by Paula Morris
It wasn’t easy going any way, with crowds pushing in both directions, everyone surging along the flooding pathways. Rebecca pulled up her hood, which meant she could only see straight ahead. People bumped her, and one particularly hard knock pushed her straight into a vast puddle. Mud oozed up over her shoes and into her socks. It felt disgusting.
Rebecca splashed around, confused, trying to get her bearings. They were close to the big stage area, and the crowd was enormous. Rain was coming down hard now. Food stalls were rolling down their plastic blinds, the trees fading into blurry dark shapes. She thought she could see Anton up ahead, near one of the big VIP stands, and she stood up and sloshed toward him, her feet weighed down like anchors in the sticky mud.
Someone pushed her hard from behind, and Rebecca had to reach out to steady herself on the back of the stand. Its striped canvas skirt was flapping open, all the ties hanging loose. And then she was pushed again, so hard it took her breath away. Rebecca fell against the flapping canvas and when it gave way she staggered sideways, slamming into a thick wooden post under the covered bleachers.
Toby Sutton smacked a hand over her mouth, pinning her against the post. Rebecca squirmed and kicked, but he was strong, and she was trapped against the post.
Above them people were stomping and cheering; the act onstage was blasting into a song. In her pocket, her phone buzzed and vibrated. But there was nothing Rebecca could do. Nothing at all.
Toby’s face loomed way too close, his eyes enlarged and gleaming, like some feral creature. Rebecca shook her head from side to side, trying to squirm free, or at least to make herself heard. But between rain drumming on the stand’s roof, and the band booming from the nearby stage, her tortured murmurs, Rebecca knew, made about as much impression as the whir of a moth’s wings.
“You got that locket?” he said in a low voice. Rebecca nodded. His damp hand was pressed so hard against her mouth, she was finding it hard to breathe. “You want me to take my hand away? Here’s the deal. I take my hand away so you can breathe, but if you dare scream, if you make the slightest peep, I’ll kill you. No ghost here to save you now. Understand?”
She nodded again. But Toby did nothing. He was waiting, Rebecca realized. Waiting, just in case, for a lot of noise.
The song ended and the crowd above them erupted into cheers and applause. In a flash Toby slid his hand from Rebecca’s mouth to her neck and wrenched the chain hard. Without meaning to she cried out with the burning pain of it, and Toby’s hand was back on her mouth.
“You must think we’re real stupid down here,” he hissed at her, his red face still terrifyingly close. “You think we’ll fall for one of your pathetic little tricks. We’re not all as stupid as Anton Grey.”
Rebecca could barely see him now; her vision was blurred with tears. She was afraid. Her neck felt sliced open.
“You seem to think,” he said, “you can fool me with this!”
He held up the locket. Rebecca blinked back tears, trying to focus. What was he talking about now?
“Last night, you were so pleased with yourself. Flouncing around like the Queen of New Orleans, when nobody wants you here. Nobody! You got your claws into Anton, but nobody else is fooled. Especially not Julie.”
Rebecca’s mind raced. What had she said to Julie Casworth Young? What could she possibly have done to give the game away?
“There you are, showing off your locket. Thinking I’ll be waiting outside to snatch it from you, and then you can wander off feeling all smug and clever, like you’ve tricked dumb old Toby. But you’re the dumb one, aren’t you?”
Rebecca squirmed again, desperate to break free.
“You’re so dumb,” whispered Toby, “you think you can buy something from an antiques store in Old Metairie and pass it off as a family heirloom. Julie was in that store with her mother last weekend. They saw this butt-ugly thing and laughed at it!”
Rebecca felt sick to her stomach. Sometimes New Orleans was too small a town. She should have known they wouldn’t get away with this. Anton should have known.
Rain thundered overhead; drums pounded. People were cheering and stamping and clapping. There was no point to any of this, no point at all. All the will to fight back against Toby was seeping away. Rebecca’s body felt limp and weak. Tears dribbled down her burning cheeks.
