Flirting With Disaster

by Kendra Ashe

  I smiled, though it was a somewhat dark, crazed smile.

  He could flirt all he wanted but I was determined not to fall all over myself. As far as I was concerned, those women who turned into mush just because some hot guy was giving them some attention were just silly.

  That would never be me.

  Mason closed the distance between us. Now he was so close that I was backed up against the white cinderblock wall. With his mouth only a few inches from my lips, I could feel his breath.

  And there was something strange about it. The breath I felt against my face wasn’t moist and warm. It was more like a cool breeze. His body temperature had to be pretty low.

  “Who are you?” he asked again, his voice so soft – so seductive.

  He was too close!

  Fear ripped at me like invisible claws tearing at my flesh. Perhaps it was some kind of sixth sense kicking in. Either way, I somehow knew I had to get away from him and I had to do it now.

  My heart was beating so fast, I was sure it would burst through my ribcage at any minute. Part of me was terrified, while another part of me felt a strange kind of exhilaration at being so near him.

  I brought a knee up to his groin, while at the same time, pushing him back.

  A soft grunt was the only sign he gave that it had hurt him at all.

  Damn! With a kick like that, most guys would have doubled over.

  “Like I said, I work for Wren.” I forced the words through clenched teeth. “My name is Claire, but it isn't like you really need to know that.”

  My show of force wasn’t working too well.

  Mason leaned even closer until his lips were nearly touching mine. “Do you like being close to me, Claire?”

  Placing my hand against his chest, I pushed him away. “You’re too close.”

  “But isn’t this what you want? Isn’t that what you have been thinking about since I walked onto the stage?”

  My fear vanished. The amusement in his voice was like having ice water dumped on my head. “I think you are egotistical and like to flatter yourself.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Is that so?”

  “Yes,” I scowled.

  Although his eyes were completely unreadable, I sensed his retreat. Apparently, he wasn’t accustomed to rejection.

  “Tell Wren I’ll meet him in our usual place, but I’ll need two days.” Giving me a mocking bow, Mason turned to leave.

  Stopping abruptly, he turned back. “If I were you, I wouldn’t hang out here too long. It can be dangerous after dark.”

  Then he was gone.

  I stood there for a long time after he was gone.

  Did I have wimp tattooed across my forehead?

  That was the second warning I’d received in less than an hour.

  It was true that there were some places in New Orleans that were just plain sketchy, no matter the time of day. What made this place so much worse, other than an excess of ego and drugs?

  Wren had warned me that the Underground wasn’t the kind of place I’d want to hang out.

  I’d tried to get him to tell me more, mostly out of morbid curiosity, but he'd changed the subject.

  Something just wasn’t right with all of this.

  In fact, there was something not right with Mason Romero.

  He was probably the most magnetic and alluring man I’d ever met, though to be fair, I hadn’t met a ton of hot guys in my measly twenty-five years.

  Still, I sensed there was more to Mason than just looks and talent, a lot more.

  Now that I felt almost normal again, I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of walking through a dark parking lot to reach my car. There was no telling what or who might be lurking in the shadows.

  Why hadn’t I parked closer?

  Scanning the sea of cars, I drew in a deep breath.

  I was just being silly and allowing all of Wren’s gloom and doom get to me.

  I set out across the parking lot, paying close attention to the shadows between cars.

  No sooner was I in my car than my phone started ringing. It was Wren, probably wondering if I’d delivered his message.

  “Hey, boss,” I answered. “It’s done. He said it would take him a couple of days.”

  “That’s good. Thanks,” he said. There was a long pause before he continued. “If you have a few minutes, I could use your help with something else.”

  Something was wrong!

  I could feel it. This wasn’t going to be one of those times he asked me to stop by the store and buy a pound of coffee for the office.

  “Okay. What do you need?” I asked.

  “Can you meet me on North Rampart. I’m afraid something’s happened to Lynn.”

  Now I was really worried. I’d never heard Wren sound so glum. “What happened?”

  “She was killed.”

  “Oh no! I’m so sorry, Wren. Where on Rampart?”

  “The Angel Heart High School. You should see the police.”

  Turning the key in the ignition, I put the Subaru in gear. “I’ll get there as quick as I can.”

  Lynn Sanchez had been Wren’s partner at Dark Side Investigations. From what I understood, they’d known each other for years and had been pretty close. I thought there might have been a romantic connection involved but I couldn’t be sure. Wren was pretty tightlipped about his personal life. What I did know was that he’d had a lot of respect for her.

  My heart was breaking for poor Wren and Lynn’s family. This wasn’t going to be easy for any of them.

  Lynn had been one tough investigator. Before going to work for Wren, she’d worked in the homicide division of the New Orleans Police.

  I was beginning to think that wherever I went, darkness followed.

  When I reached the Angel Heart School, the police had already barricaded the narrow street at both ends of the block. I spotted Wren in the crowd that had already gathered.

  Leaving my car, I ran toward Wren and the detective he was talking to.

  “Wren, I’m so sorry!” I said, giving him a warm hug.

  The grief on his face spoke volumes. He was heartbroken.

