Page 29 of Girl Between (Dana Gray FBI Mystery Thriller #5)

Dana stood under the powerful stream of steaming water in her shower. She sighed in relief, grateful to be back in the shelter of her well-appointed hotel room.

Hotel Monteleone didn’t skimp on luxury. Especially since she’d secured one of the coveted writer’s suites. She’d rented a regular room, but when she’d arrived, the front desk told her she’d been upgraded.

Instantly acclimating to the elevated lodging, she resented learning it was Jake who’d secured the unnecessary lavishness through one of his many contacts.

Each time she found herself enjoying any of the amenities, a crushing guilt washed over her, ruining the indulgence.

It seemed escaping him was impossible. Which she was reminded of yet again today, when her one and only dalliance showed up at her place of work on Jake’s behest—something she was going to give him an earful about when she worked up the courage to call him.

Dana massaged her scalp, attempting to rid herself of shampoo and shame. She was only successful with the former.

When she’d had her fill of the Carrera marble shower, she turned off the water and dressed in the Monteleone’s luxurious white terry bathrobe.

Wrapping her hair in a towel, she padded barefoot into the living room of her suite.

She turned on the room’s vintage record player, and the sultry sounds of John Coltrane filled the space.

Dana poured herself a glass of red wine and crossed the room to the large picture window that overlooked the French Quarter.

She sat on the low, wide windowsill. The double casement windows had been designed to open in the middle, allowing the breeze from the mighty Mississippi to drift in and cool the upper floors in the summer months.

Unfortunately, they no longer functioned, most likely due to hotel safety measures.

Despite the quiet, Dana knew that floors above and below her thrived with the lively pulse of the city. If she wasn’t still nursing a hangover, she might’ve been tempted to visit the rooftop pool or the hotel’s famous Carousel Bar.

Thanks to having had her fill of fun last night, she was more than satisfied to stay in, letting the world-class cuisine from Criollo, the hotel’s restaurant, find its way to her room tonight.

In the weeks she’s been in residence at Hotel Monteleone, Dana had perfected her room service order. Burrata salad, vegetarian bisque, and butterscotch bread pudding. Tonight, she’d added an order of truffle fries to ensure she’d be able to slip into a food coma and sleep off her endless hangover.

When she heard the knock at her door, she was already salivating. But it wasn’t a bowtie-wearing staff member who greeted her. Instead, she found herself face-to-face with Detective Vincent George, yet again.

“Detective?”

“Sorry to drop in unannounced, again, but?—”

“How do you know where I’m staying?” she interrupted.

His dimpled grin disarmed her. “Detective, remember?”

“You’re used to that phrase getting you out of everything, aren’t you?”

He shrugged. “Shepard may have told me where you were staying. ”

“Why?” she demanded, hands on her robed hips.

“Can I come in?” George asked.

Dana sighed, but reluctantly stepped aside, inviting George in. “Give me a minute to get dressed,” she insisted.

When she exited the oversized dressing room a few minutes later in her navy cotton pajama set, she found George seated on her sofa, a room service cart in front of him.

“Hey!” she yelled when she saw the silver domed lid had been removed from her truffle fries.

“Sorry,” he muttered around a mouthful of fries. “These are my kryptonite.”

“Mine, too,” she snapped, grabbing the plate from him. “And I hadn’t planned on sharing!”

George wiped his mouth with a white linen napkin and gestured for Dana to take a seat. Aggravation coursed through her considering he was the one imposing on her accommodations, but still, she sat.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“I spoke to Jake.”

It was all Dana could do to keep her cool. “And?”

“And I asked him about your field of expertise.”

That hadn’t been what she was expecting. “What about it?”

“Shepard seems to think you’re the real deal. And that’s what I’m currently in need of.”

Dana pushed past the surge of emotion the compliment evoked. “What do you mean?”

“Today, when I stopped by your office, the mask you were examining … A case recently came across my desk,” he said. “The victim was wearing an eerily similar mask.”

Dana stilled. “A Venetian death mask?”

“That’s why I’m here,” George replied. “It seems you’re the only one who can verify that.”

She swallowed, warily eyeing the shoulder bag next to him. “Do you have it with you?”

“No. It’s evidence in an active investigation. I’d have to take you to the precinct to examine it. ”

Dana shook her head. “I doubt you have the tools I’d need to authenticate it. It’d be better if you brought it to my office.”

