Quarter to Midnight (A New Orleans Novel Book 1)

GABE’S STILL GOING to feel guilty, isn’t he?” Xavier asked when Burke ended the call with Molly and Gabe and tossed his phone to the kitchen table. It was just the two of them for now. Everyone else had had breakfast and were off doing other things. Carlos and Manny were playing video games, Willa Mae was knitting, and his mom had found a romance novel in the bag of stuff that Burke’s office manager, Joy, had bought for them the night before.

Xavier himself had been trying to read his textbooks but had kept nodding off. He hadn’t slept much the night before and needed caffeine. He’d entered the kitchen in time to hear Burke on the phone with Gabe, confirming that the mortician was dead along with the pathologist who’d done Rocky’s real autopsy.

Poor Gabe. His dad was dead and now two more people were as well, one of them his personal friend. Because Gabe had asked them both for help. It made Xavier’s gut clench at the thought of anything happening to Carlos. Or his mom. Or Manny or Willa Mae.

“Probably,” Burke said with a regretful shake of his head. “Involving others in your personal drama, even when it’s not of your own making, puts a huge weight on the shoulders.”

“I know,” Xavier said, miserable to even consider it.

“I know you do. That’s why I said it. It’s not of your own making. Not your fault. Not Gabe’s fault. That’s why therapists exist. For the aftereffects.”

Xavier studied the older man. Burke had to be forty, maybe older. He was still in great shape for a guy his age, but his eyes had little wrinkles at the corners and held a lot of sadness when he thought no one was watching.

He wanted to ask about Burke’s story, but he understood keeping one’s personal history private. He loved Carlos like a brother, and he’d been an amazing support the past few days, but he didn’t think that Carlos could have held on to his secret all these years.

“For a long time,” Xavier said quietly, “I thought that I’d made up what I saw.”

“The woman getting murdered.”

Xavier nodded. “I’d have these awful nightmares. Wake up screaming.”

“I know those nightmares. I have them myself from time to time.”

He really wanted to ask more, but Burke didn’t look in the mood to share any more. “When Rocky came into my life—back into my life—I wasn’t sure what was worse. I mean, it was awful thinking that I was so screwed in the head that my imagination made up the woman getting killed. But then . . .”

“You found out that it wasn’t your imagination.”

“My mom and dad took me to therapists when I was little. They’re the ones who said it was all in my head. A product of my trauma.”

“Well, you had just seen your mother die,” Burke said pragmatically.

Still, Xavier shivered. “I can still see her hands on the hole she’d chopped in the roof. She’d shown me the hatchet in the attic, told me what to do in a flood. Her mother had told her about a hurricane in the sixties, how people got trapped in their attics trying to outrun the flood, so they started keeping hatchets in case they needed to escape through the roof.”

“Hurricane Betsy,” Burke murmured. “Back in ’65. My uncle told me about it, too. He also kept a hatchet in the attic. Your mother was wise to have done so.”

Xavier pressed his lips together, trying not to give in to the fear he felt every time he remembered. “I know, but the water came too fast. We heard a loud noise—that was the levee breaking—and within a few minutes the house was filling up. She barely had time to cut through the roof. She shoved me out through the hole, but she . . .” He swallowed hard. “She was trying to get out, trying to lift herself out, but the roof kept breaking away. Her hands would disappear, then reappear and grab the roof. Then disappear again.”

Burke sighed. “That is enough to give anyone nightmares. And then to see a woman murdered on top of that? Hell, Xavier.”

“I know. Trust me, I know. But the therapists never listened to me. I was just a traumatized little kid, making stuff up. It’s hard not to be bitter.”

“I get that. But do me a favor? When this is over, I’ll give you the name of a therapist who can help you. Please call her. She’s very good.”

“She helped you?”

“Immensely.”

Xavier waited for him to say more, but he didn’t, which was his right.

“What’s next?”

“Next we look at photos of your neighborhood as it exists today. I looked at Google Earth last night and at the neighborhood’s recovery and renewal website. Gotta say, I’m not hopeful. The neighborhood looks different than it did before Katrina, and you were so small.”

Xavier’s gut churned some more. “If I have to go back there, if it’ll help y’all identify the original victim, then I will.”

