NOLA

by Alexie Aaron

  Father Peter shook his head. “What a world we live in. When the hunter can be friends with the prey and vice versa.”

  “Hey, before I came down here, if you would have told me that a charm you can hold in your hand could become a twenty foot snake named Weebee, I would have suggested you voluntarily commit yourself. But hey, I’m learning one must have an open mind.”

  “Well, this haunt will certainly test your open mind. According to Honor’s informant, this ghost was an entertainer in life. It’s chosen to haunt Mrs. Clariborne’s weekly card party.” Father Peter stood up. “Here’s our stop.”

  They exited the streetcar and walked up to a magnificent, large house. A uniformed butler answered the door. Father Peter asked to speak to Mrs. Clariborne. The butler reluctantly nodded and motioned for Mia and Father Peter to make themselves comfortable in the little parlor at the front of the house. Mia sat down, taking in the lush fabrics of the furniture and draperies. Father Peter preferred to stand. His posture was perfect. Mia suspected his mother had Peter well in hand before he chose his profession.

  A beautiful blonde moved into the room. Her floral tea dress complimented her complexion. She raised her hand and disappeared.

  The real Mrs. Clariborne arrived seconds later. “I can see by the expressions on your faces that my little problem has already made an appearance.”

  “I’m flabbergasted,” Mia said. “If you stood side by side, you would be identical.”

  “I take no pride in that,” Mrs. Clariborne huffed.

  “I guess we better round her up.”

  “Round him up,” she said sourly. “It’s a man. I’m being haunted by a transvestite. He’s already caused havoc in the card room. He’s already impersonated Mrs. Viceroy, Miss Appleton and Mrs. DeLay.”

  “Ah, when you said performer, I thought it was a musician or perhaps a singer, but this is a horse of a different color,” Mia said. “When did his performances begin?”

  “We, my sister and I, wanted to have something different to wear to the Mardi Gras ball. My decorator, Todd Sims, arranged for a trunk of vintage costumes to be sent over for us to look through. He came with the trunk.”

  “Can I see the trunk?” Mia asked.

  Mrs. Clariborne turned to her butler. “That trunk Todd sent over, do we still have it?”

  “I believe, Madam, that it’s in the shed. We thought it was the source of the moth infestation, so I had it removed to there.”

  “Show this woman to the shed. Father, I insist you come in and have a refreshment with the ladies.”

  “Go ahead,” Mia said.

  The butler waited until the lady of the house was out of the room before instructing, “Follow me, miss.”

  Mia didn’t bother to correct him. If she took time to correct every stranger that assumed she was younger than she was and unmarried, she would have no time to herself. She followed the man through the kitchen that was teeming with wait staff that were being grilled by the chef. The man glared at the butler, and the glare was returned. Mia sensed a territory had been breached. They walked outside and around the garage where Mia came face-to-face with a darling replica of the large house.

  “This is the shed?”

  “It used to be Miss Marjorie’s playhouse, but we now use it for storage.” He unlocked the door and stepped aside.

  Mia ducked under the low door and looked around until she found a large antique chest. She unlatched it and found inside a bevy of flamboyant costumes. Mia reached in and pulled out a red flamingo dress. She held it against her body and found the dress to be taller than she was. “Sir,” she called.

  The butler ducked his head in and asked, “Yes, miss?”

  “Are all the costumes in here?”

  “Yes, I believe they are all accounted for.”

  “Could you help me bring this to the driveway?”

  “It would be my pleasure. May I ask why?”

  “You can ask, but I prefer to answer you once we have moved it.”

  “Fair enough.” The man inched his way in and took hold of one of the side handles.

  Mia took the other, and between the two of them, they managed to extract the trunk from the playhouse. The butler then waved Mia away, and he picked up the trunk and carried it in the direction of the front of the house. As they rounded the garage, Mia had an idea. She ducked her head inside and spotted a few items she may need. “Better to apologize than ask permission,” she said, taking her pilfered goods to the driveway.

