by Nina Bruhns
She forced herself to speak more than one word. “What did they look like? Not the vampire. I know what he looks like. And you probably didn’t see him anyway since the flowers were delivered. And of course I know what the French man looks like too since I talked to him in the lobby. Plus, I realize that he looks like a skunk. But that’s neither here nor there. And I don’t mean the crazy old man and the b— I mean odd woman. As you know, I talked to them too. I’m referring to the two gentlemen. Were they here together? What did they look like? I think I might know what they look like. But I think it would help if you told me what they look like.”
Giselle had finally achieved more than a one-word response. However, she didn’t impress the clerk with her discovered vocabulary. He just stood there with his mouth agape. She had to admit that it hadn’t been the most erudite retort she could have hoped for. More of a babble really. The words always sounded so much more articulate in her head just moments before they came out her mouth.
The clerk shook his head and his eyes rolled. “Ms. Hunter, you are not getting the point. I must insist that you leave immediately.”
“But―”
The desk clerk held up a halting hand. “No. Don’t protest. Just go. I don’t want to have to call the authorities. But I will.”
From there Giselle suffered the humiliation of having an assistant manager escort her to her room to pack her things. She didn’t retrieve the muddy—and other stuff—clothing she’d thrown away in the bathroom wastebasket. The magazine credit card would no doubt be charged for hazardous waste removal or some such thing. Oh, well.
The assistant manager waited in her room and then led her out the hotel’s front entrance. The embarrassment left Giselle strangely calm about the whole thing. In the scheme of humiliating experiences suffered this weekend, being evicted from her hotel didn’t even number in the top three. That was comforting. Come to think of it, not even top five. More like number ten. She quit trying to rank it in its precise order because the exercise was becoming depressing rather than comforting.
* * *
Since she didn’t want to make any embarrassing disclosures to Mary Ellen—and there were so many to choose from—it was time to find another hotel.
However, it didn’t turn out to be easy. After a marathon of calls, Giselle checked into a motel on the fringes of Savannah’s downtown but still within walking distance to most of the historic locations on the map.
The motel didn’t have the quality of her last accommodation and had no doubt been awarded significantly less than five stars. It would in fact have surprised Giselle if it had achieved one star. But the motel had a business center with high-speed internet connection according to a sign on the door of, what had been generously termed, the lobby. Of course the business center turned out to be a closet, without doors of course, near the front desk. The computer did seem to get most of its use from the desk clerk surfing for internet porn sites.
The dive—er, place—had been all she could find on a busy Sunday afternoon. At least she didn’t have to pay by the hour. Another surprise.
She dumped her suitcase, which now had two broken wheels, in a room that looked like a replica of the one in that slasher movie. She expected a knife-wielding transvestite to burst through the door at any moment. Better to just avoid the shower altogether.
Giselle shivered and walked over to the combination heat and air conditioner wall unit near the window. Fiddling with the control didn’t appear to make any difference. The temperature of the room remained an unalterable fifty degrees. On the upside, her room had a scenic view of the parking lot and the bus station beyond. Great. She comforted herself with the thought that she wouldn’t be spending much time here. However, the thought didn’t provide much solace. Still depressed, Giselle decided she needed that retail therapy now and lunch. Lunch was a must.
Giselle departed the motel and hiked back to the historic area. After wandering in and out of a few shops, Giselle found a small hot dog stand and made a purchase. Hot dog, deluxe of course, chips and a sugary soda. She wasn’t going to worry about some people’s opinion of her figure. No need to do something crazy like eat a salad, especially not in her fragile emotional state. A salad could trigger some kind of psychotic break. Although a break from reality might be restful. Hmmm.
With her comfort food in hand, Giselle took a seat on a bench in the nearby square. It was the one with the big boulder, Wright Square. The old man could be heard yelling at the courthouse again. This time the music in the air consisted of a slightly off-tune saxophone playing Three Blind Mice.
