“This is devastating,” he said, drawing out the last word for dramatic effect. “We were all together Saturday. We dropped her at her place. She was fine!”
“That’s why we want to talk with you and your roommates. As far as we know, you were the last to see her—”
“Alive?” he whispered, then pressed his right hand to his chest. “Lord, God, baby Jesus, tell me this isn’t happening.”
“Mr. Baldwin—”
“Nick.”
“—we have no reason to believe she’s dead.”
He teared up. “Excuse me. I need a tissue.” He returned a moment later with a big box of Puffs. “I’m sorry—” He dabbed his eyes. “—I’ll try to hold it together.”
Micki frowned slightly. “You seem pretty upset about this.”
“I’m an emotional person.”
“We have no evidence to indicate she’s been harmed.”
“Except that horrid door!”
“How do you know about the door, Nick?”
“Nora texted me a picture of it. My God—” He pressed the tissue to his eyes. “—who does that?”
Even though Micki counted to ten, her response came out sounding as irritated as she felt. “That’s what we’re trying to find out. Could I see that photo, Nick?”
He looked confused but pulled up his cell phone and showed her. Sure enough: the desecrated door, in all its glory. The text was time-stamped: 4:47 P.M.
Where the hell had the crime scene techs been when Miller was snapping the photo like some ghoulish tourist?
“Do you know who else she sent this to?”
“Just the three of us.”
“Just,” she muttered. “Great.”
Zach stepped in, tone mellow. “Nick, you might hold the key to finding Gwen. That’s why we’re here. So, I need you to hold it together and focus. Every detail you can recall, dude. One of them might be just the clue we need.”
The young man nodded, visibly pulling himself together. “Where do you want me to start?”
“The very beginning. What time did you all meet up on Saturday?”
“We picked her up about two. We wanted to make a day of it. ’Cause of her birthday.”
“You drove?”
“Angela did. We parked near her place and walked into the Quarter. Ate lunch at Cafe Maspero, wandered around. Jackson Square. The French Market. Hit a few shops. The weather was awesome, so it was just nice to be outside.”
“Did you run into anyone you know?”
“At the clubs that night.”
“But not during the day?” He shook his head. “Can you recall the name of the shops you went into?”
“A few. I bought a fabulous hat at Rewind, a consignment store not far from the French Market.”
Micki made a note. “Any other shops?”
He rattled off a few names, none that Micki recognized. She was at home with places like JCP and Target.
“Tell us about the ex-boyfriend,” she said.
“Darren. The slimy weasel. She was destroyed when he broke up with her. And right before her birthday.”
“You ran into him that night?”
“It wasn’t an accident. Going to Cayenne’s was Gwen’s idea, we all tried to talk her out of it.”
“Describe what happened.”
“She was pretty drunk. When he blew her off, she figured she’d show him and started making a scene with some guy.”
“Making a scene?”
“Crawling all over him, real exaggerated.”
“Who was the guy?”
“Just some guy.”
“You didn’t get a name?” He shook his head. “Was Darren angry?”
“I think so, yeah. He kicked us all out.”
Zach stepped in. “How angry? Enough to retaliate? Get physically violent?”
The young man’s face went momentarily slack with thought. Then he shook his head. “The truth is, I don’t think he cared all that much. He’s just mean, dude.”
“How’d he break up with her?” Micki asked.
“Text message.”
Cold. Or gutless.
“Did Gwen draw the attention of anyone else in the bar?”
“Uh, like everyone. Like I said, she was over the top.”
“The guy she was ‘crawling all over,’ he get kicked out, too?”
“Nope.”
Interesting. “You see him again that night?”
He shook his head.
“Did Gwen talk about seeing him again?”
“Not that I remember. She was all about Darren. Gross.”
“So, you got kicked out of Cayenne’s. Did you call it a night, head back?”
“No way. We couldn’t take her home like that, not on her twenty-first birthday. So we hit a couple more places, then went for coffee and beignets. By the time we took her home, she’d forgotten all about the jerk.”
Micki doubted that, but went on, “How’d you get her home?”
“It wasn’t easy.” He made a face. “She threw up twice.”
What twenty-first birthday was complete without puking your guts up on somebody else’s shoes? Those days seemed a lifetime ago. “Think carefully, Nick, did Gwen interact with anyone else? Someone we should talk to?”
“Did you tell them about that creepy fortune teller?”
They turned. An apple-shaped young woman wearing scrubs and huge horn rim glasses was dumping her book bag by the door. She headed their way, hand out. “Angie Brennan. Class was cancelled.”