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“I know. But if anyone saw a guy dressed as a priest in the parking lot, no one would make note of it.”
“Maybe not.” But Montoya wasn’t certain. Wouldn’t a guy dressed like a priest, someone unfamiliar to the parishioners, cause attention? What about the real priests or the church secretary or someone?
As if reading his mind, Bentz said, “Remember Father John would only be around at night, most likely, trying to stay out of sight, especially from the other members of the clergy, right?” He was nodding to himself, a hard smile curving his lips. “We’re closing in. I can feel it.”
“Let’s hope,” Montoya said, though he still had doubts about Bentz’s old nemesis being resurrected only to wreak terror on the citizens of New Orleans again. To Montoya, it didn’t make enough sense to become a working theory.
Not yet.
He gathered his things, getting ready to head out. He’d missed Benjamin’s bedtime again, but he’d be there if his son woke up in the middle of the night and would stay until Ben roused in the morning.
“Dr. Sam’s last show is on Halloween. Two weeks from Friday,” Bentz was saying as Montoya patted his pockets making sure he had his keys, wallet, badge, and phone. “Over that next weekend—in November—she’s putting out her first podcast.”
“You think Father John will call in before she signs off for good?” Montoya was already walking to the door.
Bentz didn’t hesitate. Gave a swift nod, his expression grim. “Oh, yeah,” he said, “I’d bet my badge on it.”
* * *
It probably wasn’t a great idea to be running alone on the city streets in the dark, Kristi thought, but the dog was already hyped and she needed to stretch her legs and clear her mind. Besides, it wasn’t all that late, she thought, checking her watch. Barely seven, but the sun had started setting earlier.
“This’ll have to be a short one,” she said to Dave, heading downstairs and hearing his toenails click on the wooden steps as he followed. “And then we’ll all have dinner.”
Oh, God, shehadto quit talking to her pets.
Just like she had to stop acting as if Jay were actually speaking to her.
She hated to admit it, but maybe Bella was right. Maybe she should start getting out, seeing people who were alive and start having real conversations!
“Good luck with that,”Jay’s voice came to her, but, for once, she ignored it.
Leaving the cat behind, she armed the alarm, patted her pockets to make sure she still had her keys, phone, and a small flashlight that doubled as a weapon with its sharp-edged rim around a light that nearly blinded it was so bright.
Then she and Dave set off.
Outside the air was clear, smelling faintly of moist earth, wet leaves scattered on the sidewalks, as she ran past other homes, windows glowing in the night, landscape lighting competing with the streetlamps. Cars came and went along the neighborhood streets, headlights flashing bright, taillights glowing a softer red. Nostalgia crept into her heart and mind.
She and Jay had jogged these streets together at night, sometimes stopping at their favorite bar for a nightcap, sometimes racing to the river, and try as she might, fit and fleet as she was, Kristi had always lost. “Next time,” she always swore, breathing heavily near the bend in the river, sometimes bent over with hands on knees as she gulped in air. “Next time, Jay McKnight, I’m going to beat you.” He’d always laughed and more often than not, drawn her into his arms to kiss her passionately before taking off and racing home again, letting her win and pissing her off even more. Then, once inside, another long kiss and with passion rising, they’d stripped, leaving a trail of clothes to the bedroom where they’d made love until they were spent. Her heart pounded at the memories and she jogged lost in a cloud of melancholy.
Never again,she thought, her throat swelling.
“It’s okay, Kris. You’ll be fine,”he said, his voice ringing in her head.“Remember me. But let me go.”
“I can’t,” she whispered. “Jay, we’re going to have a baby.”
“I know. And you’ll be a great mom.”
Would she? She wanted to argue with him, but came back to earth. He wasn’t there. He would never be there. That voice in her head? It was her own, projecting what he would say, and she could listen to it, yet. Pretend for a second or two. But the voice in her head finally made sense. She had to let him go.
Casting aside her sadness, she ran past the wrought iron gates guarding Lafayette Cemetery, where trees rose above graying tombs, and she felt an unworldly chill, a breath of wind against the back of her neck. Ridiculous, she knew, as she glimpsed the tall trees rising high, branches webbing over the graying tombs that lined walking paths. Shuddering, she crossed Prytania Street and with Dave galloping gamely beside her, cut a new path, one she hadn’t used before, a route that led her to the address she’d memorized and the tall house belonging to Hamilton Cooke. It, too, was secluded, hidden behind a tall brick wall, but she caught a glimpse of the mansion within, interior lights filtering through sheer curtains on the windows and piercing the filigreed posts of the porch to cast weird, woven shadows on the lawn. She paused, running in place, breathing hard, staring through the bars of the gate and upward to a second balcony and the French doors of an upper room.
The curtains shifted slightly and she realized someone was on the balcony, the tip of a cigarette visible, red and glowing, the smell of smoke seeping through the thick night air. A tall woman or a man? She couldn’t tell, but had the feeling that she had been noticed and was being watched.
Dave whined and tugged on the leash and Kristi began running again, realizing that though Hamilton Cooke lived eight or ten blocks from her, the distance, as the crow flew, was much shorter.
So what?
No big deal.