Many of the other benches in the square were also occupied. A twenty-something man with a bulldog chatted with a twenty-something woman with a dachshund while the two dogs chatted with each other with their noses. People walked north through the square in the direction of the riverfront and south along the square’s sidewalks in the direction of the park.
Was it really little more than twenty-four hours ago that she’d been seated in this very same square? Little more than a day since she’d met Ry in his office? Ry. The lying jerk meanie. She should have listened to that kindly gold-toothed guy. What was his name? Oh, yes. Edward. That was it. She should have listened to Edward.
Hey. Edward seemed like a native of Savannah. Perhaps Edward knew something about a ghost she could use in her article. She’d go back to the gold tooth emporium later and try to find Edward.
Although, she was reluctant to go so near to Ry’s office. What if she ran into him? Oh, who cared? She wouldn’t even think about him. She wouldn’t give him the smallest kernel of thought. In fact, she wouldn’t think of the scrumptious, meanie, gorgeous, lying, jerk Ry ever again after this moment. Now. She would never think about him again. Ever. Really. Starting now. In fact, she couldn’t even remember his name. What was it again? Ry. Oh, who was she kidding?
Just then she saw Edward walking along the sidewalk on the opposite side of the square. Giselle hurried to swallow the last chunk of hot dog lodged in her mouth. Coughing, she swigged at the soda and swallowed. Finally, she was able to get enough breath to shout.
“Edward.” Giselle ran toward him and caught up to him just as he was about to cross York Street from the square. “Hi. This is a coincidence. I was just thinking about you,” Giselle said with a big grin. “Remember me?”
Edward, again in black pants and white shirt, smiled in return as he inclined his head in a gentlemanly greeting. “O’ course I do, miss. You be needin’ some gold teeth, after all?”
“No.” She chuckled. It felt good to laugh again. As if it had been years since she’d emitted such a sound. “No. I don’t need any gold teeth.”
“How ’bout a puppy. You find you could be needin’ a puppy? I still got me a passel in need of a good home.”
“I wish I could take a puppy. But right now I’m practically homeless myself.”
“Aw, miss. I’s terrible sorry to hear dat. What can I do fer ya?” Edward and Giselle walked back into the square and sat on one of the shaded benches. A passing couple eyed them strangely. Maybe it was still unusual to see a white woman with a black man in the South.
Giselle didn’t know where to start. “It’s a long story but you see I didn’t take your advice. I went and spoke to Ry Leland. And you were absolutely right. He’s mean. He’s a mean man. His mother is even worse, she—”
“His mama!” Edward interrupted. “Aw, miss. She’s even meaner than Ry. She’s mean as a snake. At least he was a nice little boy. And he got the makin’s of a good man. But that mama. Oooh, child. She has her own sort of mean. I felt powerful sorry fer that husband o’ hers. You most definit’ don’ wan’ nothing ta do wit’ dat one. ”
“I’m trying not to. But it sounds like you’ve had contact with her,” Giselle said.
“Me? I ain never spoke a word to dat one. Does I look stupid?”
Giselle laughed. “No. I think you’re the only sensible person I’ve spoken to since I got to Savannah. Anyway, enou
gh about Madam Divinity. I wondered if you might be able to help me with a project I’m working on.”
“Project?” He frowned.
She wasn’t entirely sure he knew what the word meant, but she didn’t want to insult him by asking. He was such a nice old man.
“I work for a magazine, for a few more days anyway, and I’m writing an article about Savannah. I need to include a ghost in my article. Do you know where I might find one?”
Edward scratched his head. “I shorely don’. Dat’s a mighty fine idea fer a story tho.” He looked at her and his expression turned sympathetic as he continued. “Aw, miss. I’s mightily sorry. I don’ know fer personal, but I did hear tell of something about a store hereabouts. This store sells the old furniture and such. I knows folks call them antiques, but they jes looks like old to me. Anyhow, that store suppose to get a hauntin’.”
“Really?” An antique shop. She could combine retail therapy with ghost hunting. Perfect.
“I don’ know fer shore. But I think is dat one.” He pointed a bony, old finger toward a store on the south side of the square. A sign above the shop read Estoria.