Toby must have thought she was beaten, because he seemed to relax a little as well. He took his hand away from her mouth and hurled the locket into the dirt.
“Anyway,” he said. “I already knew that locket was a fake. My man Gideon told me where the real locket’s at.” His eyes twinkled with malicious pleasure.
“Gideon?” Rebecca was incredulous, but she had to think fast. “You believe some story that a stupid ghost tells you?”
“Ghost?” Toby screwed up his face. “He’s no ghost. What are you talking about? Don’t think you can trick me with all your stupid ghost talk. None of this locket stuff is about your little friend Lisette. You’re just trying to steal something valuable and take it back to New York with you. You and your stupid cousin. Gideon told me all about it. Well, we have other plans.”
An angry panic seared through Rebecca. She knew she wasn’t as strong as Toby. She knew that nobody above would be able to hear her scream. But she was a girl, and she knew how to fight like a girl. She reached up and grabbed two handfuls of his hair, pulling them with every last bit of her strength. She tugged his head to her left and smacked it against the wooden post. Toby howled, almost falling over, and Rebecca knew she had seconds, just seconds, to get away. She half ran, half staggered outside into the rain, crashing into a group of people walking past. Rebecca dropped onto her knees, her hands squishing into the mud.
“Girly, are you OK?” someone was saying, and Rebecca nodded mutely, rain dribbling down her face and into her mouth. She was wet and filthy, but she was free of Toby — for now, anyway.
Anton found her at the medical tent. She’d asked the people she’d smashed into how to get to it, wanting a dry spot to sit down and gather her bearings. There, she was able to get cleaned up a little and send Anton a text. One of the paramedics dabbed antiseptic on the chain burn on her neck: It stung so much Rebecca cried out.
The sound of Anton’s voice, calling her name, was a huge relief. She wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.
He hurried over, white-faced, to the cot where she was sitting.
“I lost you,” he called, his voice cracking with emotion. “I looked everywhere for you!”
Rebecca reached up a hand so he could help her up.
“Toby,” she croaked. Her neck was throbbing. “He took the locket. But … where are the others?”
“I gave Phil the keys, and he’s bringing the car up to Gentilly Boulevard. Well, Ling is. Phil can’t drive a shift. That’s why she had to go with him.”
The rain had stopped. Rebecca felt better out in the fresh air, though she was glad to have Anton’s arm around her as they trudged across the wet sand of the racetrack.
“What about Aurelia?” she asked.
“I don’t know where she’s gone off to. None of us had her number, but I thought we’d call or text her on your phone. Don’t worry — I’m sure she’s not far away.”
“No, no, no.” Rebecca’s heart was pumping again, sending shots of pure panic into her brain. “We have to find her right away. Toby said some stuff….”
“But why would he care about Aurelia?” Anton looked confused. “He has the locket now, right?”
“He doesn’t have the locket.” Rebecca stared into Anton’s face, willing him to understand. “He ripped it off my neck and threw it away under the bleachers. He knows it’s a fake!”
Anton frowned. “But how would …”
“He knows, OK?” Rebecca fumbled for her phone. A message was blinking; it was from Aurelia.
dont worry i hav to meet smone dwntwn. big secret. c u 2morro.
“Oh my god.” Rebecca’s knees buckled. “I don’t believ
e it.”
She passed her phone to Anton so he could read the message.
“Who’s she meeting?” he asked.
“You’re not going to want to hear this, but I think she’s meeting Frank.” Rebecca started walking as fast as she could in the direction of the nearest exit gate, but hordes of people were leaving now, walking in what seemed like slow motion, and the gate seemed a mile away. Thunder grumbled, and the sky was growing dark again.
“Who is Frank?” Anton was next to her, his arm around her back, steering her through the crowds.
“The ghost. The ghost I was trying to tell you about the other night. The ghost who lost the locket in the house in Tremé.”
“And you told Aurelia about this … this ghost?”
“She saw him. On Thursday, when Toby was chasing her, Frank grabbed her hand so Toby couldn’t see her anymore. Remember last year, when I explained all that to you?”