  The butler set the trunk down.

  “Is that all, miss?”

  “I could use a large box of salt.”

  “Right away, miss.”

  Mia watched the man walk back towards the house. He stopped and quickly mopped up the sweat he had accumulated and removed any dust or debris from his clothing. He then entered the building.

  Mia heard quite a commotion inside before the butler hastily launched himself out of the kitchen and walked quickly over and handed the salt to Mia.

  “The chef wasn’t pleased,” Mia guessed.

  “Not at all, miss.”

  “You may want to go inside where it’s cooler.”

  “I see you have acquired enough materials for a bomb fire,” the butler observed.

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Do you plan on using said materials?”

  “Only as the last resort, sir.” Mia reached into her pocket, pulled out her cell and texted Father Peter her plan. She then sat on top of the chest of clothes and waited.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Father Peter read the text twice. “She wouldn’t,” he said aloud.

  “I beg your pardon, Father. Were you talking to me?” Mrs. Clariborne asked.

  “No, just talking to myself. Would you mind if I made an announcement?”

  “Depends on the announcement.”

  “I’m going to try to ferret out the impostor amongst these women.”

  “Please, announce away!” Mrs. Clariborne stood up and clapped her hands. “Ladies, excuse my interruption of your game. As you know, we’ve been having some problems here with a certain uninvited guest. I have asked Father Peter and his assistant to help us. Please give the father your undivided attention.”

  Father Peter stood up. “I only have one announcement. I would like to inform whom it may concern that Mia is going to burn all your costume dresses in the driveway. That’s all,” he said and sat down and watched.

  One of the women, dressed in a poppy-covered gown, jumped up and left the table, while another woman dressed the same came back from what Father Peter assumed was the bathroom.

  Father Peter excused himself and ran after the miscreant.

  Mia saw the ghost burst out of the side of the house. He flew over to Mia and bounced off the salt barrier.

  “What are you doing!” he yelled at Mia.

  “I’m going to burn your dresses unless…”

  “Unless what?”

  “You leave this house and stop impersonating the society dames.”

  Father Peter approached and smiled as he watched Mia at work.

  “But they’re so easy. Just some spackle and a girdle, and voilà, you have any of them.”

  “But they aren’t pleased with what you’re doing. Your performance is failing to reach your audience.”

  “Impossible! I was the toast of town. Stiffs and cool cats alike lined up to see me.”

  “Who are you?” Mia asked.

  “Miss Georgia Peach.”

  “That’s a stage name,” Mia argued. “Your real name.”

  “Ernie Simpson.”

  Mia swallowed her laughter. “Well, Ernie, this is the deal. You’re not on stage here. This is a private home. The ladies, whom you are impersonating, aren’t digging your parody. If you choose to come with me, I’ll leave your costumes alone. If not, I’ll burn every last one of them. And when they go, you go too. Bye bye, Ernie."

  “Where are we going?” Ernie asked.

  Mia looked ov
er at Father Peter.

  “Lucky Pierre’s on Bourbon Street,” he declared.

  Ernie stood there a moment and scratched himself in the most unfeminine way. “Okay, it’s a deal. No tricks.”

  “No tricks.” Mia opened up the chest and brushed away some salt.

  Ernie, now appearing as Jackie Kennedy in her blue traveling costume, stepped into the chest, and Mia lowered the lid. She reached into her pocket and produced a rosary. She wound the beads around the lock and secured the clasp with the silver cross.

  Mia started to return the barbecue equipment but was waylaid by the butler. “I’ll take care of this, miss.”

  Mia returned to the chest and sat down. Father Peter sat down next to her. She called George to come and get her, mentioning that she had a large trunk to deliver to Bourbon Street.

  “Would you have really set the trunk on fire and burnt the clothes?”

  “Yes. The threat was real,” Mia said evenly. “In the nightclub, what he does is entertainment; in there with all those insecure women, it’s ridicule. I’ll not stand for anyone deliberately hurting anyone’s feelings.”

