"At the moment?" he replied. "I'm in the middle of relocating."

"Are you thinking about moving to New Orleans?" Deanna asked.

"It's a great place," he said.

"I guess," Deanna managed around a yawn, then excused herself quickly. "Not a lot of sleep to be had here, though."

He noticed that Lauren was just staring at him. Suspiciously.

"What do you do for a living?" Deanna asked.

Lauren elbowed her friend and gave her a reproving look, but he only laughed out loud. "It's okay. I'm a writer and a musician."

"What do you play?" Lauren asked sharply.

"Piano, guitar."

"Do you write music?" Deanna asked.

"Sometimes. But mostly I confine my writing to article and, some fiction."

"Cool," Heidi said.

"Horror novels?" Lauren asked pointedly. Those green eyes of hers didn't leave him for a second. He disturbed her, he thought.

Why?

"I've tried a few different things in my day."

"Are you rich and famous?" Heidi teased.

"No, I'm sorry. Just plodding along," he told her.

"I'm not sure I believe that," Deanna said. "You probably have a pseudonym but you're not going to share it, right?"

"Nothing that deep or mysterious, I'm afraid."

"Well, nice to meet you," Lauren said. She set a hand on Heidi's shoulder, her eyes still on him warily. "We need to get moving."

"What's the hurry?" Heidi asked.

"You said you wanted to go shopping," Lauren reminded her. "Nice to see you again, Mr. Davidson, but we need to get going." "It was super to meet you," Deanna said. Her voice was low and throaty. Sensual.

"Absolutely," Heidi agreed. She seemed to croon the single word.

"We'll be seeing you again, I a.s.sume. After all, we are staying in the same place," Deanna said.

"Yes, we are," Lauren murmured. She didn't sound happy about the fact, he noticed.

"You're here for a few days?" Heidi asked.

"I am. Cottage six."

"That's right next door to us," Lauren said, unable to hide her surprise.

"Is it?" he inquired.

"I guess we really will see you," Lauren said, her suspicion and aggravation evident in her tone. "But right now, we really do have to get going," she said firmly.

She turned, walking determinedly toward the street.

"See you," Deanna said, and winked.

"Later," Heidi told him.

"Sure. Enjoy New Orleans," he said, and he sat and pretended to give his full attention to his newspaper once again.

"My G.o.d, you met him last night and you didn't say anything, much less introduce him?" Heidi marveled, staring at Lauren as they headed toward Royal Street.

"I didn't exactly meet him," Lauren said. "I b.u.mped into him."

"I only b.u.mp into eighty-year-old men with canes," Deanna said mournfully.

"He's...magnetic," Heidi said.

Lauren shot her a quick glance.

"Don't look at me like that. I love Barry, and I honestly believe we're going to beat the odds and be married forever. But if I'd b.u.mped into that guy, I wouldn't have forgotten it. But you? You didn't say a word to us."

Lauren let out a sigh. "What on earth was I supposed to say? We didn't have drinks, we didn't go to dinner. I b.u.mped into him in a hallway."

"I'd have mentioned it," Deanna said. She let out a sigh.

"He's staying at our B and B," Heidi commented.

"Yes."

Deanna stopped walking and laughed. "Heidi, did you hear that? Lauren, you said that one and filled it with more suspicion than I can believe. What's the big deal? You b.u.mped into him in New Orleans-and he's staying in New Orleans. Imagine that." "He's staying in New Orleans at our B and B," Lauren said.

"I call that cool," Heidi said.

"You're engaged," Lauren reminded her.

"But not dead," Heidi said with a smile.

"What's the matter with you, Lauren?" Deanna asked. "You're not usually like this. The guy is gorgeous and he seemed nice.

What's your problem?"

Lauren arched a brow and shook her head. "I don't know. I guess I was just nervous last night. And he was standing outside after we first got back last night, I'm certain. I saw him out on the street."

"He's staying here we are. He had to be on the street to get here," Heidi pointed out, a smile curving her lips.

"Cute," Lauren told her. "Then I found Deanna out by the pool-sleepwalking!"

"You were sleepwalking?" Heidi asked Deanna.

"I guess. Luckily, Lauren found me before I drowned. Then again, the water might have woken me up. Who knows?"

"We probably shouldn't have taken the red-eye." Heidi said.

"Today is going to be great," Lauren a.s.sured her. "Turn here. That clothing shop you wanted to go to is down a few blocks on the right. I want to go to that gallery across the way. I'll meet you guys in the place with the great hats in half an hour."

