Waking the Dead. Heather Graham
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He squinted at Danni, as if unconvinced that she’d told him the truth before. “You’re back in town. Lovely. Are you here for long?”
“I’m not sure, but I always come back. New Orleans is home. I have a house in the Garden District, Niles.”
“Yes, of course, I’d forgotten,” Niles said. “But you’re here now. In my gallery. What do you think? Isn’t the giclée just incredible?”
“Yes,” Quinn murmured. “Incredible...”
“I told Danni I’m saving one for her. I’ll get it wrapped up for you tonight, Danni.”
“Uh, thanks. That’s great,” Danni said. She didn’t want to decline the giclée; it was beyond doubt a piece by a famous—and infamous—artist. And it was decidedly unique. Unusual.
It was also creepy, and she had enough creepy in her life.
But Niles was beaming, so glad he could provide her with such a treasure, and she had no intention of hurting his feelings.
“How do you tell a copy from the real thing?” Quinn asked.
“For one thing,” Danni replied, “Copies likes this—giclées—are numbered. The one on the wall is number 480 out of 2000.”
“Yes, it’s like buying a print—except better,” Niles crowed.
“I see. More or less,” Quinn said. “No, I do understand, and a copy would work just fine for me. Sadly, I don’t know that much about art.”
“Well, copies of all kinds are fine. Ah, but to have the real thing...” He sighed. “Well, anyway, I don’t. Someone rich does. Hey, enough about other artists! When she’s ready, Danni will do another show here,” Niles told Quinn.
“Let’s hope,” Quinn said, meeting her eyes, “that she’ll be ready soon.”
They left after exchanging goodbyes with Niles and walked down Royal Street toward The Cheshire Cat, Danni’s shop and home. Although she’d gone away for college and at various times had her own apartment, she’d moved back into her childhood home for good when her father died.
And when she discovered exactly what he’d kept in the basement.
She and Billie had recently restructured the shop area of the eighteenth-century house. She’d created a beautiful life-size image of a banshee for a jewelry line she was selling for a friend, and it was near the entry, with its various Celtic designs. She’d also added shelving for her “Gargoyles!” collection. Naturally she offered the customary New Orleans souvenirs—Saints T-shirts, beads and gris-gris bags and a line of “Voodoo for Love!” voodoo dolls that were adorable. You pricked the cloth body with a little needle that tattooed a kiss onto it for luck, love, happiness....
But some things in the store had stayed the same—the replicated King Tut mask, for one, the cardboard cutouts of Bela Lugosi as Dracula and Vincent Price as Dr. Phibes and a few other pieces. Mostly, she sold specialty items, including antiques. The store was always spotlessly clean, slightly Goth, slightly vampire-themed—and as much fun and as intriguing as she could make it. When buyers stopped in, they could spend a dollar for a few plastic beads or a fortune for real art, antique pieces or jewelry. Danni’s father—cast by the fates from the Highlands of Scotland to New Orleans—loved his adopted city. Shops should be different and unusual, he believed. Places people wanted to come back to, just like they wanted to come back to Bourbon Street for revelry, Frenchman Street for great local music, Jackson Square for art....
The Cheshire Cat was special, Danni thought. Her father had purchased the building when he’d fallen in love with her mother. The place had been a home in the early 1700s, one of the only structures to survive the fires that had nearly destroyed the city later in the century. It still had a courtyard and the typical U or horseshoe shape of so many New Orleans homes and she loved every inch of it.
When she and Quinn entered, Billie was sitting behind the counter, actually a glass display case for jewelry. He’d been reading but when the door opened and he saw Quinn, he jumped to his feet, hurrying around. “Quinn, you’re back, man!” After years in the United States, Billie’s Scots brogue remained strong.
He pumped Quinn’s hand, stood awkwardly for a minute, then threw both arms around him. Then he quickly stepped back, his expression anxious. “Oh. Oh?”
Danni understood the way Billie looked at Quinn. He was glad to see him; he was afraid to see him. While they’d had some quiet times over the past months, if Quinn was here, something could be going on. And, given that Larue had already called him, something was....
“I got back last night. Finished in Texas,” Quinn said. “I came in really late so I went straight to my house.”
“Everything all right?” Billie asked.
“It was last night. But this morning...bad scene in the city. A family massacred.”
“Oh,” Billie said. “Oh.” His shoulders slumped. “I haven’t seen the news today.”
“It might have been a domestic situation,” Quinn added.
Billie was obviously skeptical. “Domestic, eh?” He turned to Danni. “Bo Ray took a breather—he’s gone to pick up some groceries. As soon as he’s back, I say we walk over to Natasha’s and after that, we get Quinn to tell us what went on at the ‘domestic’ situation.”
Quinn glanced at his watch. They could just have called Natasha, but it would be better to see her. “Sounds like a plan, Billie. But I say we meet here after seven, when the shop closes. If Bo Ray’s buying groceries, we can whip up something to eat and I’ll tell you what I know—which might be a little more than I know now. I’m due at autopsy. I didn’t realize I’d spent so much time looking at art.”
“Looking at art?” Billie repeated.
“One piece in particular. It’s a very...unusual piece,” Danni said. “But we’re getting a copy. It’s a giclée.”
“A what?”
“An ink-jet copy—almost as good as the original.” Quinn winked at Danni. She doubted he’d been familiar with giclée prints until that day.
Billie just shook his head. Danni smiled. She loved Billie; he’d been devoted to her father. He was devoted to her now. And to The Cheshire Cat.
“It’s a pity we looked at art for so long.” Quinn said, his lips twitching with humor—and a secret message meant only for her.
She grinned wickedly, indulging him. “Go. We’ll see you back here.”
He nodded, turned to leave the shop. As he did, he nearly bumped into Bo Ray Tompkins, a young man who now worked at the shop as a clerk and bookkeeper. He’d been a suspect in their first investigation. Now, he was clean of drugs and grateful, and a reliable member of their staff.
Bo Ray was excited to see Quinn, too. He almost dropped the grocery bags he was carrying. Quinn grabbed and saved one and they all wound up on the counter.
“Quinn!”
Bo Ray said the word with such adulation that Danni had to laugh. He hadn’t even noticed she was there.
“Bo Ray, great to see you!” Quinn said. “Things are going well?”
Bo Ray looked over at Danni. “You bet—Danni’s the best. And Billie, too, of course! Hey, I’ll have a Scottish accent myself in a few more weeks!”
Quinn laughed. “See you all tonight,” he said, and headed out.
“He’s really back!” Bo Ray said, delighted. Clean-shaven, his hair still on the long side, his clothing clean and neat, Bo Ray was darned good-looking. He was excellent with their customers, too, charming them easily. Danni’s philosophy—which had also been her father’s—was that they did far more business by making people like the shop than they did by trying to sell