Quarter to Midnight (A New Orleans Novel Book 1)

WHO BROUGHT YOUR car home?” Molly asked as she pulled her truck into Gabe’s driveway, parking behind his very old, but still reliable Honda Accord.

“Nobody. I walked to your office this morning.” He shrugged. “I walk to work nearly every day.”

“Makes sense. I’d walk, too, if I lived so close to the Quarter.” She was eyeing his house critically, and he felt himself becoming a little defensive, because he loved his home. “How many exterior doors do you have?”

Oh. His irritation subsided. She was checking security. His father had done the same thing. “One in the front and one in the back. One on one side, two on the other. So five total. It’s a common design for these old shotgun-style houses.”

Supposedly named because one could shoot a gun at the front door and the bullet would exit the back without hitting anything.

She turned to smile at him. “I like it. How long have you lived here?”

He relaxed even more. He didn’t think he could tolerate someone who didn’t like his house. It was almost as much his baby as was the Choux. “Six years. I’ve owned it for seven, but it took me most of a year to make it livable. It was truly a fixer-upper.”

“Katrina?”

“Yes. It wasn’t bad enough to be tagged for demolition, but pretty near.”

“You did it yourself?” she asked, sounding impressed.

He almost preened. “Most of the grunt work, yeah. One of Patty’s cousins on her mom’s side is a general contractor and he helped.” He grinned. “Free gumbo at the Choux for the rest of his days.”

“I’ve tasted the Choux’s gumbo, and I think he got a great deal. Show me around?”

“Of course.”

She grabbed a duffel bag from the back seat of her truck and, shouldering it, followed him up the front steps. “It’s very cheerful, with the red siding and the green door. Was it this color originally?”

“As close as I can figure.” He unlocked the front door, opened it, then disabled the alarm, cocking his head to listen for Shoe. Sure enough, he heard the dog’s excited yelp and the scrabble of claws on the hardwood floor of the narrow hallway that ran the length of the house.

He laughed, relieved. Part of him had been worried that they’d get to the dog. And guilty because he hadn’t considered the risk to Shoe when he’d left that morning.

He went down on one knee when Shoe ran at him, wagging his tail so hard it was a wonder he didn’t fall right over. “You’re okay,” he murmured, hugging the dog’s neck, feeling his eyes burn. The dog was all he had left of his father, and the thought that someone might have hurt the sweet mutt had him tearing up. He squeezed his eyes shut, surreptitiously drying them on Shoe’s coat. “We have a visitor,” he said more loudly.

“Oh, he’s a cutie.” Molly held out one hand to the dog so that he could sniff her. “Hey there, Shoe. Don’t eat my shoes and we’ll be friends forever.”

“I keep mine on a high shelf,” Gabe said. “Come on in. Make yourself at home.”

She shouldered her duffel and followed him into the house, then began turning in a slow circle, her admiration clear. “Oh, wow. I love the wood flooring. And the windows. Is this how it would have originally looked?”

“I kept the details as close as I could, but I had to guess on most of it.

Then an old woman knocked on my door, about five years ago now. She’d lived down the street before Katrina, but lost her home and never moved back. She was in the area visiting some friends and she saw that I’d fixed the place up.” He smiled, remembering the woman’s emotion. “She had tears in her eyes. Said she’d lived in what used to be the house four doors down for most of her life, but it was demolished when FEMA came through. Whoever rebuilt there didn’t reproduce the old house, but mine looked exactly the same as before. Said her best friend used to live in this house.”

“Did she ask for a tour?” Molly asked, biting on her lower lip as if she wanted to say something but was holding back.

He wanted to nudge her poor lip to save it from her teeth, but he kept his hands to himself. Which was a real shame, because she had very pretty lips.

Which he wasn’t going to notice. Stick to the program, Hebert. “No, but I gave her one. You’re thinking that she could have robbed me.”

She lifted a shoulder. “Once a cop . . . But I’m glad that you didn’t think that way. She must have been so happy.”

