Trouble In Mudbug

by Jana DeLeon

  Her skin was still hot from his touch, so she stripped down to her sports bra, hoping the bayou breeze would cool her overstimulated skin. It was unnerving to be as old as she was and have this much loss of self-control. Even Hank hadn’t stirred her up this way, and he’d been a pretty good playboy himself.

  Luc LeJeune had all the makings of trouble. More trouble than Hank. More trouble than she needed in this lifetime and certainly more trouble than she needed right now.

  Before she could change her mind, she yanked her cell phone from her pocket and pulled out the small slip of paper tucked inside the case. She pressed in the numbers and waited while the phone rang over and over, finally rolling to voice mail.

  “Christopher, this is Maryse Robicheaux,” she said when she heard the beep. “If you’re still interested, I’d love to take you up on that offer for dinner. Just give me a call.”

  She flipped the phone shut, shoved it in her pocket, and eased her boat up the bayou. She was going to put Luc LeJeune out of her mind, even if she had to throw herself at another man to accomplish it.

  Maryse docked her boat at her cabin early that evening in somewhat of a mild panic. Her workday had gone well for the state—she’d finally found that elusive Lady Slipper hybrid they were looking for, but she hadn’t located the plant she needed for her trials. She’d just about been ready to try yet another area of the bayou when Christopher had returned her call. Not only did he want to take her to dinner, but he wanted to take her to dinner that night. At Beau Chené, a first-class restaurant just on the edge of Mudbug.

  As she yanked open her closet doors, she tried not to think that this was the second time in less than a week that she probably didn’t have anything nice to wear. After all, Christopher had already seen her one and only cocktail dress when she’d gone to the emergency room.

  She pushed the clothes from one side to another, frowning the entire time. There had to be something that would work. Anything. She paused for a moment, and her brow crinkled in unpleasant memory. There was an outfit that Sabine had made her buy one year for a Christmas party. It was clingy and sparkly and she’d hated it at the time, but if she could find it, it would work perfectly for Beau Chené.

  After going through every inch of her closet and each drawer of her dresser, it looked as though a hurricane had blown right through her tiny bedroom. She plopped onto her bed with a sigh. The tiny crunch of plastic when she flounced her entire body weight on her mattress brought her mind into focus, and she reached beneath the bed to tug out a plastic storage container. She pulled off the lid and heaved a sigh of relief as the offensive garment, complete with way-too-high and incredibly uncomfortable heels, lay resting inside.

  Her problem of something to wear was solved. Her problem of something to say was still in the hopper.

  Twenty minutes later, she stepped out of the shower and saw Helena perched on her toilet. Maryse bit back a scream and quickly wrapped a towel around her chest as she shook the water from her hair. “Damn it, Helena, I know you can’t knock, but you could at least yell or something. One of these days, you’re going to give me a heart attack. Then where would that leave us?”

  Helena glared, the showgirl makeup still as thick and dark as it was the day she was buried. In fact, everything about her was exactly as it was in the casket. Bummer. If Helena found out who gave the funeral home that outfit and figured out how to move things, someone was in a boatload of trouble. Maryse almost felt sorry for them.

  Then she took another look at the putrid pink polyester. Well, maybe not sorry.

  Helena huffed. “You’re one to talk about leaving us in a bad situation. Based on the way you took off today, I figure you don’t give a damn anyway, so why should I?”

  “Because it would be a pleasant change?” Maryse started to brush out her damp hair. “You know, you caring about something besides yourself? Who knows, you might have centuries to figure it out.” Maryse gave her a fake smile, fully expecting Helena to fly off the handle—or in this case, off the toilet—but Helena only looked at her with a sad expression on her face.

  “I do care about other people…or did care…or hell, I don’t know how to explain it now that I’m dead. It feels like I still care, but I don’t know if that’s possible. Is my soul still here?”

  Maryse studied her for a moment, not sure how to answer, but Helena looked so troubled she couldn’t stand holding out on her any longer. It was time to let the ghost in on her paranormal connection. “I told Sabine about you.”

  Helena stared at her in obvious confusion. “That nut at the psychic place?”

  “She’s not a nut…well, not exactly…She’s just not like other people.”

  Helena raised her eyebrows.

  “Okay. So she’s a bit of a nut, but no one I know can tell you more about the paranormal, and that includes ghosts. You ought to be thankful I’m checking on things for you. And you shouldn’t judge those who want to help.”

  Helena looked surprised. “She wants to help?”

  “Sure, she wants to help.” Wants to help me get rid of you, anyway. “Got all weepy when I told her about the situation.” Or maybe that was the six glasses of wine. “Anyway, she thinks that you still have your soul and that’s why you’re still here. You can’t transcend, or whatever, until your soul is put to rest. In your case, she feels that’s by figuring out who murdered you.”

  Helena considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Kind of what we already figured except for the soul part, right? Hey, she didn’t mention anything about how I would be able to touch things, did she?”

