Whispers in Time

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  “And Frank Longpre’s as well?”

  Carol nodded solemnly. “I’m convinced of it. This is at least our second time around, Frank.”

  “Then I guess we don’t have much choice about returning to the past, do we?”

  “I don’t think so, Frank. I believe it’s something we must do.”

  “Okay, darlin’, I’m with you. But you just watch that guy when I’m not around.”

  Tense silence fell over the room as they both considered the incredible task before them. Carol was determined, but Frank still had his doubts.

  Trying to change the subject, to get them on safer ground, Frank plucked the wilted flower from Carol’s hair. “Hey, what’s this?”

  Carol uttered a cry of surprise, then smiled. “It’s a purple zinnia. Fiona put it in Cami’s hair when they were in the garden, when Cami said that she wanted to go to the Orleans Ballroom.” Carol giggled. “Actually, I can hardly wait to go back, Frank. Fiona and Cami have cooked up this wild masquerade. Fiona plans to take Cami to the Quadroon Ball and pass her off as a niece from Mobile. That way, Cami will get to look over the eligible men in New Orleans and take her pick. If she does fall in love, then she’ll tell the gentleman of her choice the truth—that she’s not a woman of color who can only be his placée, but the daughter of a fine old Creole family, with a fortune in her own right, ready and willing to marry him. Have you ever heard of anything so wonderfully romantic?”

  All of a sudden, Frank’s whole body jerked as if he’d been shot. “Oh, my God!” he groaned, his memory finally triggered by the word placée. “That’s it! I know what’s going to happen, Carol. The same thing all over again. I don’t want you to be there.”

  “Frank, what on earth’s gotten into you? What are you talking about?”

  He held her as if he could keep her in the present by sheer force. “Black Vic’s going to that same ball. It’s on a Thursday night, right?”

  Carol nodded, dumbfounded.

  “They’re going to meet and he’s going to set Cami up as his placée in a house on Conde Street. Don’t you see? It all fits—what Mrs. Thibodaux told us about Cami’s reputation being ruined. It’s about to happen, and Black Vic’s the sonofabitch who’s going to ruin her.”

  “Impossible!” Carol stated flatly. “Fiona would never allow it. She’s told Cami already to forget about Victoine Navar, and, believe me, Fiona Le Moyne is a very strong-willed woman.”

  “Big deal!” Frank scoffed. “When have you ever known a teenaged girl who listened to what she was told, especially if the warning involves a man? If you don’t go back, Carol, then the ball will never take place and Vic won’t get to meet Cami right now. So, that settles it! You’re staying right here with me where you belong until Black Vic is a free man.”

  “It doesn’t work that way, Frank,” Carol reminded him. “Whatever happened at that ball took place over a century ago. If I stay here, then that’s that. It’s over and done with and that unidentified mummy will meet her appointed, ghastly fate. But if I go back, I may be able to change something. Cami’s a sweet girl; she deserves better. I’d like a shot at fixing things so her life will be happier.”

  “Well, I’m not going!” Frank announced flatly. “If I’m not in the picture, Cami can’t meet Black Vic. So there!”

  “Wrong again, Frank,” Carol said. “If you don’t go back, Vic will still be at that ball. You simply won’t have any chance to change the course of his life. But, you’re right. Having one of us there should be enough. Besides, I have to admit that I’ll feel much easier with you and Ivory in two different centuries.”

  “Now, you just hold on…” Frank paused to give the matter serious consideration. He’d figured if he refused to go back, Carol would stay put, too. He should have known better.

  Suddenly, Carol interrupted his brooding. “Frank?” she whispered, her face glowing when he looked at her. “I’ve just had the most intriguing thought. If we both go back, and if Cami and Vic do meet and fall in love at the ball, then you and I will become lovers in another time. Aren’t you even a little bit curious about what that would be like?” Warming to the idea, she added, “I mean, it couldn’t be better than what we have now, but it surely would be different. And—just like with Ivory—there’d be no guilt afterward. I know all this must sound silly to you, but I’d love to…”

  Convinced and aroused by her words, Frank took Carol in his arms and kissed away the rest of her sentence. When he drew back from her lips, he smiled and whispered, “I hope I haven’t forgotten how to deal with a virgin, darlin’.”

