Page 22 of One Last Regret

The end? The end of what? What is he talking about?

Before I have a chance to ask him, he closes the door in my face. I stand there, heart pounding, and wonder for the first time if I might be in danger myself.

Vie Apres a la Mortmight not be cursed, but there is no doubt a hex surrounds this family. I fear that by involving myself, I am bringing this hex down on my own head.

CHAPTER TEN

On my way home, I call Sean. He answers on the first ring. I love him for that. It’s a simple thing, and maybe a somewhat silly thing, but it means a lot to me to know that he’s always available for me.

“Hello, my love. No doubt you’re calling to tell me you miss me very much and can’t wait to come home.”

I smile softly. “I do miss you. And I do look forward to the day when my travels will be over, and I can enjoy a peaceful retirement with you.”

“But you need something from me.”

I frown. “Don’t be so catty about it.”

“I’m not being catty. I just like reminding you every now and then that I know you well enough to read your mind.”

I roll my eyes. “How proud of yourself you must be.”

“I amquiteproud,” he agrees, “but before I push you too far and make you actually angry with me, tell me what you need.”

“I need you to research a gentleman named Jacques Poitier, a jazz pianist. Find me whatever you can on a rivalry between him and Marcel Lacroix.”

"Ooh. Drama in the Gem of the South. What is this Poitier alleged to have done?"

“He cursed one of Marcel’s compositions.”

Sean is silent for a moment. Then he says, “Mary… you don’t actually believe that there could be a curse, do you?”

Now, Iamirritated. “No, Sean, I don’t actually think there’s some sort of witch’s curse. But Idosuspect that Marcel’s death as well as that of Claude Durand could involve some foul play.”

“Claude Durand? Who’s he?”

“He’s the manager of the Midnight Melody, the jazz club Josephine Lacroix owns. He died a few nights ago after Gabriel—that’s Marcel’s grandson—played the piece Poitier is alleged to have cursed. I want you to look up that piece too. It’s calledVie Apres a la Mort.I’ll send you a picture.”

There is another silence. Then Sean says with a touch of concern in his voice. “Oh, Mary. What have you gotten yourself into this time?”

“I’m not in the mood for patronization, Sean. Can you help me?”

"Obviously, I can help you, Mary. But I don't think it's evil of me to express concern for you. You said you were going to New Orleans to look for signs of your sister. Instead, you're in the middle of another scandal that isn't properly your business, and—"

“Must we have this conversation again, Sean? You know I can’t just allow innocents’ deaths to go unavenged.”

He sighs. “We don’t need to have this conversation againyet.But there’s an entire other side to the conversation that you’re glossing over, and wewillhave that part of the conversation again. Not now, though. Send me what you have, and I’ll see what I can learn. But for God’s sake, Mary, remember you have a man who loves you at home and will be very sad if you’re dead. Please don’t make me come save your life again.”

I feel a touch of guilt when he says that. In several of my past mysteries, Sean has arrived in the nick of time to do exactly that. I confess I don’t think often enough about how much worry he must feel for me.

“I will. I won’t put myself in danger. To be honest, this is probably nothing, but…”

“But you have to know.”

“I’m sorry.”

"No, you're not."

His voice is playful now, and the tension leaves my shoulders. “Well, I love you.”

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