Give Me Fever

by Karen Anders

  “Did you see that?”

  “What?” Bree asked, coming over to investigate.

  “A ghost, I think?”

  Bree looked at Tally, amusement dancing in her eyes. “The captain?”

  Tally didn’t smile back as she searched the area. When she saw the broken floorboard, she cried, “Dammit!” and knelt down, surveying the damage. “These floorboards are ancient. How am I going to repair this?”

  “Easy,” Bree said, “New Orleans is full of renovated houses with cypress floorboards. You’ll have to do some trash-picking.”

  “Good idea.” Shaken by the sight of the apparition she was almost certain was the ghost of Captain Dampier, Tally sidled away from the ruined floorboard back toward the grand piano as the hair on the back of her neck sprang to attention.

  Had he turned over the entertainment center? Was he angry? Now that she’d seen him once, would he appear again? Would she have to constantly be on the look out for him?

  She couldn’t worry about this now. She had more pressing issues, like almost losing herself in Christien Castille, a real, live male.

  “Thankfully it missed the baby grand,” Tally said, rubbing at the glossy finish of the keyboard cover, her chill fading.

  Bree agreed, then gave her sister a sly glance. “So, what’s with the hunky Cajun?”

  So much for subtlety. “It was a weak moment.”

  “Come on, Tally, from what you’ve told me about Christien, I don’t know how you’ve resisted this long.”

  “Bree, I’m not interested in a relationship. You know that. The Blue Note’s up for sale. I have to focus my energy on getting enough money to buy it.”

  “I thought the owner wasn’t selling for a few years. How are you going to come up with the money to buy it now?”

  “I’m going to find Dampier’s treasure.”

  “Oh, Tally, Mom thought she could find it, too.”

  “Are you comparing me to Mom?”

  “No, I just don’t want you to get your hopes up too high. She was obsessed with finding the treasure and it came to nothing.”

  “I’ll find the treasure, Bree. I’m not giving up the Blue Note and I know I won’t have time for a relationship. Relationships never amount to much in our family. Look at Mom, she had many and for all we know is still alone.”

  “I’m not one to disagree, Tally. Look what happened with me and Jude.”

  “That creep tried to alienate you from all your friends including your family. He made a mistake when he tried to come between us.”

  “Yes, he did. No one can break our bond.”

  Tally and Bree were one in their philosophy about ambition. Work hard and do whatever it takes. Tally had the Blue Note in her sights and Bree was steadily working her way up to bigger and better things.

  “Well, since a relationship is out of the question, why don’t you just have hot, sweaty Cajun sex with him?” Bree said with a wry grin.

  Tally laughed in spite of herself. “Cajun sex. That’s a good one. You have such a way with words.”

  “Hey, I call ’em like I see ’em. He’s too yummy to contemplate anything else.”

  “I’m not exactly ruling that out.”

  TWO DAYS LATER on Wednesday night, Tally reached over and grabbed her oven mitts, bending down to retrieve the hot, fragrant brownies out of the oven. As she turned, she promptly dropped the pan on the floor.

  This time there was no mistaking the man she saw standing at the entrance to her living room, his arm outstretched, his finger pointing. His mouth moved, but Tally couldn’t hear what he said.

  Captain Gabriel Dampier.

  Or more accurately, his ghost.

  She started to walk toward him to get a better view and make sure she wasn’t seeing things, when her bare toes hit the side of the brownie pan. Yelping at the pain, she looked down. Realizing the hot pan could do more damage to her old cypress floor, she quickly bent down to pick up the pan. When she straightened, the captain was gone.

  Blinking her eyes several times, Tally peered at the spot where he’d just been. She set the pan down on the hot plate on the counter and walked toward the living room. If she were to follow that ghostly arm, she would end up right at her broken floorboard. What was he trying to tell her?

  She went to the spot and turned on the floor lamp, but everything seemed ordinary. Bending down, she pulled at the loose board, pushing away pieces of broken wood. She could see nothing in the cavity and she certainly wasn’t going to put her hand down there. Jumping up, she returned to her kitchen and opened her junk drawer, grabbing a flashlight.

  Returning to the broken floorboard, she shone the light inside and gasped. The light reflected off intricately carved, well-worn wood. Her heart pounded. Reaching down, she pulled out a wooden box. An audible pop sounded when Tally gently lifted off the lid. As the pungent odor of ancient cedar drifted on the air, Tally looked inside, her breath trapped in her lungs. Nestled inside was a leather-bound book and a very old key. Very gently Tally picked up the volume, her hands shaking. Carefully she opened the cover and saw in beautiful spidery writing:

  Captain Gabriel Dampier

  Privateer and Rescuer of New Orleans

  In his own words

  It was the captain’s journal. The ghost had wanted her to find it. She rose and walked to her dining-room table and sat down in one of the chairs. Turning to the first page she started to read:

  It was at the Grand Celebration and Ball after our victory in battle that I first saw her—Madeleine.

