The Stars that Fell

by M. L. Bullock

  We drove in silence down Government Street to the Mobile Police Department Headquarters. The only sound was the radio playing softly.

  Wait, I know that voice. It was William Bettencourt singing “The Heart of Love.” I couldn’t help but smile. He deserved the break. I was happy for him. I hummed along to the tune.

  “Seriously, CJ?”

  “I’m happy that he got his big break.”

  “Thanks to you. He almost got you killed. I’m not convinced he was so squeaky clean. If he hadn’t gotten his name in the papers…”

  “That’s completely unfair. He saved my life, Ashland.” Neither of us moved out of our seats. “I love you, Ashland Stuart. Not William or anyone else.”

  “I love you too. You ready?” Ashland appeared nervous, unsure. I hoped that his doubts weren’t about me. Surely he didn’t believe that I actually shot Detra Ann.

  “Yes, I want to get this over with and go home. It’s been one heck of a day.”

  “You know I can call our attorney and have her down here in no time.”

  “I don’t need an attorney, Ash. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “That doesn’t always matter. We have been on the local authorities’ radar recently, what with Hollis’ murder and Louis Beaumont’s body in the backyard. They aren’t exactly in our fan club.”

  I knew it was true, but we were innocent of wrongdoing. We parked, put some change in the meter and walked in, hand and hand. I explained to the on-duty officer why I was there and showed her the written order from Simmons. She led us to the lab and there we sat, taking in the stark ambiance until the lab tech and a uniformed officer appeared. I couldn’t help but notice that the police officer had his cuffs handy. True to her word, Simmons wasn’t taking any chances. If she could arrest me, she would—she’d promised me that. Now it was my turn to look at Ashland nervously. I gave the tech my name, and then they proceeded with the test. Unsealing the small damp cloth from the package, she rubbed my hands vigorously, both tops and bottoms.

  “I’ll be right back,” she told the officer. He let her pass and stood by the door, his arms folded across his chest. We didn’t make any small talk with him or even with each other. It was a nerve-wracking experience to say the least.

  “She’s clean. Not even a trace.” She wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it to me. “Detective Simmons will be in touch with you soon. Keep this for your records.”

  “That’s it? I can go?”

  “The detective may have more questions later, but we’re all done with you today, Mrs. Stuart.”

  “Okay.”

  “If you all would follow me, I’ll lead you out.” I had had no idea that the entry doors had been locked behind us. Suddenly, the whole thing seemed surreal. Actually, the past forty-eight hours had been surreal. We walked back to the car and got in. I leaned back in the seat and let out a sigh of relief. Lightning cracked over the bay, and the sky darkened ominously above us.

  “Take me home, Ashland.” I felt so tired. The anxiety from this morning, the strangeness, was creeping back into my mind. “I’m ready to go home.”

  “Home where? Our new home or Seven Sisters?” I didn’t know if he was joking or what, but I wasn’t in the mood.

  “Notre petite maison. I just want to be with you.” I sighed and closed my eyes.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said I want to go to Our Little Home. Not Seven Sisters.”

  “No, you said ‘notre petite maison’. But you don’t speak French. What’s that about?”

  I felt the blood drain from my face. What was going on? I smiled awkwardly. “Maybe I heard that somewhere.”

  He frowned and eyed me suspiciously. “Let’s go, then. I’ll cook us something, and we can talk.”

  I nodded my head against his shoulder. “I would like that.” I have so much to tell you. When we arrived home, thankfully the front door was neatly closed and there were no leaves on the porch and sidewalk. Doreen’s car was gone, but she had left the house neat and tidy. Lightning cracked again, and this time the rain began to fall, heavy, soaking drops. I tossed my purse on the foyer table under the gilded mirror and stared at the stairs. Doreen had dutifully cleaned up the blood, and you’d never know what had happened earlier. I was glad for that and happy that Simmons hadn’t taken the liberty of wrapping yellow tape across our front door. Wouldn’t the neighbors have loved that?

