by Beth Moore
“Entrez, s’il vous plaît.” The door swung open, Stella motioning dramatically with her left hand. Jillian crossed the threshold to a densely furnished room lit only by candles. Wooden figurines were perched on the higher surfaces like sentries standing watch over the room. A clear glass bowl filled with strands of colored beads was on a small table. A door to a second room was closed. Besides a small kitchen and dining area, that seemed to be the extent of the place.
Jillian had secretly hoped the apartment would turn out to have two bedrooms so that it wouldn’t be too awkward if she asked Stella if she could stay with her until she found a place of her own. She was on borrowed time at Saint Sans, and she wasn’t about to stay long enough for Olivia to have to ask her to leave. The last thing Jillian wanted was to stay in New Orleans permanently, but one thing was clear: after pocketing a thousand dollars from Vince’s desk drawer, she wasn’t going back to California anytime soon.
Jillian’s eyes cased the room. The walls to her right and her left were painted a dark solid color—maroon perhaps—and in odd contrast to the rest of the clutter, each void of a single picture. A swath of fabric was draped over the window. The wall opposite the entrance was overlaid by a large painted mural.
“You like my secret garden?”
“Yeah,” Jillian answered, shrugging her shoulders. “Yeah, I do.”
“A friend painted it for me. I closed my eyes and described what I saw in my mind’s eye and voilà. When I opened them, there it was.”
“It looks like you could get lost in there and never come out.”
“But, my new friend, who’d want to?”
“You’re a reader.” Books, mostly old with torn spines, were stacked vertically and horizontally any way they’d fit on the shelves of a small, ornate bookcase.
“You could say that. How about you? You like to widen your mind, Jillian?”
“I like reading okay. Magazines mostly.”
“Not me. I love the smell of an old book. I want pages to crack when I open it. I’ve got a friend who owns a secondhand bookstore a few blocks over. He lets me know when he gets something he knows I’ll like.”
Jillian was curious. “So what do you like?”
She wasn’t sure what was funny about the question but Stella responded with a bit of a laugh. “Hmmm. I guess history might sum up my taste in books. There’s some history around these parts, Jillian.”
“I’m not much of a history person.”
“Not even your own history?”
“Especially not my own history.” They both chuckled. “But I do like art. My mom is an artist. She sells art mostly, but she also paints.”
“I’d love to know about your mother, Jillian. What’s she like? She must be lovely. I mean, look at her daughter. Is she dark like you?”
“You think I’m dark?”
“Dark-headed. Does she have that gorgeous black hair like you?”
“No, not really.” Jillian felt an unexpected wave of emotion at the thought of Jade. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I haven’t talked to her in a few weeks. I miss her.”
“I know what you mean. I was never close to my mom, but my dad was my whole world. He died several years ago. But he’s still here with me. I often feel his presence.”
Jillian had no interest in feeling the presence of a dead man.
Stella continued. “Are you close to your dad?”
“No.” The room fell silent except for an antique clock on a small buffet ticking like a bass drum. “It’s a little later than I realized. I better keep an eye on the clock.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. You just got here. The trolley runs all night. We stay up late and sleep late around here. You know what they say: When in Rome . . .”
“So, what’s this?” Jillian walked over to the square wooden table in the dining area next to the kitchen. Candlelight flickered on the shiny surface of a deck of oversize cards.
“Ah, that. Have you ever had your fortune told with cards?”
Jillian laughed. “No. I’ve never even seen any of those.”
“It’s fun! Want to do it? You can’t work down here and never have your fortune told. That’s not right.”
“How long does it take?”
“Jillian, quit being such a spoilsport. Relax a little. You sit. I’ll pour us each a glass of wine.”
Jillian pulled out a chair and sat down.
Stella reached over and took the deck off the table. “Forget the cards. We’ll just talk. There’s so much I still don’t know about you. Tell me about your dad.” She poured two glasses of deep-red wine and set one of them in front of Jillian. She sipped out of the other one as she took the chair opposite her guest.
