by Beth Moore
She crawled out of bed and felt around for her phone on the dresser and then on the bathroom counter. She tiptoed downstairs and flipped on a lamp and searched the den to no avail, and then the kitchen.
“I bet I never brought the darn thing in from the car,” she whispered to herself. She started to leave it until morning but decided it could be stolen by that time. Her pajamas were decent enough that she didn’t bother to go back upstairs for a robe. She grabbed her car keys and slipped out the back door. The neighbor’s German shepherd startled her nearly out of her wits, barking like he was about to take the ankle off an intruder. The bulb in the porch light was out, but the light from the kitchen was enough for her to see her way to the car. The motion detector over the garage door would come on once she got out there.
She pressed the button on her key as she opened the gate and she heard the car door on the driver’s side unlock. When the motion detector switched on the light, she nearly put her foot down on a raccoon tearing into a McDonald’s bag for leftover fries. She squealed and the raccoon took off, hissing. Adella put her hand over her pounding heart and tried to catch her breath. “If those boys don’t quit leaving the lid off the trash can, I’m going to pull every hair out of their heads.” Opening the car door, she caught a glimpse of the phone on the floor on the passenger’s side, just under the seat. Rather than go around to the other side in her bare feet, she got into the driver’s seat and bent all the way over to retrieve it. With her head down in front of the seat and her feet hanging out of the car door, her mind tried to read what her eyes were seeing on the screen.
Missed Call: Raphael Fontaine
She jumped up and lunged out of the car, running headlong into a man’s chest.
It was the kind of thing that could make a grown woman nearly wet her pants.
The man turned out to be a neighbor from the end of the block who said he was on a late-night walk when he saw the light on in her car and her feet sticking out of the driver’s side. He said he just wanted to make sure she was okay.
Adella wanted to respond, “I was perfectly fine until you showed up without announcing yourself,” but she refrained. Who takes a walk at midnight? she thought. Who wouldn’t just call from the end of the driveway, “Hey, lady! You okay?”
She never shut her eyes all night. Her heart was racing like it had something to run from.
CHAPTER 27
JILLIAN CLOCKED OUT at the café at ten thirty, glad to head back to Saint Sans at a decent hour. It was Halloween night and Jackson Square looked like an audition for the world’s biggest freak show. The waitstaff back at Sigmund’s and a few regular customers came in costume on Halloween, too, but these people were a whole different caliber. They looked more like they’d taken off the costumes they’d worn to their day jobs and come as themselves.
One of the other waitresses teased Jillian as she left. “Get home before midnight. You know what they say about this city and vampires, don’t you?”
No, and she didn’t want to know. She’d already watched one bizarre guy down a whole order of beignets in about three bites with his vampire teeth still in place. Another gulped at least four cups of café au lait with a noose dangling around his neck. And there was no counting the witches. The square might as well have been a Wiccan convention.
“And people raise their eyebrows when I tell them I’m from San Francisco,” Jillian answered the waitress.
When she got off the trolley across from Saint Sans, all seemed quiet on St. Charles except the wind. She tried to rub the chill bumps off her arms from the northern blowing in. As she pushed through the front door and adjusted her eyes to the dim light of the great room, she reminded herself she only had to face this place for a few more days. It had taken a couple weeks of well-placed hints, but Stella had finally agreed to let her stay at her place for a while. She planned to split her time between working at the café and looking for a better-paying job.
There was no comparison between Saint Sans and Stella’s place. Only a glutton for punishment would leave the bed in her room here for Stella’s couch. But sometimes it was too expensive to stay somewhere for free. She stared for a few seconds at the boat in the stained glass, the waves around it alive with the moonlight. She needed to tell Adella, David, and Caryn she was leaving. Maybe she’d leave Olivia to figure it out when she shut the door on Clementine’s tail on her way out.
David walked into the room. “I thought I heard you,” he said. “Figured I’d see you in.”
“You still up?” Jillian liked David. He’d be the only one she’d really miss. Caryn had been friendly to her, too, but Jillian always assumed it was insincere. After all, how could somebody going to medical school not look down on somebody like Jillian?
