Vampire - Beneath A Blood Red Moon Part 8

"So-will you go out with me?"

"I'm already out."

"But you wouldn't want to be a fifth wheel over there, would you?"

"I can be very independent."

"Ah, but look! They're all getting worried about us, see? Jack is straining his neck to see where I might have gotten to, and your cute little a.s.sistant is beginning to appear anxious. Maybe we should walk on over, sip espresso, and join them."

"And maybe I should just call it an evening," she told him.

"Well, of course we could slip away somewhere alone together. Tell me, are you living at Montgomery Plantation?"

She arched a brow. "I spend some time there. I have a complete set-up at the office as well." She hesitated, realizing that she should have gone home, but finding that she was growing more curious about him as well.

"Isn't there a plantation in the Canady family as well?"

He grinned, nodding. "Not what it used to be, I'm afraid, but still in the same place on the Mississippi, though there is a Burger King down the street now as well. The property isn't the same size as it used to be."

"A Burger King-right down the street?"

"Thank G.o.d I like Whoppers."

She laughed lightly. "But-" "I'm exaggerating. We've still got a few acres left, and the house is beautiful. Hard to keep up, but beautiful. My little sister married an architect, so we get a lot of help with repairs through workmen who owe favors-the 'we' being my father and I."

"Your father's still living. How wonderful for you."

"Your family is ...?"

"All deceased. We were never terribly procreative, I'm afraid."

"What a pity."

"Why?"

"Because you really are lovely. You should be cloned- community beautification and the like."

"You are a flatterer."

"Hmm. But I can't seem to say the right things so that you won't be so wary of me."

"You're a cop."

"And you're innocent-remember?"

She smiled, shaking her head slightly. "It's hard to understand just what you want."

He shrugged. "You're the one who's overly suspicious. I've been honest-and I'm an open book. I want you to think and then tell me truthfully if you might know anyone who has any idea of what is going on. And other than that ... well, I've already said it."

"If there's anything I can think of to tell you, I will," she said after studying him carefully for a minute.

"So-do we join the others?"

"Umm ... I suppose."

"You've opted out on spending the evening all alone with me, I take it. Sleeping together is out, as well? I'm going to have to be much more subtly flattering and cajoling and work far more slowly to get you into bed?"

She smiled, studying his handsome features once again, and the teasing light of cobalt fire in his eyes. "Don't under- or over-estimate my innocence, Lieutenant. I'm all grown up, old enough to know my mind. I've nothing against sleeping with a compelling man-if and when I decide he's what I want." With that, she turned quickly, leaving him still sitting on his bar stool while she threaded her way through the bar area, and back to her table.

Jane Doe had been killed on a Wednesday; Anthony Beale on a Friday. The city was in an uproar, but on Sat.u.r.day morning, the front page of the newspaper didn't blast the police force half as badly as Sean had expected it might.

Instead, the article focused on the vice within the city of New Orleans, citing many bizarre crimes of the past. After all, New Orleans had always been different. Voodoo priestesses had practiced here, they still did. Cults remained, those who believed in aliens and people who believed themselves to be vampires roamed the streets, and the costumes of Mardi Gras had concealed many a criminal throughout the decades. This was the home of Marie Laveau, the most famous voodoo priestess of them all, above-ground cemeteries, and anything-goes s.e.x clubs. There was an editorial bend in the story, suggesting that the entire city needed to be cleaned up.

Well, that might be true, Sean thought. But easier said than done. He was sitting in the breakfast parlor at Oakville, his family "plantation" on the Mississippi.

Curiously enough, his Friday night had turned into something of a "date." Maggie Montgomery had been charming, flirtatious, fun. They'd listened to jazz music, they'd even danced. And he'd seen her back to her office "apartment"-and gotten a handshake at the doorway.

Fine. He hadn't pressed anything, even though his teasing words had held tremendous truths-she was quite simply the s.e.xiest, most sensual woman he had ever encountered.

Still, he had managed an incredibly casual and amused smile at her doorway-as if he could wait forever to get her with her clothes off-and then he'd driven around for an hour before deciding to come out of the heart of the city and sleep at the old family homestead.

After a very long, cold shower.

