What Happened on Beale Street Read online

  “You’ll come to Memphis without begging or bribery?” Nicki remained where she stood, not wishing to invade his private space.

  “Sure, why not? We don’t have any cases at the moment, and your well-heeled fiancé insists on paying our expenses no matter how long we’re gone. And that’s just two of my reasons.” Nate placed his shirts and pants into a suitcase and then dumped everything else on top unceremoniously.

  “I’m not sure why Hunter wants to help Danny. He doesn’t know him.”

  “Because he doesn’t want you driving your car or staying in a cheap motel in a bad neighborhood. And, frankly, I don’t either or I wouldn’t be taking expense money from him. Danny was my friend too, Nic, and Natchez boys stick together.” Nate zipped up the case and then said, “Are you ready? Hunter said he booked us on a nine o’clock flight.”

  Nicki blinked, confused. Because Danny hadn’t played sports in school, the two barely knew each other. “Wait a minute. Did Hunter tell you to act like this dynamic duo thing was your idea? So I wouldn’t get my feathers ruffled?”

  “Don’t overthink this, Nic. An expense-paid trip to somewhere I haven’t been sounds like a vacation.”

  She sighed but decided to give in gracefully. “Okay, but let’s leave before Hunter hires a private bodyguard for me.” Turning, she pulled her case out the door.

  I’m in real trouble, Nicki. I got myself into a mess. Each time Danny’s words replayed through her mind, the uncomfortable feeling in her gut turned downright ominous.

  TWO

  Memphis

  Nate pressed the button to lower the window once they reached Riverside Drive. Moist, humid air wafted inside, negating the car’s air-conditioning. He would be hard-pressed not to behave like a tourist because, at the moment, that’s what he was. Before setting up his office in New Orleans, he’d spent little time in cities. The small town outside Natchez where he grew up didn’t appear on maps beyond the county level. Even the town where he went to college, Starkville, paled in comparison to Memphis, especially when students went home for summer vacation.

  This sprawling metropolis at the junction of Tennessee, Louisiana, and Arkansas attracted the brightest and best from one end of Old Man River to the other. Memphis had inspired countless stories, songs, poems, and young men’s dreams from B.B. King to Mark Twain to small-town boys like Nate. He hoped Danny Andre’s visions of fame and fortune hadn’t led him down an alley of no return. Nicki, who had barely said a word since their plane landed, stared at a coal barge as though she didn’t see the identical sight in Louisiana on a regular basis.

  “Are you all right, cousin?” he asked, turning off the radio.

  A shrug served as her reply.

  “According to the GPS, we’re almost to the hotel booked by Mr. Deep Pockets.” The bait Nate dangled generated no quick retort. Usually, Nicki jumped to defend Hunter against even the most minor disparagement, but not this time. “I’m hoping this place throws in a free breakfast buffet like the chains along the interstate. Don’t you just love those cool waffle machines with little jars of marmalade?” He grabbed her knee and shook it, a knee covered by a long, ladylike skirt.

  “Fancy places don’t offer free breakfasts, but maybe you’ll find a fruit basket in your room or a bowl of nuts in the lobby.” Nicki spoke with straight-up sincerity, not with her usual sassy tone.

  “Take it easy, kid. Things will be fine. Andre was probably overreacting about his car getting towed or his cat running away. A quick trip to the impound lot or the county pound and his world will look rosy again.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Nicki turned her focus to a street sign. “Hey, we just passed Beale Street, where most of the blues clubs are.” She punched the redial button on her phone for the twentieth time since the airport.

  “Yes, but we need something to narrow our search. Danny still isn’t picking up?” Nate waited at the traffic light, unsure whether right turns on red were legal in Tennessee. A blare from a car horn answered that particular question.

  “No. It just rings and rings. No voice mail, no answering machine.”

  “Who else could we call? Does he have family in town?”

  Nicki pulled her address book from her purse. “Danny will kill me if I call his sister and worry her over nothing. They lived together for a while when he first moved to Memphis. He sort of drove her crazy with typical guy stuff, like socks all over the apartment and cleaning his fishing tackle with Izzy’s good hand towels.”

