“Lena is dead. The baby is safe,” Ryder said quietly. “Where have you been?” he asked Gail, looking at Justin to add, “And what are you doing here?”
Both burst into tears. Amidst it all, they learned it had been Gail’s afternoon off. No, they hadn’t been at the house earlier. Justin had come now because he’d heard that a few members of the board were coming by to explain a hike in the price of one of the drugs the company manufactured.
Ryder wondered if the display of tears was real. Justin was a Marceau...
But the estate and the company had been left to the baby, or rather her legal guardian, to watch over all until she was of age.
He didn’t want to see Lena again, not even as she was, an angel. He had touched her...
And nothing.
Ryder left the Marceau mansion. He’d go see Lena’s sister, Stephanie Harrow, as soon as he could. As well as his cousin’s friend, Vicki, who had little Annette.
How that baby loved her mother. And how Lena had doted on her beloved child.
No.
No matter what anyone said, Lena wouldn’t have left her baby.
He hesitated as he reached the SUV he borrowed from the local FBI agency when he was in the city.
Another car had just arrived. It was expensive, a Mercedes he noted. Three men emerged. The one who appeared to be the leader was in a gray suit that fit well with his white hair and well-groomed beard and mustache. The man behind him was tall and thin, probably in his early forties, wearing a blue suit.
The last man was young. He wore a sweatsuit, and his hair was damp. It looked as if he’d been pulled from the gym.
Ryder knew who they were. Barton Quincy, Larry Swenson, and Harry Miller. The three sat on the Marceau company’s board of directors with Lena’s late husband. Ryder had seen them briefly four years ago when his cousin, Lena, married Anthony Marceau.
One of you is a murderer! he thought. One of you on the board of directors, or...
Gail Reeves? The housekeeper?
Why?
Or Justin—also a board member—who was still weeping over Lena’s death?
Ryder didn’t know. All he knew was that his cousin had not committed suicide.
Braxton came to the front door to meet the first man, Barton Quincy, who seemed upset and then visibly angry. But Braxton was firm, not letting them enter the house.
The group departed in a huff. The older man in the gray suit paused as he reached the chauffeur-driven car, then turned to stare at the house.
Ryder could read the signs already. The medical examiner was going to declare Lena’s death a suicide.
He would prove that it hadn’t been.
Against the odds, he would prove it. Somehow.
And it wouldn’t matter how long it took. Because her death would haunt him for as long as he lived.
Chapter 1
August
“Casey, I don’t understand what you’re looking for,” Lauren Howard said. She stood and stared down a path of gothic tombs, all encased in the weeds and decay of the hundreds of years the cemetery had existed.
She was a pretty girl with dark hair, green eyes, and dusky skin. Clad in a colorful halter dress, she seemed at odds with the cemetery, even in the bright light of the rising sun.
“Looking for? Why, of course. It is Casey, medium extraordinaire. She seeks...yes! She seeks the walking dead,” Jared Vincent told Lauren.
He grotesquely lifted his arms and stumbled forward, pretending to be a zombie. Jared was tall and lanky with soft brown hair that fell around his face. He made a strange-looking revenant.
Casey Nicholson sighed, then shook her head and smiled at her business partners.
This place was new to her friends. The graveyard was small compared to some of the other city cemeteries, which had become beautiful, haunted tourist attractions. There was only a small chapel in this one. It was built with funds raised by a priest through the Marceau family, who were grateful when a child made it through the yellow fever epidemic of 1853.
Casey had always loved the beauty of the city’s cemeteries. And while St. Louis #1—and St. Louis #2 and #3—were the most often visited by tourists, along with Lafayette Cemetery in the Garden District, St. Mary of Light Chapel and Cemetery was small, old, off the beaten path, and seldom visited.
It was still charming. Haunting, eerie, and sad in its decaying beauty.
“Who runs this place? The chapel was deconsecrated, right?” Lauren asked.
“Yes, I believe so,” Casey said. “I think it’s taken care of by the Marceau Foundation. Marceau money was used to create it. The family was Catholic and had been praying to the Virgin Mary. When the sick little girl in their family survived, they built the chapel and started the cemetery. They had the land for one, and...”
She stood and pointed across the cemetery. “The family mansion still stands just over there.”
Casey wasn’t sure who was running the company anymore. An elder family member had died, then the supposed heir apparent, and then his wife. But there were still members of the extended family all over the country. And the corporation had a board of directors. Someone would be claiming the corporation—and the money.
The money meant nothing in Casey’s mind. Tragedy had struck the family. Including a young parent, so devastated by grief that she had taken her life.
Casey had met Lena Marceau a few times when she came into the shop. She had been sweet and unassuming. Casey hadn’t even known it was her until she’d been given the woman’s credit card for payment.
“And so, here we are. Hanging around the dead on a beautiful morning. You know, Casey, I love the shop. But, honestly, couldn’t we have gotten something out of a really cool voodoo congregation or the like?”
“Jennie Sanders is coming today. She’s my best client. And she feels that something from this cemetery is haunting her. I have to know what it’s like in person,” Casey said.
“Maybe it’s because I grew up here, but when you’ve seen one cool and haunted city of the dead, you’ve seen them all,” Jared said.
“Jaded,” Lauren accused.
“The funerary art is similar but different,” Casey nodded towards a statue.
“Right! Enjoy the art. It is beautiful,” Lauren said.
“And rotting,” Jared noted. He must have noticed how they both stared at him and then added, “Hey, I’m here, right?”
New Orleans was famous for its atmospheric cemeteries, but Casey, Lauren, and Jared had been born and raised in New Orleans. The sometimes-eerie cities of the dead as the cemeteries were often called, were something they had grown up with. Casey’s parents had lived across Rampart Street in the French Quarter, and she had been just a block or so from St. Louis #1 most of her life.
This wasn’t one of the St. Louis cemeteries, though, and it was definitely off the beaten tourist track.
“Guys, I need to get a feel for this place. Like I said, Jennie Sanders is coming by the shop this morning for another reading, and I want to at least...well, to be able to say something,” Casey explained.
“You aren’t really a medium,” Lauren reminded her. “And Jennie Sanders spends a lot of time on Bourbon Street and loves a few places on Frenchman Street. Not to mention, she loves to meet up with old friends at the bars on Decatur. She sees lots of spirits.”