There was a picture on the mantel, and he walked over to it. The photo had been taken when he and Sky had first started dating. But Hank was in it as well, along with Jake. It had been taken on stage one night, maybe at the casino stage in Florida, a smaller venue, maybe about seven thousand people, and it was one of the nights they had each come in for just a song or two. But the pride that both Jake and Hank wore on their faces was wide and touching, just like the way they all stood together, he and Sky in the middle, Hank and Jake flanking them.
He turned away from the picture, reminding himself that he was working. Someone in or connected to the band was selling drugs. Bad drugs. Not that they couldn’t kill on their own, but these had been contaminated with fentanyl.
Jake had known it, and Jake had died.
And if there was anything he could do for Sky’s father, it was going to be to keep his daughter safe. And between them, they would find the truth.
SKY HEADED FOR the shower. She realized she was arguing with him just to argue. She should be glad. Chase was on her side. Since she’d get nowhere by looking at the players and roadies and demanding to know if one of them had killed her father, it was great to have someone on her side.
Then again...
Hank McCoy was Chase’s grandfather. And he was on the suspect list. Was Chase open to believing his own grandfather might have killed Jake?
She doubted it; if someone had told her that her father was a murderer, she wouldn’t have believed it.
She turned the water on, not sure if she wanted it to be hot and soothing or cold enough to really wake her up and straighten her out.
Sky tried both, and both were good. But she hurried and dressed quickly and casually in jeans and a tunic and hurried down the stairs.
“Let’s go.”
“Don’t we both have cars here?” she asked.
“Leave yours.”
“Why don’t we leave yours?”
“Are you being argumentative for the sake of it? We’re going to my house.”
She winced. She was doing it again. Arguing just to argue.
“Fine. We’ll take your car.”
The distance between the Garden District and French Quarter wasn’t great, but Jake was an expert of winding his way around the tourists who seemed to think it was fine to suddenly step out into the street at any given minute.
“The problem with the French Quarter,” she murmured.
“Wandering tourists?” he asked. “No big deal. There’s not so many this close to Esplanade and Rampart. Anyway...we made it.”
He hit a button on a remote, and the gate that led to his courtyard swung open. He pulled his car into the garage, leaving room for those who were due to join them.
“They’ll take rideshares or walk, depending on where they’re staying,” Sky commented.
“Probably, but just in case...we’ve some room here. And it’s even possible to find spaces on this street this far from the river. Anyway, I’ve got to shower. I’ve ordered food, so if it gets here before I’m out—”
“I think it will be safe for me if I see that a food delivery is arriving.”
He didn’t reply but led the way through the kitchen entrance.
She remembered his home. And like her own, she thought, it was a great one. Having survived a number of serious fires, it was one of the oldest in the area, stemming from the late 1700s. But it had been treated with care through the years. It was a smaller house than hers with a narrower stairway, with touches of the period in the archways and architectural details. Her home was decidedly Victorian while his was more French Gothic, but both were part of what they loved about New Orleans: the history, the color and the music. Especially the music. She smiled, thinking about the wonderful performers she so often saw when she just took a walk down Royal Street.
“What?” Chase asked.
“What?”
“You’re thinking something and smiling,” Chase said.
“Just that I wonder... I mean, the guys started as kids, basically. My father being the grand old man in his twenties. And I wonder if they hadn’t all grown up surrounded by so much great music if they would have become the group that they were. It wasn’t one song—it wasn’t a vocalist or a guitarist or any one instrument. These guys loved and grew up with and studied music, all of them,” she said.
“As did we.”
“And I still love it and use it, just in a different way,” she assured him.
“Okay, so...the kitchen is smaller, but it has an island. So just in case—”
“I can safely handle food,” she assured him.
“Okay, I’m headed upstairs.”
“Go!”
He did, hurrying up the narrow flight that led to the second floor. He had a great balcony up there; they’d watched a few parades go by from that vantage point, though they took different routes now.
When he was gone, Sky slowly turned around, taking in the house. He’d either remained a fairly neat person or he had someone come in to clean. And while not the size of her place, he had a table in the dining area that stretched straight into the parlor that would seat eight, and there were plenty of sitting spaces in the parlor.
She walked to the left side of the house and found that one room was all but filled with a drum set. But Chase also played guitar, and he had a collection of tambourines and maracas. She smiled when she actually found a cowbell on the shelf along with the other smaller instruments.
What was he really doing with his life? she wondered.
