Ghost Walk

by Heather Graham

  “What?” Julian said, startled.

  Nikki shrugged. “That’s what Max said to tell you. He said it works for him all the time.”

  “Oh, really? Who would be trying to pick up old Max?” Julian demanded.

  “Oh, come on,” Patricia protested. “Max is cute—in a creepy kind of way.”

  “Great. I say I’m married, then when the right person comes along…they think that I’m married or a liar,” Julian said. “There goes my social life.” He groaned. “I’ll end up like Nikki.”

  “Oh, come on, will you guys please, please leave me alone?” Nikki demanded.

  “That bum is looking better and better,” Julian said to Nathan.

  “You didn’t even see him,” Nikki protested, irritated.

  “We’re just trying to help,” Nathan said.

  “I don’t want to be helped,” Nikki snapped. “Hey—work on Andy for a while, huh?”

  On cue, they all turned to stare at Andy. She laughed. “Nikki, they don’t know me as well. I won’t be nearly as much fun to torture.”

  “Besides, Andy is a flirt,” Nathan said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

  “Really?” Andy said.

  “Yeah, really,” Mitch assured her.

  Andy giggled. “Okay…I am a flirt. I admit it.”

  “You can flirt with me anytime,” Julian teased.

  “And if he’s not around, and you’re looking for a good solid Yankee boy…” Mitch suggested.

  “Never play where you work, that’s what Mom always said,” Andy told them with a sad shake of her head.

  “Well, you could just sleep with me,” Mitch said. “We wouldn’t have to play at all.”

  “Hey! Go back to torturing Nikki, will you?” Andy demanded.

  “If you all don’t quit, tomorrow night’s off,” Nikki said.

  “The tour is off?” Julian asked, puzzled.

  “Of course not,” Nikki said patiently. “If you’d all just behave like adults and listen…We had a record month. Max is going to pay for a celebration at Pat O’Brien’s. Dinner and drinks on him, tomorrow, after the night tour.”

  “All right!” Mitch cried happily.

  At that moment Madame D’Orso made one of her sweeping appearances, bearing her elegant coffeepot, chatting with her guests.

  And they were special guests. Their tours met in front of her place, bringing her lots of business.

  “It’s calmed down out here some, huh?” Nikki asked her.

  “Yes. Not that I complain about business, but we had a busy late lunch crowd today,” she told them, pouring them more coffee. At her place, it was premixed. Café au lait meant café au lait.

  “Hey,” Mitch said to her, setting a friendly hand on her back, just above her waist. The gesture wasn’t flirtatious, just affectionate. Mitch was in his late twenties. Madame was in her late…well, hard to tell, but she was a few decades older. “Should Nikki date the bum who was in your place?”

  “What bum?”

  “You didn’t see him?” Andy asked.

  “Honey, I wouldn’t have noticed if Robert E. Lee stopped in. It was busy in there today. As if this parish isn’t nutty enough, it’s election time. Campaigners, do-gooders and politicians everywhere, thick as flies. There’s those trying to clean up the place, make New Orleans a ‘family’ destination. And then there’s those trying to keep her wild, wicked and free.” She removed Mitch’s hand, grinned and moved on.

  “Damn. Wish I’d seen the bum. Then I’d know if we could clean him up enough or not,” Mitch said with a wink.

  “Drop it. Or there will be no free meal for you tomorrow night,” Nikki warned him.

  “It’s dropped,” he assured her.

  Nikki rose. She could see a tour group gathering out front. “Julian, it’s showtime. Andy, you’re following along. Patricia, Nathan, don’t forget you’re on tonight.”

  With a last long swallow of her café au lait, Nikki started off with a smile to meet the growing crowd. Twenty minutes later, she was standing in front of the Bourbon Street bar, once a blacksmith’s shop, that the pirate turned patriot Jean Lafitte was said to haunt. She found the story of the man a fascinating puzzle, and focused her speech on his enigmatic history, along with a mention that there were definitely “spirits” of all sorts to be found there—many of them behind the bar.