Burke gave him a smile. “I know. You’re a good person, Xavier, and a helluva lot stronger than you think you are.” He started to bring the screenshots up on his laptop, but was interrupted by the buzzing of his cell phone. “It’s Joy. Let me take this.”

He picked up the phone, not putting it on speaker. “Good morning, sunshine,” he said with a smile. A smile that abruptly disappeared. “Play it,”

he said tersely.

What now? Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

A minute passed during which Burke’s jaw got tighter, his teeth clenching hard. “Fucking hell.” He glanced at Xavier, seemed to be considering, then exhaled. “Play it again. I have Xavier here. I want him to hear this, too.”

From the corner of his eye, Xavier saw Carlos appear in the kitchen doorway, followed by Cicely. Followed by Manny and Willa Mae, who pushed to the front, coming into the kitchen to take a seat at the table.

“Okay,” Burke said. “I guess we’re all hearing this.” He put his phone on speaker. “Play it again, Joy.”

“Hello.” It was a woman’s voice, soft and quavering. She sounded scared.

“My name is Alicia Rollins and I need to speak to Burke Broussard as soon as possible. It’s urgent. It’s . . . It’s a matter of life and death. Someone tried to kill me last night and I think it has something to do with a conversation I had with Rocky Hebert. He said I should call Mr. Broussard. I’m in New Orleans and can be in your office as soon as you can see me.”

She left her number, then added, “Please help me. I’m really scared.”

Then the call ended.

Xavier realized that he’d stopped breathing and sucked in some air. “Can she play it again? I don’t think I recognize the voice, but I want to be sure.”

Joy complied and Xavier shook his head when the message ended a second time. “I’m pretty sure that I don’t know her.”

Burke looked over at Willa Mae. “Your take?”

Willa Mae made a face. “I don’t know. She sounds scared, but . . .”

Cicely sat next to Willa Mae. “Can you call her at that number? Find out what she wants?”

Burke nodded. “I will, but I want a game plan first.”

“You and Willa Mae don’t believe her,” Carlos said. “Why? She does sound scared.”

Burke hesitated. “I don’t not believe her. But . . .” He sighed. “Two more people are dead. The private pathologist who did Rocky’s autopsy and the mortician friend of Gabe’s who transported the body.” He waited until everyone had gasped and uttered words of shock. “Gabe is devastated, as you can imagine.”

“More loose ends taken care of,” Willa Mae said quietly.

“So it would seem,” Burke agreed. “It’s very possible that this woman was targeted. And I want to hear what was said in her conversation with Rocky.”

“But you’re suspicious,” Xavier murmured. It wasn’t a major deduction on his part. It was written all over the man’s face, and Willa Mae was nodding.

“The timing seems convenient,” Burke said.

“You think she’s luring you out?” Carlos asked.

“To follow you back to us,” Manny finished grimly. “To Xavier.”

Burke shrugged. “I have to think of your safety. One thing’s certain—no way are you leaving this cabin, Xavier. If she’s legit, I’ll find her a safe house. If she’s not, I don’t want you anywhere near her.”

“Thank you,” Cicely whispered. “I was scared to let him go with you. I lay awake last night, wracking my brain for the address of Xavier’s mother’s house, but all I could remember was the street, not the house number.”

“I know,” Burke said kindly. “Now you don’t have to be scared, at least.”

“Not any more scared,” Willa Mae observed wryly.

“Sorry,” Cicely muttered to her friend. “I kept her awake, tossing and turning last night.”

Willa Mae patted his mother’s hand. “It’s all right. I just wish I could help you.”

“When will you leave, Burke?” Xavier asked.

“As soon as I have an escape plan and more coverage for this place. If you’ll excuse me, I have to make some calls.” He pushed away from the table and headed toward the back door.

“Be careful, Burke,” Cicely called.

He threw a grin over his shoulder, making him look years younger. Still old, Xavier allowed, but younger than before. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you for breakfast, by the way. It was a real treat.”

The door closed behind him and, for a moment, there was silence.

Then Carlos and Manny joined them at the table. “This sucks donkey balls,” Carlos muttered, then winced. “Sorry, Mrs. M, Miss Willa Mae.”

“It’s all right,” Cicely said resignedly. “I’ve heard much worse.”

