by Paula Morris
There was too much to think about. Someone — most likely Toby Sutton — was threatening her. Gideon Mason, the nasty ghost, was threatening her. Aurelia was The Girl Who Knew Too Much, and highly unlikely to stay quiet for long. It was Wednesday night, and they were leaving on Saturday, which meant there was almost no time left to get into the boarded-up house in Tremé and find the hidden locket. Tomorrow night they’d be at the dreaded Spring Dance; much of the next day would be consumed by Jazz Fest. This was the most stressful spring break ever.
Because everyone was still dawdling while Rebecca strode ahead, she rounded the corner of Lafayette Cemetery before the rest of the group. A silver Audi was zooming up Sixth Street, so fast it took Rebecca’s breath away. It swerved left onto Prytania without stopping or even slowing down, and Rebecca could make out the color of the driver’s hair — bright red. The car then screeched off into the distance, skidding a little on the wet road.
A yellow moon glinted between cracks in the clouds, beaming a sickly light onto the cemetery’s pale walls. Rebecca stood still, trying to compute what she’d just seen. An expensive car that looked a lot like the one usually parked in Anton’s driveway, driven by someone with bright red hair. Toby Sutton.
And standing on the other side of Sixth Street, looking at her with a mix of dismay and dread, was Anton.
Everyone else had gone inside the house on Sixth Street, hustled in by Aunt Claudia, despite Aurelia’s protests.
“Rebecca promised she’d talk to me after dinner tonight!” she grumbled as Ling steered her up the front steps. “You guys are going to see Anton tomorrow. Why does she need to talk to him now?”
Everyone else thought they were being so tactful and discreet, letting Rebecca and Anton have their romantic moment together out there in the moonlight while the rest of them hurried inside for a cup of Aunt Claudia’s weird herbal tea. They had no idea — not even Ling — that Rebecca was almost speechless with indignation.
She stood, arms folded, on the sidewalk, staring at the empty parking space in the Grey mansion’s cobbled yard.
“Toby was visiting you, wasn’t he?” she demanded. “This afternoon he was in the Quarter, chasing my cousin through the streets! And now he’s sending me abusive texts!”
“That was Toby,” admitted Anton. He looked utterly dejected. “He texted me and said he wanted to talk. I don’t know how he got hold of a car. I think his parents cut off his credit card so he couldn’t rent one.”
Rebecca didn’t care about Toby’s car. He was dangerous enough on foot.
“Why is he chasing my cousin? Why is he stalking me? What is his problem?”
“I don’t know.” Anton shook his head. “But like I’ve been trying to tell you — I think he’s really losing it. I’m trying to calm him down. Believe me.”
“I don’t know why I should believe you,” Rebecca said, fighting back angry tears. “Remember what you were saying last Sunday up at the lake? About how it’s impossible to break with the past?”
“I didn’t say it was impossible,” said Anton softly. He sidled toward her, but Rebecca backed away. “And I wasn’t talking about me. Toby’s the one who can’t let this thing go. He’s still really upset about what happened last year — probably because of what happened to his family and her family after Helena died. They don’t even live in New Orleans anymore. The old group is broken up. Everything is over. Maybe that’s why he can’t forgive you. Why he’s blaming you.”
“That stupid curse had nothing to do with me.” Rebecca kicked at the curb. “It wasn’t me who brought that thing down on our heads. It was all about what happened a century and a half ago! And whose fault was that? His family and your family and Helena’s family!”
“But Rebecca,” Anton said softly, “Helena’s family is your family. You’re really a Bowman, just like Helena is. Helena was, I mean.”
He bowed his head, his face pale. Rebecca may not have liked Helena much, but she’d been Anton’s friend since childhood.
“I … I …” Rebecca didn’t know what to say. He was right, of course. She was part of the Bowman family, whether she liked it or not. The Suttons, the Greys, and the Bowmans were all bound up together in the curse. Now, even when the curse had ended, they were still bound up together, one way or another. They would be for the rest of their lives.
