"There are lots of stories of blood l.u.s.t. Dracula, by Bram Stoker, written in the late eighteen hundreds, was based mainly upon the legends of Vlad Dracul, the Impaler.

Naturally, there are more historical tales of incredible blood l.u.s.t. Take the case of Elizabeth Bathory of Hungary, late fifteen hundreds into the early sixteen hundreds, who bathed in the blood of hundreds of young virgins, searching for eternal youth and life everlasting. We had the bizarre case here of the killers who tied their victims up and drank a little blood from them day after day- and were only caught when one hysterical young man escaped. There are more. In fact, the list is probably endless. Just because we now have created phrases and descriptions for serial and ma.s.s murderers, we can't discount the historical cases of madmen and -women who were vicious criminals before we came up with modern concepts of psychology. Then remember, we are in New Orleans. We have voodoo, magic, and we also have our share of vampire cultists here as well. Last Mardi Gras, I must have seen dozens of men-and women dressed in white flowing shirts with the dark capes-and fangs, of course."

"Elizabeth Bathory, huh?" Sean said. "You have gone back in time, for sure!"

Jack flushed. "Yeah, well, I was kind of a horror fanatic as a kid. I've got all kinds of books, tapes, and CDs on vampires, werewolves, ghosts, mummies, and the like."

Sean nodded gravely. "We may need them in this one. Tell me, where does Maggie fit in with your reading material?"

Jack grinned broadly. "Playboy-I wish."

Sean grunted.

"I had a great time last night. In fact, I woke up feeling guilty. We're investigating two horrible murders, and I'm having one h.e.l.l of a time at a jazz club."

Sean leaned back, studying Jack. "Kid, if you're going to stay in homicide, you have to learn to live in spite of the murder victims. Pierre manages to have a life despite all that he deals with. We're the only hope for justice for the victims. He can be their voice, and we can be their justice."

"That's good. A d.a.m.ned good thought. Not that I feel too bad for Anthony Beale-it seems that what he got might have been justice. But our little Jane Doe ..."

"You've got a good background for her?"

"Yeah. Poor kid, needed to do something to get ahead in the world. Maybe just to eat."

"There's a soft side to you, Jack. Take care."

Jack nodded gravely, then grinned. "Yeah, and it seems there's a soft, lascivious side to you as well. You seeing Miss Montgomery again?"

Sean nodded, watching Jack. "I'm bringing her home to dinner tonight."

"Oh, yeah, no kidding? Hey, can I come? It's sure to be great conversation with your dad doing the grilling."

"He's not going to grill her; she's not under arrest."

"He's going to grill her-he's going to try to fix you up with a woman who'll be more than a pit stop for you."

"She is under suspicion, and no, you can't come."

"What if I were to bring her friend?"

"The little Creole?"

"Umm. Angie. Her name is Angie. Angie Taylor. She's one of Maggie Montgomery's best friends, has the keys to the place, and probably knows your woman better than anyone else."

"Is that so?"

"It's a fact."

"And you know she'll come?"

Jack grinned. "I do." He folded his arms over his chest and gave Sean a superior, king- of-the-beasts grin. "When some of us meet a woman, we know what we're doing."

"You slept with her already?"

"No," Jack admitted. "But I did pa.s.s out on her couch. Can I bring her to dinner?"

Sean hesitated. It might make for an interesting evening. Maggie Montgomery was their only lead-however fragile that lead might be.

He didn't want her to think they considered her a lead. If she was involved, it was without her knowledge. If her building was being used, surely it was without her knowledge or consent. And yet...

As much as he didn't want her to be a lead, he had a strange feeling that somehow, she was involved.

No proof.

Gut instinct.

And it didn't really matter. He had to get closer to her, one way or another. He had to know.

"Bring Angie. Seven-thirty. Dad's going to barbecue out on the lawn. Make sure she isn't a vegetarian."

It was noon when Gema Grayson called Maggie.

Gema was thirty, happily married, the young mother of two. She and Allie were a wonderful team as saleswomen and best friends. Allie was as pale as moonlight, and Gema was pure ebony. Gema had lost her own mom just before her tenth birthday. Allie filled a nice place in her life.

Gema tried not to sound concerned.

"Maggie, I hate to bother you on a Sat.u.r.day, but I'm worried."

"What's the matter?"

"It's Allie."

"What about her?"

"She isn't here."

"She didn't come in? Have you called her?"

"Well, she did come in. Coffee was on and everything was neat as a pin when I arrived.

The door was unlocked. I thought maybe she'd gone next door for beignets or croissants, but Hal, behind the counter, hadn't seen her."

