She frowned, looking at him. A little shiver stirred in her. “Do you see ghosts all the time?” The question seemed absurd. But it was real. And unnerving.
“No. Not all the time.” He hesitated. She knew that he didn’t like to sound absurd himself. “New Orleans…it’s one of those places,” he said simply. Then he said flatly. “The dead are quiet tonight. The living seem to be in an uproar.”
“Hardly an uproar,” she murmured.
“We need to take a left. To get to my bed-and-breakfast. And my clothes,” he said.
She knew the house off Conte where he had chosen to stay. It dated back to the mid-Victorian period. He fitted his key quietly in the front door, and they made their way even more quietly to his bedroom. He packed a small leather duffel bag, while she sat on the bed, waiting. Then they slipped back out, Brent testing the door to make sure it was locked when they left.
The very first streaks of dawn were beginning to appear in the sky as they headed for her apartment.
“Curious,” Brent said, almost to himself.
“What?”
“Your friends all being up and about.”
A knot of tension formed in her midriff. “Why is that curious?”
He looked straight ahead. Instead of answering her, he said, “There was no sign of forced entry at Andrea Ciello’s apartment,” he said.
“Oh, I get it. So she was murdered by someone she knew.”
He didn’t reply.
“Don’t go getting suspicious of any of my group,” she warned him.
“Don’t go getting angry,” he said. “Whenever you’re looking for anything, you get rid of the impossible. Then you look at what you’re left with. No matter how improbable, your answers have to be there.”
She pulled away from him, staring at him. “Ghosts are supposedly impossible,” she said angrily, then walked on quickly.
She suddenly had a feeling, like a premonition.
Her world was about to split wide open.
Treacherous times loomed ahead. Fear, anger…mistrust.
She suddenly, desperately, wanted the future never to come.
When they entered her apartment, she turned to him, pulling the duffel from his shoulder, casting it to the floor. “We can fight later.” She realized that her voice grew thin as she spoke. “But this morning…let’s pretend that we don’t see ghosts. Let’s not think or talk about anything that’s terrible or frightening or…deadly. Please.”
She touched his cheek with the palm of her hand, gentle, entreating.
He caught her fingers, keeping them there, against his face.
A split second later, she was in his arms.
Clothing was strewn even as they moved up the stairs. She felt his touch on the naked flesh of her back, and then they were in her room, in her bed.
The sun rose over New Orleans, and the new day began in earnest.
In the draped shadows of her bedroom, Nikki chose not to notice.
13
Nikki and Brent made it to Madame’s at about nine-thirty. Mitch was already at their regular table, Patricia and Nathan arrived a few minutes later, and then Julian.
“So you had a wild night, huh?” Mitch teased Julian.
“What?” Julian said, startled as he took a seat.
“We heard you had a tête-à-tête last night at Maxie’s,” Mitch informed him.
Julian stared at Mitch, then the others. “Wow. I didn’t think the city was that small,” he said.
“Brent and I went out to Maxie’s, too,” Nikki said.
“And Mitch…?” Julian asked, puzzled.
“Showed up separately,” Brent offered.
“Give,” Patricia teased. “Who were you with?”
Julian grinned. He didn’t seem disturbed that everyone knew he’d had a date. Brent wondered if Nikki really had heard someone at her door, trying to connect that to the others, given that everyone he had recently met in New Orleans seemed to be running around at all hours of the night.
“Was it that girl you met in Lafayette Number 1 yesterday?” Nikki asked, smiling.
“Yes, and I guess I owe you my thanks,” Julian said. “Wouldn’t have met her without you, Nikki.” He looked pleadingly at her. “Nikki, can you and Brent take the Lafayette tour first this afternoon? Patricia and Nathan can do the St. Louis, and I’ll pick up on the Vieux Carré tour tonight with Mitch—if that works for everyone. Please?” he entreated.
“Another hot date—in the afternoon?” Mitch queried.