  “As a matter of fact, she did. I asked specifically since it’s a hell of a lot more useful for you to be able to move things than me. I’m not pulling a repeat of that stunt at your house.”

  “And what did she say?” Helena asked eagerly. “How do I do it?”

  Maryse shook her head. “Sabine doesn’t really know how to tell you to do it. She’s never actually been dead or talked to a ghost. But her best guess was you had to will it to happen and assume it would. You couldn’t go into it thinking it wouldn’t work.”

  Helena frowned. “Will it to happen? That’s it? If it was that damned easy, don’t you think I’d have already done it?”

  “You’re doing it right now. You’re sitting on my toilet. Why didn’t you fall through if you couldn’t come into contact with solids? And last time I checked, regular people did not walk on water.”

  Helena stared down at the toilet and scrunched her brow. “Why, I never thought of that. So it’s a matter of faith, then?”

  Maryse shrugged. “Guess so. You just have to figure out a way to think of touching things as naturally as you do sitting or walking on them.”

  Helena sighed. “Faith…that’s a low blow. I was the most cynical person on the face of the Earth.” She gave Maryse a small smile. “Guess I still am.”

  Maryse shook her head and picked up her blow dryer, directing the hot air toward her short waves. “Well, you’re going to have to find a way to believe, because I’m not breaking and entering again, no matter how long you have to wander around here.”

  Helena waved one hand in dismissal. “Yeah, yeah, Miss Goodie Two-Shoes, so I’ll practice tomorrow. Tonight, I have important business to discuss with you.”

  “Tonight, I have a date with Dr. Christopher Warren.” She plunked the dryer down and pointed a finger at Helena. “And you will not interfere.” Maryse walked into the bedroom and began to dress.

  “But it’s important,” Helena whined, and flopped onto the bed, jettisoning throw pillows onto the floor when her weight connected with the springy mattress. Maryse glanced at the pillows and shook her head. Helena was never going to get it.

  “Look,” Maryse said as she wriggled into the tight, short black skirt, “I don’t doubt in the least that what you have to say is important, to you anyway. And I know there are things we need to do, but the problem is I’m still trying to have a life. And while it may not seem
like a great one to you, it’s the only one I’ve got. I’d like to get some enjoyment out of it, if that’s even possible.”

  Helena started to respond, but Maryse held up a hand to stop her. “Which means two things: One, I have to take care of my job, and it is a full-time venture. Two, I will not cancel a date with the most eligible bachelor in town.”

  “Bachelor is right. That cad’s already dated half the women in New Orleans and probably bedded the other half without the prospect of dinner.”

  Maryse gave Helena a withering stare. “Oh, but your son was the pinnacle of honesty and ethics. Give me a break.”

  Helena frowned. “No. Hank was as useless as his father. I tried really hard with him but some things just can’t be changed. Guess Harold’s DNA won out.”

  “That’s funny,” Maryse said as she slipped the sparkly, low-cut blue top over her head and adjusted her bra. “I always got the impression you thought Hank was wonderful. If not, why did you defend him all those years? Why pay his bills every time he got in trouble? And most of all—why in the world did you make me pay you back for Hank’s debts if you already knew how worthless he was? It’s not like they were my fault.” She walked over to her dresser and picked up a black eyeliner pencil.

  Helena put her chin up in defiance. “I needed to test you.”

  Maryse dropped the mascara in the makeup tray and stared at her in disbelief. “Test me? What in the world for? To see how much I could take before I drowned myself in the bayou? Or were you itching for death then and thought I’d eventually strangle you?” The thought had crossed her mind more than once.

  Helena shook her head and said in all seriousness, “I needed to test your character so I could decide what to do with the land. I couldn’t just mess that up, you know.”

  Maryse turned from the dresser and frowned. “Okay, Helena, I can get that you had a big decision to make and not a lot of choices given your son’s proclivity for uselessness, but you made my life miserable for two years. My life to some extent is on hold unless Hank shows up and does the right thing. You have to know that land or no land, I’m not happy to be in this position, and I’m certainly not happy to have you hanging around as a spirit. You were easier to avoid when you were alive.”

  Helena started to respond, but the phone rang. Maryse glanced at the display with a groan and flipped open the phone.

  “Is anything wrong, Maryse?” Christopher asked. “You were supposed to be at the dock ten minutes ago.”

  Darn Helena. Now she was late for her date with the hottest catch in town. “I’m running a bit behind is all,” Maryse said, not even going to answer the very loaded question about what was wrong. “I’ll be there in two minutes.” She flipped the phone shut, finished her makeup, grabbed her purse, and rushed out of the cabin, Helena in tow.

  “You can’t go out with him tonight,” Helena begged. “There are too many important things we need to discuss and he’s really, really wrong for you. I know.”