  “Mia, you’ve got some baggage, but in this instance, it has made you a better person.”

  “As it has you, Father,” Mia countered.

  “I’d hug you, but it would be so misunderstood.”

  Mia laughed. “I hear you.”

  A series of backfires preceded a dented but clean wreck of a pickup truck. George, still dressed in his chauffeur’s uniform, waved from the end of the drive. He opened the tailgate before walking up the drive.

  “I take it this is the trunk,” he said to Mia and nodded to the butler that stood at attention by the garage door. “What’s up?” The butler ignored him. “Cold.”

  Mia followed George and Father Peter as they carried the chest down the drive. She looked back and waved at the butler who nodded his head before leaving his post.

  “Bourbon Street, huh, any particular address?” George asked.

  “Lucky Pierre’s,” Mia said.

  George did a double take.

  “Don’t worry, we’re going with you. I won’t let any of the ladies pick on you,” Mia promised.

  “Don’t you be telling my grandmother either,” George said.

  “You have my word,” Mia said.

  “Okay, then hop in. They’ll close off the street soon,” he said.

  Mia accepted Father Peter’s assistance into the truck before getting in himself. He fussed a bit at his neck and pulled out his white collar. “I don’t want to alarm the entertainers,” he explained.

  They arrived at Lucky Pierre’s just as the barriers were being unloaded to block off the street to vehicle traffic. George promised the officer that they were just making a delivery, and he would not be parking.

  After he unloaded the trunk to the sidewalk, George jumped back in the truck, intending to hold his own until Mia returned.

  “Go on home, and take the night off,” Mia instructed. “The father and I will find our way to our destination, and tonight, I will be in the capable hands of Candy Kane, so I’ll not be needing you.”

  “Still, you call me if you get into trouble, you hear?”

  “Yes, sir,” Mia said and waved him off. She looked over at the priest and then at the street that was filling up with revelers. “No time like the present,” she said.

  They hefted the trunk through the alley and banged on the side door. It was opened by a burly looking man.

  “Delivery of vintage costumes,” Mia said.

  He stood back and let them in. “Back there, first door on your right,” he instructed.

  The interior was a bit dim, but Mia was able to make out their destination. “Follow me, Fa… Peter,” she edited, just in case anyone was listening.

  The room they were directed to turned out to be a dressing room. Mia knocked on the door hard, announcing, “Female on premises!” before walking in.

  The entertainers were in the process of organizing their costumes for the evening’s performance.

  “What’s this?” a beautiful, hairless, black young man asked.

  “Vintage costumes, a donation from the Garden District,” Mia answered.

  “Put it over there. I’m sure most of it will be too small, but we’ll have a look-see anyway.”

  Mia and Father Peter did as instructed. Mia unwound the rosary and lifted the lid.

  “Oh my word!” the young man exclaimed. “These are Miss Georgia Peach’s things. Wherever did you find them? Sidney, come over here!”

  A half-dressed redhead lumbered over. “That’s not…”

  “It is.”

  “But that crook Marley…”

  “He did, but they’re back.”

  Mia, puzzled by the shorthanded conversation, said, “I’m confused.”

  “Oh, sweetie, you see, these costumes were stolen by Marley Dickbrain,” the redhead explained.

  “Dickbrain?” Mia asked, trying to hide her amusement.

  “Actually, it’s Marley Rickrain, but he’s really a dickbrain if you get my drift.” The redhead winked. “Anyhoo, he raided Ernie’s lodgings just after the EMTs took him away. Right out from under the nose of that bitch Ernie rented from.”

  “Those costumes were willed to us,” the young man declared.

  “Well, they’re back now,” Father Peter said.

  The redhead looked at him and gasped, “Oh my lord, it’s Father Peter. Sidney Appleton…”

  “Mr. Appleton,” Father Peter realized. “I didn’t recognize you.”

  Sidney smiled. “Of course not. Tonight, I’m Miss Lucille Ball.”