  Ashland wrapped his strong arms around me, and we kissed like we hadn’t kissed since our honeymoon. He led me gently by the hand to the bottom of the stairs, but my feet wouldn’t let me go up. I couldn’t go up there, not right now, but I wanted him as much as he wanted me.

  “No, I have a better idea.” We had a barely used guest room on the other side of the kitchen. I smiled and pulled him in that direction. Ashland’s sexy grin told me he liked the idea, and he followed me into the room. It felt cool and fresh—and presumably free of lurking ghosts and unhappy entities. I liked this room. We fell on the soft down comforter together and spent the next half hour lost in one another’s arms. How wonderful to be with the man I loved! We needed this. I needed him! I loved him with every fiber of my being.

  “I love you, Ashland Gregory Stuart.” He showered my neck with kisses, and I laughed as his lips whispered across my skin.

  Hoyt! Hoyt, I love you! Christine’s pleading voice whispered in my head. I smothered the urge to spring up from the bed. Instead, I closed my eyes and forced myself to focus on the moment—this moment, in this lifetime. I was alive and here with my husband.

  What do I do about you, Christine? What am I supposed to do? Ashland stroked my cheek with his finger and I whispered, “Hold me tight, Ashland.”

  “I love you, my wife. Are you hungry yet?”

  “Starving! Are you sure you want to cook, though? You’ve had a long day already.”

  “I like cooking for you. And believe it or not, I couldn’t find a decent meal in New Orleans.”

  “I do find that hard to believe!” I said with a laugh. “Okay, well, at least let me chop up some vegetables or toss a salad or something.”

  “That’s a deal.” We kissed and got dressed, and then I padded off to the restroom to work up a decent-looking ponytail. I took a ponytail holder out of the bathroom closet and checked my hair in the mirror. I didn’t mind a sloppy ponytail, but my curls could look crazy if I didn’t have a care for the finished product. Unhappy with the ponytail I’d made, I took it down and tried again.

  Can you hear me? I know you can hear me. Please help me!

  This couldn’t be happening! Go away!

  Suddenly the mirror began to reflect a smoky image. I looked behind me, but there was nothing. I stumbled back against the wicker hamper and stared at the mirror. I didn’t speak, I couldn’t! All I could do was gape at the outline of a woman’s face struggling to appear in the smoke.

  “Christine?” I gasped at the apparition.

  “Hey, did you hear me?” Ashland barged into the bathroom, and I turned my attention from the mirror for a second. Even the voice had quieted in Ashland’s presence. “What is it, Carrie Jo? You look like you’ve seen a…” His smile disappeared, and he pushed the door all the way open.

  “I think I have.”

  “What? Here?”

  I reached for his hand, and he pulled me out of the bathroom. “Okay, let’s forget dinner. We’ll order out—we have to talk.”

  “I agree. And I need a drink. How about you?”

  “Yes, please.” I followed him into the living room and flopped on the suede blue leather couch. I couldn’t stop shaking. I wasn’t necessarily afraid of Christine, but encountering ghosts or whatever that was always set my nerves on edge. It wasn’t a natural thing. Not at all.

  Help me.

  Unleashing my wild hair from the ponytail holder, I accepted the small snifter of brandy that Ashland handed me and moved the pillow so he could sit beside me. “I don’t know where to begin.”

  �
��When did all this start? Have you been dreaming about the house again?”

  “That’s the thing. I haven’t been dreaming. In fact, until yesterday, I haven’t had a dream in about three months. But I’ve been so happy with our new life and all, I haven’t thought much about it. Then I started to experience this feeling, like something was…what’s the word I’m looking for?”

  “Undone?”

  “Exactly. Undone. Like a wrong note played in a song you know or a whisper that you can’t quite make out.”

  “I’ve felt the same thing. I thought it was just me.”

  I squeezed his hand, and we sipped our drinks. “Do you think we missed something?”

  “Maybe. I’m not the expert, though.”

  “I’m sure not either,” I said wryly.