“Thanks so much, Edward.” She would have kissed him but she didn’t want to get too familiar and offend him.
“If’n you see Ry you tell ’im to come around and see Ol’ Edward.” Then he mumbled, “Dat ornery boy.”
“I don’t think I’ll be seeing him again, but if I do I’ll tell him.” Giselle waved as she walked off in the direction of the antique shop.
Slipping inside the cool air-conditioned store, Giselle found more than just antiques. She explored luxury soaps and handmade greeting cards before discovering one of her favorites, vintage salt and pepper shakers. The shop had an old-fashioned curio cabinet full of them.
Perhaps she could afford an addition to her collection of animal-figure shakers despite the fact she was close to losing her job. There was always unemployment insurance. She laughed when she saw a pair of cute skunks with smiling faces and porcelain flowers in their skunk hair. Oooh, no, not skunks. Too many annoying connotations. But there were two darling puppy shakers she would consider.
Giselle browsed the store’s collection of old books. She found an etiquette book from eighteen fifty-three and amused herself with the chapter about the recommended behavior of gentlemen bachelors and unmarried ladies.
“‘A lady should never allow a gentleman to entertain her in his home without the presence of a chaperone,’” she read. That’s where she’d gone wrong. She’d allowed Ry to entertain her in his home alone. Although, Ry was clearly not a gentleman. And his mama had been a pretty effective chaperone this morning. She should have read this book before meeting Ry.
“Margaret, look but don’t touch.” A man’s harsh voice issued the order from behind Giselle. She peeked over her shoulder, expecting to see a child being admonished. Instead, she saw a well-dressed and coiffed woman of at least fifty years. The woman’s hair had been dyed an unnatural dark brown and swept into an elegant chignon style. The woman wore large diamonds in her ears and a ring of at least four carats on her hand.
Her graying husband, at about five foot six inches, was a bit taller than she and much older, but just as well turned out. He had a ruddy, bullying face. Although not fat, he had a close resemblance to a pig.
The woman, Margaret, saw Giselle watching them. The woman blushed and turned her doe eyes downward.
“Did you hear me, Margaret?” the man said with a belligerent and bullying tone.
“Yes, Charles.”
“You know how you are.”
“Yes, Charles.”
The doe eyes, now wounded, peered at Giselle again. She gave an embarrassed smile and a small shrug.
Giselle turned back to the book, but she no longer saw the pages. The bully! Ordering his wife around like a toddler. The arrogance. Just like a man. He probably ordered his wife to stay like a dog. No doubt he had a Napoleon complex, brought on by an overbearing mother. The jerk. His poor wife. She seemed like such a lovely woman.
“Margaret,” the man warned in a low voice, drawing Giselle’s attention back to the couple. She saw the woman remove the skunk shakers from a large pocket in her expensive pants suit and put them back on the shelf of the cabinet. The woman blushed.
Omigod. Margaret was a klepto. And Giselle had assumed poor Charles was the villain. So much for assumptions. Had she made any other stupid assumptions this weekend?
Giselle returned to the curio cabinet, removed the puppy shakers, and took them to the store counter. “I’d like to buy these shakers.”
“Will there be anything else?” the store clerk asked.
“Yes. Tell me about your ghost.”
By the time Giselle finished at Estoria it was 3:10 p.m., and she had her ghost. Now she just had to prove it…and write an article. Things were looking up. And all without the help of Ry Leland. Oops, she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about him. From now on he would be known as “he who is unremembered”.
A Girl, a Guy and a Ghost: Chapter Eleven
Retail therapy worked wonders for Giselle’s frame of mind, but nothing compared to the mood elevator provided by the prospect of a ghost for her article. The owners of the antique shop agreed to allow Giselle to return with some monitoring equipment after closing in a few hours. A phone call later and she’d arranged for rental of the equipment. Everything was ready to go. Giselle felt revitalized, reenergized, reinvented and ready to conquer the world, or at least Savannah.