“She cried. Sobbed like a child. We took a photo together and I emailed it to her grandson, who was driving her around. She and I have exchanged Christmas cards ever since.”

Molly was smiling at him now. “I think you’re a very nice man, Gabriel Hebert.”

His cheeks heated. “Anyone would have done the same.”

“Anyone nice,” she corrected. “I’m not sure I’d have been that nice. Show me the rest.”

He led her through an open archway into the kitchen and basked in her gasp. He’d spent the most time and money on this room, and he was proud of it.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “Marble and natural brick. And all this light.”

He admired his handiwork fondly. “Took me years to save up to do this room right, but I’m a chef. I couldn’t cook in a shitty kitchen.”

She chuckled. “You did just fine in the office’s shitty kitchen.” She trailed her fingers over the marble island. “Gabe, it’s incredible. And it’s so much bigger than I expected. Are you sure it’s not a TARDIS?”

He laughed. “The high ceilings give the feeling of space. But the house really is big for its style. It had four bedrooms, but I turned one into an office and one into a man cave. Left me with the master and a spare. Come on. I’ll show you to your room and you can drop your bag there.”

She followed him down a hall that was barely wide enough for one person, Shoe tagging along behind them. Gabe pulled the bifold door open to the spare bedroom and gestured her inside.

She gasped again, stroking his ego. “Gabe, it’s amazing.” Lowering her duffel, she walked to the French doors, which led to the garden. But she checked the alarm contacts first, which made him smile.

“I love this,” she said. “How tropical it looks. But I don’t love that there are doors in the bedroom. So many points of entry.”

He sighed. “It was my favorite thing. Before now.”

She turned, her expression contrite. “I’m sorry. After this is over, you can go back to loving it.”

“I intend to.” He showed her the office and the theater room, a.k.a. his man cave. “All the bedrooms have windows and doors to the outside, except for the man cave. I wanted a place where I could watch TV without the light.

There’s a veranda that runs the perimeter of the house and a deck on the back.”

She checked the security of those doors as well. “The locks aren’t bad, but they could be better.”

“They were a compromise. I would have used a normal lock, but Dad wanted the Fort Knox model. We agreed on these. He would’ve had me living in a concrete bunker to keep me safe. I did get the hurricane glass he insisted on. It’ll keep prowlers from breaking the glass, and also got me a discount on my homeowners insurance, so that was a win-win.”

“Hurricane glass is a good security measure. Where is the doggy door?”

“In my bedroom.” He led the way, very relieved that he’d picked up his dirty clothes that morning. He pointed to the flap in the wall next to the French doors. Tail wagging, Shoe disappeared through what was, now that Gabe was looking at it through Molly’s eyes, a big hole in his wall. “It’s magnetic,” he felt compelled to point out, “so it stays put against the weather.”

“But not against someone who’s trying to break in.”

He frowned. “It does lock.” He wasn’t a total fuckup. “And there’s a security bar that came with it. It’s in the closet somewhere.”

She arched a brow.

He sighed. “Where it does no good.”

“We can secure it from the inside, which means you’ll have to let Shoe out periodically during the day rather than letting him have his freedom and —” She stopped abruptly when Shoe barked, the sound high-pitched and oddly aggressive. “Is that normal?”

The hairs rose on the back of Gabe’s neck. “No.”

He ran to the French doors, Molly directly behind him. “Me first,” she insisted, pushing him aside. Opening the doors into the backyard, she ran out of the house and leapt the rail around the deck like it was a track hurdle.

“Stop!” she shouted to . . . who?

Fucking hell. Gabe raced down the back stairs to his backyard in time to see her yanking at the gate in the eight-foot security fence. His heart pounding, he started to follow, but she pointed behind her. “Get your dog,”

she said urgently. “Somebody threw something over the fence.”

Luckily his backyard wasn’t too huge, and within seconds, he was yanking Shoe by the collar, dragging him away from something brown. “No, Shoe! No! Leave it!”

Meat. The something someone had thrown over his fence was meat.