The prospect of recounting any more of her miserable life or missing relationships to Stella was intolerable. “Let’s do the cards. Sounds like fun.” It was a diversion, and she needed one.
“Okay.” Stella placed the stack of cards back on the table. “You shuffle them.”
With her first try, Jillian sent cards all over the table and a few on the floor. “I’m all thumbs with these. They’re enormous.”
Stella laughed. “You’ll get it. Keep trying.”
“These look medieval or something.” Jillian finally managed to come up with a decent shuffle and placed the cards back on the table.
“Now, cut the deck,” Stella instructed.
“When exactly does your part kick in?”
“Oh, soon I’ll turn into Marie Laveau. Just give it time.”
“Who is that?” Jillian asked.
Stella swallowed another sip of wine and cackled. “She’s the witch queen of New Orleans. Boy, you truly are from another planet.” She shook her head. “I’m teasing. We’re just playing cards here. Nothing crazy.”
After Jillian cut the cards, Stella slid the deck facedown across the table toward her. “Okay, now choose five cards from the deck.”
“Any cards I want?”
“Yes, any five cards. Keep your cards facedown after you draw them.”
Jillian chose the first two slowly. “Oh, what the heck. This is just for kicks anyway.” She pulled three others together from the stack. “Who cares?” She laughed and tried to loosen up, imagining how ridiculous her stiffness must have looked in Stella’s eyes.
Stella smiled and arranged the five cards in a semicircle facing Jillian. “While we do this, set your mind free to course over your life. Not just your past but your future. Think of a gate and open it.”
Jillian nodded and tried to set her mind free, whatever that meant. “Gate officially open.”
Stella turned over the first card. It was a rider on a horse with sticks of some sort around it. “A six of wands.”
“What does that mean?” Maybe this was going to be intriguing after all. Jillian leaned forward toward the cards, both elbows on the table, her chin in her palms.
“This one is speaking to your finances.”
“Well, then it’s telling you I’m broke.”
“Maybe not for long. It looks to me like you may have some cash coming.”
As Jillian repositioned herself, the chair creaked. She wondered if somehow Stella possessed a peculiar power and could see her taking the money at Sigmund’s. Maybe she was seeing her past instead of her future. “That one’s clearly off. Let’s go to the next one.”
Stella stayed with it, tapping the face of the first card with her fingernail. “An inheritance maybe?”
Jillian burst out laughing. “No. That can’t be it.” With her certainty that the card was wrong, Jillian decided to relax a little and have fun. Obviously it was just a game. “Can I flip the next one?”
“Sure. We’ll go at your pace. You’re not much for elaboration, are you?”
Jillian grinned and turned over the second card.
“Another six! Six of swords. How about that?”
Jillian studied the boat on the card. At least it wasn’t religious like the one in the stained glass at Saint Sans, a
nd there were no waves. Just calm rowing. “So what does it mean?”
“You’re on a journey.”
“Well, that’s insightful.” Jillian sipped out of her glass. “Aren’t we all?”
“Yes, that’s true. But if you’ll listen, you might learn where you’re headed. Do you want to know?”
“Only if it’s good.”
“I’d say so far, so good. Want to keep playing?”
The room was beginning to get a bit warm and the smell of the candles too sweet. Jillian had only had a few sips of the wine but she already felt a little light-headed. She turned over the third card. This one was unnumbered.
“The fool.” Stella spoke quickly. “But no worries. In tarot cards, the fool can be very fortunate. The draw can just mean that you’re off to a new start and you’re experimenting with things. That fits, doesn’t it?”
Jillian’s head was beginning to spin. She didn’t want to have to tell Stella that she was having an odd reaction to the wine. She was sure Stella would think she was an idiot. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them, attempting to regain her focus. The candle threw an ethereal light on the edges of Stella’s untamed hair. She was moving her mouth but Jillian couldn’t make out what she was saying. She tried to break her gaze by looking past Stella to the mural behind her but her eyes kept blurring. The vines looked like they were moving, winding around the gate. The lamp in the mural seemed to flicker and the small, dark clearing in the center of the garden yawned.