  Her smile was as enigmatic as her story. She was certain that Jean Lafitte’s ghost loved to have his story told. She could feel the mischief in the air, something a little wicked, and yet benign.

  She always told the story of the man with affection, and she knew that she always gave her audience a few delightful chills.

  Ghosts filled the streets here, between the neon lights that advertised Girls! Girls! Girls! and the shop fronts offering voodoo charms, the ever-present music, the mimes on the street, the antique shops, the boutiques and the T-shirt shops that also sold pralines and potions.

  It was New Orleans, and she loved it.

  Tom Garfield fought to retain his senses, fought because that was what a man did. It was simple instinct. And so many times before, it had served him well. But this time?

  The girl. Had he gotten to the girl? He didn’t know. No matter how he struggled, his mind was deeply fogged.

  There had been a chance.

  But he hadn’t been able to talk.

  And then…

  Then it had been too late. He had been followed.

  Well, it had been a good fight. And he had done as much good as he could. Maybe someone would come after him, someone who knew the truth. He had tried so damn hard to talk…

  He felt a jostling, and he knew. He was being “taken care of.” It no longer mattered, even to him. Dreams were taking over reality. And he could see…

  The woman. Like a fairy-tale princess. Long blond hair, eyes both blue and green… And that face, porcelain, and the look of pity…

  The…money.

  More money than anyone ever gave a bum.

  Not a bum. Once…

  In his mind’s eye, in dreams, all that remained, he could see himself in a suit. No, in a tux. Clean. Walking across a room. And there, the woman…

  He was jostled again, the dream broken. It was her kindness, he thought, that had most moved him.

  He felt the needle.

  Dreams…

  Dreams were good.

  He was dying. And as he died, one regret tore at him.

  They would never know the truth.

  Unless she realized just what she had, what she had received, what he had slipped to her in that instant when they touched…

  It was over. Had he lost? No, he had to die for a reason! God help him, he had to have counted. She had to realize…

  Fading. Fading, fading, and then…

  Death.

  2

  The afternoon French Quarter tour wound up being a long one. They always allowed for questions after the tour, and it turned out they had a lot of people with questions. When they finished, Julian decided to head home, but Nikki wanted to do some shopping, so she and Andy headed off.

  In addition to suggesting the party, Max had given Nikki a bonus. There was a corset shop on Royal Street and a certain piece of clothing she had been coveting for quite a while. On the way they stopped by Andy’s place to check on an old woman, Mrs. Montobello, Andy seemed to have adopted. The woman was full of tales about her younger years in New Orleans. She was an Italian immigrant who’d come to marry a fellow Italian, sight unseen, but now her husband was long gone, her one son had also passed away, and her grandchildren were sweet but living their own lives in New York City.

  That day, she was on a kick about the many voodoo queens, and tarot and palm readers in the French Quarter.

  “All shysters,” she said, shaking her old gray head with animation. “Once upon a time voodoo was a way for the slaves to have something of their own—and to get back at their masters, eh? But I can tell you this—there were women once who really h
ad a special gift.”

  “Mrs. Montobello,” Nikki said, “Marie Laveau supported her ‘powers’ by eavesdropping.”

  “Dear child,” Mrs. Montobello protested. “Don’t you go doubting things just because they can’t be seen. I hear that you give the best ghost tour out there. That people believe they’ve seen ghosts when they get back from a walk with you. That’s because you see them, don’t you?”

  Nikki shook her head. “I think it’s just a matter of seeing history, feeling the emotions that must have played out. But I’m a girl who sees the real picture. We lead tours, we make money. I don’t fall for the shyster palm readers. Oh, I believe there are people who give ‘good’ readings, but I think that’s because they would have made fabulous psychologists. They know how to read people.”

  “Nikki’s good. No matter what she says, I’ve stood next to her and felt chills,” Andy said.

  “So you really do talk to ghosts, huh?” Mrs. Montobello said, rheumy blue eyes studying Nikki in far too serious a manner.

  “No. I have a feel for history, and I think I’m a good storyteller,” Nikki said. “I do not talk to ghosts.”