“I should go in, I guess,” she said, swiping at her face to wipe tears away. “Everyone will be waiting….”
“Not yet.” He came close, and this time she didn’t back away. She wanted to trust Anton. She wanted to believe him. When he stood this close, it was hard to breathe. His shirt smelled of pine.
“There’s something you should see,” he said in a low voice. “In the cemetery.”
Rebecca darted a look back at Aunt Claudia’s house. The curtains of the front parlor were closed, and no one seemed to be peeking out. Everyone was probably in the kitchen, sitting and talking around the table.
“Just for, like, five minutes. I don’t want anyone coming out to look for me and getting all worried when they can’t see me.”
“Maybe they’ll think we eloped,” said Anton, sighing when he saw Rebecca’s face. “Joke, OK? I’m joking.”
He beeped open the trunk of the black BMW and pulled out a flashlight.
“It won’t take long,” he promised. He glanced down at Rebecca’s shoes. “It may be kind of muddy, though.”
Rebecca’s nerves were chattering. Everything, from the squeakiness of the cemetery gate to the sodden darkness under the canopy of trees to the slipperiness of the damp path, was freaking her out. After she stumbled on a patch of wet leaves, Anton, leading the way, took her hand. All she could think of was the contrast with the bitter cold of Frank’s hand, which she’d held this afternoon. Anton’s was warm and soft and strong.
Even in the dark Rebecca could tell they were walking toward the Bowman tomb. What was so important that Rebecca had to be dragged into the cemetery at night to see it? She’d just visited the tomb on Monday.
“Here,” said Anton. He dropped her hand and shone the flashlight onto the white tomb.
“No!” Rebecca cried. The marble slab where Lisette’s name was carved had been defaced, sprayed with swirls of black paint. Someone had tried to remove her name from the family tomb in the most base way. All the other Bowman names were untouched. Only Lisette’s had been vandalized.
“I’m really sorry,” said Anton. “I knew you’d be upset.”
“It’s disgusting. Despicable.”
“I saw it just a little while ago,” Anton told her. “This is where I met with Toby. He thought this would be a safe place for us to talk.”
“So he did it?” Rebecca was spluttering with rage. How dare he? How dare Toby Sutton commit such a sacrilege?
“Yeah, I think he did. It was already like this when I arrived, and he denied any knowledge of it, but it’s pretty obvious. He has so much anger right now, it’s … it’s nasty.”
“Nasty? He’s psychotic. Why would he do something like this?” Rebecca was struggling to hold back tears, thinking of her friend Lisette, still persecuted even now that she was dead. “Why can’t he just leave her alone?”
“I think he blames Lisette for what’s happened.” Anton lowered the flashlight, maybe so Rebecca didn’t have to look at Toby’s vile handiwork any longer. “Her death brought about the curse on the Bowman family, and that led to … you know. What happened to Helena. The problem is, Lisette isn’t around to punish. So he’s going to take it out on you, somehow.”
“And this is taking it out on me?”
“Lisette’s dead. She’s not even a ghost anymore, right? The only person this could hurt is you, because you were closer to her than anyone else. I thought about not showing you, to protect you from it. But I wanted you to understand how Toby is dead set on revenge. How he’s not thinking straight at all.”
“You don’t have to tell me. I believe you,” she said. Her voice sounded far away, she tho
ught, as though it belonged to someone else. Today had been too much: too many nasty surprises. Now Rebecca just felt weak, completely spent. She wanted to crumple into a ball at the foot of the tomb.
Rebecca felt herself sliding down the cool marble, landing with a bump on the damp stone steps. Even with her eyes closed, sticky with tears, she could sense Anton sitting down next to her; she was intensely aware of the weight of his knee leaning against hers, the press of his shoulder. Even in this state of weepy exhaustion, Rebecca couldn’t ignore the thrill rippling through her, every place where their bodies touched.