“And I’ve heard much worse than that,” Willa Mae added, then smacked the table, making them all jump. “Enough of this worrying. Everyone come into the living room with me. Xavier, Carlos, and Manny, I want you to move the furniture back. I want as large a space as possible.”

“Why?” Manny asked warily.

Xavier nearly snickered at the look of fear on his face.

“Because we are going to do tai chi. It’s calming, meditative, and will work out some of this muscle stiffness that’s making me cranky.”

Carlos grinned. “I like it.”

“Suck-up,” Manny muttered.

Willa Mae arched one eyebrow. “What happened to being nice to old ladies? I mean, I could play country music and make you line dance, if you really want me to.”

Manny cringed. “Tai chi is fine.”

“I thought so. Come along. Move.”

They moved. And, after their first tai chi lesson, Xavier did feel a little better.

He was still scared as hell, but he was able to breathe. His mother looked calmer, too. He kissed his mother’s best friend on the cheek. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Willa Mae patted his face. “Nothing to thank. I know you’re scared. I know your mama’s scared. I’m scared, too. But we need to stay calm and centered so that we can think if something goes wrong.”

“More wrong, you mean.” Because something was going to go more wrong. He knew it.

“Fine. More wrong. Now.” She clapped her hands once. “Fix the furniture. This is Burke’s house and we’re going to keep it nice. When we’re done with that, I’m making a list of chores. We will be good guests.”

Cicely bit back a smile. “You’re right, Willa Mae.”

Willa Mae nodded smugly. “I usually am.”

Central Business District, New Orleans, Louisiana

WEDNESDAY, JULY 27, 8:45 A.M.

“Gabe.” Patty’s voice was tense. “Stop pacing, or I’ll tie your feet together.”

“Sorry.” Gabe dropped into one of the hotel room chairs at the small dinette table, surprised it had taken Patty as long as it had to yell at him. He’d been pacing for at least twenty minutes.

He felt like a trapped animal. Patty had watched him pace while Molly had been glued to her computer screen.

Val, the other PI, had gone to the courthouse. Arraignments were supposed to start soon.

They were stuck here until Burke’s night security guard brought them Kevlar.

How is this my life?

“I feel so damn helpless,” he confessed. “I can’t even cook anything.”

Patty reached across the small table to squeeze his forearm. “I know. I feel helpless, too. At least Mom and Dad are okay. I checked in with them.”

Gabe frowned. He hadn’t even thought of his aunt and uncle. Just one more thing to feel guilty over. “Where are they?”

“I suggested that they take a trip. They decided to visit my grandma in Florida.”

At least they were out of harm’s way. Unlike Dr. McLain and Dusty Woodruff.

He couldn’t think about them. Not right now. He turned to Molly, who was once again sitting cross-legged on the bed. “What are you doing?”

“Looking at property records,” she said without looking up.

“For?” he pressed.

“The street where Xavier lived with his biological mother before Katrina.

That area was underwater for days. None of the houses were spared.

Everything there was built post-Katrina. Even if Xavier did go back to see the neighborhood, it won’t look the same. Burke and I agreed that it doesn’t make sense to put Xavier in danger for no good reason, so he’s staying put today.”

Gabe breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t realized how tense he was over Xavier leaving Burke’s safe house.

“So why are you still looking at property records?” Patty asked.

“I’m looking to see which owners are the same as pre-Katrina. Old neighbors might remember the woman Xavier described.”

“That’s a good idea,” Patty said. “A lot of people left the city and never came back, but there were some who rebuilt in the same place.”

Gabe studied Molly with renewed appreciation. “That’s a smart approach.”

She looked up then and smiled at him. “Thank you. We don’t know the exact house where Xavier’s mother lived because she rented the place, but I have found three property owners so far who’re still there. We’ve got Xavier’s description of the woman—tall, with long blond hair down to her butt—so I figure we can ask them if they remember a woman who’d walk her dog. His description of the dog was even better than his description of the woman.”

“What kind of dog?” Gabe asked.

“He searched a dog breed page until he found the animal. It was an Afghan hound.”

He gave a low whistle. “Those are pretty rare, aren’t they?”

She nodded. “They are. Neighbors might remember it.”

Patty frowned. “What does one of those even look like?”

Gabe did a quick search on his phone and showed the photo to his cousin.

“Like this.” The dog was tall with a long, glamorous coat and long silky ears.

