Sisters of the Mist

by Eric Wilder

  Chapter 5

  During the fall of every year, it often rains bucket loads in New Orleans. Heavy rain had fallen in relentless waves for the past three days. It had finally stopped, fog forming on St. Charles blacktop as we headed toward the Garden District and the mansion of Junie Bug Vallee.

  “You’d think we were in London,” Eddie said. “Wish this tub had fog lights.”

  The street was damp. When a cat ran across the road in front of us, the big Ford skidded as Eddie tapped the brakes.

  “Want me to drive?” I asked.

  “Didn’t know you could,” he said.

  “Funny.”

  “Thanks for letting me use your shower, and for the dry clothes,” he said. “My hair was a little sticky.”

  “Getting drenched with beer isn’t the worst thing that could have happened with that big goon.”

  “Got that right. Hope you got a good look at him.”

  “Not to worry,” I said. “I’d never forget that pug-ugly face.”

  “Good, because I want you to ID him so I can determine if he’s legal.”

  “Or wanted for some crime, maybe even murder,” I said.

  “Wouldn’t that be sweet? I’d love to have a reason to install that thug in a Federal maximum security prison.”

  “Hell, Eddie, what’s wrong with Angola.”

  “Why not? He’d probably fit in well,” he said. “How old do you think Junie Bug is?”

  “She was only eighteen when she got pregnant with the twins. Desire isn’t thirty yet. I’d say Junie Bug is in her late forties. Why do you ask?”

  “Just wondering,” he said.

  “You remember the way to her house?”

  “I’d better. There’s no GPS in this government rumble bucket.”

  Eddie remembered, parking beneath a giant live oak across the street from her house. The old mansion was dark, not another car in sight. We kicked up wafting ground fog as we shut the iron gate behind us and knocked on the front door. Someone answered almost immediately. It was a young woman dressed, in jeans and tee shirt.

  “I’m Abba, Dr. Morrison,” she said. “Thanks for arriving so quickly. Please come with me, and hurry.”

  Eddie and I followed her through the house, a smell of must and age I hadn’t noticed during my previous visit. Dim lighting barely illuminated the resplendent ballroom I remembered from the Mardi Gras party I’d once attended there. Dust covers draped all the furniture I could see through the gloom. Abba led us to a large bedroom; the same room where the police had shot Gordon Vallee dead as Desire and I watched.

  Junie Bug was lying in bed, her face ashen, eyes closed. At first, I thought she was dead. Eddie put his face close to hers, then began performing CPR, stopping only briefly to slap her cheeks, pump her chest, and then began the routine anew as Abba and I watched in frozen horror.

  “Wake up, Junie Bug,” he said, shaking her like a rag doll.

  Abba dropped to her knees, her hands clasped together. Tears streamed down her face in rivulets as Eddie worked on Junie Bug at a fevered pace.

  “Don’t die on me. God damn it, don’t do it. Get me some water,” he said, staring up at me.

  An empty tumbler and an antique porcelain ewer sat on a nightstand beside the four-poster bed. I quickly filled the glass and handed it to him. Halting his CPR, he trickled a few drops between her lips as a man with a goatee and doctor’s bag came rushing into the room. He prepared a large syringe from his black bag, injecting directly into her heart without hesitation.

  Junie Bug’s eyes opened immediately, and I was the first person she saw. Her words were groggy as if she’d just awoken from a deep sleep.

  “Wyatt, is that you?”

  “It’s me,” I said, grasping her hand.

  “Are you Dr. Morrison?” Abba asked.

  The older man dressed in a seersucker suit with a bright yellow bowtie nodded. His goatee, like the sparse hair left on his head, was snowy white.

  “I am,” he said.

  Abba’s tears turned quickly to anger. After glancing at Dr. Morrison, she shoved Eddie.

  “Then who are you and what right do you have pretending to be the doctor?”

  “I’m Eddie Toledo, and this is my friend Wyatt Thomas. You let us in the door,” he said.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”

  “Stop it,” Dr. Morrison said. “Junie Bug would be dead now if this man hadn’t gotten here before me. He saved her life, not me.”