  “Women can be such neat freaks. Did I ever meet her? Izzy Andre sounds like a Cajun slushy.”

  “How could you not have met her? Our high school wasn’t that big. She went by the name Isabelle and would be around your age.”

  Nate turned down a side street to drop Nicki off under the hotel’s covered porte cochere, thinking about Isabelle Andre.

  Oh, he remembered Danny’s sister all right, but their acquaintance had been limited to him admiring her from afar. Queen Isabelle would have crossed the street to avoid bumping into him or any other sports jock. She was supermodel pretty, with waist-length black hair, green eyes, and porcelain skin that indicated Creole blood from long-forgotten ancestors. She thought most male classmates were destined to cut her grass or clean the skimmers of her future pool. Female peers were either competition to be bested or so unworthy they deserved only pity. Somehow Nicki had avoided either category. His cousin seemed to truly like the woman, and from what he could gather, the feeling was mutual. The last he heard, Izzy had married her college sweetheart upon his admission into some expensive law school. The fact she was now living in Memphis struck him as odd.

  “Why don’t you hop out here and get us checked in?” said Nate, shaking off the past. “I’ll park in the garage and carry our bags to the lobby.”

  “Hang on a minute.” A moment later Nicki spoke into the mouthpiece. “Hey, Izzy, it’s Nicolette Price from Natchez. I got a bizarre call from your brother that spooked me. Danny may be in hot water and he’s not picking up. Anyway, I happen to be in Memphis, so please call me with his address. I plan to drop by to punch him in the nose for scaring me in the middle of the night.” Nicki recited her number, ended the call, and thumped her head on the dashboard. “I hate it when I ramble on like that. Izzy already has my number, and I sounded like a total moron.”

  “No more so than usual.” Nate reached behind her to open the door. “This boy is salivating for something to eat. Is it too early for sweet-and-tangy baby back ribs?”

  Nicki produced a frightful face but got out of the car. Ten minutes later, dragging her suitcase and his, Nate walked into the grand lobby of the Carlton Hotel. “Grand” did not do the place justice. He let his gaze scan the interior from the marble floor up to the ornate, chandeliered ceiling the way someone would admire a famous masterpiece. Dark hardwood panels were polished to a high gloss, sparkling étagères displayed memorabilia from decades long ago, and recessed spotlights illuminated portraits of those responsible for the hotel’s illustrious past.

  Nate approached the central courtyard, in which a fountain rose from a marble pond, complete with resident fish. Bistro tables and chairs awaited those wishing a late night snack, along with sofas and chairs grouped for intimate conversations. A wide mezzanine with access to second-floor rooms encircled the lobby, giving the lobby a European ambiance. Everything and everyone in the hotel spoke of old money and exquisite taste.

  “Not like you to admire something unconnected to pro sports.” Nicki poked his side with her purse.

  “When your fiancé calls ahead, he certainly spares no expense. I’m hoping the front desk didn’t book us into the honeymoon suite.”

  “Ha, almost. The guy kept calling me Mrs. Price and clucked his tongue when I said adjoining rooms wouldn’t be necessary. Apparently, he never heard of cousins or siblings traveling together. Elevators are this way. I can’t wait to take off these heels.”

  After Nicki had swiped her keycard in a door on the seventh floor,
Nate preceded her into a room that could only have been eclipsed by the presidential suite. “Holy cow. Look at the space in here. Why don’t I sleep on the sofa and save Hunter some dough?” He pointed at an overstuffed couch in an alcove.

  Nicki plopped down on the bed. “Nothing doing. If we’re still here next Friday, Hunter’s flying up to take me out to the best spots in town. He’ll bunk in your room.”

  “What, no third suite?” Nate teased.

  Nicki giggled. “He suggested that, but I said no way. He can save his money for our wedding. I don’t even want to know what this place costs.”

  “Try Danny’s number again.” Nate gazed on the Mississippi River from her window.

  As Nicki reached for her purse, her phone burst into the theme song for Rawhide. “Hello? Hey, Izzy, thanks for calling me back.”