  The flag that hung over the ballroom proclaimed in bold letters JACKSON AND VICTORY! THEY ARE BUT ONE! Jackson himself was dancing with his sweet wife, Rachel, to the popular tune “Possum Up a Gum Tree.” My friend and comrade, the king of the corsairs, Jean Lafitte, laughing and conversing with Governor Claiborne, trying to outdo each other with stories of the warrants they had issued on each other’s head.

  But amid all the frivolity and partying nothing else could draw my attention like that beautiful lady. She was a vision in a dress that seemed to float around her like the gossamer wings of a butterfly. I was smitten by the sight of her dark eyes and hair and had to have an introduction….

  The sound of Tally’s door banging open and her brother Mark’s voice calling, “Honey, I’m home,” forced her to slam the journal closed and rise with it in her hand.

  “Hey, I smell brownies,” he said, coming into her kitchen.

  She dropped the journal on the counter to slap his hand as he reached for the pan. “Those are for my krewe meeting tonight.”

  “You doing krewe for Mardi Gras? Spare a few for your baby brother.”

  Tally perused her brother. Baby certainly did not fit him anymore. When had her brother gotten so…big? He was six feet tall and looked as solid as steel.

  His thick, glossy brown hair needed a trim. The dark stubble on his face did nothing to detract from his tough appearance. She was sure women sighed when he walked by. It was hard to believe he’d grown from that young boy into this handsome man.

  “There are fresh chocolate-chip cookies in the cookie jar. How about ice-cold milk to wash it down?” she said, shouldering his bulk out of the way and reaching for a glass.

  “Stellar.” He grinned, took the cookies, walked around to the stools she’d placed on the living-room side of the counter and sat.

  “To what do I owe this visit?” She poured the milk and handed him the glass.

  “Thought I’d stop by and say hey. I know how you get when I don’t keep in touch.”

  “It worries me, Mark. How hard is it to give me a call once in a while?”

  “You’re always so intense. I’m nineteen, a grownup.”

  “At nineteen you should be in your second year of college. Instead, you follow bands around toting equipment, setting it up, taking it down. You’re better than that, Mark.” Tally sighed.

  “And you’re better than a waitress, Tally.”

  “I know that, but Bree and I
couldn’t afford college, but we could help to send you now, Mark.”

  “And you never let me forget that you had to give up college.”

  “You know I would have given up more than college for you. But don’t let it be in vain. We just want more for you.”

  He rolled his eyes, but Tally saw the anger there as well. “I like what I do.”

  “You can play any instrument known to man. You’re wasting your time following bands around. You even write music—it’s good. You could go to college, and then teach, compose, anything. You could be someone.”

  “I am someone.” He set the half-eaten cookie down on the counter so hard it crumbled. “This is why I don’t come over here.”

  His cell phone rang and Tally looked at the clock. Startled at the time, she said, “I have to go get ready for my meeting. Don’t touch those brownies.”

  He nodded curtly, his eyes barely meeting hers. She suspected her nagging was driving her brother away, but why couldn’t he work as hard as his sisters did? Have the same ambition as his sisters?

  While she was upstairs changing her clothes, she heard her brother yell, “Tally, I need something to write on.”

  She was about to tell him there was a notepad in the junk drawer when he yelled out, “Never mind. Found something.”

  She had just finished brushing her hair when he called out again. “Hey, I’ve got to go. See ya later, sis. Thanks for the cookies.”

  He always seemed to appear and disappear at the most inopportune moments.

  A short while later, she returned downstairs. At least her brownies were still there. Her eyes fell to the captain’s journal lying open on the counter. The last page had almost been totally torn from the priceless journal. Furious that her brother had been so thoughtless as to use that for paper, she turned the torn page over. At the top of the remaining scrap in neat handwriting read, “A Map To My Treasure.”

  FIVE DAYS LATER on January fourth, she was still trying to find him. After long shifts at Café Eros, singing before a sold-out New Year’s Eve crowd at the Blue Note, and her everyday chores, the time had flown by. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed his number again. Mark had disappeared in the past, but he’d at least given her a call within a couple of days.

  Okay, maybe she was overreacting. Mark was probably mad at her for saying those things about his precious roadie job. Entering her town house, she sat down in the living room, pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed again.

  Still no answer.

  “Where are you?” she said.

  She would need help. Christien. His name popped into her mind unbidden. A calming sensation flowed through her at just the thought of confiding in Christien Castille. He was a P.I. now and a former cop. He would help her if she asked.

  And if Mark was in trouble, she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t do something proactive.

  She also needed the part of the map Mark had to find the treasure and buy the Blue Note. She didn’t have much time left.

  But ask Christien for help? It went against everything inside her. All her life she’d been determined to be independent and never lean on anyone too hard, even her sister, but Mark was her baby brother and she quite literally had no other choice. She wouldn’t know the first thing about tracking someone down.

  Waffling between worry and anger, Tally would burn her brother’s inconsiderate ears when she got her hands on him.

  She picked up her cell phone again and dialed Chloe’s number. When she answered, Tally said, “Do you have Christien’s work address?”

  3

  BEFORE HE WENT TO WORK on Monday, four days into the new year, Christien knelt down in front of the mausoleum and set the chrysanthemums down. He’d visited his mother’s grave often over the years, but he never missed putting her favorite flowers on her grave on the anniversary of her death.