“I saw a commercial once where the dog was in the passenger seat of a convertible and looked like a blond woman with her hair blowing in the wind until it turned around.”

“I’ve seen them,” Patty said, “but only on TV. Never in person.”

“Me either,” Molly said. “I can’t imagine that it was a dog people saw too often. Especially with all that coat. They’d roast in the summer here.”

“So we’re going door to door?” Gabe asked.

Patty gave a worried sigh, but said nothing. They’d already argued about it, and Gabe wasn’t budging. He was not going to hide while Molly took all the risks.

“I guess we are,” Molly said resignedly, because she still wasn’t keen on exposing him to danger. “We can leave as soon as Phin gets here with the vests. Patty, I’ll drop you off at Burke’s office to wait until Val is done in court.”

“Val is done in court,” Val said from the adjoining doorway. She reminded Gabe of a Viking warrior, minus the armor and sword. At the moment, she was leaning against the doorframe, looking frustrated and grim.

She held what appeared to be their Kevlar vests, one in each hand.

Molly set her laptop aside and slowly came to her feet. “What happened?”

“I couldn’t get anywhere near the courthouse,” Val said. She pushed away from the doorframe and sat on the bed that Gabe and Molly had shared.

“There was a stabbing in Holding sometime during the night.”

“Well, shit,” Molly breathed. “Is Eckert dead?”

“As a doornail,” Val said. “The courthouse is a media circus. I got close enough to hear the news from one of the reporters and gave up getting any closer and just headed back here. I passed Phin in the parking garage of the hotel. He gave me four vests and headed back to the office because Joy’s there by herself. He doesn’t want her to be alone.”

Patty was so pale that Gabe worried she’d pass out. “What is happening?” she whispered, horrified. “Gabe, what did your father stumble into?”

“Someone is snipping off loose ends,” Molly said flatly. “Which means we have to work faster. Val, what do you want me to do with Patty? Leave her here with you or take her to Burke’s?”

“Leave her here with me,” Val said wearily. “I need to sleep, but she’ll be safer with me than she will be with you.”

“What does that mean?” Patty insisted, the words coming out a terrified screech.

Molly crossed the room and laid her hand on Patty’s shoulder. “It means that whoever killed your uncle is trying to take out anyone who either witnessed him murdering a woman or who knows anything about it.”

“Which is us,” Gabe said, surprised that his voice was steady. “This is why I tried to keep it from you.”

Patty shuddered. “I’m kind of wishing I’d listened to you.”

Molly’s smile was rueful. “Will you stay with Val, Patty? I’ll take you wherever you want to go, but I think you’ll be safest here for now.”

Patty nodded. “I’ll stay. Gabe? Stay with me?”

Gabe shook his head. “I’ll text you every hour if you want me to, but I’m going.”

“Every hour,” Patty said fiercely. “Promise me.”

He hugged her hard. “I promise.”

“Be careful,” Val said, then went back to her room, pausing in the doorway to give Patty a meaningful leave-them-alone look. “I put your vest on your bed, Patty. Come on. I’ll show you how to put it on.”

Reluctantly his cousin followed the tall blonde to the adjoining room, shutting the door behind them. Leaving them all alone.

Alone, but unfortunately, with somewhere to go. Somewhere he had to wear bulletproof gear. He picked up his vest from the bed. “How does this fasten?”

“Under your shirt.”

He unbuttoned his shirt, noting the way Molly’s eyes followed his hands down. When he tugged his shirttail free, he heard her sigh.

A very nice sound indeed. Even if things were crazy all around them, she liked his body and he’d cling to that for a while. He tugged off his shirt and slipped his arms into the vest.

Molly stepped into his space, fastening the Velcro tabs at his sides before he had a chance to do it himself. “Like this.”

“I probably could have figured it out,” he said mildly.

She looked up at him, worry in her eyes. “I know. But now I know it’s on right. I’ve got a tactical helmet in the trunk of the rental car. If things go south, you’ll wear it, too.”

He vaguely remembered her transferring the equipment from her truck to the rental the night before. She’d scanned each item for tracking devices and bugs before storing it in the trunk. She was smart and she was careful.

The knowledge made him feel far safer than the Kevlar vest ever could.