  Eager to check out his room, Nate headed to the door to give her some privacy.

  “Slow down. I can’t understand what you’re saying.” Nicki scrambled off the bed. “You’re in his apartment right now?”

  Nate let go of his bag and circled the four-poster bed so he could gauge her expression. “What’s going on?” he asked. Nicki had paled to the color of milk.

  She motioned to the pen and pad on the antique desk. “Okay, take a deep breath and give us Danny’s address. Nate came to town with me.” Nicki began scribbling the moment he handed her the pen. “We’re on our way. In the meantime, don’t touch anything and try not to worry.”

  Nate clamped a hand on her wrist to get her attention. “Tell her to hold on. Talk to me, cousin.”

  “Hold on a second, Izzy.” Nicki covered the mouthpiece with her palm. “After she listened to my message, she went straight to Danny’s apartment. I guess I freaked her out. The place is a wreck. Overturned furniture, the coffee table smashed, and somebody punched a hole through a wall. And… and there’s blood on the kitchen floor, lots of it.”

  Nate steadied her with a firm hand. He’d never seen her so flustered. “Follow standard procedure. Tell her to call the police and that we’re on our way.”

  Nicki did as instructed and then thrust the address at him with trembling fingers. “Good thing we have GPS. I have no idea where this is.”

  He tucked her phone into her purse. “Did Izzy say how much blood? Like from a broken nose or like someone bled out?”

  “I don’t know. Stop asking stupid questions.” Nicki burst into tears.

  “Sorry. As soon as you change shoes, we can go.” Nate pointed at the ridiculous high heels Chloe undoubtedly told her to wear.

  “Good idea.” Nicki dug her sneakers from her suitcase and threw the offending shoes across the room. “But I’m taking my gun and don’t try to stop me.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  A few minutes later Nate closed the door to her luxury suite behind him. While they hurried down the hall, he slipped the clip into his weapon and tucked it into his shoulder holster. By the time the elevator door opened, all thoughts of a relaxing vacation had vanished like mist on the river at sunrise.

  It took ten minutes to reach Danny Andre’s last known address. In that short period of time, they moved from the world of luxury getaways and top-tier corporate expense accounts to a jungle of abandoned warehouses, tenement apartments, and decayed early twentieth-century houses. Thugs with nowhere to go and nothing but trouble to get into lingered on street corners and in doorways of abandoned homes. At least, Nate hoped no human inhabitants dwelled within.

  “We’re here.” Nate disconnected the GPS and shoved it beneath the seat.

  Nicki remained still with her eyes clenched shut, but her moving lips revealed she was praying.

  “Don’t worry about those men, Nic. We’re both packing, and I know you’re a crack shot.”

  “You think I’m worried for myself, Nate? I’m hoping this is all a horrible mistake. Maybe Danny left three pounds of ground meat on the counter to defrost and rats got into it. Men can be so thoughtless at times. Soon he’ll come home from a friend’s house and wonder what all the commotion is about.”

  Only his cousin could dream up such a scenario. But, frankly, there wasn’t half the amount of commotion Nate expected at Danny’s residence. Only one police cruiser was parked at the curb, and he didn’t see a forensic van or an unmarked sedan belonging to a detective. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

  Nicki met his eyes and nodded. “He’s my friend, but I’m also a professional investigator.”

  “Even seasoned veterans sit out cases that hit close to home. There’s no shame in staying here while I go inside.” He tried to sound as nonjudgmental as possible.

  With a snort Nicki jumped out of the car. “We know nothing at this point, so stop babying me.”

  Nate had to hurry to keep up with her. If any street thugs had evil thoughts, they would have had a hard time catching them. Unfortunately, without a working elevator, three flights of dirty concrete steps separated them from Danny’s floor. Halfway down the hallway, a uniformed cop leaned against a doorjamb, smoking a cigarette.

  “Man, doesn’t that guy know this building is a firetrap?” Nate muttered.