  He’d quit the force six months ago when he’d lost it and punched a suspect in open court.

  He remembered the day vividly. After the not-guilty verdict, the victim’s daughter, Sarah Richardson had come up to him to tell him how much she’d appreciated everything he’d done to find the man who had robbed and murdered her mother. He’d thought he’d been right to immediately go to the suspect’s home the moment they had arrested him on suspicion of his involvement in the case. The suspect’s wife had given Christien and his partner permission to search the man’s workshop where they’d found items that had belonged to Sarah’s mother.

  The defense attorney had argued that his client had reasonable expectation of privacy in his workshop, a place his wife never went. Therefore, the evidence that Christien had found had been suppressed. Even with Christien’s testimony, they’d lost the case.

  It was then that the suspect had walked past him with a smug look on his face, gloating about having beaten the system. Christien had snapped.

  The victim’s daughter had later told him that he’d at least given her closure by having the chance to look at the face of the man who had killed her mother.

  Closure. It was something he had never achieved over his own mother’s murder. He didn’t have to be a shrink to understand the reason. Her killer had never been punished and that was also his fault.

  Guilt swirled inside him as he gazed down at his mother’s grave. His jaw tight, he slipped his hands into his jean pockets.

  He’d only been six when he’d gotten up because he’d heard noises downstairs. He’d been home alone with his mother and had seen a man struggling with her, pushing her down. Her head hit the corner of the coffee table, fracturing her skull.

  When it had come time for him to view the suspects collared in the murder, Christien hadn’t been able to pick the man out of the lineup and his mother’s killer had gotten away free.

  His mother had been the stabilizing force in his family. He loved his father, but Christien identified with his mother. It had been twenty years since her death and, even though she was gone, he felt compelled to live up to the standards she’d set just by the way she’d lived her life.

  He stood there for another few minutes and then turned away.

  He’d have to admit to himself that P.I. work wasn’t as fulfilling as being a cop.

  Heading out of the cemetery to his Jeep, he drove over to his small office on the second floor of an eighteenth-century house that also served as the place of business for an antique store and an art gallery.

  He climbed the stairs, stopping when he saw the flirty pink hem of a skirt. The skirt swished as the woman moved and she came into full view at the top of the stairs.

  Tally Addison with her tight little backside and her uptight personality was actually standing in front of his office door.

  Her gorgeous hair had been carelessly twisted into a mass of haphazard strands on top of her head and her matching eyes were a creamy, rich brown, almond shaped and exotic.

  She looked incredibly sexy. He’d only seen her in her work clothes of jeans, T-shirt, and an apron that tied around her waist. Nothing overtly suggestive or clingy, but he’d seen enough of her coming and going to know that she had the kind of full, luscious figure he liked on a woman.

  The simple green jersey-knit top she wore cupped her breasts and the curve of her slim waist, and the pink skirt gave him a tantalizing view of long slim legs.

  She had soft, full lips and a sweet mouth designed to give a man all kinds of erotic pleasure. The thought caused his stomach to tighten with awareness.

  But even with those centerfold curves and breathtaking beauty, what he liked most about Tally was her you-can’t-intimidate-me attitude. Her independent nature was like a badge of courage and she wore it like armor.

  He loved pushing her buttons. It was so easy. Her words in the kitchen of Café Eros reverberated through him.

  I want him to make me scream out his name.

  The woman made him feel like he was constantly running a fever through his blood, thick and hot—except this heat was pure sexual
hunger, a craving for Tally in the most elemental, intimate way possible.

  He was tormenting himself with these carnal thoughts, but that was nothing new. He’d been in physical agony ever since he’d met Café Eros’s sexiest waitress.

  Shaking off his surprise at Tally’s impromptu visit, along with the thrum of arousal vibrating within him, he climbed the rest of the stairs to the landing.

  “I hope you don’t mind me just showing up.”

  “No, not at all.” He opened his office door and settled his hand against her lower back as he ushered her inside, through the outer office and into his.

  He indicated a chair and she sat down.

  “So, you’re here because…?”

  She inhaled a deep breath, causing her breasts to rise and fall in a very beguiling way. “I need your services.”

  Her tone was very businesslike, but he couldn’t stop the slow, shameless grin her double-edged words evoked. “Do you?”

  Her eyes crackled at his blatant innuendo. “Your professional services. Since you’re a private investigator, I was hoping I could hire you. My brother is missing.”

  Her statement took him momentarily off guard. While he’d been surprised that she’d shown up at his office, the last thing he’d expected was her needing this sort of help. Years of police training told him she was being completely straightforward and serious with her request, and the distress he detected in the depths of her eyes was real.

  Feeling the first spark of interest since he’d left the force, his mind leaped to thoughts of an investigation. “Why don’t you tell me what you know about your brother’s disappearance from the beginning, and we’ll go from there.”

  “I saw him on Wednesday night, but haven’t been able to reach him since.”

  “So he’s been missing for five days?”

  “That’s right.”

  “How old is your brother?”

  “Nineteen.”

  “Where does he work?”

  “All over the place. He works crew for a band.”

  “What band?”