Hallow Be the Haunt (Krewe of Hunters #22.5)(12)

Jake nodded but didn’t interrupt her train of thought.

“They were going to meet at Lafitte’s.” She paused, swallowing. “Emily and Samantha went out as planned, but Shelley didn’t show. It was the next day—Sunday—when they…when they found her.”

“You saw her leave the shop?”

“Yes. She headed out and down the street. She was on foot. Shelley didn’t have a car.”

“If she had just gotten off work, why didn’t she go up to her room?”

“She had shopping to do, she told us. She wanted to buy a costume for Halloween. There are all kinds of balls in the city. One that honors Anne Rice. One that’s just huge and run by a guy who does vampire balls all over the world. And more—and more and more—every year.”

“She just left, walking down Magazine. And none of you saw her again?”

“No,” she whispered.

“May I see her room?”

“Sure.”

Marty Nicholson locked the front door and switched the Open sign to Closed.

She led him into the back, where there were canvases and easels, rows of paints and brushes and other paraphernalia.

“Stairs are here. And right in back, there’s a set that leads down to the street too.”

“Kind of you to give the girls a place to live.”

“Kind—and good business,” Marty said. “This way, there’s most often someone on the property. We have an alarm system, but if people know someone is almost always here, that will deter most petty crooks.”

“Good thinking.”

He followed her up the stairway. At the top was a small landing. There were three doors, all of them open. One was to a bathroom, one to a compact kitchen, and one to a dorm-like room.

No one was present.

The dorm room offered three beds, each with a nightstand by it. There was a closet and a large dresser. The drawers were labeled Emily, Samantha, and Shelley.

“I haven’t had the heart to clear out her things yet,” Marty murmured. “I need to do that.”

Jake walked over to Shelley’s bed first. He sat for a minute and waited, trying to sense Shelley, get a feel of her spirit.

Trying to see if, perhaps, it lingered.

He opened the drawer on her nightstand. There were phone chargers, pens, little sample perfumes, and a paperweight with the NOLA fleur-de-lis.

And a notebook.

He picked it up and flipped it open.

The first page was filled with enthusiasm about a new project. A painting of the Cathedral.

The second page talked about a boy she had met—she’d been crazy about him. He’d had to return to school in Philadelphia.

The third page…

Had only one sentence.

I believe…but what is right is right, and what is wrong…is very wrong.

The rest of the notebook was empty. He set it back in the drawer. As he did so, he saw something he’d missed at first glance. A crucifix. Gold and intricately worked.

“Beautiful,” he noted. “I’m surprised she wasn’t wearing this.”

“Oh, well… She was a free-thinker. Maybe she thought it was wrong to wear. She had compassion for everyone. She might have thought the church was too hard on sinners or something—I don’t really know.”

“I guess you’ll see that her mother gets it.”

The mother who hadn’t bothered to come get her.

“Yes, I suppose. I intend to box everything up. I’ll offer it to her mother—if she ever arrives. And if not… Emily and Samantha were her best friends.”

Jake rose. “Did she have any enemies? Any disputes—no matter how small—with anyone?”

“Good Lord, no. She was amazing. People loved her. Except—” She paused. “Oh, maybe it’s nothing.”

“What, please?”

“There was a young man. A really good-looking young man. He was in the shop several times. I know he had a thing for her. And she seemed to like him too, but… I think he came on a little strong. Nothing violent ever happened. I just heard her telling him one day she didn’t know. And he left in a bit of a huff.”

“What was his name?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe Emily or Samantha could tell you.”

“Where can I find them?”

“They’re both off, but they might be working at Jackson Square. I’ll get you their cell phone numbers. If you’re finished here?”

“A moment,” Jake said.

He opened Shelley’s dresser drawer. Nothing but jeans, leggings, T-shirts, and a few nice blouses.

He went into the closet. Labels there hung above the neatly arranged clothing.

Shelley Broussard had one long coat, a few jackets, and a few tailored shirts.

He checked the pockets. Nothing.

“Finished here,” he told Marty.

“Come on down,” she said.

In the storeroom below she paused at a desk, got paper, and looked in an appointment book, flipping to an address page. She wrote down numbers for him.

“Come anytime, Mr. Mallory. Um, Agent Mallory?”

“Jake. Call me Jake, ma’am. That will do. And yes, I’m sorry to distress you, but I probably will be back.”