  My boss didn’t fit the image of the dark, suave private detective that usually came to mind when I thought of investigators. In his professional business attire, Wren reminded me more of a banker than an investigator. His dark hair was cut in military fashion and he wore black-framed glasses.

  Actually, he kind of reminded me of those cops from the old black and white TV shows.

  “What happened? Are you sure it’s Lynn?” I asked, still trying to catch my breath after sprinting from my car.

  Wren nodded. “I just identified the body. It looks like a homicide. The janitor found her inside the courtyard about an hour ago. Her throat has been ripped out, just like the other victims.”

  “Was she investigating the Alley Murders?” I asked.

  Wren took my arm and led me away from the crowd of people standing near the barricade. “Yes, she’s been helping NOPD. I’m not sure what she was doing here except that she was supposed to question one of the teachers who was a potential witness to the last murder.”

  I figured it was time to put my own P.I. hat on and do some digging. “Has this teacher been accounted for?”

  “Yeah,” Wren let out a tired sigh. “Detective Landry questioned him. Lynn made arrangements with Mr. Alexander. From what I understand, he’d planned to work late in order to get some papers graded. She was supposed to be here at 7:30. The teacher claims she never made it to his office.”

  It all sounded fishy to me, especially when the one who was supposed to be doing the questioning ended up dead. “Do you think he’s a suspect?”

  “Maybe,” Wren said in that noncommittal tone he took when he was still turning things over in his mind. “I have to make a trip to Shreveport to let her folks know. It’s better if the news comes from me than the police.”

  “Of course,” I agreed.

  It made sense. Wren hadn�
�t just worked with Lynn. They’d grown up in the same neighborhood.

  Wren pulled a set of keys from his pocket and handed them to me. “If you don’t mind, I’ll need you to open the office tomorrow. It will be a day or two before I get back.”

  The thought of working alone at the office was a little intimidating, but if Wren needed help, it was the least I could do.

  “I’ll take care of it, boss.”

  “Thanks and you be careful. Close the office at 5:00 and get home before dark.”

  “I will,” I promised.

  It was a little strange for my boss to be so freaky about getting home before dark. Still, I had to remember that he’d been through a lot. Maybe he was in shock.

  I knew a little about what it was like to lose a loved one so suddenly.

  No doubt his sudden fear of the dark was probably related to the fact that a serial killer seemed to have opened shop in New Orleans.

  Who wouldn’t be skittish under such circumstances?

  Chapter Three

  I arrived at work early enough that there was actually some parking. The Dark Side’s office was located on St. Louis between Bourbon and Royal, so most of the time parking was scarce. Still, I hesitated. Parking in front of the office made things easier but the roads in the French Quarter were so narrow that I worried someone would hit my car.

  Locking my car, I got out and scanned the empty street in both directions. The quarter didn’t get too busy until at least mid-morning. All this peace and quiet would have been nice if we hadn’t had a serial killer prowling the streets of the city.

  Our office was located between a voodoo shop and a bookstore. We didn’t quite fit into the neighborhood but that was okay.

  The narrow building didn’t leave us much room for a sign. The door had a window with the words Dark Side in gold lettering. Not too creative, but it worked.

  Unlocking the door, I stepped inside.

  The first thing I did was flip on all the lights and Wren’s computer. Although I was a part-time receptionist and filer, I didn’t have my own desk.

  Since most of our cases came in from the police department and they had their hands full at the moment, I figured it wasn’t likely to be a busy day.

  Opening the browser on Wren’s computer, I went to the local news site. Lynn’s murder was the top story.

  Glancing over at Lynn’s desk, a shiver made it’s way down my spine. It was downright spooky to think that less than twenty-four hours ago, she’d been sitting at that desk. Things could change so fast and without any warning.

  Darkness could visit anyone at any time. I knew that first-hand. Tragedy was always just around the corner, though most people refused to see it. Not that I could blame them. Who wants to spend their life terrified to turn a corner for fear of what might be waiting?

  What I wouldn’t give to indulge in the bliss of ignorance again.

  Although I didn’t realize it at that moment, my life was about to get really messy. I sometimes wonder how different things would be if I had locked up the office and walked away that day.

  As my mom liked to say, there’s no sense in crying over spilled milk. My life is what it is and indulging in what-ifs won’t change a thing.

  Maybe that’s a good thing. Sometimes we must take the dark road to find the light.

  Scanning the article, I looked for any clues that would point me in the right direction. True, I didn’t have a P.I. license, yet, but it wouldn’t hurt to do a little digging.

  According to the news report, the police still didn’t have a suspect.

  So why wasn’t the teacher a suspect?

  He was known to have been in the general vicinity when the last two victims were murdered. If I’d been working the case, I would have put him at the top of the suspect list.

  The phone rang, jarring me out of my make-believe detective roll. “Hello,” I answered. “Dark Side Investigations.”

  “Hello. Is Wren Ashland in?” The male caller asked.

  At least I was pretty sure that’s what he was asking, though his thick foreign accent made it difficult to be sure.

  “Hmm, no he isn’t in today. Can I take a message,” I asked as I was looking around for a post-it pad.