She took her shirt off and pulled her vest on over the serviceable bra that he hoped he’d see again later. But now was not the time. Soberly, he followed her example, fastening her Velcro tabs. It was affirming. She’d keep him safe, and he’d do the same for her.

She buttoned up her shirt and shrugged into her gun-concealing jacket.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Yep. Let’s go.”

Chalmette, New Orleans, Louisiana

WEDNESDAY, JULY 27, 9:50 A.M.

“What’s wrong?” Gabe demanded as Molly checked her phone for the hundredth time since they’d left the hotel.

She took another long look at the houses that lined Xavier Morrow’s old street, where he’d lived before Katrina.

The Lower Ninth Ward had been the focus of media coverage of the boat rescues, and that was what Molly remembered from that time. But Burke had schooled her on the neighborhoods of New Orleans when she’d first agreed to work for him. There had been boat rescues in several of the other neighborhoods—this one and others along the river to the south of the city.

Chalmette—and the entirety of St. Bernard Parish—had been devastated by the hurricane, no homes spared by the floodwaters. Much of the neighborhood had not been rebuilt, vacant lots where homes had been.

The post-Katrina houses were mostly single-story, with a few two-story homes here and there. There were no other cars on the street, unless they were parked. Anyone who was going to work was gone by now. A few children played in one of the backyards, periodically running around to the front to retrieve a ball, which normally would have made her smile. She was too anxious at the moment, too aware of the danger hanging over Gabe’s head.

She was also aware of the older woman weeding her garden—while she watched them.

Molly had caught her sneaking peeks at them from beneath her wide-brimmed hat. She would be the first person they’d talk to. She was one of three original residents on this portion of the street.

“Just checking the time,” Molly said, not sure why she hadn’t told Gabe what Burke had shared that morning. Maybe she didn’t want him to get his hopes up.

But more than likely it was the really bad feeling she had about it. Gabe would want to be there, to talk to the woman who’d contacted Burke first thing, who was likely still in Burke’s office, asking for his help.

Molly didn’t want Gabe anywhere near the office. She didn’t want him anywhere near Xavier’s old neighborhood, either, but she was learning to choose her battles with her chef.

My chef.

He wasn’t really hers. But he could be.

Her chef was currently staring at her, his arms crossed over his broad chest, hazel eyes narrowed. “I thought you weren’t going to lie to me.”

“I wasn’t. I really was checking the time. This time. It’s rude to call on people before ten o’clock.”

He shook his head. “Molly, just tell me.”

She sighed. “All right. There was a call on the office voice mail this morning when Joy arrived, a message from a woman who said she needed to speak with Burke urgently and that it had to do with your father.”

Gabe gasped quietly. “I want to see her.”

“I figured you would,” she admitted. “But I have a bad feeling about this.

It’s too convenient. We find out that your father was investigating a murder, and, alakazam, this lady shows up.”

“Xavier did,” Gabe pointed out.

“True. That’s why Burke is meeting with her. He said he’d call me when he’s done.”

Gabe frowned. “Why would someone fake this? How would they know

—” He exhaled. “Oh. You think it’s some kind of a trap laid by the killer or killers.”

She had to smile. “You’re sounding more and more like one of us.” She sobered. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I think. It’s what Burke thinks, too. He didn’t want us anywhere near the office this morning. And if he had, I would have said no. I won’t put you in danger like that.”

“You think they’re trying to get to me?”

“Well, yeah,” she said, trying to keep the duh from her tone and failing spectacularly. Gabe didn’t seem to mind, though. He kept studying her face with the same fatalistically curious expression. “Either to get to you directly or to tail Burke afterward.”

Gabe’s mouth tightened. “To find Xavier.”

She lifted a shoulder. “He’s the eyewitness.”

“He was just a child,” Gabe said, frustrated. “It’s unlikely anyone would take him seriously, even if he did come forward. Why is this happening?”

“That is a very good question,” Molly said. It was one that she’d considered often over the past forty-eight hours. “My best guess is that Xavier saw the man’s scar and that makes him identifiable today.”

“True. I guess we can’t google ‘New Orleans men with scars.’ ”

Her lips curved faintly. “I did. Didn’t get anywhere. Especially since I think this guy is high-profile. For the kind of obstruction you experienced, a poorly done autopsy and the attempt to frame your dad with cocaine planted in his pantry, there has to be some kind of high-profile exposure.”