Steak, actually. Cooked steak. He inched closer, keeping Shoe behind him, out of reach of the meat. Luckily leave it was one of the commands that his father had taught to Shoe.

Then Gabe stared. There was white powder sprinkled over the steak. A lot of white powder.

He swallowed back the bile that rose to burn his throat.

Poison. Someone had tried to poison his dog. Dropping to his knees, he pried Shoe’s mouth open, searching for any evidence that he’d consumed it.

“Did he eat any of it?” Molly asked from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see that she was on the phone. She tapped the screen, putting the call on speaker. “It’s Burke. Burke, it’s a cooked steak with some kind of white powder on it. Gabe, did Shoe eat any of the meat?”

Gabe shook his head. “I don’t think so, but I want to take him to the vet to make sure.”

“Okay, we’ll do that. Let’s take him inside now. I’ll get a plastic bag, and wrap that up. We need to find out what it is.”

“Are you all right, Gabe?” Burke asked through the speakerphone.

“I’m not sure. I’m not hurt, anyway.” Gabe rose, his legs embarrassingly unsteady. He had to lock his knees to keep from falling on his ass. “Did you see who did it?”

She shook her head. “He was driving away by the time I got the gate open. Burke, I’ll text you the vet’s address. I’ll take the meat with me. Can you send someone to pick it up?”

“Of course. Take care of Shoe.”

Molly ended the call, then put a hand on Gabe’s lower back. “I’ll take the dog. You go inside. Now.”

Gabe obeyed, stumbling over his own feet. He had to stop, had to suck in great gulps of breath.

Molly stayed with him, her hand on his back as she pulled Shoe along.

“Breathe. Just breathe. Shoe doesn’t seem like he’s in any pain, but we’ll make sure.”

“Someone was here,” he whispered hoarsely. “Someone wanted to kill my dog.”

“Or make him sleep. Either way, someone wanted your best alarm system here offline.” She took his arm and urged him up the stairs, dragging Shoe behind her. “Come on, boy. Let’s go inside.”

Once inside his bedroom, she led Gabe to the bed and gently pushed him to sit. He obeyed again, closing his eyes. Humiliation bloomed, making him feel sick again.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I freaked out.”

“You had every right to do so,” she said, matter-of-fact. “Someone means you harm and tried to hurt your dog to get to you. I’m just glad we were here to hear Shoe bark.”

His gut roiled. “If we’d been a little later . . .”

She closed the French doors and locked them. “But we weren’t.” She closed the drapes, casting the room into shadow. Somehow the darkness made him feel better. “Stay here. I’m going to take care of bagging the steak, then we’ll go to my truck. I’ll escort you, so don’t leave the house without me. The intruder drove away, but he could come back. I’m not trying to scare you unnecessarily,” she added, probably because all the color had drained from his face.

He felt like he was going to pass out. “Unnecessarily.”

“Exactly. But you need to be on alert. Do you understand me?”

He nodded weakly. “Yeah.”

“Good. I’ll be right back. Breathe. Put your head between your knees if you feel faint.”

He breathed, practicing the in-hold-out pattern until his head stopped spinning and the room around him settled, all while Shoe panted happily. At least I didn’t need to shove my head between my knees. Small mercies. He might even be able to walk without face-planting on his bedroom floor.

A warm bottle of water was pressed into his hand. “It’s not cold,” she apologized. “I had it in my duffel, so I know it’s safe. I’ve got the meat and your laptop. I also checked all the locks and secured the doggy door. You can arm the alarm. If you’re okay, we need to go.”

Gabe pushed to his feet, shuddering once more. “I’m good.” No, I’m really not. But he needed to get Shoe to the vet. He gestured with a hand that, thankfully, no longer trembled. “After you.”

The Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana

MONDAY, JULY 25 , 6:58 P.M.

“Excuse me,” Lamont said, interrupting his wife’s chatter when his cell buzzed with an incoming call. “I need to take this.”

Joelle pouted. “You promised.”