Since she had already scheduled a meeting for later that night with suspect number one—the Vampire Lester—she decided that she might as well do some investigation of suspect number two this afternoon. Giselle would pay a visit to VICTIM headquarters, aka Kopeleski’s house.
She decided to avoid the Drayton Street route as she walked to Kopeleski’s place, not wanting to revisit the scene of her abduction, not to mention her walk of shame. No sense in jeopardizing her good mood by inviting more shouted insulting appellations by someone who might have seen her walking there earlier. No, it was back to Rational Angel Giselle. Wanton Vixen Giselle was in firm lockdown and wouldn’t be appearing again anytime soon. No reminders of the angel’s earlier fall from grace were necessary.
Instead, she proceeded down Abercorn Street, past a beautiful pale cream-colored cathedral with blue-green spires and entered a square with an egret-themed fountain at its center. Perhaps if she verified the ghost tonight and finished the article tomorrow, she could use Monday for sightseeing and more retail therapy.
Giselle stopped at the corner of Kopeleski’s street. She avoided acknowledging the presence of that other house, the house that belonged to “he who is unremembered”. She focused on VICTIM headquarters. The house bore no outward sign of its affiliation with the group. There was no sign that a wizard lived inside. No large billboard proclaiming, I tried to kill Giselle Hunter. But, then again, that would have been too much to ask.
She quickly spotted Kopeleski positioned under the parlor window. He held a long metal contraption—metal detector—in front of him with both hands in a big-game fishing stance. The wizard’s hair sprang from his scalp, a kinky almost living thing around his head. No metrosexual barrette today. He wore a red brocade smoking jacket and sneakers. Ick. Was he nude under that jacket? No. Thankfully, he had on white running shorts just a shade whiter than his pale chickenlike legs.
Giselle pulled a hat and dark sunglasses from her purse. Not a sophisticated disguise, but maybe covering her mop of red curls would keep Kopeleski from going berserk before she could even get close. Fortunately, Kopeleski didn’t notice her.
He seemed fully concentrated on his task. From time to time the detector sounded a high-pitch beeping, which seemed to incite Kopeleski to excitedly paw through whatever was under the large circular head of the machine at the time. Then he would pull some fragment close to his eyes, examine it and toss it aside. Kopeleski mumbled to himself nonstop. She thought she could make out the od
d word here and there.
“Hunter fly.”
Could have been die instead of fly.
“Ditch.”
Could be witch or b— Something else.
“Stunt.”
She didn’t want to think about the alternatives for that word.
Nice to know she could still inspire such happy thoughts in Kopeleski. It only made it more critical that she find out about his involvement in the attempts on her life.
She walked to the lane that ran behind the houses and turned. She counted each house until she reached what must be the back of Kopeleski’s. Unlike many of the properties, his did not have a separate carriage house at the back. A brick fence, which looked to be about eight feet in height, enclosed the property, with a wood gate to provide access to the courtyard. Giselle saw a covered porch up a flight of stairs. The back door of the house stood open with a screen door, closing out any direct entry from the courtyard.
Giselle tried the gate to the courtyard. Locked. There were no footholds or handholds on the surface of the brick wall. However, a dumpster had been placed next to the wall to one side of the gate. It was a residential-type plastic affair, about two feet wide with two wheels on either side of the front half. It didn’t look at all stable, but at about four feet high it might be her entry ticket. If she could climb up, Giselle would be halfway to the top of the wall and virtually in Kopeleski’s courtyard.
As Giselle looked around the lane, she could find nothing else that would act as a step stool, but she did notice someone watching her. At the base of an acanthus-leaf-adorned planter she saw a small black cat, a kitten really. It sat perched upright on its four legs, sleek and solemn with green-gold eyes. The kitten gazed at Giselle with interest. It blinked and for a second its eyes took on an almost human look. It must be her imagination, but it seemed as if the cat knew what Giselle planned.
Ignoring the nosy kitten, Giselle placed her purse on top of the dumpster and started to climb up herself. The thing lurched on its wheels, threatening to throw her on her, um, bum. She finally reached the top and it stopped moving.