“A ghost holds your hand and you’re invisible or something,” said Anton. He still sounded skeptical. “I didn’t really believe that was true.”
“Well, it’s totally true,” Rebecca snapped. Why would he think she would make this stuff up? “And just now Toby said something about her — it’s too complicated to explain. Basically, everyone knows that the real locket is in the house on St. Philip Street. Aurelia knows, and I think she wants to be the big hero and rescue it by herself. But Toby knows, too. That’s the problem.”
“You’re sure about this?”
Rebecca rubbed her forehead. She wasn’t sure about anything. Aurelia wasn’t supposed to be downtown at all yesterday, but maybe she’d blown off her ballet class and caught the streetcar down to the Quarter. She knew where to wait for Frank, on the corner of Rampart Street. If Aurelia said she wanted to help find the locket, he’d tell her everything — of that Rebecca was perfectly sure — because he was so desperate right now. The house was about to be demolished. Rebecca was about to return to New York. Frank was staring down eternity.
“You know which house?” Anton asked, pushing through the turnstiles behind Rebecca. She caught her breath: This was new. Maybe he would help after all.
“Yes.” Rebecca nodded. “It’s really near the school — there are three houses that are empty and all boarded up, and it’s the one at the end. But here’s another weird thing — remember what Raf was saying today, about someone breaking into the house?”
“I didn’t hear any of your conversation,” Anton said. “I didn’t like to listen in. You might be making a date or something.”
Rebecca laughed in disbelief. Anton, jealous?
“Is that why you let go of my hand?” she demanded.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. They were on Gentilly now, the sidewalks crammed with street vendors selling bottled water and umbrellas, police out in the road directing traffic and shouting at taxis. Anton leaned out to look for his car.
“Or maybe you lost me on purpose just as we got to the spot you and Toby had agreed on.” Rebecca had just thought of this, but suddenly it made sense.
“What? Rebecca.” Anton turned to face her, grabbing her by both shoulders. “Tell me that you don’t believe I’m in leagues with Toby. Please. Tell me that you don’t think I’m that crummy and conniving and despicable a person.”
“I don’t know.” She hung her head. Her neck smarted on one side, where Toby had tugged the chain until it broke. Why had Anton left her alone? Why? After all this time, she still didn’t really trust him.
“You have to know,” he said. He leaned his head toward her. “God, why do I have to keep proving myself over and over? You have to know by now that I care about you much more than any of my old friends. More than Marianne and Toby and …”
“More than Helena?” Rebecca gazed straight at him. Anton looked as though she’d punched him in the stomach.
“Helena was only ever a friend,” he said softly. “You’re … much more than a friend. You have to believe me when I tell you that. And I have to believe you when you tell me there’s some ghost who’s hidden a locket, and you have to find it before Toby kidnaps your cousin or whatever….” He took a deep breath. “OK. I believe you. Now, before we do anything or go anywhere else, do you believe me?”
Rebecca looked into Anton’s eyes. She thought back to the night one long year ago when they stood outside the Bowman mansion, the night Helena was killed. Anton had fought with Toby right there on the sidewalk, and then Toby had set fire to the Bowman’s house. He’d gone against his friends and his family, everyone important in his life, just for her.
She leaned forward to kiss him, aiming for his cheek, but he twisted, kissing her directly on the mouth. Rebecca kissed him back, holding tight to him. They had to trust each other. They had to believe each other. They were in this together.
As soon as they found Ling and Phil, crawling along in stop-start traffic, Anton took over the driving. Rebecca told him to head for Rampart Street.
“I could kill Toby!” Ling ranted. “Becca, I’m so sorry we lost you. The crowd was too crazy. He must have been waiting for his moment.”
“I’m OK,” Rebecca told her. “I think I might have pulled some of his hair out, at least.” She had to laugh. “Phil got a T-shirt at Jazz Fest. I got two handfuls of Toby Sutton’s hair.”