“Business pays for dinners like this,” he said mildly, when he really wanted to slap her. She always pouted when he needed to work, as if his money didn’t pay for her lavish lifestyle. He stepped away from the front of Le Petit Choux and into the bustling crowd on Chartres Street. “Is it done?” he asked quietly, forgoing a greeting.

“No,” Stockman said. “I’ve been waiting for the kid to come out, to take out the trash or something, but he’s still in the house and he still has company.”

“Then—” Lamont caught himself before he said break in. There were too many people around and one never knew who was listening. Especially if someone recognized him. “Find a way.”

“I will. Sometimes these things require some delicacy. This is one of those times.”

He laughed humorlessly. “You’re telling me to be patient?”

“Basically. There aren’t many houses here, but I don’t want a neighbor calling the cops.”

“Then after sundown.”

“That’s my plan.”

“I want it done,” he said, leaving no room for argument.

“I know. Have I ever let you down before?”

“No.” Which was why Stockman was still alive. He was a useful fucker.

“No, you have not. Don’t make this the first time.”

Stockman was quiet for a very long moment. Seething, no doubt. Good.

He needed some shaking up. “I said that I will get it done,” he said, sounding like his teeth were clenched.

“See that you do. I have to go now. My dinner companions have arrived.”

Ending the call, he navigated through the crowd, pasting a smile on his face. “Nelson!” He shook the man’s hand. “Good to see you. And Lorraine.

You look lovely tonight.”

Lorraine Nelson was a pleasantly round woman who was somewhere in her late sixties. Nelson was around seventy. And richer than God.

“I’ve heard good things about this place,” Lorraine said, sounding genuine. “I’ve been wanting to try it for a long time.”

Joelle’s facial expression said the exact opposite. Le Petit Choux was a cozy, homey kind of place, where families went to celebrate. But it wasn’t

elegant. There were no white tablecloths. No sommeliers. No tuxedos. It wasn’t her style.

“Lamont is planning to buy into a similar place,” Joelle gushed, linking her arm through Lorraine’s. “He’s checking out the competition. I have heard wonderful things about their desserts. I may have to cheat on my diet tonight.”

It was a dig at Lorraine’s weight, albeit a classy one. Joelle was good at that. She put the bless into “bless your heart.” Her quick wit had been among the qualities that had initially drawn him. Now, seven years later, he wanted to kill her for it. Daily.

“If it’s not to your liking, we can go somewhere else,” Lamont said, knowing that Nelson would say no.

“No, that’s not necessary,” Nelson said. “This will be fine, I’m sure.”

They approached the hostess station, manned by a young beauty in a sleek, black, formfitting dress. Lamont eyed the woman appreciatively. The hostesses here all wore the same style dress and were always a visual feast.

He’d been here before, but only for lunch. This was the first time he’d come for dinner.

“Welcome to Le Petit Choux,” the young beauty said with a flirtatious smile. “Do you have a reservation?”

“Yes,” Joelle said, giving the woman a dark stare that was both envious and warning. “Table for four at seven o’clock, under Joelle.”

They were seated quickly, given menus, and promised that a server would be by soon. Lamont looked around the place, searching for Rocky Hebert’s son. He popped in occasionally for lunch to check the man out. To see if he was anxious or seemed distracted—more so than would be expected from simply losing a parent. Anything that would indicate that he suspected that his father hadn’t died by suicide.

Which it seemed like Gabe Hebert now suspected, since he’d hired a PI. If Rocky’s son started sniffing in Lamont’s direction, he’d have to reevaluate the risk in killing him. If it became necessary, he’d tell Stockman to make it look like a robbery. After suicide and accidents, robberies were his next favorite method.

Observing Hebert here was kind of a long shot, but the food was good and the desserts really were sublime, so it was worth the small effort it took to do reconnaissance. He immediately saw Rocky’s niece through the wall-width window into the kitchen. She was smiling as she spoke to one of the cooks.

She and Rocky’s son co-owned the place, so he wasn’t surprised to see her.

But there was no sign of Gabriel Hebert, and he couldn’t just come out and ask where the man was.

