French Quarter Fatale, page 3
Josette turned 360 degrees to take in the full effect of the opulent accommodations. The Princess Suite was worthy of its name. The corner unit was super plush with huge glass sliding doors that opened onto a balcony facing the very lively Bourbon Street.
The inside sitting area held a large sofa and two leather chairs that faced a big-screen TV. A bowl of fresh fruit graced a round coffee table. A bouquet of purple and gold blossoms rested on a lamp table between the two chairs. Framed pictures of French Quarter scenes decorated the walls.
An open door a few feet behind the sofa led to an elegant bedroom with a king-size bed and a large-screen TV. It also opened onto a balcony.
Josette dropped her handbag onto the coffee table. “So, this is how the rich and famous live.”
“You know far more about that than I, Miss Fame and Fortune.”
Addison’s facial expression changed immediately, and it was clear she was sorry she’d made any reference to Isadora that might upset Josette.
“I’m sorry, Josette. I know you don’t need a constant reminder of Isadora.”
“No, but please don’t worry about offending me with every casual comment.” She gave her friend a hug, then stepped back. “I can’t believe your dad’s footing the bill for this suite. I remember weekends at your house. I always loved being around your parents.”
“This whole French Quarter wedding was Dad’s idea,” Addison said. “He loves Mardi Gras and most every other New Orleans festival. Besides, this is probably still far cheaper than the destination wedding in Italy my mother thought we should have.”
“Which did you prefer?”
“A compromise. A wedding in the French Quarter with all our friends and family and a month’s honeymoon in Italy. We’re all thrilled.”
Josette settled into one of the leather chairs. “Is Bart okay with all the hoopla?”
“I think he’s a little overwhelmed at times, but he says anything I want works for him. He’s a living doll that way.”
“He’s clearly mad about you.”
“I feel the same about him.” Addison stepped out of her black pumps and sat down on the sofa. “What did you think about Keenan or did you have time to form an opinion?”
“Not really.” She should probably leave it at that, but it would just put off the inevitable. She knew her friend too well to think that would put an end to the questions. Besides, she had a question of her own. “Why didn’t you mention earlier that Keenan and I would be on the same flight?”
Addison shrugged. “Too much on my mind, I guess.”
Josette wasn’t buying it. “Are you sure it wasn’t because you were afraid I’d get bent out of shape because he’s FBI? You know how aggravated I was with their initial investigation.”
“That, too. I remember how angry you got when they started questioning you so persistently.”
“Persistently...” She leaned forward. “And accusingly, as if they thought I was hiding something.”
“And we all knew you weren’t,” said Addison. “But I admit I thought it would be better if you met Keenan before you knew he was FBI. Bart is certain the two of you are going to hit it off.”
“Whether or not I liked Keenan, I’d do everything possible to make your wedding special.”
Addison reached for her friend’s hand and squeezed it. “I know. I shouldn’t have worried. I wouldn’t be surprised if he and Bart are discussing that right now. Bart insisted it was better to get everything out up front since it was bound to come up sooner or later.”
“I agree.”
She sat back and looked at Josette. “You hold up so well, but I know you must be worried about your mother.”
“Of course, I am. I can’t remember a time in my life when I wasn’t worried about her. But she thrives on the excitement and popularity that goes with being a superstar—except when she decides she hates it.”
If only it were that innocuous, she thought. She put on a brave face for her friend, but inside she was anything but. The longer her mother was gone, the more convinced she became that this was not one of Isadora’s infamous disappearing acts. It just might be murder.
But Addison was getting married. Josette wouldn’t burden her friend with that speculation.
“Surely one weekend without Mom’s special blend of drama isn’t too much to ask, right?” She said it offhandedly, despite the tightening in her belly.
“I’m just so glad you could make it. Nothing would have been the same without you here.”
The luggage arrived. Addison let the bellhop in and directed him to a closed door on the right side of the suite. A second, slightly smaller, but totally fabulous bedroom and en suite bathroom, came into view.
“Your abode awaits,” Addison said. “The adjoining door locks and the room also opens to the hallway if you need to come and go with more privacy.”
“Thanks, but I suspect I’ll hit the bed long before you do. I could never keep up with your partying lifestyle.”
“I was thinking more about your convenience. You never know when romance will strike beneath the spell of a moonlit night in the French Quarter.”
“Little chance of that. I’m horribly allergic to romance, especially ones that last over twenty-four hours.”
Keenan’s face came into her mind’s eye and she could almost hear a voice in her head.
Never underestimate the FBI.
* * *
AS SOON AS Keenan was alone in his room, he gave in to the overwhelming temptation. He turned on his computer and used his official FBI password to scan the available information on Isadora Guillory.
Due to her celebrity status, the FBI had been called into the case almost immediately after her disappearance. The NOPD had gathered little evidence of foul play but couldn’t rule it out.
Rumors ran wild—everything from a rendezvous with a wealthy foreign lover to her going into protective custody after cooperating with the CIA to arrest the leader of an infamous drug cartel.