Anton eased an arm around her shoulders, pulling Rebecca close. She rested her head against his shoulder, inhaling the pine smell of his shirt, listening to the wind swishing through the trees. Her feet seemed to be sinking into mud. She wanted to be close to Anton, she realized. So much came between them all the time. They let other people get in the way.
She lifted her head, to tell Anton she was sorry for being mad, but before she could say anything he pressed his lips to hers.
It had been a long time since Anton had kissed her, but Rebecca remembered how soft and sweet it was — the first time, the second time, every time. Nothing else seemed to matter when he kissed her. The trees whispered around them, as liquid as rain. Rebecca’s heart thudded. She wanted more than anything to stay like this, hidden away in the cemetery. Anton holding her, Anton kissing her. Just the two of them, exactly like this.
A car alarm sounded in the distance, and the moment was broken. Rebecca buried her face in Anton’s sleeve, grateful for the darkness: She felt suddenly shy.
“We should go soon,” she said, her voice muffled. She had no idea how much time had passed since they entered the cemetery. If only they could sit here all night, huddled together on the steps of the tomb.
“I guess,” Anton murmured into her hair. “You know I’m going to work this out, don’t you? This thing with Toby. This has to end once and for all.”
“I hope so,” she whispered, entwining her fingers with Anton’s.
“And I don’t know how, but he knows you’re looking for a locket. How could he have found that out?”
Rebecca felt like banging her head against the tomb. “I was talking to the ghost,” she told Anton. “The one I was trying to tell you about on Monday. We were on Rampart Street, and two idiots from Temple Mead drove up. Jessica and Amy. I guess they heard my half of the conversation.”
“Which means half of Temple Mead got to hear about it as well.” Anton sighed. “And someone probably told Marianne, and she told Toby. He may be on the run from his parents, but I’m sure he’s in touch with his sister.”
“Someone sent me this text tonight,” Rebecca said, pulling out her phone. She held up the screen so Anton could read the second message. Anton winced.
“So he talked to you about it tonight?” Rebecca asked, slipping the phone away again.
Anton nodded grimly. “As soon as he mentioned it, I had an idea and I kind of ran with it. I think it might be a way out of all this.”
“Really?” Rebecca felt a surge of hope.
Anton squeezed her hand. “I told him that I knew all about it, even though I don’t. All I know is what you said on Monday night, something about a ghost.”
When you didn’t want to listen, Rebecca thought, but she didn’t say anything. She wanted to hear the rest of Anton’s idea.
“The thing is, I don’t think Toby has much idea about it, either. He just has some vague Temple Mead gossip to go on.”
“But he sent me another text, mentioning St. Philip Street.” Rebecca clicked onto the next text and waved it in front of Anton. “That’s where the locket is hidden, in this house that’s about to be demolished. How would Toby know that?”
“Isn’t St. Philip Street the place you’ve been volunteering?”
“Oh. Yeah.” That made sense. For all Rebecca knew, Toby had been driving up and down the street observing her all week. “I was helping to clear weeds and litter.”
“Maybe he thought you were looking for something buried there. I don’t know. But I really don’t think he knows a whole lot more. So I told him that the locket was something that belonged to Lisette. It was real special to you, and that’s why you’d come back here to New Orleans, to find it.”
“What?” Rebecca wriggled free of Anton’s grasp. This idea sounded nuts.
“Hear me out!” pleaded Anton. “I told him you’d found the locket this week. That your dad had all these contacts at City Hall, and that someone at the Historic New Orleans Collection had it.”
“They don’t have jewelry there! They only have books and maps and things!”
“Toby won’t know that,” Anton assured her. “The only library he’s ever been into is the one at St. Simeon’s, the day he tried to burn it down.”
“Please tell me how this helps,” Rebecca said, trying not to panic. Suddenly the swampy darkness of the cemetery felt oppressive.