"Did you call her house?"

"No answer."

"Did you call the police?"

"They said they couldn't fill out reports on every woman who wandered away for a few hours."

"Did you remind them that we had a homicide just outside our doors hours earlier?"

"I did. Didn't help."

Maggie hesitated. "Gema, don't worry. I'll call the cop who came in yesterday. Are you all right there?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"Is it busy?"

"Yes, but I'm glad to be busy."

"I'll call Lieutenant Canady and be right in myself."

"Oh, Maggie, I'm sorry, you don't have to-"

"I'm not doing anything but lying around on the porch in the sun. Allie is special, and I don't care what they say-if she isn't at work, something is wrong."

"Okay. Thanks, Maggie."

"I'll be right there."

Maggie hung up and stared at the phone. She felt a deep-seated fear, and she wanted to shake it off. She closed her eyes tightly, wondering if she wasn't making an awful mistake.

Sean's card was in her handbag. She dug around for it, stared at the numbers, then dialed. He answered with a curt "h.e.l.lo" on the first ring. "Sean?"

"Maggie?"

"Sean, I'm sorry to bother you now, but it seems that one of my employees has ...

disappeared. She's only been missing a few hours-we think-but she's incredibly conscientious and I'm worried. Could you-could you possibly meet me at the shop?"

"I'll be there," he said briefly.

The line was dead. Maggie stared at it, then quickly hung it up. She called out to Peggy that she was leaving, grabbed her handbag, hopped into her sandals, and hurried out of the house.

Gema tried to talk with a slim teenage girl who was asking about a custom dress for a special party she was having. She kept watching the door.

She sighed with relief as she saw the tall, handsome cop from yesterday coming toward the door, followed by his younger apprentice. She apologized to the teenager, asking her if she could come in on Monday or Tuesday when Maggie Montgomery would be in. She barely noticed whether the girl paid any attention to her or not; she hurried toward Lieutenant Canady.

Instinctively, she reached out. He took her hands. "Maggie must have called you. Thank you so much for coming. I understand that you don't usually worry about a missing person so quickly, but if you knew Allie-" "Hey, it's all right, we have to worry about all missing persons-it's just that when they haven't been missing too long, they sometimes reappear on their own," he told her. He had a great smile. Flashing eyes that could be both stern and strangely a.s.suring. He had a strange power, she thought. It came from within. From knowing right and wrong, from a confidence that dwelt deeply in his soul.

"Still, thanks-"

"There's an officer coming behind me who will take down information about your friend, and we'll put out an APB on her right away."

"I wouldn't want you to do anything . .. wrong."

He flashed her another smile. "One of the perks of being an underpaid and overworked cop. I can break a few rules when I want."

She already felt better.

"Maggie's on her way as well. I'm so fl.u.s.tered myself, I'm afraid I'll forget something important."

Canady turned to the young man standing slightly behind him. "Radio Carl in the car.

Find out if he's reached Allie's home address yet."

"I'm on it," the young man said, and turned around.

"Gema, can we get you something to help you feel a little calmer. A cup of tea?"

Canady asked. His smile flashed again. "Maybe a spiked cafe au lait? Valium?"

She smiled in return, shaking her head. "No, I'm keeping the shop open regular hours.

And I'm too unnerved to calm down."

He arched a brow. "Ah, well. Good girl. So, tell me about Allie. I know I spoke with her yesterday. She's a very attractive woman, charming. Silver hair, silver eyes, slim, personable. She must be excellent at sales."

"Oh, she's wonderful! And she loves our line of clothing. We both do. Maggie's so talented."

"Yes, she is," he murmured, looking around the shop. Mannequins modeled a number of the garments. Maggie knew how to cut a dress, shirt, skirt or jacket to complement a feminine form. Even mannequins looked good in her clothing.

He turned back to Gema, still smiling. He was like the Rock of Gibraltar. She felt as if she had been drowning, and someone had thrown her a rope.

"Now ... Allie's just never late for work, huh?"

Gema shook her head. "She was here. That's the point. She'd already made coffee.

She's very proud of her coffee. Buying clothing here isn't just shopping. It's a social experience. We're in all the travel guides, you know."

"No, I didn't know. But good for you. So you believe that Allie came in and made coffee-"

"I know she did. Who else would open the doors, spruce up, and make the coffee?"

"You're probably right. It's just good to separate the 'probable' from absolute fact."

"Oh, certainly. Yes, I can see ..."

Gema broke off, because he was staring past her. She turned around. A little cry escaped her. To her amazement, she saw Allie hurrying back toward the front door of the shop.