“And what does Aurelia think she’s doing, running off like this, making us all crazy with worry?” Ling spluttered.
“She thinks she’s helping,” Rebecca said, wishing she could turn around to face Ling without her neck zinging with pain. “By the way, Raf told me that the house on St. Philip Street has been broken into. The boards are off the back door, and he said anyone could walk in right now.”
“Who did that? Toby?”
“I have no idea how he would break into a house if it’s all boarded up,” said Anton, zooming down a side street to try to avoid traffic, but getting stuck again at the end. “He doesn’t have any money to buy supplies.”
“He had enough money to get into Jazz Fest,” Ling pointed out. “Maybe Marianne gave him money? Maybe that’s why she came down from Mississippi for the dance?”
“You know, I should call my dad,” Rebecca said. “I should have told him all about this today, or last night, or — or right away yesterday in the cemetery when we found out that the locket might contain a Degas.”
“What Degas?” asked a startled Anton.
“Wait a minute,” interjected Ling. “How would Toby know which house?”
“Gideon Mason,” Rebecca told her.
“No,” groaned Ling.
“Who is Gideon Mason?” Anton demanded. “And what’s this about a Degas? You mean, the French painter?”
“I shouldn’t have kept all this a secret from my dad,” Rebecca said, ignoring Anton’s questions. “If I call him now …”
“What could your dad do?” Ling demanded. “Hop to the corner on his sprained ankle? Call the police and tell them to be on the lookout for a girl and a ghost? Two ghosts, actually.”
“Who is this Gideon Mason?” Anton was shouting.
“Another ghost,” Rebecca told him. “The one who murdered Frank. Toby’s talked to him, but I don’t think he realizes that Gideon Mason is a ghost.”
“OK, so this ghost thing is totally a new development,” said Phil, who’d been sitting quietly until now. “Maybe someone could bring me up to speed?”
“Actually, Degas is the new development,” said Anton. “I don’t know who this guy Raf is, I don’t know what some dead French Impressionist has to do with anything….”
“Don’t forget the ghost!” Phil called out.
“Two ghosts,” Ling reminded them.
“I don’t even know why we’re driving to Rampart and not St. Philip Street,” Anton said.
“We can’t explain it all now,” Ling snapped. “Can’t you drive any faster?”
“Look,” said Rebecca, “here’s the deal. Please, just listen.”
She twisted her whole body to prote
ct her sore neck, so she was sort of facing Anton, and Phil could see more than the back of her head.
“The main ghost is a young guy named Frank who was murdered in 1873. The day he died, he dropped a locket through the floorboards of a house on St. Philip Street so the guy murdering him couldn’t steal it.”
“And the guy murdering him was this Gideon Mason guy,” Phil said.
“Yes. And we have reason to believe that the locket was entrusted to Frank by the artist Degas, who spent some time here in New Orleans.”
“Cool!” said Phil.
Rebecca talked as fast she could. “The house is being demolished next week, so this is incredibly urgent. If the locket isn’t rescued and returned to its rightful owners — the descendants of Degas’ family, I guess — then Frank is condemned to being a ghost for eternity. Plus something that belonged to Degas is completely destroyed.”
“Not cool!” said Phil, and Ling shushed him.
“Raf is a guy who lives near the house, and Ling and I have been volunteering at his school this week.” Rebecca shot Anton a be-jealous-if-you-dare look. “Yesterday I asked him if he could help us break into the house to find the locket, but he was really not happy about that, because he thought it would be dangerous, and he might get into trouble, and …”
“At least someone here is using their brain,” interjected Anton, and Ling kicked the back of his seat.
“Hey!” she said. “You have no intellectual high ground! You had the fake locket idea! That worked out, huh?”
“But,” Rebecca continued, “as I was saying, when I saw Raf today, he told me someone has already broken down the back door of the house. This could mean various things — that Toby’s trying to get in to find the locket, that someone else is trying to get in to find the locket, that, say, drug dealers have been using the house …”
“This gets better and better,” muttered Anton.