Heather Graham - Ghost Walk

But…other than that…

There had been no forced entry, nothing to show that anyone else had been with her that night. There was nothing….

Nothing. Nothing at all. Or, if the police did have anything, they weren’t sharing.

Nikki didn’t think any of her own friends believed her. They had tried, however, to help her cover any possible angle. They had all spent hours in the police station, trying to remember if they had seen anyone, anyone at all, looking at Andrea oddly or threateningly. Hard to decide, though they did remember the sandy-haired guy who might have been looking at Nikki herself. Admittedly, they had all been smashed.

Even Andy.

Oh, God, please let it be that she didn’t feel fear and pain, Nikki thought.

Had Andy been followed home? By someone who had been watching her at the bar? Or by someone who had seen her on the streets as she walked home.

Were the others right, when they looked at her with sympathy, thinking that she just couldn’t accept the fact that Andy had fallen back into using? God knew, it was easy enough to buy whatever drugs you might want.

No. There had been someone else, someone who had forced the drug on Andy.

Mrs. Montobello hadn’t heard a thing, which wasn’t surprising. She couldn’t hear a bomb go off without her hearing aid, which she wouldn’t have been wearing at four o’clock in the morning. She was here now, softly crying into an embroidered handkerchief. Andy had always been so good to her, checking up on her, bringing her gourmet treats and other little presents. Poor Mrs. Montobello was really going to miss Andy. But as to being much help when it came to the investigation…well, she wasn’t any.

The account executive who lived above Andy had been in New York on business. The single mother of two next to him had taken her toddlers to her mother’s house. So there had been no one in Andy’s quaint Victorian manor who might have heard anything, or have any clue as to what had happened.

The police had posted an appeal in the newspaper seeking anyone who might have seen Andy that night. And people had come in, trying to be helpful with stories about any strange character they might have met.

In New Orleans, that could be practically anybody.

The police were at a loss. As far as Nikki knew, the crime scene investigation department had gone over Andy’s apartment with the best forensics available. They hadn’t found as much as a hair that might help unravel the mystery of her death. Not a single clue.

Naturally, Nikki had kept silent about her strange dream. She could barely remember it, anyway—other than the fact that Andy had been there at the foot of her bed. But she hadn’t been there. She had been either dead or dying by that time.

She was pretty sure, though, that even as they went through the motions, the police believed that Andy’s death had been self-inflicted, even if accidentally so. Still, Massey had assured Nikki that, as tragic and frustrating as it was, finding a murderer could take a long time. Months or even years. Though Detective Massey didn’t say it, she knew that far too often a killer was never discovered and walked away free.

That made her think that maybe she should mention her dream to someone. The only person she had told was Julian, and he had looked at her with such incredulity that she had immediately felt foolish. Julian had gone on to warn her that telling her bizarre tale would either make the police think she was a kook who had been giving her own tours for too long or a suspicious individual herself.

But the dream bothered her on a daily basis. No. Hourly. Constantly.

She felt a pang in her heart that was so sharp it might have been delivered by a knife.

Oh, God, Andy, I can’t stop believing that you came to me for help.

And I failed you.

She closed her eyes tightly as she stood near the coffin, desperately trying to remember everything that she had seen that night.

“Nikki.”

It was Patricia, looking at her with dampened eyes. “Come on, now. Let them finish.”

Nikki nodded and looked around. The funeral had been small, but a few people had made it. There were her neighbors, and even Madame D’Orso from the coffee shop, and a few other local business owners.

As always, there were the curious, tourists, who happened to be at the cemetery and slipped in to join the crowd at the service.

A stretch limo awaited their group, and Nikki knew it was time to walk away.

She looked back. The cemetery workers were in the tomb, getting ready to slide the remains into the appropriate vault.

The band played to the end.

They drove back into the French Quarter, and then went through another ritual, the after-service gathering at Madame D’Orso’s.

Madame was in her element. Tall and buxom, with her silver hair swept high on top of her head, she took charge naturally. She had liked Andy. Besides, it was her place. Nikki realized that she was one of the few people who knew that Madame’s real name was Debra Smith and she’d actually had ancestors come over on the Mayflower. But a pretense of being French was a good thing for business in the French Quarter.

She had come through today, closing her café in the morning, then opening in honor of Andrea in the afternoon.

Julian, Nathan, Mitch and Patricia were trying to do what was usually done on such occasions, remember the person with affection and a smile.

It wasn’t easy, when some people clearly thought it was her own fault for being a junkie.

People cared, but Nikki knew, too, that most of them would not think about that day much after they had returned to their regular lives.

At last, as the hour grew late, people began to leave.

Madame, who had truly been the perfect hostess, settled tiredly into a chair by Nikki. She patted her hand where it lay on the table. “Come on, child,” she said. “Andy wouldn’t want you to be morose forever.”

Nikki nodded. “No, of course, you’re right.”

Madame smoothed a stray lock of hair from Nikki’s face. “You’re plumb ashen, girl. Pale as if you’d seen a ghost.”

Nikki’s brows arched. Julian, who was standing nearby, turned and stared at Nikki.

She frowned back at him, then turned to Madame.

“Hey…do you remember that last day when Andy and I were in here?” she asked.

“Well, vaguely,” Madame said. “You all come in most days, you know.”

“I know, but that day, there was a…kind of a bum hanging around. He looked as if he’d be good looking if he had a bath and a haircut.”

Madame looked at her blankly.

“You must have seen him,” Nikki persisted. “I asked you about him, so I figured you would have noticed him when you went back inside.”

“Honey, I see lots of folks. And we get our share of bums. If one passed out on my floor, I’d have the police in so fast he wouldn’t even get to exhale. Other than that, I doubt I’d notice.”

“He must have come and gone while you were busy,” Nikki murmured.

Madame smiled. “Do you know what I do remember? Andy teasing you about the fact that you needed to get yourself a fellow.”

“That’s when the guy was in here,” Nikki said triumphantly.

“Honey, I’m really sorry, I don’t know why it’s so important, but I really didn’t see him.”

Julian, frowning, took a chair at the table. “Nikki…do you think the guy followed you and Andy? Maybe that’s something you should report to the police.”

She shook her head, aware that Julian’s gray gaze was intense and serious. “You guys were sitting out here when Andy and I brought out the beignets and coffee, and you didn’t see him—did you?”

“No…but we weren’t paying any attention. We weren’t paying any attention that night, either,” Julian said ruefully.