Jillian could feel a single bead of sweat roll between her shoulder blades. Her body jarred rhythmically to the pounding of her heart. Now nothing in the room was still. Those figurines. She could not see them but she could feel them. They were staring at her. Small ghosts frolicked on the wicks. Jillian’s palms were flat on the table but something tugged at her hands. She could no longer see Stella’s face, but the aura around her remained, looking like the edges of a silhouette burning. She could smell the soil of the garden. She could feel a tickling vine looping around the fingers of her right hand.
Breakers of terror and exhilaration crashed upon Jillian with such equal force that she could not tell them apart. A soundless voice called her.
CHAPTER 20
JILLIAN AWAKENED to an earsplitting pounding. She sat up quickly, head throbbing. Disoriented, she blinked her eyes and cased the surroundings for a semblance of familiarity. Couch pillows were scattered on the floor but she had no recollection of putting them there. She blew out a breath of relief as she noticed the bookcase she’d seen last night. There were the rickety chairs and that garden mural. The room looked so different in the daylight, but at least Jillian knew where she was. Why she was there was another question she’d try to answer when she was thinking straight.
The pounding continued. “Stella! Somebody’s at the door!” There was no sign of Stella.
“Just a second!” she howled toward the commotion. She steadied herself on her feet and walked dizzily over to the door that she assumed led to the bedroom. Beating on it with the palm of her hand, she yelled, “Stella!”
A man’s voice called from the hall. “Miss Slater, is that you?” More knocking.
Jillian felt like she’d been caught doing something wrong, but in the blur of confusion, she couldn’t sort out why. She tried to open the door to the bedroom but it was locked. She yelled one more time, “Stella? You there? Open the door!”
“Miss Slater?” It was a woman’s voice sounding from the hall this time, insistent and loud.
Jillian glanced in the antique mirror over the buffet. “Look at yourself.” She licked her fingertips and tried to wipe away the mascara caked under her eyes and then brushed through her dark hair with both hands. She needed to use the restroom in the worst way but she was afraid the apartment door would come off the hinges before she got back. “Alright, already!”
“Miss Slater, are we ever glad to see you. You remember us? Officer La Bauve, here, and my partner, Officer Sanchez.”
“Okay.” Jillian’s mind was still in a fog. She remembered them all too well, but she had no idea what the two of them were doing in Stella’s doorway. “The owner—I mean the renter—is not here. Well, I don’t think she is. Maybe she’s in the bedroom but the door’s locked. Her name is—”
“Actually, we’re here to see you,” Officer La Bauve explained cheerfully. The man was happier than anybody ought to be at this time of the morning. What time was it, anyway? His sidekick looked considerably less cheerful.
“Me? Why?” Jillian glanced at the clock and saw that it was just shy of ten o’clock. She smoothed down her shirt and realized she still had on her white work uniform. Embarrassed, she glanced around the floor for her shoes.
“Well, your family was worried about you.”
“My family? Are you talking about my mom? How did my mom get your—?”
Officer Sanchez picked up the dialogue. “The people over at Saint Sans. They were pretty worried when you didn’t come home last night.”
“Are you arresting me?” Jillian was confused and unnerved.
Officer La Bauve smiled warmly. “Oh no, ma’am. Of course not. This is not even an official missing persons call. Hasn’t been long enough for that and you, an adult and all. Just a courtesy to Mrs. Fontaine.”
Officer Sanchez chimed back in. “Mrs. Atwater called. We’ve gotten to know her through the other case. You know, the one concerning your dad. She isn’t one to take no for an answer.”
“He wasn’t my dad.”
“Either way,” Officer La Bauve interjected, resting his hand on his partner’s shoulder, “we’re just glad to see you’re fine. How about a lift home?”