  “Why didn’t you call 9-1-1?” I asked.

  Dr. Morrison glanced first at Abba, then at Junie Bug. He was glaring.

  “I was given no choice in the matter. You pull this stunt one more time Junie Bug, I’ll see that you’re placed in a rehab facility. You almost didn’t make it tonight. If it weren’t for Mr. Toledo, you’d be dead now.”

  Junie Bug dismissed his rebuke with a toss of her head. “I’m fine, Reggie,” she said. “You did your job, and I thank you. You can go home now.”

  “Not so fast. I want to check you into the hospital for observation,” he said.

  “I’m going nowhere,” she said, throwing off the sheet and bounding out of bed.

  She was stark naked and didn’t try to cover herself as she hurried to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. She reemerged dressed in a shiny gold robe that must have cost a fortune. Pouring herself a shot of vodka from the cut glass decanter on the nightstand, she downed it before facing off Dr. Morrison.

  “Thanks for coming, Reggie, now get the hell out of here,” she said. “I’m fine now.”

  “Don’t put me in this position again, Junie Bug,” he said as he scurried out the door.

  Junie Bug sat on the side of the bed. “Abba, this is Wyatt and Eddie. They’re friends of mine. I need to speak with them. Alone,” she said.

  Abba looked at me, and then at Eddie before leaving the bedroom and shutting it behind her without saying another word.

  “She works for you?” Eddie asked.

  “Personal assistant,” she said. “Headstrong and smart as a whip.” She began to smile. “I haven’t needed much assistance lately except for someone to keep me stocked with vodka.”

  “You were on death’s door,” I said. “Why didn’t she call 9-1-1?”

  “She and Reggie have their orders. I don’t want to die in a hospital,” she said.

  “You’re too young to die,” Eddie said. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

  “Have you ever lost your husband, your lover, and your two twin daughters the same day, Eddie?”

  “No.”

  “Then shut the fuck up,” she said, pouring another shot of vodka.

  “Fine,” he said. “If you’ll share your hooch with me.”

  “Why not,” she said, pouring him a shot.

  “What’s with all the dust covers?” I asked. “Last time I was here this place was alive with people. You had at least a dozen servants. Where are they?”

  “They all quit.”

  “Because you didn’t pay them?”

  Junie Bug grinned. “Gordon died, but he didn’t take his money with him. The staff was afraid of ghosts. One by one, they quit, finally leaving me all alone.”

  “Because?” I asked.

  “The house is haunted.”

  “Claude and Gordon?”

  “Among others, most I don’t even recognize. Everyone except Dauphine.”

  “They’ve accosted you?” I asked.

  “They’re harmless. I even enjoy knowing I’m not alone here, though that hasn’t worked for everyone else.”

  “And Abba?”

  “A student at Tulane. She needs the money and is trying her best to deny her own eyes.”

  “What’ll you do if she quits?” Eddie asked.

  “Be totally fucked,” she said.

  “Then why don’t you move?” I asked.

  She hesitated a moment before answering. “Because I’m trapped in this house; ju
st as Claude and Gordon are trapped here.”

  “You came damn close to joining them a few minutes ago,” Eddie said.

  For a moment, the room grew quiet, and I could almost feel the icy presence of Claude and Gordon. Eddie must have felt it too because he poured himself another shot of vodka, downing it in one slug.

  Realizing I was still standing in the same spot as when I’d entered the room, I sat on the bed beside Junie Bug and squeezed her hand.

  “You could at least call some of your friends,” I said. “Go to a movie, maybe. You can’t just lie around here and drink and drug yourself to death,” I said.

  “What friends? Instead of embracing me during my time of need, they ousted me from the country club and from their lives. None of my girlfriends would take my call. I finally gave up trying. It’s as if I no longer even exist.”

  “Because of the murder?” Eddie asked.

  “Because Gordon was black, and had been passing as white his entire life. The crowd we ran with could have forgiven him for murder. Not for being a nigger,” she said, spewing the hateful racial slur.