George raised his brows. “So, you’ll help with my investigation?”

“I-I didn’t say that,” she stammered, suddenly backpedaling.

“Why not? This is what you do, isn’t it?”

“It is, or it was,” she corrected, reluctant to get pulled back into the life she was trying to escape. “My last case has made me reconsider some things.”

“Like what?”

Dana surprised herself by answering truthfully. “Whether I can trust my instincts.”

“Shepard feels differently.”

“He said that?”

George nodded. “He trusts you with his life, and that’s a stamp of approval I don’t take lightly.”

The words had been meant as a compliment, but they cut Dana deep, tearing open wounds that had yet to heal.

“So, what do you say?” George pressed.

“I’ll take a look at the mask, but I’m here at the behest of NOSA. I’ll have to clear it with them first since I’ll need to use their equipment to authenticate it.”

“That won’t be a problem,” George said confidently. “Dr. Broussard is an old friend.”

“Of course he is,” Dana muttered to herself as she took a bite of her now cold truffle fries.

“So, what’s the deal with this death mask you’re studying?” George asked, making himself more comfortable on Dana’s couch.

“It’s a ceremonial death mask used in Venetian funerals dating back to the thirteenth century.”

“And it’s related to vampires?”

“What makes you say that?”

George sat up and fished his phone from his pocket. He pulled a photo up on the screen and handed it to Dana. “Because the vic we found wearing the mask was drained of blood.”

Dana stared at the photo of the startlingly pale corpse. The woman’s white dress was in the colonial French fashion of the 18th century. “She looks like a Casquette Girl.”

“You do know your stuff,” George admired.

“What I don’t know could fill a book,” she quipped.

“Tell me more.”

Dana looked closer at the photograph, the legend of the filles a la cassette , or Casquette Girls, surfacing in her mind.

“It all started in 1704, when King Louis IV, ordered the shipment of virtuous young women from convents and orphanages in France to be contracted to marry the Christian men of the growing French colonies in the New World.

“The first Casquette Girls sent to New Orleans arrived in 1727, making them the original mothers of the Crescent City. But first they had to survive the harrowing journey across the Atlantic.

“Yellow fever, famine, and disease claimed many of their lives during the long voyage. Those who endured the grueling months at sea were said to look like ghosts when they disembarked.

“As the women waited for their belongings to be unloaded from the ship, their unnaturally pale skin blistered in the sunlight within moments. That and the casket-sized trunks, or cassettes , they traveled with, birthed the legend that the women were vampires.

“It didn’t help that the mysterious Casquette Girls were housed and educated by the Ursuline nuns until they were married off, sparking even more rumors about the pale women who resided inside the convent with their coffins.”

Dana had been hoping to visit the famed Ursuline Convent while she was in town, but had yet to find the time.

“So, you believe all the legends?” George asked.

“I believe most legends are based in fact. It’s my job to discern fact from fiction.”

“What have you discerned about vampires?”

“There’s plenty of historical evidence to support the legends, such as Vlad the Impaler, Mayan blood rituals, the bleeding gums of plague victims, tuberculosis, and so on. To the uneducated, each of these could’ve easily been misinterpreted and led to mass hysteria. ”

George scratched his chin, nodding. “What’s your stance on Voodoo?”

“That Marie Laveau was a highly gifted herbalist with a flair for theatrics, which has regrettably led to the common misconception that Voodoo is evil.”

George leaned back and stretched his arms along the couch with a wide grin. “We’re gonna get along just fine.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The body,” he said, pointing to the photo on his phone, “was missing more than just blood. The liver was removed, too. And right now, the popular opinion around the precinct is Voodoo and vampires.”

“You’re not serious?” Dana guffawed. “The number of scenarios that could account for missing organs and blood is unquantifiable.”

“My thoughts exactly,” George said. He popped one more truffle fry in his mouth before climbing to his feet. “Jake was right. You’re the real deal. I’ll bring the mask to your office tomorrow so we can get to work. And don’t make dinner plans. I’m taking you out for a real meal.”

“There is nothing wrong with room service,” Dana argued. “It’s actually quite good when it’s not cold.”

George laughed, flashing that giant smile of his.

“Anywhere else in the world, I might agree with you. But you can’t taste Nawlins holed up in a hotel room.

Someone with as much knowledge as you should know better.

” With that, he turned and headed out the door, leaving Dana with a cold meal and burning cheeks.