Out of Mind (17 page)

Surprised, Willow made more admiring sounds. She reached the far end of the glass-and-copper space and stopped again to peer inside an elaborate birdcage that stretched from floor to ceiling across one corner.

All she saw among the beautifully natural enclosure beyond polished brass bars was one small, bright green
parakeet and an open-fronted cabinet filled with supplies. “Sweet,” she said. “Lucky bird.”

“He should have a mate,” Chloe remarked.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Vanity said.

Val and Preston met them in the foyer. Val hugged Willow as if they were old friends. “I gather I didn’t make a very good tour guide the first time. Did Chloe show you your rooms yet?”

“What about me?” Vanity said, throwing her arms around him.

Willow was deeply unsettled by Val’s question. “I should get back,” she said. “My sister has my dog, and I don’t like to take advantage.”

“What kind of dog?” Preston’s dark gray eyes made Willow uncomfortable. “It’s so good to see you again, by the way. I was worried when I couldn’t find you after our little storm. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I’m great,” she said. He didn’t need to know anything about Mario.

Chloe took her by the hand and rushed her to the wide staircase. She didn’t stop hurrying until the two of them were upstairs and she had quickly shown a number of bedrooms and bathrooms. In what she said was her office, a room done in yellows with a floral theme, and a tiny mosaic desk with fragile legs, she snatched up a black leather-bound book with brass corners and tucked it under an arm.

They hurried on to the next door in the corridor.

“This is where we’re hoping you’ll be comfortable,” Chloe said, throwing open a sumptuous sitting room in shades of dark blue, light blue and silver-gray. “The bedroom and bathroom are through here.”

Willow felt breathless and trapped, not that she intended to be pressured into doing anything she didn’t want to do.

“What do you think?” Chloe asked when they stood in the sitting room again. “I tried to imagine what you might like, but everything can be changed again. You loved the library. We can make this a sitting room and library combined. And if you’d prefer warmer colors, I’ll get swatches for you to choose from.”

“This is a lovely suite,” Willow said neutrally.

Small and blinding, a tiny patch of glaring blue light pricked high up behind Chloe. Willow glanced up, saw it shift inches to the left, then more inches, before it slipped behind the dark blue draperies. She looked over her shoulder, expecting to see someone with a high-powered flashlight. No one was there.

“You have your own entrance,” Chloe said, walking to glass doors Willow had mistaken for windows behind the blue draperies. “There are steps that go down to a path that runs past the conservatory. You’ll come and go as you please. Of course, whether or not you’re here in your off time is up to you. We might as well keep the daybook in here now, since you’ll be the one using it. I’ll pass invitations to you with a yes or no.” She smiled and put the black book on a rosewood table in front of the doors.

“We have a lot to think and talk about,” Willow said, still thinking about the bright light. “I’ll get back to you soon.”

Chloe couldn’t hide her disappointment, but she nodded. “That’ll be fine. But Val and I are a bit adrift until you can start. He’ll be devastated if you don’t join us. So will I.”

Turning away, Willow headed for the stairs. When she checked behind her, Chloe hadn’t followed yet.

Willow hesitated, waiting and wondering if she should go back, but she couldn’t discard the possibility that Chloe was trying to manipulate her into a job she wasn’t sure she wanted, and not because of the rooms they’d offered her to live in. She wouldn’t have to use them at all, or she could set up an office there if she wanted to. The potential job conflicted her. It could be wonderful, and the saving of Mean ’n Green. She would be able to keep all of her staff—something that seemed doubtful with business falling off as it was. But Willow wasn’t sure she could feel comfortable around the kind of people the Brandts ran with.

That bright blue light still bothered her. It could have been no more than a reflection off some piece of glass. When she moved, it could have appeared to move, too. Only that hadn’t been what it was.

She had the thought that Ben might be up to something and continued on slowly to the head of the stairs. Chloe still didn’t follow.

“Do you like it?” Preston asked as she walked down to the main floor where he waited. “Chloe’s worked like a demon to get it done quickly.”

She didn’t trust herself to say anything, but she smiled at them and started back to the kitchen to get her briefcase. Packing her folders away, she noticed how her hands shook. She had no cause to be nervous.

With that thought she picked up the briefcase. It fell open because she had forgotten to close it, and she watched in annoyance as pieces of paper slid all over the floor.

Dammit, she was a basket case. As fast as she could, she gathered everything up, and this time she remembered to close her briefcase properly.

The sliding door to the garden banged open, and Vanity came in with another bottle of the wine they had shared earlier. She wiggled it. “Can’t start off with good stuff and expect to enjoy anything less,” she said. “It’s a good thing Val has a private stash of this in the cabana. What do you think of the rooms Chloe got ready for you?”

“They’re beautiful,” Willow said, noncommittal.

