Heather Graham by Down in New Orleans Read Free Book Online

some tourists, some locals who just really knew where to find the best local jazz music. And there were, of course, the four male dancers—each guy in a different shade, built like Adonis. But despite the male appearances, women usually sat at the back tables, in the shadows. Some necked, some sipped drinks. Sometimes they watched when the girls danced; sometimes they didn’t.
    Cindy knew her routine. It was as natural as breathing. It was easy enough to follow with her mind engaged elsewhere.
    With Gina.
    Gina was dead. They’d be crucifying Jon Marcel for what had happened.
    Gina’s killer would walk free.
    Would walk free...maybe. Oh, God, would they pin it on Jon? Would everyone else associated with Gina still be in danger now?
    She was jarred from her thoughts at the end of her number when well-known sounds of one of the trumpets suddenly halted. The other musicians quickly picked up the sound and the beat. Someone not accustomed to the perfection of the jazz band might not have even noticed a slip in the music.
    Cindy looked toward the dais across the room where the Dixie Boys played.
    Crouched down on the floor, swaying her hips to the last few notes of her routine, she tossed back her hair to watch what was going on. Gregory Hanson. She had known, of course. She loved his trumpet, loved his talent, and she knew instantly that he had been the one to suddenly cease to play.
    The news had just gotten to the band. Gina was dead.
    Gregory was leaving the dais.
    He was a huge man, muscled like a prizefighter, ebony black, sleek as a panther. Virile, striking. A power in himself. As Cindy watched, he strode across the room.
    Only to be stopped by Harry Duval.
    The men were probably shouting; they were both tense and fierce. Furious. Arguing.
    Yet, miraculously, no one seemed to realize or notice the altercation. No one noticed because the band kept playing, and because the gentlemen in the room had burst into applause for her dance.
    And her final pose, she was quite certain.
    Gregory slammed a palm against Harry Duval’s shoulder. Harry’s eyes narrowed, sharp and glittering, but he didn’t respond with violence. He set a hand on Gregory’s shoulder, speaking softly and quickly.
    The two men disappeared together, stepping through the crowds and outside of the club.
    Cindy wondered just when Gina had been found, if the police had determined when she had been murdered. Neither man had reached the club until ten P.M. that night. She hadn’t gotten there until nine, and the men had come after her.
    The applause continued to crash down around her. She rose, smiled, bowed, waved. She spun around to leave the stage, exiting with all the speed that she could.
    Only then did she allow the tears to slide down her cheeks. Tears of pain for a friend. And tears of...fear.
    For herself.
    Dr. Lee Minh, one of the city’s top medical examiners, would perform the autopsy on Gina L’Aveau. He and Jimmy and Mark had worked together often enough to cement some strong professional bonds between them.
    When they left the hospital, Mark sent Jimmy home and went on to the morgue himself. Lee had prepped the body for autopsy, then waited for Mark.
    “Sure you want to be here for the whole thing?” Lee asked him. “You know I’ll give you a complete, detailed report.”
    Gina lay on a stainless steel gurney, naked, ready for Lee’s knife.
    He should go home, Mark thought. No one required him to be here. Lee would give him a detailed report. Lee missed nothing.
    He walked to the gurney, looking down at Gina. The dead stripper had once been a beautiful girl, not yet too hardened by the life she had chosen to lead. Her lifeblood had drained from her through the gash at her throat; she was as pale as snow. Her eyes were now closed. Minus the gaping red gash, she might have been Snow White asleep on a pillow, dark hair still rich and lustrous, framing the white beauty of her face.
    He owed her.
    He backed away. “If I’m not bothering