  “Neither you nor Desire have a racist bone in your bodies,” I said.

  “I can’t say as much for Gordon, Claude, and Dauphine, or the socialite crowd we ran with. I miss Claude and Dauphine, and even Gordon, though not my fake friends. I’m glad they’re gone. It’s just hard living with such loneliness.”

  Eddie embraced her again. “You’re still young, Junie Bug, and still a very attractive woman. Get out of the house. Meet some new people. With your personality, it won’t take long.”

  Pulling away from Eddie’s embrace, she turned to me. “I wish I could. What brings you two here on this utterly dreadful night?”

  Her somber expression faded into a smile of recognition when I handed her the opal bracelet.

  “I found this on my balcony.”

  “Impossible,” she said.

  “Obviously not.”

  “This was Dauphine’s bracelet. She always wore Desire’s and Desire hers. It was a statement to the strength of the bond between them. This can’t be the bracelet I remember because Dauphine was buried with it on her wrist.”

  Eddie poured her another shot of vodka when she began weeping.

  “It’s okay,” he said.

  “Oh Wyatt, do you think it was stolen by grave robbers?”

  I could only shake my head. “I think Dauphine left it on my balcony.”

  “But Dauphine’s dead.”

  “Mama Mulate would tell you that she’s only crossed over into a different state of cosmic awareness.”

  Junie Bug stared at the bracelet as I told her about watching the ghostly funeral procession pass beneath my balcony. She waited in silence until I’d finished the story.

  “Why would Dauphine give you the bracelet?” she asked.

  “Maybe she wanted to warn me about something.”

  “Desire?” Junie Bug said.

  “That very idea has been percolating in my brain. Have you heard from her since she became cloistered?”

  “No,” she said. “I don’t even know where she’s at. You think she’s in danger?”

  “I don’t see any other possibility.”

  “I have something to show you.”

  She disappeared into another room, returning with a photo album in her arms. Sitting on the side of the bed, she began thumbing through it. Finding what she was looking for, she removed a photo from its plastic pocket. I stared at it in disbelief.

  “Let me see,” Eddie said.

  It was an old black and white photo of Desire and Dauphine taken when they were about five. Someone had written the girls names in ink to distinguish one from the other. The photo was curled and yellowing at the edges, over Desire’s face the faint image of a superimposed skull.

  “The ghosts move things around at night. I found this album on the floor, the photo sticking out like a bookmarker. It’s a sign; God forbid, Desire may already be dead.”

  “That’s why I’m here. I’ll tear this town apart if I have to to find out. I just need a place to start. Can’t you tell me anything about where she might be?”

  Junie Bug buried her face in her hands and shook her head.

  “Desire forbade me from being present when the people came to get her. Doesn’t matter because I was peeking through the door. She left here with two people: an older woman dressed in a nun’s habit, and a little man dressed in an awful-fitting black suit.”

  “A priest?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “A funny looking little man. The woman introduced herself as Sister Gertrude. She called the man Father Fred.”

  “Can I take the photo with me? I have someone I can show it to. It may be a clue. At any rate, we have to go now.”

  She handed it to me, draped her arms around my neck, buried her face against my shoulder and began to sob. There was little I could do except gently pat her back.

  “Wyatt and I are meeting someone at Bertram’s Bar on Chartres. Why don’t you come with us? We’ll bring you back home.”

  “I can’t. I haven’t been out of the house in almost a year. I’m not dressed, and my hair’s a mess.”

  “No excuses,” he said. “Get cleaned up and dressed. Wyatt and I will wait on you.”

  Junie Bug’s expression brightened as she sprang up from the bed.

  “Abba,” she said, calling from the door. “Come help me. We’re going out.”

  Chapter 6

  Eddie and I waited in the parlor for Abba and Junie Bug to get ready, Eddie drumming the arm of his chair with a nervous forefinger to pass the time. They didn’t disappoint when they finally came out to join us.

  “You two look great,” I said.

  I wasn’t kidding. Eddie couldn’t stop staring, earning laughter from Junie Bug. Abba was wearing either Dauphine or Desire’s dress. While both tall, neither was as tall as Abba, the seam of the skirt rising at least twelve inches above her knees.