She left Vanity opening the wine and returned to the foyer.

A cracking sound make her jump. “What was that?” There was another thud.

Val dashed to join Preston and Willow, and they all looked to the staircase.

Chloe had slammed into the railing along the upper corridor. She stared, rocking her head, blinking, as if she couldn’t see, not making a sound. She backed off and returned for another collision, harder this time.

Willow screamed and ran for the stairs. Rotating over the railing, Chloe swung, her limbs flailing, to fall onto the stairs themselves.

“Chloe,” Val yelled. “Oh, my God.”

Vanity came running.

Slowly at first, then gathering speed, Chloe bumped downward, hitting the stair treads and jerking into grotesque angles. Tiny specks of blood sprayed on walls and the stairs.

A yell broke from Val, and he dashed to her, ineffectually trying to stop her from flopping onto the marble tiles.

“Oh, my God,” Preston said, striding forward.

Willow gasped. The woman’s eyes were stretched wide-open, but they were dying. Willow saw the glazing without going any nearer. Even at a distance, long red welts on Chloe’s face and neck were shocking against her white skin. Her head sagged to one side, the face in Willow’s direction. More speckles of blood immediately splotched the pale marble.

“Did you hear anything?” Preston said faintly. “Did she scream?”

“No,” Willow whispered.

Vanity sobbed, and she shook all over. “Chloe,” she said through stretched lips. “What’s happened? Chloe?” She heaved as if she would throw up, but gathered herself and looked at Willow. “Get out, now. You shouldn’t be here.”

“No, stay,” Preston shouted. “The police will want to talk to you.”

“Leave,” Vanity said, moving toward the rest of the group. “For your own sake. Hurry.”

“W
hat are you doing?” Willow asked, running along the Brandts’ front path toward Ben. “Chloe Brandt is dead in there. Get back in the van. We’re leaving.”

“Dead, how?” Ben looked past her at the house. He should have followed his instincts and “accompanied” her inside, only he expected her to start figuring out if he was around even when she couldn’t see him. That could get ugly.

Willow breathed too hard. She gulped and said, “I think someone killed her. It’s looks like what happened to Billy Baker and Surry Green—no, not exactly like that. But there’s something really weird. I need to get away from here.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want to do?” Ben took her by the elbow and walked her back to the Brandts’ open front door. “Before we got to the end of the block, someone would be telling the police your van was here.”

Willow dug her heels in, and they stood there, staring at each other. “What am I thinking?” she said, blinking rapidly, her green eyes horrified. “This is insane of me. Of course I shouldn’t be leaving, but…”

“But, what?”

“I—They said I had to get out of there. No excuses, though. I shouldn’t have panicked like that.”

Sirens howled, growing closer, and Ben led Willow into the front hall of the house. One of the women he had noticed at the party, underdressed in black now, as she had been in white that night, talked into a phone and tapped the toe of one high-heeled sandal. She looked into Ben’s eyes and kept on looking.

“You called out to me, you know,” he said to Willow under his breath. “Did you know that? That’s good. We’re making progress.”

She slanted him a disbelieving glance. “I just tried to run away from a dead woman who was talking to me ten minutes ago. I’m a heel. You find the strangest times to celebrate little things.”

Ben put an arm around her shoulders, managed not to wince and gave her a solid hug. “You’re the best. You’re also human.” Her hand slipped behind his back, and he knew he would walk on broken glass for more chances to hold her.

“I’m going to get hung up here,” the woman on the phone said. “You don’t need to know why, Carl, and neither do they. Make the calls and tell them we’ll get back as soon as we can.” She closed her phone.

Ben took in the two men present, one with surfer-blond hair and an athletic build, the other elegant, dark and very well dressed, bending over a female corpse wound into a heap of grotesquely twisted limbs. Both men had been at the party he’d crashed to keep tabs on Willow. He went to look down on the woman’s face.

She was a mess, but he was certain he had seen her before. He wasn’t sure where. It could have been at
Fortunes. Yes, this woman had known Poppy. They had worked on a charity event together.

“Who are you?” the blond man asked, his voice breaking. “Get away from her. Stop staring—she doesn’t like being stared at.”

“Are you her husband?” Ben asked.

“Yes. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“I came to pick up Willow,” Ben said. There was scarcely any clear skin to see in the mass of raised and bloody welts that covered the woman’s face and neck. “Damn, I’m sorry. The police are arriving now.”

“We need an aid car,” the blond man shouted. “Get her to the hospital.”

Willow’s fingers clutched tightly at Ben’s. He glanced down at her and frowned at the puzzled expression on her face.

She felt him looking at her. “Are you okay?” she said vaguely. “Don’t worry so much.”

He let the odd remark go.