  “What else? Tell me what else has happened?”

  “That feeling I described, it got stronger as the weeks went by. Then when you left for New Orleans, I felt like a jerk. I went downstairs to catch you before you left and found the door wide open. Not only that, but there were piles of leaves all over the place, like the door had been left open for days. That happened a few times. Including this morning, when Detra Ann got shot. And that’s not all.”

  “Yes?”

  “She’s here…Isla. I’ve heard her giggling.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Well, I can’t say a hundred percent, but I am pretty sure. The day you left I was working in the office when she went sailing by my door. She’s back, and that can only mean one thing—we missed something.”

  He swirled the amber drink in his glass and downed it. “Damn,” he muttered, setting the glass on the coffee table. “I wonder what it could be.”

  It was my turn to down my drink. “More, please.” Ashland took our glasses and refilled them. A branch began to tap on the window; the storm outside had kicked up the evening breeze and the rain continued to fall.

  “After that, I decided to get out of the house as quickly as I could. I drove to Bette’s house, but she wasn’t home. All I could think was to go to Seven Sisters. Detra Ann told me at the luncheon about the night tours, so I thought I might see Rachel and kill some time until I felt brave enough to come back here.”

  “You should have called me. I would have come right home, or you could have driven to New Orleans.”

  “Really? Because when you left I wasn’t getting that vibe from you at all. It felt like you wanted to be alone, so I left you alone. For the record, I did call. You were at a party.”

  He laughed. “I wasn’t at a party, CJ. I was at a supper club, Henri’s club in New Orleans. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry. I guess I was just trying to protect you.”

  “You saw Henri?” I couldn’t help but smile. Even though he’d been caught up in Mia’s web, at least at the beginning, he’d proven to be a worthy friend to Ashland and me. He’d left Mobile after the incident in the Moonlight Garden. I didn’t blame him. Not one bit.

  “I did. I haven’t been completely honest with you. I’ve been back to the house too.”

  “What? Why?”

  “That same feeling that something was off. Detra Ann called me a few weeks ago and reminded me that I left a few crates there. I should have told you, and I’m sorry I didn’t. I admit I was happy to get the call—that was my excuse to go back. Especially after all the fuss I made about deeding the house to the city. I loaded up the crates and then took a walk around the property.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing—not at first. There were tons of visitors there, walking through the house and the gardens. It was so crowded.” I could tell he was pleased about that. I was too. “Re-enactors were scattered around the property, talking to guests and pointing out some of the architectural details and the ‘acceptable’ history. It was exactly as we hoped. The people love it, CJ.”

  I smiled, happy that he was happy. Restoring Seven Sisters had been a real dream of his. “You knew they would.”

  “I hoped. You helped make that happen.” He sipped his brandy again and continued, “I walked through the gardens toward the back of the property, where it meets the Mobile River. The grounds team that TD hired did a remarkable job of cleaning it up and bringing it back to life. I decided to walk down to the riverbank. It was a good hike, but I wanted the time to think. I felt like I was being watched, but I kept walking. I wasn’t sure where I was going, but then I saw a woman peeking out from behind a tree. She wore a full-skirted gray dress with black lace trim. I thought for a minute she might be one of the re-enactors from the house, but as I got closer, I knew she wasn’t.”

  “What did she look like?”

  “Attractive, but not beautiful like Calpurnia. Sweet. She had a sweet, round face. She was about your height, maybe an inch shorter, and looked to be in her early thirties.”

  “Okay. What else?”

  “Thinking she needed help, I shouted to her, ‘Are you okay?’ She stepped on to the path and faced me—she was about fifty feet away.” Ashland took another sip of his drink. Anxiety crept over me—what happened next? I didn’t rush him, but it took great restraint. “She raised her hand above her eyes, like you do when you’re trying to block the sun. But the weird thing was, the sun was behind her. She called out, ‘Hoyt! Is that you?’”

  The hair on my arms began to crackle. I froze—my eyes widened at hearing someone else speak that name. “Oh, no,” I whispered.