  Mia looked the redhead over and nodded. “I didn’t realize Lucy was such a beautiful woman.”

  “Sweetie, you have to see her in her early pictures, Follow the Fleet, Chatterbox. She was a femme fatale before a comic.”

  “I’ll see if I can find them,” Mia said. “Father, we better get going. I don’t want Honor to get worried.”

  “Yes. Before we go, we should tell you that Miss Georgia Peach is likely to show up.”

  “Oh, we’re counting on that!” the young man squealed.

  Mia and Father Peter excused themselves and walked quickly out of the building. Once outside, they contemplated their options.

  “What time are we supposed to meet the others?”

  “Two hours from now.”

  “Are you hungry? Because I could go for some jambalaya. Cid makes it, but I’d like a taste of the real thing,” Mia confessed.

  “I’ve got just the place. It’s kind of a dive.”

  “Well, as long as you refrain from starting any brawls, I think I’d like to go there.”

  Father Peter roared with laughter. “No promises, Mia, no promises.”

  ~

  “The children died forty-two years ago. Their mother and father are still alive, and they have three siblings. I hesitate to contact the family. Somehow, I think it will bring them more pain than it’s worth,” Audrey said.

  “Grandma Jean will let the mother know where the children are when the mother passes,” Murphy said.

  “Stephen says that he feels confident that the grandmother will let the mother know where she can find her children,” Sabine told the group.

  “The teens, now that was a challenge,” Audrey admitted. “I couldn’t find a reference to a death by misadventure anywhere near the library. And then I got to thinking. I looked into the programs the library participated in, in the sixties, and found that they had a bookmobile of sorts that traveled to convalescent homes and to the juvenile detention facility. The convalescent homes in the area were for the aging, so I didn’t have to look further. The juvenile detention facility would not cooperate with me at all. I don’t fault them; they have to protect the privacy of the inmates because they were children when they were incarcerated. Mia always said to make sure to look outside the box, but in this case, I looked in. I figured that if two teens had somehow perished in the de
tention facility, they had to be removed by an undertaker. So I started with the local establishments and moved outward until I got a bite. According to a son of Sims and Sons, they were called out to collect two boys, ages eleven and thirteen, who had died accidentally on the property. Evidently, the two young men were building a generator of sorts in the lab when they were electrocuted.”

  “But what is the tie-in with the library?” Cid asked, spellbound by Audrey’s tale.

  “They were following the directions from an article in a Popular Mechanics magazine. This magazine, I bet was returned with the other books to the library.”

  “Boys’ names?” Burt asked.

  “Oh, sorry. Tim Trebuchet and Gary Smith.”

  “How sure are you?” Mike asked Audrey.

  “Very sure, but I’d like to ask them just the same.”

  “I agree. Now, how did you do with the other two men in the basement?”

  “The reader is Ronald Whitmore. He died on the steps of the library of a heart attack. The other man Chester Vogel is going to be our problem. Chester Vogel wasn’t living rough because he was homeless. He was a felon who escaped police custody while being transported from Joliet prison to the courthouse. Vogel was a violent criminal. He broke elbows and knees for a local loan shark.”

  “Bad man,” Murphy vocalized for all to hear.

  “We’ve got enough information to present to Miss Hodges,” Burt said. “She, unfortunately, won’t be available for a few days; she has a prior engagement out of town. I think we should suspend our investigation until she comes back. The bully seems to be our only concern, and he seemed happy to see us leave the premises. I’ll call the library and tell them not to expect us until Miss Hodges returns. And maybe suggest that no one go down to the furnace room alone until we return.”

  “That will bring on more questions,” Mike said.

  “I’ll just have to do my best to field them. I’ll mention that, if they do experience an increase in mischief, we will just be a phone call away. I guess that’s it for present business. Does anyone have any new business?” Burt asked, looking around. “No? Then you guys are free for a few days. I’ll call when I have a firm appointment with Miss Hodges, and we’ll return in force. Excellent job, Audrey, you make us look like professionals.”