  “So you don’t talk to them, but do they talk to you?” Mrs. Montobello asked.

  “Good heavens, no!” Nikki said. “I’d have a heart attack on the spot if that happened. And if they’re out there,” Nikki said mischievously, “they apparently know that.”

  “Maybe they will talk to you one day,” Mrs. Montobello murmured. “I suppose, just like plain folk, ghosts need to have something to say. But you believe they’re out there—I can tell.”

  Nikki felt a sudden chill. Yes, she believed in ghosts, or if not ghosts, per se, in a memory that lingered in certain places.

  It sure as hell wasn’t something she was going to share with anyone.

  Not even Mrs. Montobello.

  “At my age,” the old woman said, “you come to know a difference in this world, perhaps because you’re so close to the next.”

  She was still studying Nikki closely. Nikki found herself staring back for a long moment.

  For a moment she found herself thinking, I can see a fog. And I can feel the cold, an essence, a feeling…when someone is lost, when they’re frustrated. Looking for something. They’re benign, meaning no harm, and they are no more than mist, something in my heart, or imagination.

  Then she shook off the feeling, and they continued to chat as Nikki and Andy picked up the tea they had made for Mrs. Montobello, washed and dried and straightened, and then headed out.

  At the door, Mrs. Montobello stared at Nikki strangely again. “Go shopping. Listen to the music. But stay away from shysters.”

  As they walked along the streets, past neon lights, garish come-ons, charming boutiques, and bars and clubs that wailed with blues and pop and everything in between, Andy suddenly stopped. “Isn’t it funny? I feel like a little kid. Mrs. Montobello just said we shouldn’t stop by a voodoo shop, so now I’m itching for a palm reading.”

  “Andy, come on, they’re just silly.”

  “Okay, how about a tarot card reading?”

  Nikki hesitated, staring at her. “Just let me buy that corset I want and I’ll take you to a good place.”

  “Yeah?”

  “We won’t tell Mrs. Montobello.”

  Nikki liked the boutique where she purchased the corset. Everything was unique and handmade. But since Andy seemed restless, she didn’t take the time to look around, just made her purchase, and then they headed for Conte Street.

  The name of the place was Contessa Moodoo’s Hoodoo Voodoo. Not promising, Nikki admitted as Andy stared at her, but she knew the woman who owned the shop fairly well. She was large, of mixed ancestry, African, Native American, white…maybe even some Asian, and whatever her real name might have been, she didn’t use it. She just went by Contessa. She had long ago told Nikki that her potions were just what they said on the bottles—vitamins, with maybe a few herbs thrown in. And in her readings…well, she told people what they wanted to hear.

  After purchasing a love potion, a bottle of vitamin E and a few sachets, Nikki introduced Andy.

  “And,” she said, “my friend wants a reading.”

  Contessa had remarkable eyes, like marbles, so many colors it would be hard to describe them in any customary way. Hazel was the best Nikki could summon, but they sometimes looked almost blue, sometimes gray, and sometimes they seemed very dark and mysterious.

  She stared at Andy with a shrug. “Come on, then.” Contessa had a little nook, filled with the pleasant scent of incense, and blocked off from the rest of the room by a bead curtain. They walked by voodoo dolls, more potions and curios to reach it.

  Contessa took a seat behind a table with a beautiful crystal ball in the middle—she had long ago told Nikki it was just for looks. She indicated that Andy should take the chair opposite her.

  She picked up her deck of cards and asked Andy to hold them. Then she took them and dealt them out.

  But as she flipped the first over, she paused. Andy touched a card, and this time, Contessa swept up the deck, shaking her head. “The cards aren’t talking tonight, I’m sorry,” she said.

  Nikki stared at her, puzzled. She brought people here because she knew that Contessa would find something uplifting to say to her clients. A decision looms before you, think long and carefully. Or There has been a division of sorts in your life and you must consider the past and remember that forgiveness is something we all must feel, if we are to be happy with ourselves. Or even, The future is bright, go for it.

  “Okay, how about a palm reading?” Andy suggested.