He’d be subtle. Poke a little. Enjoy the étouffée and the crème brûlée. And if he was lucky, Joelle would be so drunk by the time they got home, she’d fall asleep without asking him any questions about the restaurant he planned to buy into. Because of course there was none.

He opened his menu with a snap. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. I haven’t had a bite since lunch with the mayor. What looks good?”

He’d barely perused the night’s offerings when his phone buzzed with a text message from Jackass. Keeping his expression neutral on the outside, he was more than irritated on the inside. The man needed to stop contacting him.

Both of them knew that frequent contact would lead to suspicions.

I will kill him. I swear to God.

He peeked at his phone, ignoring Joelle’s scowl.

Well, fuck. The message read: Why are u there?!? My mole sees u. Are u insane?!?

He glanced around the restaurant, wondering who here was Jackass’s mole. Quickly, under the shield of the tablecloth, he replied: Later.

And later, he’d give Jackass a piece of his mind. That piece would be the only evidence of a brain in the fool’s head. “I’m so sorry,” he told his tablemates, who’d stopped their chatter while he’d checked his phone. He shot them a conciliatory smile. “I’m not trying to be rude, I promise. My answering service got a call for me, but it’s not an emergency. I’m putting my phone on Do Not Disturb right now.”

Which he wasn’t going to do, of course. He was expecting a text from Stockman confirming that Xavier Morrow was no more.

Metairie, Louisiana

MONDAY, JULY 25, 9:45 P.M.

“How is the dog?” Burke asked when Molly and Gabe met him in Rocky Hebert’s front yard. They’d parked at the curb because there was only room for one car in the driveway and an old Ford truck already occupied the space.

It had been Rocky’s vehicle.

She’d been planning to check Rocky’s house the next morning, when there was daylight, but given the attempted attack on Gabe via his dog, she didn’t want to waste any more time. Burke was there as backup, in case someone else tried getting to Gabe while she was searching.

“He’s okay,” Molly answered, because Gabe was staring up at the house with a look of dread. “The vet didn’t think he’d ingested any of the poison on the meat but wanted to keep him overnight for observation.” She touched Gabe’s arm lightly. “You okay?” she murmured.

He nodded jerkily. “Yeah. It’s just . . . I haven’t been back here. Not for a while.”

“I get it.” And she did. She hesitated, then took his hand, giving it a squeeze. “You don’t have to go in. You’ve already had one helluva day.

Nobody’ll think badly of you if you don’t want to go inside. You can wait outside with Burke.”

Gabe squeezed back, so hard that she had to work to hide her wince. “I need to do this.”

He’d said the same while they’d sat in the waiting room at the emergency vet’s office, hoping that Shoe was all right. Molly did get it. She’d done the same after her father’s murder, needing answers. Needing to prove she was strong enough to look. She’d been rewarded with the discovery of the camera that her father had hidden in Harper’s closet, rewarded with confirmation of what she’d already known in her heart—that her father had not touched Harper, that the girl’s own father had been the guilty one. Guilty of raping his own child and guilty of killing her dad.

“Then let’s go in.” Still holding his hand, she walked with him to his father’s front door, Burke trailing behind them.

Whoever had tossed that steak over the fence had wanted to silence the dog. Which made her wonder how they’d planned to silence the alarm system when they came back to silence Gabe. She’d mulled it over while Gabe had paced across the emergency vet’s waiting room and concluded that they’d planned to shoot Gabe and make their escape so quickly that they’d be gone before the alarm brought the police.

Or that they already knew how to disarm the alarm, the code for which was Gabe’s mother’s birthday. Molly had wanted to roll her eyes when Gabe had admitted this. Civilians.

So when Gabe entered the exact same code into the keypad inside his father’s front door, she gaped. “You both used your mother’s birthday for the alarm code?”

Gabe shook his head. “Not exactly. That was just the code Dad set up for me. I use it for everything, so I don’t forget. Dad had the master code. It was the date they met and—”

He flipped on the overhead light and gasped. Behind them, Burke cursed.

“Well, shit,” Molly muttered.