The latter was the backbone of a plot that had recently played out on her hit show, The Winds of Scandal. It appeared some of her more avid fans confused the real Isadora Guillory with the character she played on the show. Jill Hawthorne, a rich heiress who was constantly in danger.
A year ago, the FBI had put a team of their best agents on the case, including Dwayne Evans. Dwayne was a friend of Keenan but they’d both been so busy this past year, they hadn’t talked often. Though Dwayne no longer was assigned the Guillory case, Keenan hadn’t realized he had been involved at any stage.
The information indicated there had been dozens of reported sightings during the first few weeks of the investigation. The most credible included a service station in Little Rock, a motel near the Mexican border and a grocery store in Canada. None had panned out.
The little evidence they’d gathered over time diverged like roots of one of the ancient oak trees along the famed St. Charles Avenue in uptown New Orleans. One of the most promising suspects was a stalker who believed Isadora was his soul mate. He’d claimed he would kill her if he saw her with another man.
Unfortunately, the lunatic had an ironclad alibi for the week Isadora disappeared. He’d been in jail on a DWI charge at the time. He was currently doing time for a stalker case in Dallas. Keenan figured he’d switched soul mates.
The money trail also went nowhere. Though she’d withdrawn a large sum from a New Orleans bank days before her disappearance, there had been no other withdrawals from any of her other numerous accounts in more different countries than most people could name.
Three months ago, with no significant breakthroughs, the FBI and the NOPD reduced the priority level of the investigation. Needless to say, in a case this famous, it hadn’t and wouldn’t be dropped completely until it was solved.
This was far different from any case Keenan had been on before. It would be fascinating to explore the psyche of a woman whose life seemed like an adult version of hide-and-seek.
But no psych evaluation for him. He was only there for the wedding, he told himself as he powered down his laptop.
* * *
“I’M STUFFED,” Josette said as she picked up her white linen napkin to wipe her mouth. “I don’t think I’ve ever had better softshell crab.”
“And I forget from one time to the next just how good the barbecued shrimp are here,” Keenan said. “I didn’t leave a bite and that was after the oysters on the half shell we had with cocktails.”
“I figured if the wedding invitation wasn’t enough to lure you down here, the food would be,” Bart said. “But we’re just getting started. Wedding’s not until Monday evening.”
Addison pushed her plate of half-eaten fillet of fish toward her fiancé. “Go ahead, pig out. I’ll watch. If I gain one ounce, someone’s going to have to squeeze me into my wedding dress.”
“Josette will have to be assigned with that task,” Bart quipped. “My job will be getting you out of it.”
The waiter stopped by their dinner table and began to fill their wine goblets with the remainder of their second bottle of Riesling.
“No more for me,” Josette said. “I’m a lightweight.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” the waiter said. “How about the rest of you? Shall I uncork another bottle?”
They all agreed they’d had enough—for now.
“Are you locals or in town for Mardi Gras?” the waiter asked.
“Some of both,” Keenan said. “Two locals, two visitors. I’m one of the latter and here to eat and drink my way to Fat Tuesday. Best seafood north of the Gulf.”
“You’re right about that,” the waiter agreed. “But be careful out there. The drunker the revelers get, the wilder they get. Of course, if you ever want to get a little crazy, this is your chance. Anything goes at Mardi Gras, or ’bout near it.”
“I’ll keep them in line,” Addison said.
“Yeah, like if temptation offered itself, you won’t be the ringleader,” Bart said.
“And that’s why you love me.”
“One of the many reasons.”
Bart took care of the bill at his insistence. On Whelan Landry’s tab, he assured them. Addison’s dad really had insisted on taking care of all expenses.
When they hit the streets again, the pedestrians making their way down Royal Street became a suffocating crush of humanity. Couples and groups crowded the pavement, most with to-go cups in hand and multiple strings of Mardi Gras beads around their necks.
Addison quickly joined in the fun, interacting with the people lining the balconies who called to her to lift her blouse and earn some beads. She didn’t comply but she was so cute when she flipped that long blond hair and flashed her come-hither look, most of the guys dropped beads into her hands anyway.
“You have that down to a fine art,” Keenan said.
She smiled. “Comes from years of going to parades and begging for throws.”
“For beaded necklaces you can buy by the dozens for a few dollars,” Bart added.
“The thrill is in the catch,” Addison reminded him as she placed another string of beads around her neck.
Josette ignored the chanting directed her way. She had just enough claustrophobia that being jam-packed into a yelling throng of people made it difficult to breathe. The nosebleed heels that had been great with her favorite black dress in the restaurant now had her feet complaining.
“A street performer must really be putting on a show down there,” Bart said, pointing to the next block where a group of people in the middle of the street totally gridlocked movement.
Bart took Addison’s hand. She grabbed Josette’s hand as did Keenan and they stepped over the curb and retreated to a souvenir storefront. Thankfully, there was a bit of breathing room there.
“I’ve seen that same show a few dozen times before,” Bart joked. “Same act, different performers. You guys watch while I duck into this shop. I’ll only be a minute.”
Addison took a phone call, though Josette couldn’t imagine how she could hear over the noisy din. Josette went back to people watching.