“In a police car? Are you out of your mind?”
“It’s a free ride. And we won’t make you wear the handcuffs or anything.” He laughed heartily at himself.
Jillian was not amused. “No thanks.” She looked around the room until she found her purse and her shoes. She sat down on the couch to put them on. The surface was as stiff as bare boards. No wonder her neck hurt so badly. “I’ll take the trolley. How did you people find me?”
The two stepped through the door like Jillian had just handed them a written invitation. La Bauve kept talking and Sanchez circled behind Jillian and glanced into the kitchen. “Mrs. Atwater started calling the station at five this morning. By eight o’clock, our boss had us asking questions at the café and around the square.”
“Oh, great.” All Jillian needed was to lose her job. She’d need to call the café as soon as she got to Saint Sans. “Did you make them think I was under arrest?” She was too frazzled to mask her anxiety.
“Oh no, ma’am,” Officer La Bauve responded. “We just said your people were worried because you hadn’t come home last night.”
“They’re not my people. I’m just staying there until . . . well, until I can move.”
He continued as if he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. “Sarge isn’t usually one to jump the gun, seeing it hadn’t been long you’d been unaccounted for. But he said we weren’t overloaded and for me and Sanchez to give it the morning. And it was uncanny how fast it all pieced together. One person saw you go this far. Another picked up from there. We just kept picking up the breadcrumbs kinda like—”
“I get it.”
“Like me and Sanchez were—”
“Hansel and Gretel.”
“That’s exactly right! See there? You and me are tracking this morning. We woke up a man sleeping right out there on the sidewalk and asked if he’d seen anyone by your description. Would you believe he told us right where we could find you? How about that?”
“Fabulous.” Jillian was back on her feet and slapped her purse strap on her shoulder. If she’d known she was going to end up spending the night, she’d have brought a change of clothes. In her opinion, only one thing looked worse than her uniform and that was her uniform after she’d slept in it.
“Miss Slater.” Officer Sanchez came around Jillian from the ba
ck. “Do you want us to check on your friend? You say she’s in there?” She glanced at the bedroom door. “Do you have any reason to suspect she’s not okay? You want us to try to pry that door open?” She tried to turn the doorknob.
“No! She’s not in there. At least I don’t think she is. Or if she is, she’s asleep. She was fine last night. We’re not prying any doors open around here. I think you’re already more company than she was looking for.”
The truth was, Jillian was as confused about Stella as the officers were. If she was in that room, she was the soundest sleeper on the planet. If she wasn’t, why had she locked the door? And why didn’t she leave a note? And what on earth had happened last night to knock her out for so long?
Jillian picked the pillows up off the floor and set them on the couch. For the life of her, she could not remember how they had been arranged.
“If she doesn’t touch base with you pretty soon and you start getting concerned, how about you let us know?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Officer La Bauve jumped back in insistently. “You sure you don’t want a ride?”
As much of a caricature as this guy seemed in Jillian’s eyes, she had to admit that his persona was so well perfected, he almost came across as sincere. “Positive. I don’t need any more help, thank you.”
Officer Sanchez shook her head. “Ma’am, we’re just trying to—”
“Don’t call me ma’am. I hate that. It’s backward.”
“Backward? Are manners backward where you come from? And forgive me for asking, but what exactly do you not hate?”
Jillian was slack-jawed. “I’ll tell you what I don’t hate. I don’t hate being left alone!”
“If alone is what you want, Miss Slater, you may have come to the wrong city.” The officer opened the apartment door and said forcefully, “After you.”
Jillian was uneasy about leaving the apartment unlocked, but Stella had left her no choice. She had enough problems of her own, including what she was going to say to Adella when she got back to Saint Sans. For starters, she was going to tell her she was a grown woman. What she couldn’t offer Adella was an explanation for why she ended up spending the night on that short, awful couch. But it was none of Adella’s business anyway.