Nikki was smiling at Julian. She seemed to be having a good time, Brent thought.
It was almost as if, since they had returned to her place last night, she had allowed herself to forget, for a few hours, what had happened.
Madame made an appearance just then with her coffee urn. “Any refills here, mes petites?” she queried.
“I’d love more coffee, Madame,” Nikki said.
“Thanks,” Brent agreed. “So you were out late last night, huh, Madame?”
She arched a brow at him. “Goodness, how do you know that?”
“Our friendly local police detective was out dining on po’boys, too,” Nikki replied.
Madame laughed. “Well, he sure keeps his eye on us. Then again, it’s hard not to notice when people you know are around. Let’s hope he also keeps his eye on things that matter a bit more, eh?” She smiled. “Strange night, though. I simply couldn’t sleep.”
“You shouldn’t be walking around alone at night, Madame,” Julian said firmly.
“Oh, good heavens, child, I know this city. I’m careful. I know where to be—and where not to be.”
The fact that Andy Ciello had considered her apartment a safe place suddenly seemed to hover unspoken on the air between them. Brent was dismayed to see Nikki suddenly turn ashen.
“Just be careful,” Julian said.
“I will. And thank you for being concerned,” Madame said. “But I also travel with my trusty pepper spray at all times.” She smiled, then looked past them. “Goodness, that’s Harold Grant coming into my place for coffee!” She seemed pleased. “He must think he’s about to lose his seat to that young whippersnapper Billy Banks. He’s looking positively haggard.”
Brent turned to look. Harold Grant had to be somewhere around sixty years old. He was sturdy looking, tall, broad shouldered, with a thick crop of iron-gray hair. He had a reputation for grave care in his decisions, but not a lot of humor or charm.
“He and Billy Banks are having a debate in Jackson Square this afternoon,” Madame said. “There will be cops all over today, that’s for sure. That means a brisk business for me. Our boys in blue do love my café au lait and beignets.” She gave them a wave and left the table.
Brent’s cell phone started to ring, startling them all. With an apologetic look, he answered it. “Blackhawk.”
“It’s Massey. Can you come down to the station for a minute?”
He looked at the others. They were all staring at him. “Sure. What’s up?” he asked tensely.
“Just get down here as soon as you can.” There was no accusation in the words, just weariness.
“I’ll be right there.”
He snapped his phone shut. “We start at Lafayette at twelve, right?” he said to Nikki.
“Twelve,” she agreed, studying him with a curious frown.
“Will you two stay with her…go with her over to Lafayette?” he asked Patricia and Nathan.
“It’s broad daylight—there are tourists everywhere,” Nikki said. “And there are cops all over the city, too—didn’t you hear what Madame just said?”
“We’ll be happy to hang around with Nikki and get her over to Lafayette,” Patricia said.
“Sure…we can even hang around and help with the tour, if you want,” Nathan said.
“Please,” Nikki protested. “I repeat—it’s broad daylight, there are cops roaming the city as thick as flies.”
“Sure, that’s great. You all stick together,” Brent sa
id as if she hadn’t spoken, rising.
“I don’t need anyone,” Nikki insisted.
“We all need someone,” Brent said wryly. “Nikki, please, your friends want to hang with you. Let them,” he said.
She threw up her hands.
“Hey, let’s wander over to Contessa Moodoo’s Hoodoo Voodoo shop, huh?” Patricia suggested.
“For what?” Nikki demanded. She didn’t want to say, certainly not when they were all behaving this way to begin with, that she was uneasy, that she had been there with Andrea not long before she had been murdered.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you should buy some chicken feet, dance around, raise a little ruckus,” Julian told her. “I thought you liked the place.”
“Go with her,” Brent said firmly to Nikki. Something was bothering her. Being with her friends? He doubted that. Going to a voodoo shop?
She offered him a smile, aware that he wouldn’t go if he wasn’t feeling secure about her. “If you’ve never been there, I’ll have to take you some time,” she told Brent.