  Carol laughed shyly. “I hope I haven’t forgotten how to act like one.”

  A short time later, Carol returned to her room to change before rejoining Frank for breakfast. The oddest thing happened when she reached the door to her suite. Suddenly, it wasn’t the painted cypress with its worn brass knob she knew so well. Instead it was an aluminum screen door with a button doorbell beside it. She caught her breath and took a step back. In that instant, the whole vision she’d had of Eileen Longpre and the faceless, tattooed man flashed through her mind like a TV rerun. A moment later her door looked perfectly normal again.

  The minute she got inside, she went straight to the bedside phone and dialed Atlanta. Luck was with her. Jesse Calhoun answered his home phone immediately.

  “Well, hey, Carol! How you doing with ole Frank? Any leads on that mummy yet?”

  “We’ve made some progress—nothing to shout from the rooftops, though.”

  “You like Frank, do you?” Carol could hear Jesse’s grin through the phone.

  She smiled and admitted it. “Very much! Maybe you should give up police work and go into matchmaking, Jesse.”

  “Hot damn!” he bellowed into the phone. “When’s the wedding?”

  “Hey, don’t rush me, pal! If anything like that develops, you’ll be the first to know—okay? But right now I don’t have much time to talk, Jesse. I’m meeting Frank in a few minutes, and I’d really rather he didn’t know that I’d called you.”

  Jesse got serious, too. “So, what’s up, Carol?”

  “It’s something Frank said to me about ex-cons coming after the cops who put them in jail, sometimes threatening their families as well.”

  “Yeah, it happens.”

  “Was anyone out to get Frank when his wife disappeared?”

  There was a long pause while Jesse thought back through the years. “Jesus, Carol, that’s been a long time! I’d have to go back through the files—check some names and dates. My memory’s not what it used to be.”

  “Maybe I can help,” Carol suggested. “Do you remember a man with a tattoo on his right forearm?”

  “They all got tattoos, Carol.”

  “Not like this one—a woman’s breast with a knife stabbed through it and underneath it the words, ‘My Heart Bleeds’.”

  There was a silent pause. Then Jesse said, “Damned if I don’t remember that particular tattoo! And it has been a while. Hang on a minute, honey. Let me check something.”

  Carol held the phone for what seemed an eternity. She could hear the click of computer keys in the background as Jesse searched for the right file. She tapped her foot impatiently. Any minute now, Frank would knock on her door. What would she do then—refuse to answer or hang up on Jesse? She was still wrestling with her imagined dilemma when Jesse came back on the line.

  “I got what you’re looking for right here, Carol. The guy goes by about a dozen aliases, but his real name’s Orville Percy Jones. Back in 1977, he slaughtered a whole family—mother, father, grandmother, and three little kids, one just an in fant—at their farmhouse in Jefferson Parish. He took one of the kids, a fourteen-year-old girl, with him. Kept her for a few weeks before he cut her up, too.”

  Carol felt ill. “Never mind the gory details, Jesse. Where is this guy now?”

  “Let’s see. Frank was the arresting officer in 1978. Jones was convicted of the murders and sentenced to death by lethal inje
ction. But there were appeals and stays and the usual bureaucratic red tape and crap so the sentence wasn’t carried out right away. He escaped in March of 1979, but they picked him up after a few weeks. Uh-oh! Here’s something…”

  “What?” Carol asked impatiently.

  “In January of 1980, he overpowered the two guards moving him from one prison to another and escaped again. Got clean away that time.”

  Carol’s heart sank. “Then he’s somewhere out there, on the loose.”

  “No, hold on a minute. He was recaptured a few months later, again with Frank’s help. Yeah, I remember that now. Jones swore he’d get Frank or die trying.”

  “Oh, God!” Carol groaned.

  “Hey, there’s nothing to worry about. Jones has been safe and sound behind the bars of the Louisiana State Pen ever since. No way he’s going to get at Frank, so you just stop worrying your pretty little head over such things.”

