The Dead Play On

“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.”

Danni laughed. “So you want to fool around, huh?”

“I believe it’s called ‘making love,’” he told her. He paused on the street, looking down into her eyes. His were hazel, ever-changing. She loved that there was something serious in them, something that spoke to her of sanity no matter what was going on around them. They’d learned that they had to give themselves over fully to a case in order to solve it, but they also had to hang on to their souls in the process.

“Indeed?” she murmured, stroking his cheek. She loved the rough feel of his jawline and the way that just standing there, thinking about the very near future, sent a sweet rush of liquid longing through her. “Personally, I like the thought of forgetting what we can’t solve in a night and fooling around.”

“However you want to put it is fine with me,” he told her. His strides grew longer as he caught her hand again and hurried her down the street. “By the way, what’s in that box that Amy Watson gave us?”

* * *

Danni let out a sigh of ecstasy. “So good,” she whispered.

“Oh, yeah,” Quinn had to agree. “More?” he teased.

“I don’t know if I can take any more,” she said, but she rolled his way on the bed. “Delicious,” she added.

“Like a touch of silk,” he said.

“Melts on the tongue,” she said. “I just can’t get enough.”

“I’m here, my love. You can have all you want.”

“Then why are you hogging Amy Watson’s homemade candy?” she demanded.

“Hey, I’m passing it right over whenever you ask,” he protested.

She rolled closer and leaned over him, blue eyes dazzling, the fall of her hair sweeping erotically over his naked shoulders. “Actually, I’m done with chocolate,” she told him. A wicked grin teased her lips. “I’m ready for the real candy now.”

“I always try to oblige,” he vowed seriously and took her into his arms.

Their days, he knew, were about to grow longer again, and moments of sweet intimacy might well become few and far between.

It was time to stock up for the future.

Chapter 4 (#ulink_0301e3f2-0684-5afa-a322-ada14e1c6efc)

DANNI WAS SLEEPING when Quinn awoke and rose. He showered and dressed, not wanting to wake her.

He loved to wake up first in the morning and watch her as she slept, hair spilling wildly around her, the length of her body half draped in the sheets. He smiled, thinking that she was a genuine work of art.

Actually, he also loved waking up to find her already awake herself, propped up on one elbow watching him, a mischievous smile on her face and a sensual look in her eyes.

They’d both grown up in the city, but he was about five years older than she was, and their paths hadn’t really crossed until Angus had died. He still kept his house in the Garden District, but the more they were together, the more he knew that he wanted them to be together forever.

He was tempted to crawl back into bed and just move against her until she woke groggily in his arms. That was fun, too.

He loved to stroke the length of her back. She would keep her eyes closed at first, but finally she would begin to smile and then touch him in ways that seemed to rock the earth.

He steeled himself to look away and walked to the door, letting himself out.

It was early, but he was expecting a call from Larue at some point, and he wanted to be ready to head straight to the station to interview the musicians who had been attacked after their gig.

Wolf wasn’t in his usual spot in the hallway. The dog had decided that he was Danni’s protector whether Quinn was in the city or not. He was always outside their room standing guard—unless Billie was already making breakfast.

He headed downstairs and found that Billie was cooking and Wolf was indeed with him, sitting patiently in a corner and awaiting his chance at something delectable. Bo Ray was there, as well, and the news was playing on the small TV set in the kitchen.

“How are you feeling this morning?” Quinn asked Bo Ray, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He breathed in the aroma as he waited for Bo Ray to answer. Billie made a mean cup of coffee. Of course, in Quinn’s mind, the best coffee in the world was to be found in New Orleans. It was rich and dark, and Billie’s coffee could probably put hair on anyone’s chest. But at The Cheshire Cat, they all loved it.