disorders, sometimes...the depth of a guy’s depression is invisible because he thinks he’s all right.”

Tyler Anderson put down his fork. “He didn’t kill himself. And he wasn’t an addict.”

“Of course he wasn’t,” Danni said gently, resting a hand on Tyler’s where it lay on the table.

“No, you don’t understand. I’m an addict—in recovery, but an addict all my life. I would have known if Arnie was into drugs, too, and he wasn’t, not in any way.”

Danni nodded. “But...I’ve seen things happen to men who come home from war. And maybe that was the problem. He wasn’t an addict, but maybe he was in pain. His death was accidental because he only tried it once or twice, and—”

“He tried it once,” Tyler said. “Only once. If you don’t believe me, ask the police. There were no other track marks on him, just the needle mark from the one injection. But it sure in hell wasn’t something he did, and it wasn’t an accidental overdose. Someone did it to him. Someone killed him!”

“I don’t disbelieve you,” Quinn said. “But...how do you know? How can you be so sure? Things can happen overnight, things we don’t expect. I’ve seen cops who can’t take a case for whatever reason, and suddenly, they’re ingesting every substance out there.”

He’d asked the questions, Danni thought, but he already believed Tyler.

“The sax told me,” Tyler said.

For a moment, just for a moment, Danni thought she had misheard him. That he had said, “The sex told me,” as if he had been referring to a girl he’d slept with or who had slept with Arnie.

But then she remembered what he’d said when he came into the shop and realized he was talking about the saxophone.

The musical instrument that now lay in its case by his side on the floor.

“The sax told you?” Quinn repeated.

Tyler nodded gravely. “I was playing...just the other night. It was his sax, you see. It’s really old, some kind of an antique his grandmother bought for him. A silver-plated Pennsylvania Special. I don’t know what it’s worth or the rest of its history. I just know it’s a damned good instrument and Arnie loved it. Said it was special. But the point is, I was playing his sax. And suddenly I was playing his song, and I could see his life—his life before he came home. I saw the war. I could feel the damned sand, it was so real. And then I heard his killer.”