“You’re saying that whoever killed the woman during Katrina is afraid of scandal.”

“That’s my guess, anyway. Trouble is, it might not even be the killer. It could be whoever covered it up back then. Your father saw the body, but when he came back, it was gone. The residents weren’t allowed back for days afterward, but somebody came to retrieve that body.”

“And Dad was actively discouraged from investigating.” He bit his lip, worry in his eyes. “Call Burke. Please?”

“Okay.” Cautiously, she looked up and down the street again, on alert for anyone or anything that looked remotely out of place. She dialed Joy’s extension and put it on speaker. “Hi, Joy, it’s Molly. Is Burke available?”

“He is,” Joy said, a thread of tension in her voice that Molly did not like at all. “I’ll patch you through.”

“Joy, how’s the coffee this morning?” Molly asked before Joy could transfer her call.

“Shitty,” Joy said, and Molly breathed a sigh of relief.

“It’s a code,” Molly said to Gabe, because his brow was furrowed in confusion. “She’s okay. If she’d said the coffee was delicious, I’d have known something was wrong.”

“It’s just been a morning,” Joy said. “None of us trust that woman who met with Burke today and Antoine’s doing a sweep of the office to make sure she didn’t bug us. Phin’s been sweeping for any kind of bombs. But that’s just Phin.”

“Yeah, bombs would be his go-to,” Molly agreed. “You’ll allow him to escort you home tonight?”

“I will,” Joy grumbled. “I’ve been schooled by everyone here who worries about me. Like I’m not a woman grown and an ex-cop. Let me patch you through.”

Gabe’s brows raised. “Ex-cop?”

“She took a bullet to the spine when she responded to a robbery,” Molly explained. “Joy was and continues to be a badass.”

“Molly.” Burke had come on the line. “I was getting ready to call. We’ve been sweeping for bugs.”

“That’s what Joy said. I told Gabe about the call on the voice mail this morning. If you’ve learned anything, it’d be nice to know before I bother the woman who’s glaring daggers at me while she weeds her garden.”

“What are you talking about? What woman?”

“She’s the first name on my list of pre-Katrina homeowners on Xavier’s old street. She does not appear happy to see us.”

“Oh, okay.” Burke exhaled wearily. “The woman who called claimed to be Alicia Rollins. She was really young. Early twenties, I’d guess. She said her sister was JoAnn Rollins, who’d disappeared during Katrina. Alicia searched for her for years but found nothing.”

Molly did the math. “If Alicia’s in her early twenties, she’d have been between five and seven years old during Katrina. Not sure how she could have searched for her sister.”

“I know,” Burke said. “It was one of many things wrong with her story. I asked her why she’d come to me and why now. She said that someone tried to kill her yesterday.”

“Oh.” Molly hadn’t expected that. “How and where?”

“She said they fired shots through the window of her bedroom last night.”

Molly opened the note-taking app on her phone. “Her address?”

“I’ll text it to you. It’s in Rock Hill, a town in—”

“South Carolina,” Molly said. “Only about thirty minutes from where I lived when I was working in Charlotte.”

“I know,” was all Burke said.

“More coincidence?” Molly asked.

“Hard to believe so. She said she left immediately and drove straight to New Orleans.”

“She didn’t call the police?” Gabe asked.

“Nope. Said that she didn’t know who she could trust, and that Rocky had told her to come to me.”

Gabe’s eyes closed, grief flitting across his face. But when his eyes opened, they were cold with anger. “She has nerve, using my father’s name.”

“I agree,” Burke said. “But I let her talk. I hoped she’d drop some hint about who’d sent her, but she didn’t. Her story was that Rocky came to see her seven weeks ago and that he’d asked her about JoAnn, her sister. She told him that she hadn’t spoken to her sister since before Katrina. Rocky thanked her and said that if anything happened or anyone threatened her, she should call him. And if he wasn’t available, to call me. She called Rocky first, but he didn’t answer his phone. She googled and found he’d passed away. So she called me.”

“But not until this morning. I would have thought she’d have called before driving ten hours.” Molly considered the woman’s story. “Did you ask for ID?”

“She claimed she’d left it at home. That she was so flustered after nearly being killed.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “Convenient. You get prints?”