  Ignoring Jesse’s slightly patronizing tone, Carol went on with her questions. “I’m not clear on the chronology. Where was Jones when Eileen Longpre disappeared? That’s what I really need to know.”

  “I don’t quite see what you’re getting at, Carol, but he was on the run when Eileen disappeared, right enough. That would have been shortly after his second escape.”

  “Thanks, Jesse. I’ve got to go now.”

  “Hey, wait a minute! How’d you know about that tattoo? You haven’t seen this guy, have you?”

  “Not in the flesh, Jesse. I’ll call when I have more time to explain everything. I just needed to know. Thanks!”

  Jesse was still firing questions when Carol hung up, but she couldn’t afford to stay on the phone a second longer. Frank would be here any minute and she certainly didn’t want him to know she’d been talking to Jesse about Eileen.

  In spite of her need to hurry, she sat back staring at the phone for a time, mulling over all that Jesse had said. Finally, she forced herself to get going.

  “Poor Eileen,” she murmured as she got dressed. Then, “Poor Frank!”

  An hour later, Carol and Frank were in one of the light and airy dining rooms at Brennan’s enjoying a sumptuous Creole brunch. Beyond the window they had a perfect view of the bubbling fountain in the courtyard. So far, Carol had managed to keep up an acceptably cheerful appearance. There was no way she was going to let Frank know what a bad feeling she had after talking to Jesse Calhoun—or even that she had called him.

  When they’d arrived a short while earlier, the popular restaurant was already filled to capacity with Carnival tourists with a line waiting along Royal Street to get in. But once again, Frank had been recognized and immediately shown to a table. They lingered over their fancy poached eggs, broiled fish, and a sumptuous Carnival confection called king cake—sweet dough baked in the form of a wreath, topped with icing and purple, green, and gold sugar sprinkles.

  Carol took a generous forkful of cake and popped it into her mouth, smiling at its warm, moist sweetness. Suddenly, she stopped chewing and grabbed for her napkin, a stricken look in her eyes.

  “What’s wrong, Carol? Are you choking?”

  Frank half-rose and lifted his hand to slap her on the back, but Carol waved him off. A moment later, covering her mouth with her napkin, she extracted a tiny pink plastic doll.

  “Ho, hoi You found the baby!” Frank exclaimed.

  “I certainly did,” Carol agreed, holding up the sticky little toy to inspect it more closely. “So, what’s it doing in my piece of cake?”

  “There’s a baby in every king cake.” His tone made it clear that Carol must be the only human being in all creation who didn’t know that.

  “Why?” she questioned.

  Frank looked at her blankly. “Damned if I know!” Then he laughed. “This is New Orleans and it’s Carnival time. You aren’t supposed to ask why, you just go with the flow, darlin’. But since you found the baby, that means you throw the next party and buy the next king cake.”

  Carol opened her mouth to ask why again, but Frank cut her off. “Tradition!” he stated flatly.

  “I think I’ll name it Jane,” Carol said, still examining the naked pink doll.

  “You don’t name king cake babies.”

  “I do,” she answered. “Poor little Jane—yes, that’s her name.”

  “I hate to ask this,” Frank admitted. “But why?”

  Carol grew serious suddenly. She gazed fixedly at Frank as if pleading for him to believe what she was about to say. “I told you that among the other strange manifestations of my psychic powers, I sometimes hear voices.”

  Frank nodded, encouraging her with his silence to go on.

  “There’s one in particular that has plagued me since I first had the nightmare about that Louisiana swamp. There’s this pitiful little voice—a little child, a girl, I’m sure—and she’s always calling for Cami, begging her to come back. I call the voice ‘poor little Janie.’”

  “That purely gives me the shivers, Carol.”

  “It shouldn’t,” she answered. “I’m convinced that a child named Jane has something to do with Cami and with that body the fisherman found.”

  “Then I’d say, from past experience, that you’re probably right.”

  “I know I am,” Carol answered softly, still fingering the tiny baby doll. “I only wish I understood the connection.”

  They both lapsed into meditative silence. After a time, Carol looked up at Frank, smiled brightly, and asked, “So, what do you have planned for today? More digging through old files? A boatride down to the old plantation site? Or perhaps a visit to the dock to see if you can get Choctaw’s fingerprints?”