The term plantation had initially referred to a farm-and some plantations had been small, and some ostentatious. Oakville had originally been somewhere in between, yet definitely antebellum upscale. The woodwork in the house was worth a fortune itself, but Sean knew that any member of the Canady family would die a thousand deaths before allowing any of it to be cut out of the house. Oakville was typical of many a home built in the early years of the eighteenth century-a center breezeway opened to four rooms on the ground floor- now the kitchen, dining room, parlor and library-while there were five bedrooms upstairs. One was his father's bedroom, not changed a hair since his mother died five years ago. Two were guest rooms, while his room, like his father's, hadn't changed much since he had left the house to go away to college-many years ago now.

And like his, his sister's room remained uniquely hers. The walls were still covered with posters of rock bands, and though Mary Canady O'Niall had been married now for eight years and had children of her own and a beautiful home in the Garden District, she still added new posters to her bedroom at Oakville now and then.

It seemed to mean a lot to his father that his children came home to Oakville.

For the first time in over fifty years, parts of the few remaining acres of property were being farmed once again. His father had a vegetable garden growing now, and he had proudly made Sean an omelette featuring his own onions and tomatoes.

Coffee here was always good as well. Bess Smith, who had been telling him what to do since he'd been in knee breeches, was still tending to the house for his father. She came Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sat.u.r.days, and made the best cup of chicory-flavored coffee known to man. Sean had to admit, it was good to have his father's omelette and Bess's coffee as he read the newspaper.

His father, across the table from him, was studying him and shaking his head. Daniel Canady was perhaps a half inch shorter than Sean and in the last few years, had grown thin.

At seventy, he had a distinguished appearance; he still stood as straight as an antebellum column. His hair remained thick and handsomely silver, and Sean had inherited his own deep blue eye color from Daniel. Daniel's investments had kept the family in decent financial shape, which was good, since for his chosen vocation, Daniel had been an historian. He'd taught at the university for several years, and dedicated himself to writing historical nonfiction. Thankfully, he'd managed to teach Sean about investments as well, since police work payed just about as poorly as the academic field.

"You're letting these murders get to you too much, Son," Daniel told him.

Sean set down the paper. "Dad-we're talking about people being decapitated." "Well, decapitation is one way to a.s.sure death," Daniel said matter-of-factly. "But remember, Son, this is New Orleans. We've had pirate raiders, voodoo practices, zombies, and vampire cults over two hundred years of history. h.e.l.l, when I was a boy, we used to walk through some of the old graveyards on the way to school and play kick ball with the old skulls that would pop out of the broken tombs. This is a place where anything can happen-and has."

Sean nodded. "I appreciate the help, Dad. But the problem now is that I'm senior guy on these homicides and I have the entire city staring at me. I've even got the governor calling daily. I've got to stop this killer."

"You're senior man on the case," Daniel pointed out, "but you're not the only homicide cop in New Orleans. You've got good, competent help." Daniel shook his head.

"Unfortunately, our city has had its share of very bad happenings. Think about La Maison Lalaurie. Madame Lalaurie and her physician husband kept a houseful of slaves chained to the walls and they performed the most horrible medical experiments on the poor people.

They tortured, maimed, and murdered them-and they were only discovered at their grisly deeds when a fire brought in the city firemen who, in turn, in their horror, brought in the police. The house remains in the French Quarter today; the Lalauries escaped. There was the butchery at the 'Sultan's' house, when the Turk and his entire household were found in pieces. In the late twenties, early thirties, we had the ax murderer. I'm sorry to say that the list goes on and on."

"That was the past, Dad. And yes, it was horrible. But I'm responsible now. And I've got no leads."

"You've got modern forensic science."

"It doesn't seem to be helping. It's taking far too long. And all the modern miracles in the world won't help if I don't have a suspect to tie in with the evidence."

Daniel was quiet for a minute. "Sean, for now you've got to quit beating your head against the wall. Unfortunately, lots of killers are never caught."

Sean set the paper down. "Dad, I will get this guy. This is my city. n.o.body kills and cuts up people like this in my city and gets away with it."

Daniel grinned. "There's the fighting spirit. You got anything going that isn't in the papers?"

