“The corporate name for the Hideaway—the bar where I played last night.”
“Ah,” Aidan murmured. He wondered why the owners didn’t just call the place The Lair of the Undead. It seemed a lot catchier. “What do you have for next of kin?” Aidan asked.
“Mrs. Betty Trent, cousin-in-law, Lafayette.”
“Same as I have. I think I’ll go talk to Mrs. Trent.”
“It’s a two-hour drive, Aidan.”
“I know. I need you to do something for me.”
“What?”
“Drop by Tea and Tarot, on Royal.”
“To see the very impressive Miss Montgomery?”
“Impressive?” Aidan asked. Yes, she was impressive, he admitted. But why was Jeremy saying so?
“Oh, that’s right. You missed her performance last night,” Jeremy said. “She’s quite a singer. I wonder why she’s running a psychic place,” Jeremy mused. “So…why am I going to see her?”
Aidan looked at his watch. He needed five hours.
“Tell her I’ll pick her up at her place at seven-thirty.”
“Okay.” Jeremy didn’t ask why, but the question was in his voice.
“I think she can tell me more about the Flynn plantation.”
“Sure,” Jeremy said.
“And…I’d like to find out more about her relationship with Vinnie.”
“Vinnie from the Stakes?” Jeremy asked.
“Yeah. Your buddy. How well do you know the guy?”
“Not well at all, really, other than musically.”
“Doesn’t he seem a little weird to you?”
“The costume?” Jeremy asked, amused. “Hell, brother, it’s Bourbon Street.”
“Hang around for a while. See if you can find out more about Vinnie and Mason Adler.”
“Because they know her and hang out at the bar? Aidan, you’ll have to get to know half the people in the city if that strikes you as suspicious—the place is a local hangout.”
“Might as well start with two out of the tons, huh?”
“Sure. No problem.” Whatever Jeremy was thinking, he didn’t say more. They rang off, and Aidan called down for his car.
Kendall felt like absolute hell. It wasn’t a hangover; it was the lack of sleep, or rather, the unmercifully restless sleep she had endured after discovering the diary in her bed.
She couldn’t escape the feeling that it wanted to be read.
Ridiculous. People wanted other people to read books; books themselves didn’t ask to be read. But no one had been in her apartment in the last few days, except for Aidan Flynn, and he had never been alone in her room.
Besides, as much as she resented the man, she couldn’t see him sneaking into her bedroom to slip a book beneath her covers. People sometimes did things subconsciously, so she must have taken the book out of the backpack herself, and for some bizarre reason, put it in her bed, then forgotten what she’d done. Easy enough, a sensible answer. She must have been thinking about something else and remembering that she hadn’t finished the diary, absentmindedly picked it up and tossed it on the bed. She should have been more careful with it. The diary was remarkably well-preserved, but it was still over a hundred and fifty years old and probably very valuable.
And it definitely needed to go back to the heirs.
But not until she finished reading it.
She thanked God that morning that she never opened until ten, that Mason was capable of taking care of things until she showed up, and that things would probably be slow, since it was a Wednesday. Weekenders might take off a Friday, or even a Thursday, to create a mini vacation. Or, they might stay over Monday, or even Tuesday, in the same vein. But Wednesday was usually the deadest day of the week. Once she pulled herself together and went in, she might even be able to make herself a cup of tea, munch on a pastry and chill out in the back, reading, all day. Not especially good for the bottom line, but today, it would work.
She wrapped the diary in a protective book cover stitched by a local artist, slipped it into her large carryall and headed out.
When she reached the shop, Mason was there and hard at work, dealing with boxes strewn all over the place.
“Halloween,” he said happily, as she entered. Then he paused, looking at her. “Coffee is brewed. And you look like shit.”
“Thanks so much.”
“It’s true.”
“I couldn’t sleep last night.”
“Hangover?” he teased.
“If I had a hangover, it would be all your fault. But, honestly, I just didn’t sleep.”
“Coffee will help,” he said. “We have to deal with all this. We’re running late getting the decorations up.”
So much for her dream of spending the day in reading and recovery.
They were running late. Even with Vinnie’s help, Mason couldn’t do everything, and she had been gone so much when Amelia was ill. Even though her friend had died several months ago now, Kendall still felt as if she were playing catch-up.
“Coffee,” Mason said, handing her a cup.