“The Winsees have been dancing for the last half hour. It won’t be any use to try to sleep until they tire out.” David smiled warmly.
“What do you mean, dancing?”
David motioned to Jillian. “Come here. Real quietly now.”
She slipped off her shoes and tiptoed down the hall with him until they were right across from Mrs. Winsee’s door. David took Jillian by the hand and pulled her down to the floor, where they sat with their backs against the wall. Music wafted from the room and David quietly sang with it.
“Some day, when I’m awfully low
When the world is cold
I will feel a glow just thinking of you
And the way you look tonight.”
“Hey, you can sing!” Jillian whispered loudly.
David grinned with unfeigned affection. “Well, that would be helpful, seeing that I teach chorale.”
“What if she opens the door and finds us out here?” Jillian giggled.
“She won’t. She’s too happy doing what she’s doing. Anyway, she wouldn’t care. She’d probably just sit down here with us and ask us who we’re eavesdropping on.”
The sound of Mrs. Winsee’s laughter lifted above the music.
“The woman’s nuts, David. How can you be so tolerant of her?”
“Don’t call her that. She just lives much of the time in a world that her mind spins out of the yarn of her past. But she’s a delightful woman if you give her the chance. Let her talk sometime. Ask her about herself and hear her out. And who wouldn’t want a marriage like that, anyway?”
Jillian whispered, “But it isn’t real!”
“Oh, make no mistake, Jillian. It’s real to her.” They could both hear Mrs. Winsee talking to her dead husband.
“Sheesh. Can you imagine what the poor man was like?” Jillian shook her head.
“Adella once told me that he helped Mrs. Fontaine sort out some legal issues about her husband’s will after he passed. He was a lawyer, you know. I think he already had cancer at that time.”
“Did they strike up some kind of deal over the old woman?”
“Business deal, you mean? I don’t think you’d call it that, though he left more than enough money for her care. Adella made it sound like he’d been a true friend to Mrs. Fontaine when the state of Louisiana tried to lay claim to every dime her husband had made. Then she was a true friend to him after he died.”
“After somebody dies is a little late, don’t you think?”
“I suspect she’ll oversee Mrs. Winsee’s care for the rest of her life. I’d say that’s not too late.”
A lower voice trailed from Mrs. Winsee’s room. A man’s voice. “Oh, gosh, is that her doing his voice now? I’m creeped out!”
“I’ve never heard her mimic Mr. Winsee’s voice. It does sound a little odd.” David chuckled. “But remember, much of her life was spent on the stage. Think of it like she’s reading both parts.”
“Whatever. It’s giving me goose bumps.”
They leaned closer and closer to the door to try to decipher the dialogue. David almost had his ear next to the knob when a loud slamming sound jolted Jillian to her feet. “What was that?”
David looked a little unnerved himself but said calmly
, “No worries. I bet the gate is unlatched in the backyard and the wind banged it shut.”
A shrill scream came from Mrs. Winsee’s room. David jumped to his feet and beat on her door with his palm. “Mrs. Winsee! It’s David. You okay? Mrs. Winsee? Let me in.” She made an indistinguishable but unsettling sound. He dashed into the utility room and started throwing open the cabinet doors.
“What are you doing?” Jillian wasn’t whispering anymore.
“There’s a key to her room in here. It’s in one of these cabinets or drawers. Help me find it!”
As Jillian scrambled through several drawers, David ran his hand along the top of the cabinet over the washer and dryer. They both heard the banging sound again.
“Got it!” He was back at her door in a flash. “Mrs. Winsee, it’s your friend David. Grab your robe if you need to. I’m coming in and I mean right now.” He turned the key and swung open the door.
Mrs. Winsee was standing with her back to them, facing an open window, her gown and the curtain sheers whipping with the wind, her shoulders shivering. David grabbed her robe off the rocker, draped it around her shoulders, and ordered Jillian to shut the music off.