Sean shrugged. "Well, we didn't let it out in the papers that we found minute drops of blood-which proved to be the victim's-along the sidewalk. They led directly to the side door of Montgomery Enterprises-then stopped. I mean completely."

"Did you investigate the building?"

"Of course."

"Well?"

"Nothing. We scoured the place with a fine-tooth comb. Not another drop of blood.

Nothing."

"Interesting. Did you meet Miss Montgomery?"

"Yes, she was cooperative, and allowed us to search the premises."

"And that's all? You asked to search her property and did so?"

Sean lowered his head, grinning. He'd spent about eight years of his life living with a girl named Sophie Holloway. Sophie was pretty, sweet, and vivacious, a Mardi Gras princess. They'd met when they were young, fought, broken up a few times, gotten back together. They'd finally planned to marry when Sophie had discovered she had uterine cancer, and no pleading on his part could convince her that they should marry for the time she had left.

Sophie had been gone nearly six years now. Sean dated. He liked women, liked s.e.x- h.e.l.l, it was a necessary fact of life, like breathing. But living with someone again was a big step; marriage even bigger. He hadn't found the right woman, and his father remained concerned that he was going to die a bachelor, and his ill.u.s.trious line of Canadys would come to an end.

"Yes, Dad. I asked to search her property, and she gave her permission." He hesitated.

"I also saw her at a jazz club last night, so we had something of a chance to talk. Why?"

Daniel smiled. "Oh, I'm curious, I guess."

"Right. Just curious."

"Honestly, just curious," Daniel insisted. "If you look in the old family records, way, way back, a Canady was engaged to a Montgomery. But the marriage never took place. The 'Miss' Montgomery involved went to Europe. Another 'Miss' Montgomery returned years later. The family has been interesting in that none of the women has taken on the surname of her husband. Daughters seem to be the only offspring each generation, and they cling to the Montgomery name."

"Now that is curious."

"Becoming more common these days, I'm afraid. Many professional women keep their surnames. Personally, I like the old concept, when a woman took her husband's name. And pa.s.sed it on to her children. But then, the Montgomerys have been a little odd over the years." He paused, shrugging. "Downright snooty in a way."

Sean smiled. "How's that, Dad?"

"Well, they take off to Europe with their babies, then come back here to make American money."

"You can't arrest people for being snooty."

Daniel grinned. "I wouldn't suggest anything of the kind. But there have been interesting relationships between the families over the years. Sometime, I'll show you all the records I have. I wouldn't mind meeting your Miss Montgomery, though. Her ancestors have been fascinating women." Daniel hesitated again. "She's not married, right?"

"No, Dad, she's not married."

"Did you like her?"

Sean hesitated, seeing his father's hopeful expression. Then he relented.

"Yeah. I liked her."

"Did you ask her out?"

"In a way."

"Did she accept?"

"Not really."

Daniel drummed his fingers on the table. "You know, Montgomery Plantation isn't far from here. Since you're out, you should take a ride by the place."

"She isn't there. I left her in the heart of the Vieux Carre last night."

Daniel's brow shot up. "You left her?" Daniel sighed inwardly. "Some of the guys and I escorted her and a few of her friends home. There was a wretched murder that took place yesterday, remember."

"Ah. Still, you should go by and see Montgomery Plantation."

"I've been by it. And I need to get some work in today."

"It's the weekend, Son."

"Murderers seldom recognize a Monday to Friday nine-to-five schedule. Cops don't get to, either."

"But the blood drops led to Miss Montgomery's building."

"That they did."

"So she is at work. And, if I remember right, there's a smashing painting of one of her forebears right above the grand staircase. If anyone is in residence, you can take a look at the painting and see how the family resemblance has fared over the years. And then again, maybe Miss Montgomery herself is in residence. And if she is, maybe you can ask her out for a barbecue tonight. Then you can grill her in privacy."

Sean shook his head. "I left her in the city. But maybe I will go for a ride."

"And if she happens to be there, you will ask her out for dinner, won't you? Do you know anything about her? What does she like? I do mean steaks on the grill. Maybe she's a vegetarian. So many women are vegetarians these days. Not that too much fat is good for you, but man was given the teeth to be a carnivore, and it seems to me a body needs a good piece of red meat now and then."