Hallow Be the Haunt (Krewe of Hunters #22.5)(18)

Ashley quickly put out a hand. “Hi. I met Mr. Nicholson today and he told me I just had to come and see the shop. I’m Ashley.”

“An art connoisseur?” Emily asked. She seemed to be an easy, relaxed person, happy where she was and eager to share art with others.

“Hardly.” Ashley laughed. “I tend not to be too fond of modern art—or paintings called ‘Black’ that are just black. I pretty much fall in love with a piece or I don’t. It might be a child’s rendering or something hailed in the art world as the next great thing.”

Emily laughed softly. “That’s an art connoisseur to me. So how do you like the shop? And, by the way, I’m not here to pressure you. Just to help.”

“Thank you.”

Emily looked at Jake, who hadn’t yet introduced himself.

“I’m Jake Mallory,” he said. “I was here earlier today. I’m consulting with the police. We’re going to solve the murder of Shelley Broussard.”

Emily’s smile faded. Tears sprang into her eyes. “Shelley,” she whispered.

“I’m so sorry,” Jake said.

Emily quickly wiped her face. “Sorry. We’re trying to keep things going here. Sadly, eating and bill paying come out of working, and so… But poor Shelley. I still can’t believe it.”

“You were close friends,” Ashley said.

“We lived together, we worked together. I loved her. She was a—sister.” Emily paused to look around. The couple was still studying the painting of Royal Street or Rue Royale, as the painting had been titled. “I have no idea what she was doing, or where she was going, or… I just don’t know.”

“Why was she upset?” Jake asked her.

“Upset?”

Jake nodded. “Her murder was personal. She had a sign around her neck. It read Traitor. Who did she betray?”

Emily shook her head. “She didn’t say anything to me. Or Samantha. Samantha is our other roommate. My other roommate now, I guess. We talked every night. Oh, we weren’t wed to one another—we all went out with other friends and did our own thing. But we were together so often at night—as if we were back in high school and it was a slumber party.”

“I believe…but what is right is right, and what is wrong…is very wrong,” Jake said.

“What’s that?” Emily asked, frowning.

“Something Shelley wrote in her notebook,” Jake said.

Ashley watched Emily as her face knit in consternation. She seemed to change color slightly—either baffled or disturbed.

“She was cheerful—she was supposed to meet Samantha and me the night she… The night she just disappeared.”

“She didn’t come home,” Ashley said. “None of you were worried?”

“Well, she’d hinted that she’d met a man.”

“I heard she’d fought with a man—maybe not fought, but had a negative response to him. Do you know who he was? A boyfriend?”

Ashley heard a door opening—not the front door, but a door in the back of the shop.

She looked up. The tall, dignified man she’d met earlier was coming in.

He might have been in the back—perhaps trying to listen to what was going on.

But now, he headed straight for them, beaming.

“Hello. And welcome. So, miss, you took me up on my invitation. The shop is wonderful, right?”

This time, Jake chose to identify himself. “Special Agent Jake Mallory, Mr. Nicholson. I met your wife earlier. And you happened to meet Ashley in the Square. We’re about to head to a party, but saw the shop was open.”

“We keep these doors open until eleven—we’re on a street with clubs and restaurants and lots of people,” Nicholson told him. “We do a great business when others might well be closed. No hardship on anyone, between our artists and my wife and myself. Anyway, what do you think?”

Ashley was surprised when Jake answered bluntly. “I’m surprised that you—that you had a young woman so close to you brutally murdered—and you’re going about business as usual.”

Emily gasped.

Nicholson’s jaw locked for a moment.

“We have to keep living,” he said finally. He pointed to the painting of the witch that had so captured Ashley. “We have to keep living, and we’re trying to see that we can bury poor Shelley. You have your nerve, Special Agent.”

“Sorry, I’ve just seen the crime photos,” Jake said. “You don’t have any video surveillance. Isn’t that a bit…odd?”

“Careless, you mean,” Nicholson said. “No. One of us is usually here.”

“Can you tell me anything about this man who seemed to be after Shelley?” Jake asked.

“Oh.” Nicholson inhaled and exhaled. “I’m going to say six-feet tall, or maybe six-one. Sandy blond/brown hair, short, but with kind of a piece that would go over his forehead now and then. Medium build. Twenties to, say…” He paused and looked at Emily.

“Twenties to thirties,” Emily said. “He came in several times. He always asked for Shelley. She was nice to him, but I think he wanted more from her. I saw her get a little sharp with him one day. And he appeared to be upset.”