“I told you to get out of here,” the woman said, looming over Willow. “This is one hell of a nuisance. The police will pounce on you and if we’re really unlucky, they’ll haul you away on some pretext. They don’t have anything to go on that I know of, so you could become their dream come true. You’ll be the so-called suspect in custody so the police can keep people calm while the search goes on.”

“This is Vanity,” Willow said. “And Chloe’s husband, Val Brandt, and Preston Moriarty.”

Preston looked toward the upper story. “We’re going to have to go up there. Whoever did this to Chloe could still be there.”

“Wait for the police,” Ben said. “We don’t want to mess up any evidence.”

The sirens arrived outside and car doors slammed.

The foyer felt hushed, but Ben sensed the promise of all hell breaking loose.

“Out now,” Vanity said, actually grabbing Willow’s wrist. “There’s time for you to leave through the back. We’re going to need you more than ever. You can’t help us if you’re locked up. Go! Now!”

Willow jerked her arm away.

“Maybe we should want to keep an eye on Willow,” Preston said with the kind of smooth innuendo Ben despised.

“Calm down,” Val said. “You’re not helping Chloe. Any of you. Willow should be here. The police will think it’s funny if she isn’t.”

“I feel sick,” Willow said.

“Breathe deeply through your mouth,” Ben told her, although the scent of death already fouled the air.

“The flowers,” she said. “Sickening.”

Funeral parlor
was Ben’s last thought before the first wave of uniforms stepped through the door.

“Cynical,” Willow murmured. “Bored. Determined. Jaded.”

This wasn’t the time or place to get excited, but Ben knew he was looking at a woman coming fully into her powers—whether she wanted to or not. He wanted it for her, all of it. And he wanted it for himself. She was picking up emotions and still didn’t have enough control to stop herself from singing them out loud.

“NOPD, Sergeant Deneuve,” a sergeant in the lead said. “Who’s the victim? Who made the call?”

“I did,” Preston Moriarty said. “This lady is Chloe Brandt, Val’s wife.” He indicated Val Brandt, who appeared to have sunk into shock.

The sergeant swiveled his square jaw and thrust it forward while he sized up the rest of them. “You’re a Millet,” he said flatly, moving his gum from one side of his mouth to the other while he regarded Willow.

“Yes,” she said in a firm voice that made Ben grin. “Willow Millet. I’m the one with the Cadillac household engineering firm, Mean ’n Green. You need it, we do it—better than anyone else.”

“Uh-huh.” The sergeant was a serious man. “The same outfit hanging out around two murder scenes yesterday. And wasn’t your family mixed up with the so-called alligator scare?”

“Hey, Sarge.” Another policeman shoved his head through the door. “We got press and press and more press. What d’you want to do?”

“Keep ’em back,” the sergeant said. “No closer than the other side of the street. And get the tape up. Call for reinforcements for when civilians start arriving.”

“We’ve already got people from around here,” the other cop said.

“Do I need to know this?” Sergeant Deneuve said. “You know what to do. Do it.”

Two plainclothes detectives walked in, huddled with Deneuve and went carefully upstairs.

Ben could hear excited voices in the street, and the occasional shriek.

The arrival of Dr. Blades wearing green scrubs with a white coat flapping from his thin shoulders meant Willow could put off answering the sergeant about the
Millets’ former involvement—only months earlier—with another series of bizarre deaths.

Crime scene personnel straggled in carting equipment, and a photographer started snapping away.

Nat Archer had slouched along behind the medical examiner, exhaustion dragging down every line of his face and body.

“Hey, Nat,” Ben said, and got an evil glare for his pains.

Willow let out a soft “Oh.” But then she looked away and crossed her arms.

Too bad they couldn’t leave now and talk about what was on Willow’s mind, and there was plenty.

Blades knelt beside the victim, while another member of the crime scene team undid a large, black bag. Gloves went on before Blades gave Chloe any particular attention. When he did, his facial expression didn’t shift, but his sigh was something they all heard.

Uniforms swarmed through the place, following directions to tread lightly, until Nat said loudly, “I want to be first through. If you’re not involved right here, make yourselves useful outside until I call you.”

Sergeant Deneuve nodded approval and stood observing Blades at work.

Nat’s partner, Bucky Fist—stocky, sandy-haired and cheerful—wiped his feet on the front mat. Ben noted this and decided Bucky was either a really nice guy or obsessive-compulsive. Bucky walked in and stood at the ready, close to Nat.

“Is she dead?” Val asked. His lips were colorless and his eyes stared.

Ben felt incredibly sorry for the guy.

“Yes, sir,” Dr. Blades said. “It might be a good idea if you went along with Detective Archer here. He’ll let you know where we go from here.”

“Is the sitting room okay, Val?” Vanity asked.

She took his dull nod for agreement and walked into the closest room, flipping on lamps as she went. Val went with her, but Preston Moriarty hung around until Nat gave him a significant stare and Preston went after his friends.

