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Let the Dead Sleep (Cafferty & Quinn, 1) - Softcover

Buch 1 von 3: Cafferty & Quinn Novels

Graham, Heather

 
9780778315698: Let the Dead Sleep (Cafferty & Quinn, 1)
Softcover
ISBN 10: 077831569X ISBN 13: 9780778315698
Verlag: MIRA, 2013

Inhaltsangabe

An object of desire? Or of fear? 

It was stolen from a New Orleans grave—the centuries-old bust of an evil man, a demonic man. It's an object desired by collectors and by those with wickedness in their hearts.  

One day, its current owner shows up at Danni Cafferty's antiques shop on Royal Street, the shop she inherited from her father. But before Danni can buy the statue, it disappears, the owner is found dead…and Danni discovers that she's inherited much more than she realized. In the store is a book filled with secret writing: instructions for defeating evil entities. She'd dismissed it as a curiosity…until the arrival of this statue, with its long history of evil and even longer trail of death. 

Michael Quinn, former cop and now private investigator, is a man with an unusual past. He believes that doing the right thing isn't a job—it's a way of life. And the right thing to do is find and destroy this object weighted with malevolent powers. He and Danni are drawn together in their search for the missing statue, following it through sultry New Orleans nights to hidden places in the French Quarter and secret ceremonies on abandoned plantations. 

Cafferty and Quinn already know that trust in others can be misplaced, that love can be temporary. And yet their connection is primal. Mesmerizing. They also know that their story won't end when this case is closed and the dead rest in peace once again.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Heather Graham has written more than a hundred novels. She's a winner of the RWA's Lifetime Achievement Award, and the Thriller Writers' Silver Bullet. She is an active member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America. For more information, check out her websites: TheOriginalHeatherGraham.com, eHeatherGraham.com, and HeatherGraham.tv. You can also find Heather on Facebook.

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It was spring in New Orleans, a beautiful April day, and Angus Cafferty had been dead for three months the afternoon Michael Quinn followed the widow Gladys Simon to The Cheshire Cat, an antiques and curio store on Royal Street.

The house itself, now a shop, was one of the few buildings that had survived the Great New Orleans Fire of 1788 that had destroyed 856 buildings—followed by the fire of 1794 that destroyed another 212. It was one of the only structures from the mid-1700s that remained on Royal Street. It had a two-storied facade, with an inner courtyard and balconies surrounding the building streetside. He knew the layout of the old building; the original parlor, study and dining rooms were set up as the shop's display area, while the old pantry was Danielle Cafferty's studio. The basement was not really a basement at all. This was New Orleans, and even on high ground, the basement was just the lowest level of the house. Six steps led up from the street, and courtyard entries led to the porches and the house. The shop's basement was filled with treasures Angus had collected and kept away from the view of others. Upstairs, above the store, were the office and a small apartment used by the Cafferty family. Billie McDougall slept in the attic, ever watchful, while a second street entry, which had once been a carriage house, was now a two-car garage.

Following Gladys Simon was easy; Quinn was directly behind her and she was oblivious. He felt like a stalker, having to trail her like this, but when he'd discovered that morning that she had the bust, he'd tried to see her. According to her housekeeper, she refused to see anyone. No amount of cajoling had gotten him in.

He'd waited outside her house, but she'd run to her car, turning away when he'd begun to speak to her. All he could do was follow—and pray that she was going to the curio shop.

She approached the shop and so did Quinn, practically on her heels. As they entered, he saw Billie reading a book behind the counter and Jane Pearl, the clerk and bookkeeper, walking up the stairs, presumably going to her office. She paused, however, when she heard the door open.

Gladys Simon was unaware of her surroundings. She headed straight to the old mahogany bar that had been refashioned into a sales counter. Quinn stepped in right after her and feigned great interest in a grandfather clock that was situated just inside the front door.

Billie might have been perfectly cast as Riff Raff in a Rocky Horror remake or as an aging Ichabod Crane. He was as skinny as his mentor and employer had been robust. Billie had steel-gray eyes and a shock of neck-length white hair and was dressed in jeans and a Grateful Dead T-shirt. He must have been a startling and imposing figure to a Versace-clad and perfectly manicured matron like Gladys Simon.