  “I said, ‘No, ma’am. I’m Ashland. May I help you?’ Without a word, she ducked back into the woods and ran from me. I called after her, asking her if she needed help, but she didn’t answer. I could hear the leaves crunching under her shoes and the swishing of her skirts, but when I made it to the point in the path where she had stood, she’d disappeared. But there was no pathway. And she couldn’t have run through that section of woods, too much underbrush. No way she would have made it with those skirts. I ducked through, trying to look for any trace of her, maybe a footprint or a bit of cloth, but I didn’t find anything.”

  Peering into the brown liquid in the glass, I asked, “Didn’t you recognize her, Ashland?”

  “I don’t think so. It wasn’t Calpurnia. I know her face. And it certainly wasn’t Isla.”

  “No, it was neither one of them. You saw Christine, Calpurnia’s mother, and she’s looking for the man she loves—she’s looking for Hoyt Page.”

  “Hoyt? Who’s Hoyt?”

  “He’s the man she should have married. I believe he is Calpurnia’s father.”

  “What? Who is he?”

  Taking my drink with me, I walked to the back door and pushed open the curtain. The rain still streamed down, and the gutters were full of water; they poured off the side of the house. Somewhere, a cat begged to come inside. I touched the crystal glass to my lip. The scent of brandy comforted me.

  Hoyt! Where are you?

  For the next hour, I told Ashland everything. About the dream. About connecting with Christine. About running from Jeremiah. He didn’t question me or interrupt me. It felt good to tell it, to tell it all.

  “That’s it. We have to find this other daughter, the one that’s missing. Christine needs to know she’s okay. Right? Is that what this is about?”

  “I don’t know. I would think so. At least, it’s a place to start.”

  “But where do we start? Have you seen this girl?”

  “I haven’t…but I think Mia has. She sent me this book, that’s the book I found the day you left for New Orleans. In the note, Mia says that once I read it, I will understand why she did what she did. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I think there could be something significant in there.”

  “Well, we don’t have any other clues to go on. Sounds like you, Mrs. Researcher, will be doing some research.” Suddenly, Ashland laughed. It was a strange sound after everything we’d talked about. “You know, if this historian thing doesn’t work out for you, you could open a detective business. Mysteries seem to follow you, Carr
ie Jo.”

  I raised my eyebrows and shook my head. “No thanks. I prefer dusty old books to voices in my head and bad dreams. Thank you, by the way, for believing me.”

  “Of course. If you’re crazy, I’m crazy too. I’ve seen a few things myself, remember. I hope I never see Isla again.”

  “That’s another thing. TD has seen her and is scared to death.”

  “Why would she show herself to him?”

  “Why not? When she was alive, she was quite lovely. And if she thought she could use him for her own means, then…”

  “That doesn’t sound right. We found the treasure—why is she hanging around? Where are Calpurnia and Muncie?”

  “I’m sure they are resting, Ash. Their part in this craziness is over, at least I think it is, but Christine’s isn’t yet. As long as there are secrets, Isla will have some measure of power.”

  “Great. That’s just great.”

  “I think you’re in the clear. You stood up to her. But we have to help TD. She’s terrorizing him, Ashland, and he doesn’t know what to do. Instead of doing this by ourselves, we have friends who will help us. We just need to come up with a plan.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I went to see Henri.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because he’s willing to help. Because he knows more than we do about all this stuff. And because, like you, I trust him.”

  “I think you should call him and ask him to come back to Mobile.” Despite all the supernatural storytelling, I felt warm and comfortable now. Maybe it was the brandy or just being with Ashland. The rain had begun to slack now, and we cuddled up together on the couch. Neither of us was ready to break the mood.

  “I will do that. You ready to go to bed?”

  We’d forgotten all about eating, and I was too drowsy to think about it now. “Can’t we sleep here tonight?”

  His arm was behind his head, and I was lying on his chest. Sometime during our chat, I’d grabbed the chenille throw off the back of the couch and covered us with it.