When he turned Mrs. Winsee around, her face was awash with fear. She mumbled something imperceptible, saliva bubbling on her lips. Before David could lower the window, they heard one of the iron chairs scoot across the back porch. “That’s no wind doing that! Stay with her!”
He darted out of Mrs. Winsee’s room toward the back door. When Jillian turned toward Mrs. Winsee, she saw a large man’s head and shoulders framed by the open window. He was wearing a ghoulish mask that looked like melted flesh and a shirt that looked splashed in blood. Jillian screamed and Mrs. Winsee froze in fear.
Jillian pulled Mrs. Winsee from the room and charged out the back door just as the whack of a broom handle hit the man. The man moaned and turned toward David with a growl, grabbed the broom, and pitched it to the ground. As David started to lunge for it, the man threw a blinding punch to his left cheek.
Before Jillian could run to his aid, a strong arm grabbed her around the waist and jerked her back into the house. “Oh no, you don’t. Get yourself in here and call the police!” It was Olivia. She pulled a handgun out of the pocket of her robe, held it with both hands, and aimed it into the backyard, yelling with the mouth of a sailor.
“Don’t shoot!” David was flat on his back and covering his head. “It’s me!”
The wind caught the door and it slammed with such force that Jillian was certain the gun had gone off. She looked up to see the front door wide open and Mrs. Winsee standing on the porch, trancelike, her arm outstretched, her index finger pointing toward something. “Mrs. Winsee, what are you doing? Get in the house!” Jillian grabbed her phone and headed toward her. Reaching the porch, Jillian gazed in the direction Mrs. Winsee’s trembling finger indicated. The intruder was running with long strides into the blackness of Audubon Park.
“911. Where is your emergency?”
“S-s-s-saint Charles.” Jillian was so frightened she couldn’t remember the street number.
“Caller ID says Raphael Fontaine, ma’am. Are you calling from his residence?”
“Raphael? No! Yes, I guess! His mom’s—” Flustered, she hung up the phone and threw it on the Snapdragon and grabbed the afghan to wrap around the frightened old woman. “Mrs. Winsee, it’s me, Jillian.” She spoke with a gentleness the walls of Saint Sans had never before heard from her. “You did so good. You spotted him. You saved the day. Come on back in. Let’s get you warmed up.” She sat Mrs. Winsee down on the couch and knelt in front of her and swept the old woman’s tumbled hair out of her eyes. Mrs. Winsee stared straight ahead, her lips moving, but nothing audible coming from her mouth.
“Jillian, I’ll get her medicine.” It was Olivia coming in with David, each appearing as stunned as the other. “Get some ice for David, will you?” The pocket of Olivia’s robe sagged with the weight of the handgun.
“Blood,” Mrs. Winsee said.
“On the man’s shirt? Yes, I saw it, too. But I don’t think it was real,” Jillian responded. “It was just a costume.”
“Blood!” Mrs. Winsee insisted loudly.
“Jillian, your foot,” Olivia said with alarm, circling around the couch. “Sit still. I’ll get a towel.”
The cut hadn’t stung until Jillian saw it. It didn’t look disturbingly large but the sight of that much blood made Jillian dizzy. She glanced around and saw splotches of crimson on the floor behind her.
David joined Jillian in front of Mrs. Winsee. He patted the older woman’s hand as she stared wild-eyed at him with a question she couldn’t find the words to ask. “You’re alright, Mrs. Winsee. We all are. Let’s see if we can get Jillian fixed up here.” He reached toward Olivia for the damp hand towel and dabbed it on the bottom of Jillian’s foot. “It’s not so bad. See?” He pulled back the cloth to show Mrs. Winsee a clean slice in the tender arch of Jillian’s foot. It was an inch wide but not deep. When he applied some pressure to it, Jillian winced. “How’d this happen? Do you know? Did you walk out in the front yard?”
“I got no farther than the porch. I have no idea how it happened. But you’re the one who’s really hurt,” she said, still shaking. “The rate you’re swelling, your left eye is going to be shut within the hour.”