“Of course. Antoine’s working on putting them through AFIS.”

Gabe looked surprised. “You have access to the federal fingerprint database?”

Both Molly and Burke went silent. Accessing government databases was something Antoine did, and they didn’t ask questions. Like with most of the stuff Antoine did. He might hack, but then again, he might have an internal resource running the scans for him. Molly didn’t know and didn’t want to know.

Gabe sighed. “Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies?”

“Rocky didn’t raise no fool,” Burke drawled lazily, but there was an undercurrent of terseness that Gabe apparently didn’t miss.

He nodded. “Shutting up now.”

Molly patted his hand. “It’s better that way. So, Burke, what’s your plan?

How will you evade the tail that they’ve most definitely placed on you?”

“I worked it out with Antoine, Joy, and Phin before I left for the office this morning. As for the woman, I want to check out her story. JoAnn Rollins did exist, and she did die in Katrina. She would have been in her early twenties. There were no incident reports at the South Carolina address the woman gave me, but she said she didn’t call 911. She was . . . sketchy on the details.”

“Smart,” Molly said. “Less to disprove that way. What did you think of her, Burke? Of the woman herself? Clearly, she’s involved, but in what capacity?”

Burke hesitated. “I believed her,” he finally said. “Not her story, because that was a crock of shit with holes big enough for a locomotive to drive through. But I believed that she believed in whatever it was she was doing.

Most of the time she played shy and even a little mealymouthed, but every so often, I’d catch her glaring at me. Like if looks could kill . . .” He trailed off.

“She hated me, and I don’t know why.”

“Did you follow her out?”

“I watched the feed on the surveillance camera. I wasn’t sure that they didn’t have a gunman waiting on the street. Which is not a feeling that I like to have.”

Molly glanced around again, feeling too exposed even though she was certain that she hadn’t been followed and she’d checked her rental car for any tracking devices before they’d left the hotel. “I get that.”

“She got into a car that I traced to an Uber driver. I dropped a tracker into her handbag when she wasn’t looking, but it stopped moving shortly after she left. Phin found it in a garbage can a block away.”

“The tracker?” Molly asked.

“The whole handbag,” Burke said dryly. “No ID inside.”

“So, what’s her goal?” Gabe asked. “Distraction?”

“Yes,” Burke said. “I think we’re supposed to chase our tails, checking this new ID just in case it proves truthful. And I think I’m supposed to lead them to our guests. Which isn’t going to happen.”

Molly watched the woman in the wide-brimmed hat gather her garden tools and go back into her house. “Okay. We’re going to chat with the lady with the sharp garden implements. I’ll call you back afterward.”

“Thank you. Be careful.”

“We will.” Molly disconnected and met Gabe’s eyes. “Ready to speak with Mrs. Nancy Royce?”

He nodded once. “Yep.”

“She’s a retired schoolteacher, recently widowed.”

Gabe’s brows crunched. “How did her husband die?”

“Liver disease.” She squeezed his hand. “His death was not related to this case.”

His relief was visible. “Good. I don’t think I can handle any more people dying because of what my dad uncovered.”

“Stick close to me. I don’t want you dying, either.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

They got out of the rental car, Molly keeping an eye on their surroundings as they approached Nancy Royce’s front door. She’d lifted her fist to knock when the door opened, sending a wave of deliciously cool air wafting across her face, courtesy of the woman’s air conditioner.

“Good morning, ma’am,” Molly said. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

“Yet here you stand,” Nancy said tartly.

“Yes, ma’am. My name is Molly Sutton. I’m a private investigator. This is my partner, Gabe.”

Nancy’s eyes narrowed as she looked up at them. She was about five foot two, her tanned skin leathery with deep wrinkles. She was only sixty-four, but her worry lines spoke of hardship.

“Gabe who?” the woman asked.

“Gabe Hebert, ma’am,” Gabe answered, and Molly wanted to sigh, irritated with herself.

Should have told him that I didn’t want him to give his name. But she’d forgotten, the murder of Cornell Eckert having shaken her more than she’d wanted to admit aloud.

Nancy scrutinized Gabe for a long moment before cocking her head.

“Come in,” she ordered, turning to walk deeper into her house.

Molly gave Gabe a nod and they followed her in.