Midnight on the Mississippi Read online

  “Yes,” Nate replied through gritted teeth.

  “Good. Then I suggest you not idle away the rest of the afternoon while my best friend’s killer remains at large. After all, I am suspect numero uno. Nate, look into these alleged witnesses who heard me arguing with James. Let’s see if any had an ax to grind with Galen-Nowak Investments. Then give me a call tonight.”

  “Will do, boss. I’m on it.” Nate jumped to his feet and left by the main entrance.

  “Nice meeting you, Nicki.” Nodding his head, Hunter headed straight for the gate that led from the courtyard to the alley next to the building.

  Unfortunately, he heard the clatter of her high heels on the flagstones behind him. “Wait! What do you want me to do?”

  Taking pity on her, he stopped and turned around. “Why don’t you call my lawyer, Kenneth Douglas? See if any of the forensic evidence reports are back yet. He can secure copies for you and Nate. Here is my address, cell, and home phone. I’ll write Douglas’s number on the back.” Taking out a business card and pen, he jotted down the number and handed the card to her.

  “Ah, Mr. Galen? I was wondering…”

  “The police techs tested my hands at the scene. There’s no way the GSR will come back consistent with firing a weapon. Find out—”

  “Mr. Galen?” she interrupted again.

  “I insist you call me Hunter.”

  “Hunter, could you give me a lift to the impound lot?” She looked anxiously over his shoulder. “Who would have thought this really was a loading zone?”

  “I don’t understand.” He opted for patience after her ordeal with Nate.

  “Somebody towed away my car. I didn’t want Nate to give me the slip before…I mean, there weren’t any other parking spots, so I had little choice. I parked there and now it’s gone.” Nicki crossed her arms over her chest in a defensive posture.

  Hunter pulled out his cell phone. “Let me call you a cab, Miss Price. I need to get down to—”

  “See, that’s just the thing.” She interrupted him again. Apparently no one ever explained to her the wisdom of allowing someone to finish a sentence. “Even if you’re kind enough to spring for the cab, there’s the matter of the towing fees and whatever the impound lot charges.”

  “Sounds like you’ve danced this number before.”

  Her face blushed to deep scarlet. “A time or two, yes. But you could make it an advance against my salary. I don’t mean as a gift or anything.”

  Hunter glanced around for Nate, but the man was gone. With few other options, he unlocked the passenger door to his car and courteously held it open for her. “Of course, Miss Price. But you’d better pay attention to the signs here in New Orleans. As you said at lunch, you’re not in sweet Mississippi countryside anymore.”

  “I’ll do that, I promise.” She ducked her head into his sports car.

  After she was settled, Hunter closed her door and headed around to his side. As he got in and started the powerful engine, he couldn’t decide whether having her on the case might have advantages or if he’d just stepped on a hornets’ nest.

  SIX

  After examining Nicki’s proof of ID and taking the two-hundred-dollar advance she had received from Hunter, the impound lot released her Escort. How could they charge storage fees when no one asked them to store anything?

  “Hey, cousin, you busy?” Nicki asked as she stepped into Nate’s office. She’d decided to come clean about her first misstep. “I saw your light still on.”

  Nate listened patiently and then asked only one question. “Did you think ‘No Parking—Loading Zone’ was merely a suggestion?”

  Nicki let his well-entitled sarcasm slide. “What are you working on?”

  “Just cleaning up paperwork that should have been done days ago. Then I gotta call my mom, something I should have done weeks ago.” Nate grimaced. “As sons go, I’m not the best.”

  “How is Aunt Charlotte?” Nicki slouched into a chair, happy that the topic of family had been broached.

  “Fine, as far as I know. She’s miffed about Sean moving in with his girlfriend before walking down the aisle.”

  “Can’t blame her there. You two were raised better than that.” Nicki winked at him to soften her words.

  “Why did your mom move to Natchez?”

  “That’s where her doctor is, although those new biologics he put her on are causing unpleasant side effects. All she does is complain when I call.”