The living room was in shambles—sofa cushions slashed, the foam filling all over the floor. Photos and paintings had been tossed to the floor, several holes punched into the walls and the ceiling. Several of the paintings had been slashed.

“Stop,” she said, grabbing Gabe’s arm when he started toward the mess.

“Don’t touch anything,” Burke added.

Gabe froze, a muscle twitching in his cheek, his jaw clenched hard. “Oh my God,” he whispered. “What . . . ?” He turned to her, his expression full of pain. “Why?”

Molly’s heart hurt for him, but she had to focus on this new violation.

“Someone was looking for something. I’m betting that they came back when they didn’t find what they were looking for on your dad’s phone.”

“Safe bet,” Burke growled. He gently pushed ahead, searching room to room while Molly stood with Gabe. She took his hand again, but this time he didn’t squeeze. He just stared around him, shell-shocked.

She got that, too.

“I want them to pay,” Gabe whispered.

“They will.”

He swallowed audibly, his voice still raspy and faint. “It wasn’t enough that they killed him. They came back . . . and did this.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Gabe.”

He nodded once. “You’ll find them?”

“I will do everything in my power.”

“Thank you.” He looked away, but not before she saw the tear that rolled down his cheek. “My mother painted those.” He laughed, but it sounded more like a sob. “She was an awful artist, but Dad loved them. I should have taken them with me.”

That they’d slashed the paintings was a definite “fuck you.” They hadn’t needed to do that. This was cruelty, plain and simple. This was personal.

Whoever had come back and done this had been angry and frustrated and full of hate. Which would hopefully be useful in tracking them down.

Whoever had come back and done this might have been the police, so calling 911 wasn’t an option, just like it hadn’t been when tonight’s intruder had tried to poison Shoe.

At least she knew the answer to what they’d planned to do with the alarm.

They’d entered Rocky’s house without setting it off. Almost certainly they knew the code.

Which meant that, at the very least, they knew enough to guess that it was the late Mrs. Hebert’s birthday. Again, personal.

Burke reappeared, expression grim. “They tossed his office, his bedroom, and the kitchen. Papers are everywhere in the office and the kitchen is a mess.

Flour and sugar and spices on the floor.” His shoulders sagged. “Dirt, too.

They yanked out all the herbs in the window planters. I’d been watering them once a week or so, until you decided what you wanted done with them. I thought you might want to use them for your cooking. They were fine last week, so this was done recently.”

Gabe closed his eyes and drew deep breaths. His lips were tight, and the tears flowed freely. He made no move to dry his face and Molly didn’t offer.

Gabe Hebert had earned his tears.

She understood that as well.

“Those were my mother’s herbs. She planted them all with her own hands. Dad—” Gabe broke off, choking on a sob. “Dad tended them like they were gold.”

“They were gold,” Molly said quietly. She exhaled and squared her shoulders. “I’ll call Antoine. He’s our IT guy, but he’s also a forensic investigator,” she explained when Gabe looked at her blankly. “We can process the crime scene ourselves, and then call the cops. Do you think André can help us?” she asked Burke.

André Holmes was Antoine’s older brother, a captain in the NOPD, and a very good man.

Burke shook his head. “Not his jurisdiction, but maybe he’ll know someone we can trust. You call Antoine, I’ll start taking photos. I’ll call André when we’re done.” He looked around the devastation, then dragged an undamaged rocking chair from the corner of the room. “Gabe, have a seat.

Let us take care of things.”

Gabe just stared at the chair. “This was my mom’s chair,” he said numbly.

“I can’t.”

“She’d want you to be okay.” Molly stroked his upper arm, trying to give some comfort and feeling like she was failing completely. How could anyone give comfort in this situation? So she channeled her own father, remembering his words after her mother had died. “Sit in her chair, Gabe, and let her memory hug you.”

Gabe shot her a look so full of gratitude that she had trouble holding back her own tears.

Okay, she failed at that, too. Quickly she wiped them away and pulled out her phone. She had work to do. “Antoine? Sorry to call so late. We need you here at Rocky Hebert’s house.”