But Gladys didn't seem to notice anything about Billie at all. She rushed over to him.

"You buy antiquities, unusual items, don't you? You have to buy the bust from me—you must buy it from me. No, no, you don't need to buy it. You can have it. Please, come to my house and take the bust away. It belongs in a place like this!"

Billie glanced briefly at Quinn, a frown furrowing his wrinkled brow. "I'd love to help you, ma'am. I'm not the owner, but—"

"Oh, dear! That's right!" she said with a gasp. "But…the owner died, didn't he? Oh, please tell me the new owner is available…please! I must… I can't live with that thing anymore____"

"Now, try to calm down, Mrs____?"

"Simon. Gladys Simon. It was my husband's. He's dead now. He's dead because of that…thing!"

"Please calm down, Mrs. Simon," he said again. "The object is a bust?"

"Yes, very old—and exquisite, really."

"You want to give me an old and exquisite piece?" Billie's voice was incredulous.

"Are you deaf, sir?" she shrieked. "Yes—I must be rid of it!"

By then, the woman's frantic tone had drawn the new owner from her studio in the back of the store.

Quinn had watched her on the day of Angus Cafferty's funeral. He had chosen not to approach her then; he had kept his distance when Cafferty was laid to rest in the Scottish vault at the old cemetery—the "City of the Dead," where he had long stated he would go when the time came. There'd been a piper at the grave site, but Cafferty was accompanied by the traditional New Orleans jazz band and a crowd of friends to his final resting place. He'd been loved by many in the city. Of course, a tourist or two—or ten or twenty—fascinated by the ritual, had joined in, as well. The vaults in the cemetery didn't allow for the immediate grouping around the grave that was customary at in-ground burials, so he'd been able to hover on the edges of the crowd, paying his own respects from afar.

There was no doubt that the man's daughter had been devastated. And there was no doubt that she was old Angus's daughter—she had his startling dark blue eyes and sculpted features, finer and slimmer, but still a face that spoke of her parentage. Her hair was a rich auburn, brushing her shoulders, a color that might well have been Angus's once—when he'd had pigment in his hair. Despite her grief, she hadn't seemed fragile or broken, which gave him hope. Though she was slim, she was a good five-nine and might just possess some of the old man's inner strength.

As she walked to the front of the shop, she was frowning slightly, obviously perplexed by the commotion. She wore jeans and a short-sleeved tailored shirt and somehow appeared casual and yet naturally elegant. She moved with an innate grace.

Gladys heard her coming and turned to her. "You—you're the owner?"

"Yes, I'm Danni Cafferty. May I help you?"

"Oh, yes, you certainly may. I know your father was intrigued by historic objects. I never met him but I read that his shop acquired the most unusual and…historic objects," she repeated. "You must come and take the bust."

"Mrs. Simon, we don't just take anything."

"It's priceless! You must take it."

"Mrs. Simon, I didn't say we wouldn't buy it. It's that we don't take things." Danni looked at the woman, assessing her with a smile. "I can't believe this is such an emergency that—"

"The bust killed my husband!" Gladys Simon broke in.

Danni raised perfectly arched brows. "Do you mean that…that it was used to strike him? If that's the case, the bust might well be evidence—"

"No!" Mrs. Simon cried. "You are not your father!"

Danni seemed to freeze, calling on reserves of hard-fought control and dignity. "No, Mrs. Simon, I am not my father. But if you wish to bring this bust in—"

"No! I won't touch it. You must come and get it."

Danni mulled that over for a minute, as if she was still fighting for control. Quinn noted that Gladys Simon's shrill voice had alerted Jane, and the bookkeeper was coming hesitantly down the stairs, one of Angus Cafferty's ebony nineteenth-century gentleman's canes in her hands. A good match for Billie—although the two weren't romantically linked—Jane was slim and straight with iron-gray hair knotted at her nape and gold-rimmed spectacles. She'd been with Angus for the past two years or so, and though she hadn't been a confidant in the way Billie had, she was...

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Verlag
MIRA
Erscheinungsdatum
2013
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
077831569X
ISBN 13 
9780778315698
Einband
Taschenbuch
Auflage
1
Anzahl der Seiten
336
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