  “Living with chronic pain can’t be easy. That would make anybody crabby.” Shutting his laptop, Nate leaned back in his chair.

  “It’s not that. She’s unhappy with life in general, as though she’s mad at my dad for getting killed and leaving her to fend for herself.” Nicki met his eyes and then glanced away. “Considering both our mothers are widows, they sure adjusted to the situation differently.”

  “My dad left behind his pension and a decent portfolio of investments. Uncle Kermit…” Nate selected his words carefully. “He didn’t plan as well for the future.”

  Nicki laughed wryly. “Well said, Mr. Diplomat. According to Mom, my dad never lasted longer than six months on any job. And when he did get paid, he drank his money at some bar on the way home.”

  Nate was quiet for a few moments. “Is that all you remember? I remember Uncle Kermit smiling and cracking jokes and always catching more fish than everybody else put together.”

  “We did eat a whole lot of fish for supper.” Nicki smiled at the memory of Friday nights. “I remember him being really sweet to me. He loved to pick me up and swing me around. Plus he brought me Chick-O-Sticks and taught me to swim. Yeah, my parents argued a lot, but to hear Mom talk now, he was an abusive tyrant. Dad never laid a hand on me, not even when I deserved a smack on the behind.”

  “Which was probably six days out of seven.” Nate wiggled his eyebrows. “I don’t think Aunt Rose is making up stories. How old were you when he died—seven or eight? Kids don’t have an accurate picture of life at that age.”

  Nicki picked up her water bottle and pressed it to her forehead, the condensation feeling cool against her skin. “You’re right. He was probably Sir Galahad to people with no expectations, those who didn’t hold him accountable like my mother. Paying bills was always the impossible dream in our house.” Nicki’s tone turned bitter. “He acted surprised every time Mom needed money for the rent, as though the first of the month didn’t come around twelve times a year. If we went six months without the utilities getting disconnected, it was a miracle. After he died and we moved in with Mamaw and Papaw, I couldn’t believe how they never argued about money. I don’t remember them disagreeing about anything.”

  “That’s not true, Nicki. Papaw loved LSU and rooted for the Tigers, but Mamaw rooted for Ole Miss. She even has a Rebels’ ball cap.”

  “How’d that happen? Our grandparents didn’t even have a TV for a long time. And neither finished high school, let alone went to college.” Suddenly antsy in the small office, Nicki stood and began to pace. “What do you remember about the night my father died?”

  “Nothing. I wasn’t there.” Nate looked at his watch.

  “I know, but what were you told you about it?” She paused behind his chair and gave it a shake.

  “What’s the point? That was what…seventeen years ago?”

  “Humor me, please. I was only eight, but you were thirteen.”

  Frowning, Nate scratched the back of his head. “My dad and yours, along with the rest of their brothers-in-law, took off to the swamps for the weekend. They went two or three times a year to hunt or fish or just get away from their wives. No big deal.”

  “My dad never came home. I call that a big deal.”

  “Sorry. I only meant the trip wasn’t unusual.” Nate sounded duly chastised. “The way I heard it was your dad got into a fight during a card game and then took off in the pirogue to cool off. That made no sense because they usually played for nickels and dimes, nothing that would cause a fistfight or hard
feelings.”

  “And the men were drinking and got drunk,” she interjected, growing impatient.

  “No, your dad got drunk. The others probably nursed one beer all night. Your dad was the one with a drinking problem.”

  “That’s what your mom said? That sounds pretty judgmental.”

  “Don’t get sore, Nicki. You asked me to tell what I remembered.”

  “Just because my dad was an alcoholic doesn’t mean he deserved to die.” Without warning, tears flooded her eyes despite the passage of so many years.

  “Of course not. Nobody’s saying that now and nobody said it back then. We don’t know how Uncle Kermit died. He left the camp around midnight and when he hadn’t come back by noon the next day, the men called the sheriff. They spent Saturday and Sunday looking for him, but the swamp is a big place. When he still hadn’t turned up by Sunday night, everyone went home. They had to work the next day.” Nate lowered his voice. “Why are you bringing this up after all this time? It’s not even Father’s Day.” He tried to coax a smile out of her.

