Death Becomes Him - 4

When Rory didn’t show up later that evening as promised Trent began to worry. Especially after trying to call him and being sent to voicemail. He finally went to bed, hoping against hope that Rory was doing something mundane, like taking out another group of people, and had forgotten to call to let him know.

The next morning, Trent tried calling him again, with no success. After the third attempt he got a recorded message saying Rory’s voicemail box was full and no more messages could be taken.

Trent would have gone to Rory’s apartment first thing in the morning if he hadn’t had a hotel to run. As it was, he didn’t get away until well into the afternoon, and then only long enough to make a quick trip through the Quarter to Marigny where Rory lived. He pushed the buzzer repeatedly, to no avail. Taking advantage of someone leaving, he got inside and went up to Rory’s apartment. There was no answer to his knocking, even though he tried for several minutes.

Finally defeated, he returned to work and a meeting with a potential new supplier for the hotel’s small restaurant.

By the time he was able to leave for the day it was closing in on six-thirty in the evening. He headed straight to the Quarter and Rory’s tour company, which was in a small two-story building that had once held a tiny voodoo shop on the ground floor. When he arrived he found four of Rory’s employees standing outside, along with a group of what he presumed were tourists. He immediately buttonholed one of the employees asking what was going on.

“Waiting for Mr Mathieu to show up, Mr Dickens,” the young woman replied. “He’s late. Way late. We can’t start the tours without him here to deal with the money part of it.”

“He’s usually here by three,” said a young man Trent recognized as the somewhat flaky Jack.

“None of you have heard from him?” Trent asked, looking at the costumed tour guides. There was a universal shaking of heads in response.

“I tried calling him,” Mick, Rory’s assistant manager, told him. “His voicemail is full. I usually handle things when he’s not here, as far as selling tickets, but only after he’s come by to open up, which he didn’t today.”

“I got the same thing this morning when I tried calling,” Trent admitted. “At this point, I’d say carry on for this evening without him. Some of those people”—he nodded toward the assembled tourists—“might already have tickets so they should get their promised tour. The same holds for any of the other tours tonight, but put a sign on the door saying there won’t be any more until further notice. If the rest of those people want to go along, you might as well let them. Mick, you hang on to the money and give it to Rory tomorrow when he shows up.”

The employees looked relieved that Trent was, to some degree, taking charge for the moment. He wondered how long that would last once they realized if Rory didn’t appear by the next evening they might be out of a job, and whatever pay was owed them.

“Do you think something happened to him, Mr Dickens?” Jack asked.

“Let’s hope not. I’ll run by his place. Maybe he’s sick or”—Trent smiled wryly—“too hung over to function.”

Mick shot him a look of disbelief. “You know he doesn’t really drink that much. Not since…”

Trent nodded. Rory had cut back drastically on his drinking soon after he and Trent had restarted their relationship two years ago. Not, Rory had told him, that he ever let it get out of hand before then. But he had been known to have one or two over the limit, at which point he would walk or cab home from whatever club he was at.

“I know,” Trent replied with a tight smile. “Okay, you all carry on as best you can. I’ll come back to let you know what I find out, if anything. And call me if he does show up in the mean time.” He gave them his number and received promises from all four of them that they would.