Somehow her thoughts went back to her mother despite her attempts to get past them.
Her mother had been here in the French Quarter on a night that was almost surely as alive as this. No one loved a party more than Isadora and she was always the focus of everyone’s attention, especially the men.
Josette could imagine her mother here, laughing, no doubt waving and throwing kisses to everyone.
For her own safety, she’d likely have been on a balcony with her bodyguards nearby. Hordes of people would have recognized her and jammed the streets while she threw trinkets and kisses to everyone.
Suddenly the images in Josette’s mind merged with reality. A woman was standing on a nearby balcony with her back to the crowd. Luminous, slightly wild auburn curls cascading past her slender shoulders. Her dress was the color of sapphires, sequined, stretchy, stopping midthigh, hugging her perfect body. Josette’s heart rate soared and her skin flushed. Could it be? Was—
And then the woman turned toward the crowd below and Josette’s spirits plunged. It wasn’t Isadora, not that she’d really thought it would be.
Keenan wrapped his arm around her waist to steady her. “You’re trembling. What’s wrong?”
“Just a little wooziness. Too many people in too little space, I guess.”
“I get that. I’ll walk you back to the hotel if you want.”
“Thanks, but I can go it alone. No use for you to miss the party.”
“My leg insists otherwise.”
Addison put her phone away. “What’s this about going back to the hotel? Are you not feeling well, Josette?”
“Just got dizzy for a second. I think the wine and the smothering crowds got to me.”
Bart rejoined them, a plastic bag in hand. “What’s next? Shall we look for someplace with music or do you want to keep fighting the crowds?”
“Hate to be a party pooper, but I think I’ll call it a night,” Josette said. “We have a big day tomorrow.”
“Why don’t I walk you back to the hotel?” Bart said, then he turned to his friend and his fiancée. “And you two can party till you drop.”
“With this leg, ‘till I drop’ might not be more than ten minutes,” Keenan said. “I’ll walk Josette back and you two go ahead. No use wasting a night of partying because of us.”
Addison reached out and laid her hand on Bart’s arm. “Actually, that was one of my cousins on the phone,” she said. “She and her husband decided to drive in from Baton Rouge tonight instead of waiting until tomorrow morning. Luckily, someone canceled at the last minute, and they got a room at our hotel. I told her we’d hook up with them in the hotel lounge. She said they have some live music there that’s not bad.”
“Sounds like a winner to me,” Bart said.
No one disagreed, though Josette still planned to go straight to her room and get a grip on her emotions.
As they neared the hotel, Bart handed Josette the plastic bag.
She peeked inside and discovered an assortment of brightly colored Mardi Gras beads.
“Those are for tossing off your balcony whenever the mood strikes,” Bart said. “You never know when the celebration might bring out your wilder side.”
“She has one,” Addison warned. “Trust me on that.”
Keenan grinned. “Sounds intriguing.”
Josette removed one of the necklaces from the bag and slipped it around his neck. “Hate to disappoint you, but this is as crazy as I’ll get tonight.”
Keenan fingered his necklace. “Good. Otherwise I couldn’t keep up with you. Now about tomorrow, Bart. Do I have to get up before noon?”
“I’ll be running my personal wedding guest airport shuttle in the morning, but there’s nothing on the calendar for you until we hook up with Moose and Lance for a late lunch,” Bart said. “Probably two-ish. After that, we’ll pick up the monkey suits.”
“Two-ish. Now that I can handle.”
“And for the females?” Josette asked.
“Sara and Beth will join us by noon,” Addison explained. “Mother is hosting high tea for some of the family in town for the wedding, so we’ll need to leave the hotel about 1:30 for that. A driver will pick us up. And then hopefully we can catch a nap before the evening’s Mardi Gras ball.”
“Which is black tie,” Bart added. “Not the navy blue tuxes we’ll wear for the wedding. So, we pick up two tuxes each.”
“No wonder you need a wedding planner,” Keenan said. “Whatever happened to flying to Vegas and getting married by an Elvis impersonator?”
“That was my first choice,” Bart quipped good-naturedly.
Addison wrapped her hands around Bart’s arm and looked up at him, batting her eyes playfully. “Who needs Elvis when we have you gorgeous guys?” Addison said. Her smile turned to a frown when she turned back to Josette.
“About the ball, I hope it doesn’t make you uncomfortable, Josette.”
Josette didn’t need the reminder. Ever since Addison had mentioned the Mardi Gras ball, she’d felt on edge, clammy, with a persistent pain in her chest. Her mother had attended one of the many balls the night she went missing.
It was almost as if she was re-creating her mother’s last visit to New Orleans. She would have done anything in her power to avoid this but she could never not be here for her best friend.
“I know how difficult this is for you, staying at the same hotel and now going to one of the balls,” Addison said, no doubt sensing her uneasiness. “You know the balls are major events for the krewes and Dad was naturally invited to several. He chose the one that issued engraved requests not only for him and Mother, but for the entire wedding party. You know Dad. He’s always in high demand on the Mardi Gras circuit.”