He smiled and nodded. He knew the place. The woman had been around a long time.
Certain that Nikki wouldn’t be alone, Brent turned and left them on the terrace, hurrying toward Royal Street, anxious by then about what Massey wanted.
When he arrived, Massey was waiting for him alone in his cruiser.
“Where’s your partner?” Brent asked when Massey indicated he should get in the car.
“Busy questioning people for the hundredth time, armed with pictures of our victims,” Massey said wearily.
“So what are we doing?” Brent asked him.
“Heading to the hospital.”
“For…?”
“Remember I was called to St. Louis Number 1?”
“Right.”
“The girl who was attacked is a Marie McManus. She gave us your name.”
He groaned.
“You know her, right?” Massey said.
“Yes. She was on the tour yesterday. But the cemetery was closed and locked. Surely she and her friends knew to stay out of the area.”
“Apparently not. One of her friends had some book on conjuring up the spirits of the deceased. She wanted to do some ritual and apologize to the slaves on behalf of her ancestors.”
Brent shook his head, both sorry and angry. When the hell would people learn?
“How badly is she hurt?”
“Conk on the head, a few bruises and scratches. When rocks started flying, her friends crawled back over the gate. They screamed, got the cops on patrol. This girl, Marie McManus, didn’t see or hear anyone. She just got it from behind. But she wanted to talk to you. And who the hell knows, you might be able to find something out.”
“Sure. I’m happy to see her,” Brent said.
Marie McManus looked frightened and bruised. She was anxious to leave the hospital, but was being kept twenty-four hours for observation. She had brushed her hair, but she wasn’t wearing makeup, and she looked young and really scared.
“Hi. Thanks for coming,” she said.
She was in a small private room, barely allowing enough room for both him and McManus.
“What on earth were you doing?” Brent asked her. “I told you last night that it was dangerous to go anywhere near the cemeteries at night.”
She flushed, looking downward. “Honestly, we weren’t going to vandalize the place or anything. I’d gotten some candles at one of the voodoo shops…a little silver cross, some herbs. We were just going to sneak in and say a little prayer. But then someone started throwing rocks, and someone bashed me in the head. The next thing I knew, I was here, at the hospital.”
Brent glanced at Massey and discreetly shrugged. “Marie, you’re lucky you weren’t killed.”
“I know that now,” she murmured. She flashed a glance at Massey. “The detective told me that it’s going to be almost impossible for them to find who did this.”
“I’m not sure what makes you think I can help you, then,” Brent said.
She shook her head. “I…know. I didn’t really want you to help me, I guess…I guess I felt that I needed to apologize.”
He shook his head and spoke gently. “Marie, you were the victim. Some hood needs to apologize to you. But if you want to help in the future, help the cops. Stay out of areas where they warn you that it’s dangerous to be, okay?”
She nodded. “You said you had information on my ancestor, Archibald McManus. May I have it?”
“You can probably find out more than I did at the library, but I’ll be happy to give you what I’ve got. I’ll try to get back out here sometime soon.”
“No, no… We’re staying in the French Quarter—Josie, Sarah and me. If you wouldn’t mind just dropping it at my hotel, I’d really appreciate it.”
“All right. And you swear you won’t go near that cemetery again without lots of people in tow?”
“I swear,” she told him.
He wished her well, Massey did the same, and they left. “What do you make of it?” Massey asked him.
Brent shrugged. “I think she’s lucky that all she came out with were a few bruises.”
“Yeah, my take exactly. She didn’t see anything.” He sighed with disgust. “They never see anything. Well, if you can think of anything…let me know. Where shall I drop you?”
Brent glanced at his watch. Not a lot of time before he needed to be in the Garden District, but all he had to do was run up the street from St. Louis Number 1 to the trolley, and he wouldn’t need more than a few minutes to reach Lafayette Number 1.
“The cemetery. I’ll take a look around myself this morning.”
“We’ve already pulled the crime tape, and tourists are moving around in there.”