  Frank laughed softly. “I doubt your ferryman has any fingerprints, so that would be a waste of time. As for digging… I’m not in the mood. What say we take the day off? Relax. It’s Sunday. There’ll be parades and all kinds of fun going on in the Quarter today. We might as well join in. How ’bout it?”

  Carol sipped the last of her giant Bloody Mary and grinned at Frank. “That’s a great idea! I’ve hardly seen anything of the city. But don’t we need costumes if we’re going to join in the festivities?”

  “Yep, we sure do, but we can buy those tomorrow. We’ll look around for some today. And I’ll bet you need to buy something to wear to the ball, too.”

  Carol’s eyes sparkled, remembering her lovely vintage gown. “That’s all taken care of.”

  “Hey, you mean I’m not going to have to stand around in a ladies’ shop for hours while you pick out something, then get it fitted? You’re a wonderment, Carol Marlowe!”

  “Just wait till you see this gown. It’s—well, different.”

  “Not giving away any hints, eh?”

  “Not a one. I want to surprise you.” She gave him a sly smile.

  “So, anything in particular you’d like to see, honey?”

  Carol thought for only a moment before she asked, “Is the Orleans Ballroom still open?”

  Frank nodded. “Open and thriving, but not for Quadroon Balls. After the War Between the States, it was purchased by the Sisters of the Holy Family as a convent and school. They moved out in 1964, and now it’s a hotel—the Bourbon Orleans. The ballroom’s been totally refurbished. It’s supposed to be just like it was back in Cami and Vic’s time.”

  “What luck! I’d love to see it, Frank.”

  “I guess we might as well check the place out since it seems we’re both going there next Thursday.”

  After a short, pleasant stroll, they stood outside the impressive wall of French doors that opened from the hotel onto Orleans Street. Carol paused to read the historical marker on the building at number 717. It told briefly the same facts that Frank had given her back at Brennan’s. Glancing up, she spied the white wooden balcony on the second floor just off the ballroom.

  As Carol continued staring upward, the bright sun seemed to go behind a cloud. The boisterous Carnival sounds in the street faded with the sunlight. She heard music—harp music—and gay laughter t
inkling on the still air. She blinked, then looked again. A tall man in evening costume and a beautiful, dark-haired young woman in a shining ball gown stood together on the balcony, sharing an intimate moment.

  At first, Carol couldn’t hear what they were saying. Then she saw the man slip his arms around the young woman’s waist. She came hesitantly into his arms, as if she were a bit awed or possibly a little afraid. When his lips touched hers, Carol experienced the sensation of a phantom kiss. It lasted only an instant, then the man drew away.

  “You needn’t be shy with me,” Carol heard him say. “I will take good care of you, ma chère. You will be loved—no, adored.”

  The words affected Carol as if the man had just stroked her intimately. A warm shiver coursed through her.

  “You must speak with my aunt,” the young woman answered shyly.

  “But of course. She and I shall settle all the arrangements, if it is your wish.”

  “What of your wishes?” the Creole beauty said, obviously torn by her feelings.

  Once more, he took her into his arms, bending over her, ready to kiss her again. “This very night, my little love, you will be mine, if I have my way.”

  Again, Carol felt his kiss as he sealed his pledge. She closed her eyes, savoring the sweetness of his lips on hers.

  “Carol! Carol!”

  Her eyes shot open. Frank was shouting her name, his face drawn and pale.

  “It’s all right, Frank. I was only…”

  “You don’t have to tell me what was happening. It was just like when you saw Mary Lincoln’s necklace. You slipped away. God, you scare the hell out of me when do that! I hate your out-of-body experiences. Where were you this time?”

  She pointed overhead. “Up there.”

  He gave her a hard look. “I don’t get it. You mean in the ballroom?”

  “No. I was on that balcony. I’m pretty sure I was Cami for a moment and that it was Black Vic who kissed me.”

  “Damn! Him again! Looks like he’d stay under wraps when I’m not back there. I don’t like him fooling around with you when I’m not him.”