Lorna also knew Jeremy had gone down to Florida with Katie six years ago when there had been another murder and they had thought they’d finally caught the killer—her dad’s best friend! A man who had also lost his wife that day twelve years ago. But the police hadn’t been able to prove it.

Katie didn’t want to feel sick—there was no reason to assume the same person that struck twelve years ago was the same person who had struck six years ago—and now, again, today. Or last night.

No reason... Except whatever had happened was already on the news. She could see people on the street stopping to stare at their phones.

A carriage driver with one of the other companies shouted out to a group waiting for passengers. “He’s back! The Axeman is back in New Orleans!”

Lorna let out a soft sigh, shaking her head. “What the hell is the matter with him? Does he want to send us all to the poorhouse? Idiot! I mean, this is truly ghastly and horrible—but come on, a crazed killer can’t attack every tourist in New Orleans.” She looked at Katie and winced. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, that was just Bucky being a jerk—and clearing the sidewalk of our would-be customers. His, too. But truly, I’m mostly worried about you. Please don’t be upset. This probably really is different, Katie. I feel terrible for the police—this is going to be a nightmare for them. More, I’m worried sick about you.”

“Lorna, I’m all right. You know I’m a sound, normal human being. Well, as normal as anyone else. But yes, I will be concerned. You don’t need to worry about me, though.”

A couple walked by them. “David, my God!” the woman said. “We have to leave—there’s a crazy man out there killing people!”

“Martha, this vacation cost a fortune. We’re in a major hotel. We’re not going down any dark alleys.”

They moved on by.

“The Axeman!” someone else said as they walked past. “How do you catch a ghost?”

“There’s DNA today. Cops are way better now than they were then,” their companion said.

For a few minutes, both Katie and Lorna were quiet, listening to the conversation going on around them. Katie noticed dryly that their friend Benny Morten—a human statue/mime who worked the corner of the square—had forgotten he was playing a silver superhero and reached into his pocket for his phone, as eager as anyone else to get what news he could.

Katie, too, pulled out her phone and checked her news app. There weren’t a lot of details available yet, but the early reports were grisly and grim.