  “You don’t even know him.” Maryse tossed her bow line in her boat and eased down inside, one hand clutching her stilettos. “And like you’re an expert at picking men. I’m not doing this tonight, Helena.” She started the boat and threw the accelerator down as far as it would go. Giant sheets of water rose behind the boat and showered the land a good ten feet behind the dock, including the piece Helena stood on. Maryse looked back, hoping to see her doused, but the water passed completely through her and she stood perfectly still, staring forlornly at the boat.

  Maryse prayed that whatever problem Helena had now wasn’t worth skipping her date. Given her week, there was a lot to be said for anything remotely normal. Not that dating doctors was exactly the norm for Maryse, or dating at all for that matter, but damn if she wasn’t going to give it a whirl.

  At the dock, Maryse took one look at Christopher Warren and decided right then and there that she had made the right decision. He was definitely hot. His black slacks and black silk shirt were designer quality, and he wore them well, the clothes doing nothing to disguise a tight butt and perfectly toned chest and arms. His light brown hair glistened with natural blonde highlights and his pale green eyes focused on her as she made her way up from the dock.

  Focus on your future. She paused for a moment to consider what smart children they would have and smiled. Christopher smiled back and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. Maryse couldn’t even think about enjoying it because at that moment she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. Helena was walking across the bayou straight toward them, a determined look on her face.

  Holy hell. Maryse took Christopher’s hand and tugged him toward his shiny new Lexus. “We don’t want to be late,” she said in response to the somewhat puzzled look on his face. “And I don’t want my hair to frizz in this humidity.”

  “Sure.” He chuckled in understanding, vanity apparently a very good excuse for rudely rushing people. He opened the car door, and Maryse jumped inside, slamming the door before he could even reach the handle. He stared at her for a moment but finally turned and headed back to his side of the car and climbed inside.

  He took his time getting the car started, then burned at least a minute inspecting his hair in the rearview mirror. Maryse kept a wary eye on Helena’s approach the entire time. If he didn’t get them the heck out of there, this was going to get ugly. Helena might not be able to open the car door, but she wouldn’t hesitate to plop herself right on the hood.

  “I’m starving,” Maryse said, trying to hurry him along. “What time is our reservation?”

  Christopher took the hint and put the car in gear, pulling slowly out of the parking lot just as Helena stepped onto the dock. Maryse half expected her to break into a run as they pulled away, but she guessed even ghosts had their limits. Or maybe it was too hard to run in pointy-toe heels and a polyester suit. Either way, Maryse held in a sigh of relief as she saw Helena fading in the mirror.

  “We don’t exactly have a reservation,” Christopher said, “but I called in a favor. They’ll fit us in whenever we arrive.”

  Maryse’s eyes widened. “Really?” The restaurant was usually booked weeks in advance. “That must have been some favor.” She sank back into the soft leather seat with a smile. Beau Chené was the stuff dinner date dreams were made of. It was fabulously exclusive, ridiculously expensive, and had more class than the entire state of Louisiana. The fact that it rested just inside the Mudbug city limits was a mystery within itself, but who was she to complain?

  The only other time she’d graced that establishment was a dinner with Hank, Helena, and Harold. Not exactly a pleasurable evening for such an impressive place. But this time was different. This time she was dining with an attractive, intelligent doctor. She was going to have a good time, even if it killed her.

  She caught Christopher looking over at her and gave him a sexy smile. This was going to be a night to remember.

  A night to remember turned out to be a gross understatement. The look on Maryse’s face when Helena walked into Beau Chené and took a seat at their table was probably one Christopher would never forget. In any event, it was bad enough to cause him to jump up from his chair and rush to her side, as she grabbed her glass of ridiculously expensive champagne and tossed the entire contents back in one gulp.

  “You’re white as a sheet,” Christopher said and placed one hand on her forehead. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Helena hooted, and Maryse choked on the last bit of champagne, spraying it across the table. She was afraid Christopher was about to start the Heimlich maneuver so she waved one hand to ward him off. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm down, but with Helena laughing like a hyena, it was damn near impossible. Finally, she gained control of her breathing, although her blood pressure was questionable, and apologized profusely to Christopher for alarming him.

  “I don’t know what came over me,” she said, trying to come up with a believable excuse fast. “I’ve had a pretty stressful week,
and I guess it just all caught up to me in one moment.”

  Christopher nodded and took his seat again, gently caressing her hand. “Probably an anxiety attack. I heard a little around town about your mother-in-law and the situation with your ex, or sorta ex. That along with your wreck would be enough to send anyone in a spiral, but this sort of problem rarely continues once the issues causing them are settled. In a week or so, you ought to be back to normal.”

  “Gee,” Helena said, “I could have made that diagnosis.”

  Before she could stop herself, Maryse frowned. Christopher noticed her expression and squeezed her hand, trying to reassure her. “I promise it will go away,” he said. “There’s nothing really wrong. At least nothing a great dinner won’t help. If you’re still up to it, that is.” He removed his hand from hers and began to pour more champagne in her glass.