Then Father Ryan laughed, setting them all at ease.
“I’m more worried about Billie than I am about myself,” Danni said. “I can’t play an instrument for love or money, but Billie is an amazing musician.”
“I’ll make sure he gets home safely,” Tyler said. “And Natasha, too, if she needs an escort.”
“No need. I’ll leave when Danni does,” Natasha said.
“All right, then, thanks,” Danni said. She looked toward the bar. Eric Lyons was busy filling a tray of drinks for Jessica. Despite what Jessica had said, she couldn’t help but wonder about her relationship with Arnie. And yet, as she watched Jessica’s body language with Eric, they seemed to be close. His fingers brushed Jessica’s hands as he dropped swizzle sticks into glasses.
She hurried over to the bar. “Jessica, you don’t walk home alone, do you?”
“No, no,” Jessica said, her cheeks flushed. “Eric sees me home, and if he can’t, one of the guys in the band always does. And when I get home—” she shrugged with a smile “—my mom is there.”
She realized that they had to consider the possibility that the murderer could be a woman, even the unknown love of Arnie’s life. But as she looked at Jessica’s big blue eyes and guileless smile, she told herself that she just couldn’t be the Sax Murderer.
“I will always make sure she’s safe,” Eric said.
Danni nodded. “Good. So...good night.”
“Don’t forget to look at those songs,” Jessica said.
“I won’t,” Danni said, and hoped she wasn’t lying.
Father Ryan, Pastor Cooke and Natasha were waiting for her at the table.
They reached the house on Royal Street without incident. Wolf greeted them joyously, and Woodrow Watson once again sat on guard duty with his shotgun by his side.
*
When it was time to quit for the night, Quinn told Brad that he was going to move over to La Porte Rouge the next night. Brad nodded gravely, understanding.
Jenny heard and came over. “You can’t!” she gasped.
“We’re pretty sure everything’s tied to the group over there,” Quinn explained.
“But I was attacked!” Jenny said, incredulous and angry.
“Yes, and thank God you’re all right. But the killer has already been to your place. He’s after something Arnie had, and he knows you don’t have it,” Quinn explained. “He’s moved on, and he’ll keep moving on until he finds what he’s looking for.”
“Jenny,” Brad said. “I won’t leave you alone again, I promise.”
Their bandmates had come up by then, and Steve said, “Jenny, we’ll all leave here together, and we’ll all make sure you two get to Danni’s place safely.”
Quinn just hoped that with everyone so on edge, an innocent bystander wasn’t going to get shot. But he knew that Brad knew how to use a gun, and his head was noticeably cooler than Jenny’s.
“That will work,” Quinn said.
“But—” Jenny began.
“Do you want this guy caught or not?” Brad asked her, aggravated. “Just let Quinn do what he does best—investigate.”
Jenny fell silent. “Right,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
Quinn felt his phone vibrate. He quickly took it from his pocket.
“Quinn?”
It was Danni’s voice. He glanced at his watch and realized that it was after three. He felt himself tense up. He couldn’t help it. He would always be afraid when he heard her voice in the night that way.
“You all right?” he asked her.
“I’m fine. But he was out there again.”
“He—you saw him?”
“I saw a...a dottore.”
“A what?”
“You know, someone in a black cloak and a birdlike white mask. The kind people wear a lot during Carnevale in Venice. Like the doctors wore in Europe during the plague. We have them here sometimes.”
“Where did you see him?” Quinn asked.
“Under the streetlight near the wig shop.”
“What was he doing?”
“Just standing there, watching the house. Wolf was on edge, so I went out to the shop. I didn’t turn the lights on, and I went and looked through the window across the street. He was just standing there, staring at the house. It had to be the killer again.”
“I’m leaving now.” He motioned to Brad that they needed to go. Brad nodded, and the others gestured toward the stage and nodded to indicate that they would see to the rest of the equipment.
As Quinn listened, with Brad and Jenny following closely behind him, he headed out to the street and his car.
“I’m telling you, I saw him there. He was watching the house.”
“Is anyone else up?”
“Woodrow is with me. He followed me into the shop and saw him, too.”
Was it really the killer in a new costume? Even though it wasn’t Halloween or Mardi Gras, when every second person on the street was in costume, people here dressed up year-round. They were painted and gilded. They were clowns. They were comic book heroes and supernatural creatures, and most of the time, they had a hat out for tourists to throw bills into.