Page 39 of The Unforgiven
“Too bad. Awesome show. Some of the storylines are off the hook.”
“Whatever that means.” Quinn laughed as she took a sip of water. The food really was delicious, if a bit spicy.
“It means like—you know—badass.”
“Right.”
“You are kind of badass,” Brett said shyly.
“Me?”
“Well, yeah. You’re an archeologist, and you get to go to all these exciting places. And you have your own show. God, I’ve never seen Dad so proud. He’s telling everyone about you, as if he’s had a hand in shaping the person you are. He might have lived his whole life and not known of your existence. And here you are.”
“It must be very strange for you to have me here,” Quinn said, sensing Brett’s bitterness. He was Seth’s only son. Surely Seth was proud of him.
“You could say that,” Brett replied. “Anyway, it was fun to visit the plantation. I’m glad we came. Seeing all that splendor kind of made me wish the Confederacy had prevailed.”
“Do you sympathize with the Confederate cause?” Quinn asked carefully. She knew there were many people in the South who still proudly displayed Confederate flags and memorabilia.
“I belong to a reenactment group,” Brett replied, “but that’s just for fun. It’s kind of cool to put on uniforms, wheel out the cannons, and run around with antique guns. And the girls dig it,” he added with a happy grin. “Got laid more than once while in my full Confederate getup. The ladies look bitchin’ in their hoop skirts and bonnets. Takes a lot of fumbling to get beneath all that jazz, but so worth it.” Brett looked like he was about to reminisce some more but then recalled the question. “I definitely don’t support slavery or oppression of any kind. I enjoy learning aboutthat time in our history, but only from an academic point of view.” The statement sounded stiff and rehearsed, but he seemed to mean it.
Quinn smiled. She might have nothing in common with Seth, but Brett was a kindred spirit, even if he used history to shag. He wouldn’t be the first or the last person to enjoy a bit of role-playing, and there was always plenty of tent-hopping at any dig. After all, that was how she’d met Luke.
TWENTY-ONE
Quinn stopped in front of the entrance to St. Louis Cemetery No. 1, the oldest cemetery in New Orleans, and it looked the part. The mausoleums and tombs looked weathered and neglected, the stone cracking and crumbling from centuries of inclement weather and the settling of the ground. Not a single headstone stood perfectly upright, and many of the more elaborate tombs looked like they might fold like a house of cards if a strong enough wind blew through the cemetery. But the cemetery had withstood Hurricane Katrina, so perhaps it wasn’t as derelict as it first appeared, Quinn mused as she strolled down the central avenue. It certainly looked different than it had in Madeline’s time, when most of the gravestones were still fairly recent. Several tourists milled around, but they remained mostly in the front part of the cemetery, taking photographs and reading the names on the tombs.
Quinn walked past the Besson vault, which had taken a beating over the years, and made her way toward the back wall, where Madeline’s parents were interred. This part of the cemetery was completely deserted, the silence almost eerie. It took time to find the right tombs, since most of the lettering had been obliterated by time and weather, but at last, Quinn found what she was looking for.
Charles Besson
Died August 4, 1858
Aged 37
Quinn looked from side to side but couldn’t see the headstone for Corinne Besson. She was sure Corinne’s headstone had been to the left of Charles’s, but there was nothing, save a crumbling stone coffin that had sunk into the earth and was barely visible. Quinn moved closer to see if the headstone might havefallen backward, but it wasn’t there at all. No headstone, no bits of broken masonry, and no indentation where the headstone might have once stood. Odd. Corinne had definitely been interred there. Quinn looked around to see if the stone might have been moved for some reason, but all the other tombs still had intact gravestones. Someone had removed Corinne’s headstone. But why?
Quinn took a photo of the tombs with her mobile and hurried toward the exit. She’d visited countless cemeteries in her life, but this one set her teeth on edge. There was an atmosphere here, a presence almost, of something sinister and frightening that made her quicken her step. This was not a place of eternal rest, but a gateway to an eternity of torment and suffering. Quinn knew she was being fanciful and ridiculous, but she felt the hair at the nape of her neck stand on end, as if someone were walking just behind her, their footsteps crunching on the path as they drew closer.
She whipped around, her heart pounding with irrational fear, and drew up short, her eyes widening in surprise. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t Luke, who appeared to have been following her down the narrow path leading back to the main avenue.
“Hello, Quinn.”
“Care to explain?” Quinn asked. “You scared me half to death.” With her heart rate slowly returning to normal, she was more annoyed now than frightened.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I was walking toward your hotel when I saw you turning into the cemetery, so I followed. You seemed so intent on whatever you were doing that I thought it best to wait to speak to you after you had finished.”
Quinn gazed at Luke in confusion. “Why were you walking to my hotel, and how do you even know which hotel I’m staying at? And what are you doing in New Orleans? Are you not living in Boston these days?” She resumed walking toward the exit with Luke close on her heels. She really had no desire to talk to him. She just wanted to get back to her room and call Gabe.
“Can I take you to lunch?” Luke asked instead of answering her questions.
“Actually, I already have plans,” Quinn replied. She was due to meet Seth in half an hour in the lobby of her hotel. They had plans to visit the French Market and have lunch at Café de Monde. Seth had a light day at the office and wanted to spend a few hours with her.
“Quinn, please, wait,” Luke pleaded. “I want to talk to you.”
“Then you can talk while we walk.”
“All right. Look, Monica told me you were in New Orleans, and I thought it was too good an opportunity to miss.”