  Nicki had reached the open doorway. Stepping in front of her to enter the apartment first, Nate was initially surprised by the threadbare, spare furnishings in the drab living room. His bachelor status, along with zero decorating abilities, guaranteed his New Orleans townhouse would never be featured in a magazine, but Danny’s apartment was the saddest representation of human existence he’d ever seen. Although neither dirty nor cluttered, nothing within view could have come from anywhere other than curbside discards. A pang of sorrow filled his gut, despite the fact he barely knew the man.

  “Hello?” he called. “Private investigators Nate and Nicolette Price from New Orleans.”

  A cop stuck his head around the corner. “You’re a long way from home, Mr. and Mrs. Price. Be careful you don’t contaminate my crime scene.”

  Snapping out of her fog, Nicki squatted down to evaluate the contents of the smashed coffee table.

  “For the record, my partner and I are cousins, not spouses. Any sign of struggle in the other rooms?” Nate pulled on gloves and tossed a pair to Nicki.

  “Somebody rummaged through the dresser drawers, and then we have this in here.” Officer Flynn, according to his badge, pointed at a nasty pool of dried blood.

  “What is that officer at the door doing that he let two sightseers wander into a crime scene?” A second cop glared up from where she marked blood spatter for the forensic team. Her name badge indicated a surname of Ryan.

  “I got a call from Danny Andre. He’s my friend.” Nicki stepped into the cramped kitchen and gasped. Despite her previous assurance to the contrary, the sight of this particular blood caused her to stagger.

  “Hey! I’ll tell you the same thing I told the guy’s sister. Go sit in our squad car downstairs until I have time to take your statement. I won’t have people fainting or puking into potential evidence before the techs get here.” Officer Ryan’s tone conveyed no sympathy.

  Nate stepped between the two women. Looking at Nicki, he said, “If Izzy is here, why don’t you find out what she knows while I do the same up here?” When she started to protest, he cut her off. “Think for a moment. Izzy is probably scared to death and could use a friend.”

  “I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready for my statement about the phone call.” She glanced at the blood spray on the refrigerator and the coffee carafe smashed against the wall, and then she slowly backed from the room.

  Officer Flynn opened his notebook. “How do you know Mr. Andre?”

  Nate’s gaze landed on what looked like a bicuspid molar. He hoped the bloody tooth belonged to Danny’s adversary.

  “We were all friends in high school. He called Nicki last night and asked her to come to Memphis because he was in some kind of trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?” Flynn’s brows knit into a straight line.

  “H
e didn’t say and apparently regretted making the request afterward.”

  “What request is that?” Officer Ryan resumed marking blood droplets.

  “For Miss Price to come to Memphis.” Nate spoke slowly and succinctly.

  “Was Andre a user—crack, meth, pills? Know what his drug of choice happened to be?”

  “He wasn’t a user, to my knowledge. Why would you draw such an assumption? Were drugs found inside the apartment?” Nate bit his inner cheek to keep his voice level.

  “Not so far, but did you happen to notice the neighborhood on your way over? Only dopers, hookers, and ex-felons who can’t figure out a new career path live here.” Officer Flynn examined the streaky window glass.

  “And those whose take-home pay won’t buy a three-bedroom ranch out in the suburbs with a white picket fence.”

  Flynn pulled off his gloves. “That where you live in Orleans Parish? Maybe in the Garden District, home of blue-blooded dinosaurs and the bleeding heart, artsy types?”

  “Actually, I live in the warehouse district—artsy, but a notch above this, socioeconomically speaking. How about you, Flynn? Where do you hang your hat after work?”

  “Back to your corners, both of you.” Officer Ryan got to her feet. “I’m not sure why you’re still here, Mr. Price. You’ve had a look around. Perhaps your friend will call and clear this up. Leave your number in case we hear anything.”

  Nate held out his card. “We’re staying at the Carlton while in town.”

  “The Carlton? Talk to me again about socioeconomics,” Flynn all but snarled.

  Nate left his card on the counter and strode from the apartment. To rein in his temper, he took his time on the three flights of steps down. Sparring with the police wouldn’t help Nicki or Danny. As he approached a car by the curb, he spotted Nicki and a woman deep in conversation. He knocked on the window to get their attention.