Diana Racine 02 - Goddess of the Moon

spooked nearly everyone else off this case. Everyone but you. Anyone following the h unt for a vicious killer knew that.”
    * * * * *
    T he next day, a s Stallings predicted, the mention of Lucier’s name sparked Compton to ask about Diana. He followed up with an invitation to bring her along and to meet at his home rather than his office.
    If Compton is behind any nefarious activities , his predictability quotient will work against him. Lucier stayed at Diana’s that night, something he was doing more often , and by ten the next morning they started out for the Compton home in the French Quarter.
    “Compton has homes all over the place―New York, L.A., even Paris, but this is his in-town residence,” Lucier said. “I’ve heard it’s spectacular, so thanks for taking me along.”
    She socked him gently in the arm. “Wise guy.”
    “If he wasn’t anxious to meet you, I’d have met him at his office. Now I’ ll see a part of New Orleans only a chosen few have seen.”
    “Why at his house and not his office?” Diana asked.
    “To impress you , my dear .”
    * * * * *
    D iana knew residential treasures existed in the French Quarter, but she’d never have noticed this gem solidly hidden behind elaborate iron gates, which parted like the Red Sea to let them enter . The guard on duty nodded to Diana and asked for Lucier ’s identification , which he handed over . No impostors welcome. After checking his clipboard , the guard indicated where Lucier should park. A middle-aged man waited to open Diana’s door. The dark suit couldn’t hide the bulge of a weapon or his Mr. Olympia physique.
    “Mr. Compton is expecting you in his study,” he said. “This way.”
    Diana leaned over and whispered in Lucier’s ear. “ You think? Photograph comparison s, waiting butlers, or is this hulk a bodyguard? I’m almost flattered.”
    “Maybe Compton’s panting to meet the hero cop,” Lucier teased.
    She laughed, but the tension inside didn’t ease until she stepped out of the car and into a lush tropical garden surrounding an elaborate fountain . Perfume filled the air, and the mist from the fountain felt almost therapeutic. Instead of the bronzes of gods and goddesses she expected, the sculptures were surprisingly contemporary . She felt like she’d just entered Wonderland.
    The old brick walkway led to the entrance where a maid ushered them into a large mahogany paneled room. A fancy gilt-framed landscape adorned the wall opposite a massive fireplace bordered by hand-painted Portuguese tiles, chosen, Diana assumed, to match the painting. A quick glance at Corot’s signature confirmed her suspicion of an original old master. She saw Lucier scan the room, probably searching either for cameras or some connection to the occult. A few classical bronzes of gods and goddesses were evident in the artfully arranged bookcases but nothing she’d consider satanic.
    Compton rose from an ornate desk and walked eagerly toward them with long strides. He stood as tall as Lucier, with a golf-course tan and piercing blue eyes that studied his visitors with intelligent curiosity. His features were classic and masculine: straight nose, square chin, and a broad forehead under a head of thick, graying hair, cut short. He wore knife-creased slacks and an open-collar, striped dress shirt with a monogram on one of the cuffs.
    “Lieutenant Lucier, Miss Racine, this is indeed a pleasure.”
    His pleasure clearly targeted her when he lowered his head to kiss her hand, European style. She flashed Lucier a cutesy shrug and smiled, but when she looked down , she gasped at the sight. H er hand, still in Compton’s , had morphed into a skeleton, charred as black as coal. She blinked a few times, and her hand appeared normal again. Swallowing hard, she hoped the savage drumbeat thumping in her chest wasn’t visible through her blouse. Neither man seemed to notice anything odd about her hand or strange in her behavior. Still, she couldn’t erase the memory of the vision.
    “Delighted to meet you, Mr. Compton,” Diana managed to respond with a smile. She noted Lucier returned Compton’s greeti ng with an energetic handshake.
    Surely the macabre sight was a hallucination, a mirage. She’d been under a lot of stress lately. Maybe Lucier was right. It was still too soon. She hadn’t fully recovered. The satanic symbols, the incident in the rocking chair, and all the talk about cults must have had more of an effect on her than she