  Contessa stiffened, lowering her head. Nikki saw Andy smile, as if she were applauding the act. But Nikki knew this was no act.

  With a sigh, Contessa held Andy’s palm, looking very serious. At last she looked up at her. “You be careful, young woman. Very careful.”

  “Why?” Andy demanded.

  “When you’re home, you lock yourself in. Don’t go talking to no strangers. And…”

  “And?” Andy demanded.

  “There’s something…” Contessa muttered.

  “Oh,” Andy said lightly. “I lived a pretty hard life for a while. Drugs,” she admitted. “But I’m clean as a whistle now. Honestly.”

  “You lock your doors,” Contessa said. “And you keep away from those no-accounts, you hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am. And thank you. What else? Am I going to fall in love?” Andy demanded.

  Contessa kept her strange mottled eyes on Andy; she didn’t look at her hand again.

  “We all fall in love, don’t we?” she asked. Then she added, “Okay, shoo, now. Off you go. And keep those doors locked!”

  Nikki was surprised when Contessa all but hustled them out the door.

  “But I didn’t pay you!” Andy protested.

  “Honey, you don’t owe me a thing. Now git. There’s a world out there to be lived. You go live it quick.”

  The door closed behind them with a soft ringing of bells.

  Andy burst into laughter. “Well, you and Mrs. Montobello are right. She sounds more like a mother than a psychologist. Go home, lock your doors. Watch out for strangers. Well, she was fun, anyway. Thanks, Nikki.”

  Nikki nodded, not knowing why she was feeling disturbed when Andy was amused.

  “Strange, though, huh? I’ll bet she could tell I’d been a junkie once upon a time.” Andy sighed. “Hey…you don’t think, if Max knew about my past, that he’d fire me, do you?”

  “No. And who knows about Max’s past, anyway?” Nikki joked. Then she turned serious. “Andy, you had a hard life, but you’ve risen above it. Contessa gave you good advice. Watch out for anyone who might want to drag you down again. That’s it.”

  “She warned me to watch out for strangers. Let me tell you, there were some damn strange people in my past, that’s for sure.”

  “So leave them in the past.”

  “Yeah, well…sometimes I wonder if they’ll
come back to haunt me, no matter where I leave them.” She hesitated. “Did you ever smoke, Nikki?”

  “Smoke…you mean cigarettes?”

  Andy laughed. “Yes, I meant cigarettes!”

  “In high school and college. Then I quit.”

  “Yeah, but were you ever really addicted?”

  “You bet. I went to a hypnotist, and I chewed the gum like crazy.”

  “They say cigarettes are the hardest addiction to break,” Andy said. “But you know how it is. You quit smoking—you may have given it up for years—but sometimes you’ll see someone with a cigarette, and you just want one so badly you can barely stand it. But you know you can’t have that one cigarette because you’ll wind up with the addiction all over again, no matter what you tell yourself. Do you know what I’m saying?”

  “Yes, I know I can’t have one cigarette.”

  “It’s like that with other stuff… Every once in a while, you think, man, I’d love to have that high, just one more time. But you know you can’t do it.”

  “You’re not afraid you’ll be tempted, are you?” Nikki asked her, worried.

  Andy shook her head. “No. Because I know what could happen. And I’ve seen far too many lives destroyed. I’m straight as an arrow now.”

  “Good for you,” Nikki said.

  “And I love my job.”

  “That’s great. Hey!” Nikki said suddenly. She lowered her voice. “Speaking of drugs and addictions… look.”

  “What?”

  “There’s that guy again.”

  “What guy?”

  “The one we saw today, at Madame D’Orso’s.”

  Andy turned, looking across Conte. There was a crowd around the popular bar on the corner, which was supposedly haunted by a cool jazz guitarist. “Where?” she demanded.

  “Right there. Great. I gave him a twenty, and he used it to go drinking,” Nikki said in disgust.

  “I don’t see him,” Andy said, craning her neck and frowning.

  “There…right there.” Nikki pointed. The man was there, staring straight at her. He still looked as if he longed to reach out, touch her…talk to her.