The Stranger Next Door. Joanna Wayne

of course, eating. Sugary beignets, steaming café au lait, shrimp po-boy sandwiches. By late afternoon, when she’d finally eaten and shopped her way from Jackson Square to the far end of Royal Street, she’d ducked into an open-air café and treated herself to a rum-and-punch drink that tasted far more innocent than it felt. She was just a tad giddy now, ready for a quick shower before she collapsed in front of the TV.

      By this time tomorrow, she’d be in Kelman, Texas. She’d be opening long-shut closets and rattling family skeletons that might be better left hidden away. She’d have been there today if she’d known her friend Beth was going to have to rush out of town on an unexpected family emergency. But there was no reason to change her flight plans. The day’s break gave her a chance to spend time in one of her favorite cities.

      She stopped at the corner to get her bearings. Her hotel was nearby—at least she thought it was. Fishing in her pocket, she pulled out the map she’d picked up at the hotel. She unfolded it, manhandling the unwieldy square of paper until she could catch enough illumination from the streetlight.

      Running her finger down the crease, she located the X that marked the location of the hotel. It was two blocks west of where she was standing and one block back toward the river. About two blocks more than she felt like walking but not far enough to justify taking a taxi.

      She turned down the side street, the most direct route. It was the same street she’d taken this morning when she’d left the hotel, but it looked different at dusk. Without the warming glow of the sun, the century-old buildings were stark and intimidating. Worse, the daytime crowd had gone home and the night revelers hadn’t appeared on the scene.

      Actually, there was no one around except a skinny guy leaning against a balcony support post a few yards in front of her. He stared at her openly and then took the cigarette that dangled from his mouth and dropped it to the street, grinding it beneath the toe of his scuffed shoe.

      The concierge’s warning ran through her mind. The Quarter is safe as long as you stay on the main streets, the ones populated with tourists.

      Apprehension quickened her pulse. She considered going back the way she had come, but the man turned and disappeared inside a doorway right behind him.

      She stopped at the corner, then crossed the street. One more block to the river. A boat whistle blasted in the distance. A series of car horns blared from the direction of Canal Street and footsteps sounded behind her. She spun around just as a man’s arm wrapped around her neck.

      “Let go of me!” His fist pounded against her skull. She stamped her feet and tried to twist free, but the man’s grip was like iron. “Who are you? What do you want?”

      He hit her again, and then she saw the blade of his knife. She kicked and tried to jerk away as he aimed it toward her chest. He missed his mark, but not completely. The blood was dripping from her side, running down her skirt and legs. She stretched her neck to get a glimpse of her attacker’s face. But he wore a ridiculous Mardi Gras mask. All she could see were his eyes. Cold. Angry.

      Her head was spinning. Her eyes refused to focus. And still he was hitting her with his horrible fists and dragging her away. Black walls closed in around her. And she was falling. Falling…falling…

      And finally there was…nothing.

      Chapter One

      Langley Randolph ducked out of the rain and into the front door of Gus’s Corner Café. He shook the moisture from his Stetson hat and stamped the mud from his boots.

      “Not a fit night out for man nor beast,” Gus called from behind the counter. He wiped his hands on the white work apron that stretched over his ample paunch. “What brings you into town?”

      “Work. The storm triggered the alarm at Higgins’s Supermarket. I expected as much, but I had to eyeball the place and make certain it was nothing else.”

      “Higgins needs to shell out a little cash and update that system. His alarm goes off if the wind blows crooked. Still, I’m glad for your company. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

      “You can.” Langley shed his jacket and tossed it over one of the spare hooks supplied for the purpose. “I can use the caffeine. I’ve got a little more work to do before I can call it a night.”

      “Looks like you’re serious about your temporary stint as sheriff.”

      “Not by choice. I’ll take my cud-chewing critters to trouble-causing humans any day.”

      “Well, you can’t blame your brother for wanting a honeymoon. If I had a wife half as pretty as Lacy, I might even chuck my boots under the bed and pull on one of them flowered Hi-waiian shirts.”

      “Yeah, well, it would take more than a woman for me to wear that getup.”

      “You just haven’t met the right woman yet. Everyone said Branson would never take the plunge and he was grinnin’ like a mule eatin’ thistles when the preacher tightened that marriage knot around his neck.”

      “That was Branson. This is me.” Langley settled onto a bar stool at the counter.

      “This is a new brand of coffee,” Gus said, setting a mug of steaming brew in front of Langley. “All the big restaurants in San Antonio have switched to it. At least that’s what my supplier said.”

      Langley tried it while Gus watched.

      “How’s it taste?” he asked before Langley placed the cup back on the counter.

      “Like a new brand.”

      “I mean, do you like it?”

      “It’s coffee. I liked the old brand just fine.”

      “You’re stuck in your ways, Langley Randolph. Do you know that?” Gus leaned over the table and wiped at a stain that didn’t want to give up. “Just plain stuck in your ways about everything except your cows. You got to have all the latest breeding methods on your ranch, but you want everything else about your life to stay the same. That’s why you don’t have a wife.”

      “Right. So how about one of those same old cheeseburgers you make? And a side of those same old onion rings?”

      Gus grinned. “Well, at least you’ve got good taste. I’ll fix me one and join you. I doubt I’ll get any more paying customers tonight in this downpour. Everybody’s home propping their feet under their own table.”

      “Yeah. Too bad we didn’t get this rain about August when my grass was dying from the drought.”

      “Well, then we wouldn’t be living in south Texas, would we?”

      Gus grabbed a couple of beef patties from the cooler and plopped them onto the hot grill. They spit and sputtered, and Langley’s stomach reacted appropriately. He’d have preferred to be one of the folks with their feet stretched under their own table tonight, but if he had to be out, Gus was as good company as any. Actually, better than most he’d talked to today. At least Gus didn’t have any complaints he wanted to report to the acting sheriff.

      Three days into his new role and Langley was eager to hand the lawman’s duties back to Branson. He’d never wanted to be deputized again, but he was the only available man with any kind of experience. He’d worked as deputy for almost a year right after he’d graduated from college and filled in from time to time since then.

      But he had lost his taste for the work. Now he liked running the ranch, tending his cattle, researching the latest methods for producing the best beef in the most economical fashion.

      But the Randolphs always stuck together, so he couldn’t very well turn down his brother’s request to fill in for him for two weeks while he honeymooned. Branson had his young deputy, Gordon, on the payroll, but Gordon claimed he wasn’t ready to take charge just yet. That left the job of acting sheriff to Langley.

      The bell over the door tinkled, and Langley stretched his neck and looked around.