David’s cheekbone was already purple. “He was huge. I don’t think I came to his shoulders.”
“Well, you went after him like he’d met his match.”
“Pure adrenaline. By the time I saw how big he was, I was committed. You’re going to need a bandage. Sit still and I’ll go get one.”
“I’ve got it, David.” Olivia handed him a small box of Band-Aids. “And I’ve got the medicine. You two give me a little space and let me see if I can get Vida to take this.”
When Jillian heard the siren down the street, she remembered that she’d hung up on the emergency operator. She hobbled through the front door, and to her relief, a police car pulled up at the curb. The flashing lights were so blinding that a policeman was halfway up the sidewalk before she could see that it wasn’t any of the officers they knew. Her heart sank. Only one thing was worse than having to deal with the police—dealing with new ones.
“This is our district, ma’am. Why don’t you tell us what happened and let us take a look around and we’ll contact that district if we need to.”
Jillian’s grandmother put it bluntly. “You can go ahead and contact them now and we’ll wait until they get here. As you can see, no one has been mortally wounded and we clearly aren’t going to bed anytime soon. You can call them or I will. Jillian, why don’t you go get my purse? I have the sergeant’s number in there. And go ahead and get my handgun license too, to show the officers.”
The absurdity wasn’t lost on Jillian. She had no idea where Olivia kept her purse and she wouldn’t know a handgun license if she had one tattooed on the palm of her hand. As Olivia anticipated, they made the phone call.
Thirty minutes crawled by before two more police cars pulled up in front of the house and officers with familiar faces walked through the front door. Officer La Bauve got up to speed with the policeman that Olivia had ordered to a halt, Officer Sanchez checked on Mrs. Winsee, and Sergeant DaCosta headed for Jillian and the others.
“Tell me what happened. Every detail. Maybe it was just a Halloween prank that went south, but let’s start ruling out some other possibilities.” He turned to David. “Mr. Jacobs, you first.”
After hearing David’s story, the officer stepped out onto the back porch to have a look around.
“This belong to any of you? Mr. Jacobs?”
Jillian peered through the door to see what he was referring to and caught a glimpse of metal just to the right of the doormat, reflecting off the porch light. It was an open pocketknife.
“Never seen it,” David answered. “I’m more of a broomstick man.”
“Miss Slater, did you come out this way?”
“Only a few steps. I was trying to run after David when Olivia pulled me back in.”
“Well, it’s at least pretty clear how you sliced your foot. Does it make sense to you that you could have stepped on it when you darted out the door?” Jillian nodded. “Have Sanchez look at that before we leave tonight and see if you need a couple of stitches. A tetanus shot might not be a bad idea either.”
“Was he planning to stab someone?” Jillian asked, alarmed.
“Maybe, but my gut says no. I’d expect a man with violence on his mind to come equipped with a more serious weapon.” He must have seen the terror of possibilities spread across Jillian’s face. “Miss Slater, look at me.”
She turned her eyes up to him, trying to hide how vulnerable she felt.
“No, I do not think he came with that kind of intention,” he said. “But I will tell you this. We will find him and we will sort this out and everybody around here is going to be safe. You hear what I’m saying?”
“It’s Rafe’s.” All three sets of eyes shot to Olivia’s face. Her olive complexion was ashen. “Your eyes are younger than mine, Sergeant. Look at the base of the blade. Is anything engraved there?”
He shone a small flashlight on it and inspected one side before turning the knife over. Even Jillian could see the faint but unmistakable F engraved exactly where Olivia told him to look.
Olivia sat down in a chair at the dining room table, tapped her forefinger to her lips several times, and with remarkable composure said, “It’s Rafe’s. His father gave it to him when he was eleven or twelve.”
“Who would have had it?” the sergeant asked.
“I have no idea. I haven’t seen it in decades. Haven’t thought about it in that long either, but it was his alright. It was one of the only personal things he ever got from the man. It had belonged to Mr. Fontaine’s own father. There’s a picture of him with it in a box in the closet of his room. Well, Jillian’s room right now.”