  “When do you expect him to return?”

  “In a couple of days.”

  “I’ll call back,” he said.

  There was a click and then nothing but a dial tone.

  That was strange. We didn’t get too many foreigners calling. I couldn’t even place what kind of accent he had.

  There were no notepads lying around so I started rummaging through Wren’s desk. That’s when I found the book. It was hidden in the last drawer, beneath a false bottom.

  The book was leather and looked really old and a bit creepy. The writing on the front of the book was in what appeared to be Latin. When I opened it, I wasn’t surprised to see that the writing on the pages inside was also in Latin.

  Yep, it was old. The pages inside appeared to be parchment.

  What was Wren doing with it?

  Once again, I realized there was a lot about my boss that I didn’t know. He was really kind of secretive.

  So far it had been a slow morning. I’d only gotten one call and no one had stopped by, I figured there wasn’t any harm in looking through the book.

  But that got boring fast.

  “Uires invaluit adeo tuis, Dimittere industria ad te universum wide, Ducantur ad angelum custodem mihi,” I read out loud.

  The first time wasn't so bad so I repeated it. I had no idea what I was saying but I reckoned it would be kind of cool to learn how to speak Latin. If things in the P.I business didn’t work out, maybe I could join a convent.

  At first, it was just a slight rumble but soon the entire room was shaking.

  Dropping the book, I jumped to my feet.

  What the hell was going on?

  I knew there was voodoo all over the Quarter but I was pretty sure what I’d just read didn’t have anything to do with voodoo.

  And that was even if you believed in such things, which I didn’t. At least, I didn’t think I did.

  Unbeknownst to me, the universe was plotting against the silly and archaic notion that just because you couldn’t always feel and touch something, didn't mean it didn't exist. My world was about to be totally rocked.

  As I watched, the blue and silver striped wallpaper started to take the vague shape of a woman. My mouth dropped open as the form took on definition. I could no longer deny what I was seeing.

  With my mouth still hanging open, I watched the form separate from the wall. At that point, she no longer looked like wallpaper. I was looking at a woman in a red silk corset and fishnet stockings. Her dark hair fell in small ringlets around her shoulders.

  Finally, the woman focused her attention on me. Her red lips spread into a wide smile. “Boo,” she laughed.

  I had to be dreaming or out of my mind.

  For a long time, all I could do was stare, certain I’d finally lost it. Growing up in New Orleans, I was somewhat accustomed to the strange and bizarre, otherwise, I’d have run from the building, screaming my head off.

  “What are you gaping at?” the woman asked.

  Lifting my chin, I folded my arms across my chest. “What do you want, witch?”

  Scowling, she put her hands on her hips. “Who are you calling witch? You're the one who did the conjuring?”

  “I did? How did I do that? I’m not even a witch?”

  “My Nana used to say that if a spell is powerful enough, you don’t need to be born a witch. That must be a powerful book you have there,” she said, pointing to the book. “If I were you, I'd hide it. There are a lot of harlots around here who fancy themselves to be witches.”

  I still wasn’t convinced that I wasn't dreaming, but if I wasn’t dreaming and the book was some kind of supercharged grimoire, Wren was going to kill me.

  Grabbing the book, I put back in its place and closed the drawer.

&n
bsp; When I looked back, the woman was still glaring at me.

  “I put the book away. Why are you still here?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You really don’t know anything about witchcraft. You called me. Now you’ll have to send me back.”

  Although she was right, I didn’t know much, or really anything about witches, I didn’t like the tone she was taking with me.

  “You listen here, I don’t have time to deal with some wackadoodle ghost. Go back to haunt wherever it is you came from.”

  The ghost lady leaned back against the wall. “I came from the wall, Miss Know it All. I haunt this here office and the bookstore next-door.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ve never seen you before now.”

  “Well, you don’t say,” she retorted, her voice dripping sarcasm. "Seeing how there isn't anyone in this building that happens to be psychic, that could be why you've never seen me before. I'd know if you were psychic. I’ve been trying to reach out to someone for almost a century.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite. Why are you haunting us?”

  “My body is in the wall,” she informed me. "I'd like to have a nice right funeral.”

  “Ew, no way. There’s a body in the wall?” This was sounding worse by the minute. “Who put you in the wall?”

  “That’s the big question now, isn’t it?”

  “Someone had to have murdered you. Don't you remember who did it?”

  She shook her head. “I suspect it might have been Madam Jess. I worked for her at the sporting house next door.”

  “There was a brothel next door?” I was shocked, though I shouldn’t have been. At one time, New Orleans had been full of brothels.

  “What was your name?” I asked.

  “Marie.”

  “Marie what?”

  For the first time, she looked confused. “I don’t remember. Maybe I didn’t even use my last name.”

  “Now that we've established that, you need to disappear before we get a customer. They’ll call the cops and report you for indecent exposure."

  Marie looked down at her corset-clad body and laughed. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Things are different now. You can’t just go around half-dressed."

  “What a bunch of petty patty prudes,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I reckon that since you’re the one who called me, you’re the only one who will see me unless you have acquaintances who are psychic.”