  “Because I plan to find out how he died now that I’m a full-fledged investigator.”

  You could have heard a pin drop in the office.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s been seventeen years. If the sheriff found almost no evidence back then, you don’t have a hope in heaven of finding any now.”

  “I deserve to know more than I do, Nate. Whenever I ask my mother about what happened, she always changes the subject.”

  “Maybe it hurts to talk about it or she still misses him.”

  Nicki snorted. “Still misses a man who only gave her twenty bucks for groceries for a week but always had money at the bar? The same man who ripped up her dress—her first new one in years—because she bought it without asking him first? It doesn’t seem like she’s wallowing in grief to me.”

  “Maybe not, but you asked me for a job. If you’re on the Galen case, you don’t have time for a cold-case investigation, even if that’s what your dad’s death was.”

  “You have my word I’ll be here for you, but nobody works twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. My free time, however small, is my own.”

  “Why did I think I could talk sense to a mule?” He stood and started for the door.

  “I have no idea.” Nicki followed him out of the office and down the steps.

  “Where are you going now?”

  “To pick up a pizza and head to Christine’s, boss.”

  Nate waited until he was halfway to his car before delivering his final shot. “Fine, but don’t say you weren’t warned. If you start turning over rocks, something nasty is bound to crawl out.” His tone contained uncharacteristic vehemence.

  For once, Nicki didn’t have a smart reply for him as he climbed in and slammed the door. She just stood there and watched him drive away.

  SEVEN

  Staring down into the courtyard below, Hunter listened to annoying music while on hold with his bank. Huge puddles formed on the flagstones, giving his backyard a subterranean feel. Water cascaded over the sides of the fountain, its overflow drain apparently blocked again by algae. His mood perfectly matched the weather—one no more black or depressing than the other. Finally, his banker picked up the other end.

  “Hunter? How are you, son?” asked Morrison. Despite the fact Hunter was nearly thirty, he would always be “son” no matter his age. The banker was an old friend of his father’s. Five minutes of small talk ensued, wherein Morrison asked about the health of every Galen family member and expressed his sympathy over James’s death.

  With the niceties aside, Hunter asked about the current financial standing of Galen-Nowak Investments. The situation was worse than he thought—a lot worse. “How on earth could we have a half million in unsecured debt with your bank? Our line of credit was only supposed to be two hundred fifty thousand.”

  “True, true, but your partner—excuse me, your late partner—kept asking me for additional sums. He said it was strictly a short-term cash flow problem. I saw no reason not to grant his request, never having any repayment problems with your company in the past.” Morrison forced an unnatural laugh. “Is there a problem, son?”

  There was a large problem as Hunter saw it. To loan out half a million dollars without requiring both partners’ signatures on the application sounded to him like an unsound business practice. James never should have been given so much rope to proverbially hang himself with. “No problem at all,” he said to the banker. “But I need to have my accountant go over the books before I arrange a repayment schedule.”

  “Of course, of course.” Morrison clucked his approval. “Give my best to your mother.”

  As Hunter hung up the phone, his mood couldn’t have gotten fouler if the courtyard flooded to the level of his apartment. Walking back inside from the gallery, Hunter padded across the cool dining room tiles and sank into his favorite chair. He loved living here and never regretted moving into the six-room suite over an antiques shop on Rue Royale. Shortly after Ethan and Cora’s wedding, the newlyweds left the French Quarter and moved into Grandmère’s mansion, initially to housesit while she toured Europe. But after the arrival of their first child, they thought the Garden District provided a more family-friendly neighborhood and decided to remain permanently. The situation worked out for all concerned. Their eighty-five-year-old grandmother and her seventy-five-year-old housekeeper, more a companion than anything else, loved having people in the huge house again.

