area, but who they were and how they could be reached, Nikki hadn't had the faintest idea.
And because there was no place Andrea had called home and no one she had called family, Nikki had decided that she would take care of all the arrangements.
So Andy was being buried in Nikki's family vault, since there was plenty of room and no one left to fill it. The DuMondes had lived in the area since the late 1700s. Where her very early ancestors had been buried, Nikki didn't know. But in the 1800s they had acquired a plot in the Garden District. Someone at some time had put some money into the family mausoleum. Giant angels guarded the wrought-iron doors to the elaborate family tomb that boasted the name DuMonde in large chiseled letters.
The last interment had been her parents, killed in an automobile accident when she had been a toddler, and her grandparents, gone just a few years ago.
As she stood in front of the door, she realized that it was truly sad, but she barely remembered either her mother or her father. She had pictures, of course, and because of the pictures, she had convinced herself that she remembered much more than she really did.
A year and a day…
The time it took for the fierce New Orleans heat to cremate the earthly remains of a once-living soul. Then the ashes could be scraped back into a holding cell in the niche within the vault, and a new body could be interred. There were actually twelve burial vaults within the family mausoleum. Nikki had decided that Andrea should be buried with her own folks. She certainly didn't believe that corpses or remains could find comfort with one another, but it made her feel a little better to know that they would be interred together.
Of course, funerals were for the living.
Julian wrapped an arm around her shoulder. They all thought she was in serious shock. She was. They all thought it was because she and Andy had bonded so quickly. It wasn't.
She had liked Andrea, really liked her. But none of them had known her more than a few weeks.
It was partly because Nikki was convinced Andrea had been murdered, no matter what anyone else said or thought. But there was more.
It wasn't the fact that a monster was out there, still at liberty, unknown by the police, that was the greatest horror.
It was the dream…
"Sweetie, it's over," Julian whispered to her. "Set your flower on the coffin."
She nodded, swallowing. And set the flower on the coffin.
The funeral had cost a mint, a mint she didn't really have. But the rest of the group had been wonderful, contributing what they could, and Max had told her to take whatever she needed from the corporate account.
After she set her flower down, she turned. The glass-enclosed, horse-drawn hearse, empty now, remained on the dirt path that led from the street to the vault. The band began to play—a typical New Orleans band, a small group that Nikki was convinced would have meant a great deal to Andrea. It hadn't exactly been a full-blown New Orleans jazz funeral, but it had been close.
Andy had wanted to be a part of the real New Orleans.
Now she was.
Andrea had been dead for four days. Despite the fact that an autopsy had been not only demanded by Nikki but required by law, nothing the ME had been able to tell them had shed any light on the situation. Nikki had continued to insist to Massey that there had been a killer.
To her relief, he didn't try to convince her that she was simply in denial, grieving for the loss of a friend. Perhaps he didn't believe her, but he had at least gone through the motions of an investigation.
All they knew was that Andrea had gone to Pat O'Brien's with her friends, and at 2:00 a.m. they had parted company.
What had happened after that, none of them knew.
The police had found her—forcing the door of her apartment at the insistence of Mrs. Montobello—at nine o'clock in the morning. Andy had checked in with Mrs. Montobello with such regularity that the woman had
And because there was no place Andrea had called home and no one she had called family, Nikki had decided that she would take care of all the arrangements.
So Andy was being buried in Nikki's family vault, since there was plenty of room and no one left to fill it. The DuMondes had lived in the area since the late 1700s. Where her very early ancestors had been buried, Nikki didn't know. But in the 1800s they had acquired a plot in the Garden District. Someone at some time had put some money into the family mausoleum. Giant angels guarded the wrought-iron doors to the elaborate family tomb that boasted the name DuMonde in large chiseled letters.
The last interment had been her parents, killed in an automobile accident when she had been a toddler, and her grandparents, gone just a few years ago.
As she stood in front of the door, she realized that it was truly sad, but she barely remembered either her mother or her father. She had pictures, of course, and because of the pictures, she had convinced herself that she remembered much more than she really did.
A year and a day…
The time it took for the fierce New Orleans heat to cremate the earthly remains of a once-living soul. Then the ashes could be scraped back into a holding cell in the niche within the vault, and a new body could be interred. There were actually twelve burial vaults within the family mausoleum. Nikki had decided that Andrea should be buried with her own folks. She certainly didn't believe that corpses or remains could find comfort with one another, but it made her feel a little better to know that they would be interred together.
Of course, funerals were for the living.
Julian wrapped an arm around her shoulder. They all thought she was in serious shock. She was. They all thought it was because she and Andy had bonded so quickly. It wasn't.
She had liked Andrea, really liked her. But none of them had known her more than a few weeks.
It was partly because Nikki was convinced Andrea had been murdered, no matter what anyone else said or thought. But there was more.
It wasn't the fact that a monster was out there, still at liberty, unknown by the police, that was the greatest horror.
It was the dream…
"Sweetie, it's over," Julian whispered to her. "Set your flower on the coffin."
She nodded, swallowing. And set the flower on the coffin.
The funeral had cost a mint, a mint she didn't really have. But the rest of the group had been wonderful, contributing what they could, and Max had told her to take whatever she needed from the corporate account.
After she set her flower down, she turned. The glass-enclosed, horse-drawn hearse, empty now, remained on the dirt path that led from the street to the vault. The band began to play—a typical New Orleans band, a small group that Nikki was convinced would have meant a great deal to Andrea. It hadn't exactly been a full-blown New Orleans jazz funeral, but it had been close.
Andy had wanted to be a part of the real New Orleans.
Now she was.
Andrea had been dead for four days. Despite the fact that an autopsy had been not only demanded by Nikki but required by law, nothing the ME had been able to tell them had shed any light on the situation. Nikki had continued to insist to Massey that there had been a killer.
To her relief, he didn't try to convince her that she was simply in denial, grieving for the loss of a friend. Perhaps he didn't believe her, but he had at least gone through the motions of an investigation.
All they knew was that Andrea had gone to Pat O'Brien's with her friends, and at 2:00 a.m. they had parted company.
What had happened after that, none of them knew.
The police had found her—forcing the door of her apartment at the insistence of Mrs. Montobello—at nine o'clock in the morning. Andy had checked in with Mrs. Montobello with such regularity that the woman had
Similar Books