  Though Junie Bug was old enough to be Abba’s mother, she still had the face and body of the runway model she’d once been. Abba was slender, stood six inches taller than Junie Bugg, and had the shapely legs of a dedicated runner. Unlike Eddie, I tried not to stare.

  As we left the Garden District and headed toward Bertram’s, we learned the weather conditions had only grown worse. Rampant fog and the resultant visibility problems it brought with it had kept his normal patrons at home, and the tourists already asleep in their hotel rooms waiting for morning. Bertram was sitting at the bar with Josie. They didn’t see us come in the door.

  Junie Bug was laughing, not yet paying attention to Josie as we approached. When Eddie tapped Josie’s shoulder, and she turned around, Junie Bug’s smile disappeared. Clutching her heart, she collapsed to the floor.

  “What the hell!” Bertram said, wheeling around when he heard the thump.

  Eddie had already dropped to his knees, preparing to perform CPR for the second time the same night. Before he could proceed, Bertram stuck smelling salts beneath Junie Bug’s nose. In a moment, her eyes popped open.

  Josie was on her knees beside Eddie. When Junie Bug realized she wasn’t who she’d thought she was, she relaxed.

  “You okay?” Josie asked.

  “When I first saw you, I thought you were my daughter,” Junie Bug said. “It gave me quite a start.”

  Eddie explained when Josie cast him a puzzled glance. “This is Junie Bug Vallee, mother of Dauphine and Desire, the two twins we told you about at the track. Junie Bug, this is Josie Castellano.”

  “Josie Tanner,” Josie said. “Though I’m divorced, I still use my former husband’s last name in deference to my son.”

  “You have a son?” Junie Bug asked.

  Josie squeezed Junie Bug’s hand. “Yes, and I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to him. I’m so sorry about your daughters.”

  “I didn’t know you have a son,” Eddie said.

  “Franklin Joseph. Ev
eryone calls him Jojo because there’s already a Frankie in the family.”

  “You didn’t tell me you have a son, or that you’re divorced,” Eddie said.

  “What difference does it make?” Josie asked.

  “Nothing, I guess,” he said.

  Josie handled Eddie’s look of concern with a dismissive frown. “We’ll talk about it later,” she said. “Junie Bug and I need to go to the ladies room so I can help her clean Bertram’s dirty floor off her pretty dress.”

  “Thanks, baby,” Junie Bug said when Josie and Abba gave her a hand. “These gentlemen would have left me sitting on the floor all night.”

  Josie, Abba and Junie Bug were chattering like old friends as they headed toward the ladies room. Bertram twisted his mustache.

  “Where you boys been,” he asked in his bayou-flavored Cajun drawl.

  “Not where we been,” Eddie said. “Where we are now. Drinks are on me tonight. We’re celebrating.”

  “Oh hell! Musta hit the big one at the track,” Bertram said. “How much you win? Hundred, two hundred, a thousand?”

  “Try sixty-six thousand,” Eddie said. “Half for me and the other half for Wyatt.”

  Bertram held out his hand. “Good,” he said. “Now you can pay me the six months rent you owe me.”

  “When the check clears the bank I’ll pay you, along with another six months in advance.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Check’s in the mail. Same song, second verse.”

  “That’s where it is,” I said. “I mailed it to myself, so Eddie and I wouldn’t lose it before the banks open tomorrow.”

  Bertram turned to Eddie. “Is he pulling this old Cajun’s leg?”

  “Not this time,” he said. “Break out the hooch and put it on my tab.”

  Eddie and Bertram had already had a round when Abba, Josie, and Junie Bug returned from the ladies room. Abba pulled up a stool beside me at the bar. Josie and Junie Bug kept walking to an empty booth in the back.

  “Looks like those two hit it off,” I said. “Eddie’s buying. Want something to drink.”

  “A glass of Chardonnay would be nice,” she said.

  The bar was empty of customers, Eddie and Bertram deep in conversation as they joined us.