  The Rue Royale apartment was elegantly decorated with exquisite fabrics, rare antiques, and priceless objets d’art. Hunter didn’t give a fig about any of that. Instead, he loved the proximity to great restaurants, good blues clubs, and several entertainment hot spots. Provided one avoided Bourbon Street, the French Quarter was an exciting place to entertain clients from outlying parishes and a super place to meet women, who came to the Quarter for shopping and sightseeing, from college age to grandmothers looking for antiques and artwork. His charm and manners, and his penchant for making people happy, had served him well in a friendly town.

  But his social days were behind him.

  Ashley Menard was the loveliest creature to ever focus her light blue eyes in his direction. As gracious as she was attractive, she was a throwback to the soft-spoken, demure woman of the South’s bygone era. William Faulkner had written about the type many times. Ashley had many friends and plenty of admirers. Although she hailed from old family money, she’d worked hard to build her hair salon and day spa into a fast-growing chain. Hunter was certain Ashley would make a wonderful wife and mother. After all, as his mother loved to point out, he wasn’t getting any younger.

  Hunter heard the click of a key in the lock and the stomp of wet shoes on the mat. Within a few moments, the subject of his woolgathering swept into the room, her cloud of perfume competing with the scent of magnolia wafting through the open French doors.

  “Hunter. There you are, my darling. What are you doing home in the middle of the afternoon? Shouldn’t you be at the office selling lots of stocks and bonds to amass big piles of money so you can support me in the style to which I wish to grow even more accustomed?” To emphasize her point, she dumped an armload of shopping bags onto his coffee table. Several boxes of shoes fell to the floor, spilling their contents. Hunter reached down to pick up one high heel by its narrow strap. As he placed it back in the box, he spotted the three-hundred-twenty-dollar price tag. Three-twenty on sale, no less.

  “More shoes, Ash?” he teased. “You know what happened to Imelda, don’t you? You would have to start changing shoes three times a day just to wear them all.”

  “Who’s she? And I already do, baby.” She bent down to brush a kiss close to his mouth. “You know I simply had to have this heel height in navy.”

  “Absolutely. Anyway, I’m home because I need to go over my financial statements. Those shoes will be perfect when you visit me in the Ursulines poor house. Considering the lines of credit James took out, that’ll be
my next address. Oh, wait. They closed that place a hundred years ago. Now where will I go?”

  “You are going to Tuscany with me on our honeymoon.” She continued to rummage through the bags. “You worry too much, darling. Didn’t you and James take out life insurance policies on each other? You know, just in case.”

  Her question took him by surprise. He and his partner had discussed it, but he didn’t recall ever mentioning it over the dinner table. “No. That would have been smart, but we never got around to it.”

  “What a shame. Oh, Hunter, you’re rich. For a second there, I thought you were really worried about money.” She laughed as though waking from a dream to discover she was Cinderella after all. The glass slipper was a perfect fit.

  Hunter knew this was not the time for a serious financial discussion. Ashley earned her own money, giving her every right to buy however many pairs of shoes she wanted. But he often got the idea she was in training—preparing to graduate to some higher lifestyle. Not that he could imagine what that would entail.

  “Whew, shopping is hard work.” Sinking onto the sofa, Ashley fanned herself with a box lid. “I’m glad I stopped over instead of taking this stuff home. Sometimes I wonder why I don’t just move in.”

  “Because your father would come after me with a shotgun. And I’ve seen what he can do to a clay pigeon.”

  “Only if you don’t ask me to marry you.” Abandoning the sofa, she plopped herself down on his lap in the overstuffed chair. “Do you have to head back to the office right away?” she asked, nibbling lightly on his neck.

  The sensation spiked his heart rate. “What office?” he asked, shifting her to a more comfortable position.

  Ashley sighed and pressed her mouth to his. Her kiss tasted warm and pepperminty.

  “’Scuse me, folks. I knocked, but y’all must not have heard me—you being busy and all. So I just came on in.”

  Ashley startled so hard she would’ve landed on the floor in a heap if not for Hunter’s quick reaction. He tightened his arms around her as he said angrily, “Who in blazes are you?”