When they reached Heidi's goal, she shooed them inside and walked on.

New Orleans Police Lieutenant Sean Canady sat at his desk in the precinct, staring at the newspaper.

Headless corpse.

It was happening again. He groaned aloud.

"Hey, Lieutenant."

He looked up to see Bobby Munro standing in front of him.

"Hey, Bobby." He didn't ask his officer if he had seen the headline; he couldn't have helped but see it.

"The Mississippi's a big river. That body could have come from anywhere," Bobby said. "And there have been plenty of perps who behead their victims. Get rid of the head, stall the identification."

Bobby was a d.a.m.ned good officer, Sean thought. Young and good-looking, he was nevertheless a fine cop. He'd seen a h.e.l.l of a lot already, but he hadn't become jaded. Bobby saw himself as one of the good guys, and he still believed he could create a better world.

Sean leaned back at his desk, looking up at Bobby. He'd been around a lot longer himself, and while he wasn't exactly jaded, he was weary. He came from this area. He knew he had the respect of his superiors, from the mayor up to the governor-h.e.l.l, even up to the Feds. He was given a lot of leeway in his investigations. His word was considered good. So were his instincts.

And he didn't like this. "An organized killer, trying to hide an ID, would almost certainly have cut off the hands, as well," he said. "We've still got fingerprints, and I have a hunch we'll have an ID on our vic soon enough."

"Drug deal gone bad?" Bobby suggested hopefully.

Sean shrugged. "Keep an eye out," he said.

"Right. And you remember, Lieutenant. The Mississippi? A big, big river."

"Yeah," Sean said, smiling grimly. "But the corpse is in our morgue."

Lauren finished her shopping and arranged for the small piece of art she'd chosen to be delivered to the B and B, then stepped out onto Royal Street. The sun was bright. She shaded her eyes with one hand while she fumbled in her bag for her sungla.s.ses with the other.

One of the mule-drawn carriages drove by. She blinked, then squinted against the glare. She could have sworn Deanna was in it-on the front seat, right next to the driver, who was tall and dark, and wearing a top hat.

The carriage kept going at a brisk pace.

"Deanna?" she called, following after it. But there were cars on the street, as well, and she had to move quickly back to the sidewalk and maneuver around all the people there. The carriage was far beyond her before she finally gave up trying to follow it.

Besides, itt couldn't have been Deanna, she told herself. Deanna wouldn't have taken a carriage ride by herself, not when she was supposed to be shopping with Heidi.

But when Lauren made it across the street to one of her favorite clothing shops, she found Heidi in the back alone, trying on hats.

"Hey," Heidi said. "How's this?"

The straw hat she was trying on was wide-brimmed and sported a bright flower, and Heidi wore it well.

"Perfect," Lauren said. "Where's Deanna?"

"She said something about the shop next door," Heidi said. "She said she'd be right back."

"I could have sworn I just saw her in a carriage."

"Why would she take a carriage ride without us?" Heidi asked.

"She wouldn't."

"Then you probably just saw someone who looked like her," Heidi said. "You know, this place is a little pricey, but this really is a nice hat. Should I buy it?"

"Yes," Lauren said, still distracted. "I'm going to check next door."

Heidi turned and stared at her. "You sound worried."

"No, not really."

"Lauren, it's broad daylight. There are a zillion people on the streets." "I know."

"Okay." She sighed. "Let's look for Deanna."

"Buy your hat. I'll check next door."

"Okay, I'll meet you there."

When she stepped back onto the street, Lauren was practically a.s.saulted by music. She came to a dead halt.

There was something happening in the street. A jazz funeral. The mule-drawn hea.r.s.e, escorted by mounted police, pa.s.sed just as she emerged. Behind the hea.r.s.e came the mourners and, with them, the musicians. It was a spectacle not everyone got to see, something unique, sad yet wonderful, to be found in the city. Someone was about to be laid to rest in grand fashion.

The procession had to be on its way from the church to the cemetery-something of a long route from here, Lauren thought. The musicians were playing a dirge now, but she'd been to several jazz funerals in her life, and she knew that once they left the cemetery there would be a celebration of the deceased's life. Often the band would play "When the Saints Go Marching In," the old standby. It was an old custom, African beliefs blended with western religion.

On the street, everyone had stopped, watching the procession go slowly by.