“OK. Toby thinks you have the locket now, and he thinks that it’s super-precious to you. When I told him you had it, he got this crazy look in his eyes. He said: ‘Not for long.’ I think if he can take his revenge by getting the locket from you, it’ll all be over. He’ll leave you alone. He’ll leave this tomb alone. So I’m going to get you a locket tomorrow.”
“Get me a locket?” Rebecca’s head was spinning.
“Yeah, buy an old one from an antiques store. I’ll drop it off at your place, and you can wear it to the dance tomorrow night. One text from Marianne, and I bet you Toby will show up in the parking lot.”
“To mug me, basically.”
“Basically. But don’t worry — I’ll be there to make sure it doesn’t get out of hand. And then it’ll all be over.”
“You really think this will work?” Rebecca asked. She wanted to trust Anton and his plan, but her heart was sinking.
The kiss they’d just shared seemed like a hundred years ago. Now all she had was another reason to dread the Spring Dance.
Ling knew exactly what she thought about Anton’s fake locket plan.
“It’s the stupidest thing I ever heard,” she said.
They were in their shared bathroom back on Orleans Avenue. Rebecca sat on the edge of the tub, watching Ling take off her makeup.
“Really?” That was discouraging. Rebecca had almost convinced herself the plan might work.
“The whole thing hinges on Toby showing up tomorrow night at the dance. Why would he do that? Everyone who’s going knows him, right? So if he’s trying to hide out so his parents can’t find him, why would he show his face there?’
“I don’t know.” Rebecca squirted toothpaste onto her brush. “Maybe because he knows for sure I’ll be there, and thinks nobody will try to help me if he steals the locket. He remembers that I wasn’t exactly popular at Temple Mead.”
“That’s possible,” Ling conceded. “But what if he doesn’t show up? What then? He still hates you, and he’s still plotting revenge, and …”
“I don’t know. He comes over here and tries to burn down the house.” Rebecca wasn’t joking. Who knew what Toby would do?
On Thursday morning she woke up heavy with dread. The day seemed to promise nothing but awkward situations, tricky conversations, and potential confrontations. Ling was adamant that she needed to “meet” Frank. And she still thought they should talk to Raf, to see if he could help them get into the house on St. Philip Street.
At breakfast another complication presented itself. Her father had rearranged his entire schedule so they could all have what he called “a fun morning together.” They were going, he announced, on a carriage ride around the Quarter, then to the African American Museum on the Bayou Road.
When her father suggested picking up po’ boys later at some lunch place on Poydras Street, Rebecca heard herself squawking “No!”
“Can’t we grab some lunch back here?” she pleaded. “Just so we can have a break and then get into our work clothes, OK?”
So that was how, with the day seeping away, she and Ling found themselves with fifteen minutes of father-free time. Back at the house after the morning’s activities they bolted down a chunk of the giant muffaletta her father had bought at Central Grocery, and then plotted their escape. As soon as her dad said he needed to make a few calls, Rebecca signaled to Ling.
“Just going out to get some soda!” she called, and then they ran for the gate before her father could point out, quite sensibly, that there was some in the fridge.
When they reached Rampart Street, Rebecca realized that Frank would never appear if he saw someone else standing with her, so she told Ling to wait around the corner.
“Frank!” Rebecca bellowed, not even caring if anyone nearby heard her. “Frank! Get over here!”
He was so slow materializing that Rebecca wanted to kick the fire hydrant in frustration. This wasn’t the time for him to be all elusive.
“Rebecca?” Ling called forlornly from around the corner. “Should we give up? I just had to stand here watching a guy pee in the street.”
“One more minute,” Rebecca told her. “FRANK!”
“I’m here,” said a voice behind her.
“Good grief,” she said, spinning around. “Don’t do that! Why can’t you just appear in front of me like a normal ghost?”
“Are you all right?” he asked, his blue eyes intense. Those eyes, thought Rebecca. They had some strange kind of power over her.