“Go in there with them, Bucky,” Nat said.

Blades examined the dead woman, using forceps to slip smaller specimens into bags an assistant opened for him. “I need to be in my lab,” he said. “Fast.”

Ben figured that was the man’s way of indicating he considered hanging around with anyone but the dead a waste of time.

“Is it the same—”

“No.” Blades cut him off and looked up. “Similar but different. Not good news.”

Willow moved closer. “Could one of the bats people are talking about do that?”

Blades gave her a bored glance. “Don’t tell me you’re buying that, too. We apparently have killer bats all over New Orleans.”

“People get nervous when they don’t understand,” Ben said, warning Willow with his eyes to be careful what she said. “They grasp for any explanation.”

“Sorry.”
She came in loud and clear.
“That was a stupid thing to say. He’s saying two different things are killing people. Does he mean two different weapons—like knives?”

“I don’t think so.”
This communication could become very comfortable.

“Can one of you tell me what happened?” Nat said. He had been watching the two of them closely. “Were you both here?”

“Just me,” Willow said. “Ben was waiting for me outside. I came for a job interview with…with Chloe. We were upstairs and she was fine when I left her.”

Nat cleared his throat.

“I must have been the last one to see her alive,” Willow said.

“Last but one,” Ben said quickly, wishing she weren’t so damnably honest.

Sykes strolled from outside and Blades said, “So much for your people keeping the gawkers out.”

Mario edged around the front doorjamb as if he didn’t really want to be seen. Trust Sykes to think of bringing the dog, since he gave Willow comfort.

“You remember Sykes Millet, Blades,” Nat said. “He’s Willow’s brother.”

“He’d be hard to forget,” Blades said, looking from Ben to Sykes. “Bloody gathering of wizards. How many of you are in this town?” He returned to his work.

“That’s a good question,”
Sykes said, his tone amused in Ben’s brain.
“Wonder if we could scare up enough for an army.”

“When we’ve got more time, we’ll check it out,”
Ben told him.

“Behave yourselves.”
The immediate shocked expression on Willow’s face at her own announcement silenced both men.

“Will you show me where you and Mrs. Brandt were upstairs?” Nat asked Willow. If possible, he seemed even more weary.

“Does she need a lawyer?” Ben said.

“I’m not accusing her of anything.”

“It could happen, though, right?” Sykes said.

Nat blinked slowly. “Anything could happen.”

“We could get Ethan over,” Ben said. His younger brother was a lawyer.

“I’ll be fine with Nat,” Willow said. “All I’m going to do is show him where I was with Chloe.” Her voice cracked, and her eyes abruptly filled with tears.

Ben put a hand on either side of her face and wiped away the tears with his thumbs. “Hush,” he said quietly, putting his mouth near her ear. “I’m sorry you have to go through this. Maybe it’s a good idea to run over things with Nat so we can get you home. Don’t answer any questions you don’t like, okay?”

She nodded.

“He can’t do anything with what you say anyway,” Ben told her. “Not without reading your rights and having a lawyer present and all that stuff. This might save dragging things out. Do you want Ethan? I can get him right here.”

She gave him a lopsided smile. “I bet you can. It’s not necessary. I haven’t done anything wrong. And Nat won’t do anything to hurt me. Poor Nat,” she said and closed her eyes.

Finding out why it was “poor Nat” would have to wait.

“I’ll come with you,” Ben said. He raised his voice, “Okay if I come, Nat?”

Nat gave a defeated shrug. “You two seem joined at the hip anyway, so why not? Just don’t answer questions for her.”

Knowing his distraction techniques were futile, Ben attempted to keep Willow from looking at sprays of minute blood spatters on the walls and more blood smeared on banisters, by pretending great interest in paintings higher up.

He felt her go inside herself, and she climbed up the stairs after Nat as if she had closed down her emotions.

She started, and turned back, looking around the foyer. Ben did the same, but couldn’t guess what she was looking at. She met his eyes.

“Tell me,” he said.

Willow shook her head. “I don’t know. Everything’s happening to me too fast. It’s all falling over itself. I think someone here is glad Chloe’s dead, but I can’t tell who. It’s not the same as what I usually feel. It’s not…human.”

Upstairs, the evidence of Chloe’s injuries was not so obvious. It was as if the wounds had really started bleeding when she collided with the railings and fell.

Willow went ahead, leading the way to the rooms at the end of the corridor.

She hung back then, but Nat walked in. “There was a strange light,” she told Ben. “Do I tell him?”

Ben pulled her against him. “What kind of light?” he asked, very low.

“Bright. Blue. A little spot high up on the wall behind where Chloe was standing.” She drew a breath. Despite all she had been through, she was ethereal and completely beautiful to Ben. “Then it slid behind the drapes.”