He nodded. “I’ll take a quick look anyway.”
“Think one of your ghostly buddies can help?” Massey asked.
Brent looked at him. He wasn’t sure if Massey was mocking him, or if he was just beginning to feel desperate.
“I just wouldn’t mind taking a look around,” he said. “I hear there’s a political debate in Jackson Square today. You boys will be busy.”
“The uniforms will have a tough time, yeah,” Massey agreed.
A few minutes later he dropped Brent off right at the gates. Brent promised to keep him advised regarding anything he learned.
There were several tour groups going through, but they seemed to be massing at the tomb of Marie Laveau. Brent chose the back wall, by the oven vaults.
He waited a second, watched the last of a group walk around a tomb, and said in a low but heated voice, “Huey, you get your sorry ass out here right now.”
A moment later, pale and gray, barely substantial at all, Huey appeared. “My sorry ass? Who the hell are you to talk about my sorry ass?”
“Huey, you hurt that girl.”
“You’re puffed full of cotton, son, and that’s putting it nicely. What the hell do you want, Injun boy?” he demanded. There was a guilty tone in his voice. Guilty and defiant.
“Huey, you’ve gotten real powerful in here. You can pretty much do things I’ve never seen another ghost manage.”
“Spirit or essence, that’s what we liked to be called these days,” Huey cackled. “Well, that’s what one o’ dem wise-talking rangers said.”
“Great. Now you’re going to start being politically correct? The ‘essence’ who calls me Injun boy all the time?”
“It offend you?” Huey asked.
“No. What offends me is violence. There was no reason for you to hurt that girl.”
Huey hung his head, then looked up, his eyes flashing. “Actually, I didn’t mean to go hurting her. Honest Injun,” he said, and laughed at his own pun. “And I wasn’t the one who did hurt her, not unless it was by accident or she got hurt running out of here.”
“You threw something at her by accident?”
“Nah…these fellas were in here again last night. Bad seeds, real bad seeds, I just know it.”
Huey waved a hand in the air. “Junkies. And not junkies. Folks giving stuff to other folks to make some money. They don’t care about the cemetery. They got no respect for the dead. Hell, they ain’t got no respect for the living, either. Them girls…” He shook his head with sad but tolerant impatience. “They’re just silly. Don’t know what folks think…don’t know what gets into ’em. They shouldn’t be in this place after dark, and that’s a known fact. They just got in the way. Bad folks are in the cemetery after dark. Them girls were lucky they weren’t kilt, and that’s a plain fact.”
“I need to know who those bad seeds are, Huey. If I can get them, catch them in the act, the cops can put them away, and you won’t have to worry about them anymore.”
Huey shrugged. “Don’t know if I could rightly point them out to you—not if they walked in on a tour this minute. Don’t it just beat all? Eighteen million degrees in the shade, and them guys wear knit masks.”
“Do they come every night?”
Huey looked around, shaking his head. “Not every night. I never know exactly when they’ll come. But…they’ve been coming.”
“A while now?”
“Hell, yeah. Weeks…maybe even a month or more. Every few nights…I never know.”
“Thanks. I’ll be back around. You still haven’t seen the FBI guy, huh? Tom Garfield.”
Huey shook his head. “Now how the hell would I know? We dead folk don’t just go around introducing ourselves to one another, you know. We’ve got our own things to do. I mean, you don’t go saying who you are to everyone on the street now, do you?”
“Try to help me, Huey, please. And by the way, that McManus girl was trying to say prayers for you.”
“All right, all right…if’n I can help, I will. And hey, I’m telling you God’s truth. I didn’t hurt that girl.” He hesitated. “I think I helped her. I did do some rock throwing, but I was aiming at the bad guys.”
“Good man, Huey.”
“She’s still a McManus.” Huey sniffed.
“Not her fault, Huey. I’m going to get the cops watching the cemetery, looking out for your junkies, Huey.”
Ghost Walk Page 18