Madam Divinity seemed perfect. But then Madam Divinity seemed like her only option at this point.
* * * * *
Madam Divinity’s address was located near the corner of Hall and Abercorn Streets in an enormous Victorian. The house, surrounded by an expansive, wraparound porch, was greatly in need of a paint job. Once a sunny yellow color with white trim, it was now faded and peeling.
A garish red and yellow sign in the window, adorned with a heavily lined palm assured Giselle she was in the right place. The sign bore the slogan, Madam Divinity knows all. Promising. If Madam knows all, then she could find a quality ghost. Probably not, but it had to be worth a try. Giselle had nothing to lose.
She walked up the stairs to the porch. The treads emitted a loud, creaking sound. Another repair issue, or cheap alarm system?
As she crossed the porch to the front door, Giselle saw a hand pull back a red drape in the nearest window. The drape quickly fell back into place.
Before she could touch the gargoyle doorknocker, the door swung open. A woman dressed in a psychedelic orange-and-white-patterned tunic stood just inside. The woman had to be a leftover from the nineteen-sixties, or a reject from Goodwill, or both. Madam Divinity.
Madam wore no jewelry except a heavy silver pendant necklace with a red stone. The stone resembled a large, bloodshot eye. She appeared to be in her fifties. She had a wavy shock of silvery white hair that she wore unbound and almost to her waist.
Tall and somewhat stocky, Madam could have passed for a Scandinavian farmer’s wife in other clothing. She had that rugged look about her. Certainly, she didn’t fit the gypsy fortuneteller mold. Neither did she have the voodoo priestess appearance one expected.
To Giselle’s way of thinking, if it didn’t quack like a duck it wasn’t a duck. This woman didn’t quack—er, dress—like a psychic. Maybe she wasn’t a duck, uh, psychic.
“Come in, my dear, I am Madam Divinity.” The woman grabbed the hand Giselle had extended to knock and tugged.
Stumbling forward into what seemed like a dark cavern, she saw a hallway painted a burgundy red and lined with dark, heavy furniture. Giselle didn’t register much more as Madam pulled her into the parlor to the right of the hallway.
Giselle was tempted to get the quack out of there, but Madam stood in front of the exit.
In the middle of the room, a small table took prominence with two baroque high-back chairs on either side. The table was covered by a red velvet cloth. A crystal ball sat on one side of the table alongside a deck of cards. Now this was more like what Giselle had expected. Perhaps Madam wasn’t a quack after all.
“I see that you are in need of help. Madam Divinity knows all. What do you need?”
“Well, if you know all, you should tell me.” Quack.
Madam’s lips compressed into a line. Her gaze narrowed. After a few seconds, her face relaxed into a pleasant, serene half smile. “Madam has seen all. But to know if you deserve to know all, you must answer Madam’s questions.”
Convenient. She wouldn’t tell what she knew until she was told what she’s supposed to know. Quack.
“I need to find a ghost.”
“You have lost a loved one you wish to contact?”
Quack.
“No, I need to find a Savannah ghost and contact him or her. Gender doesn’t matter.”
Madame gazed at her blankly.
Giselle went on. “For that matter, racial background doesn’t matter. Or religious affiliation. And sexual orientation isn’t important. I wouldn’t rule out contacting a gay ghost. I’m an equal opportunity ghost hunter. Although, I’m not sure a gay ghost would be hanging around Savannah. It doesn’t exactly seem like fashion central around here. Anyway, aren’t the Savannah ghosts all ghosts of historic figures? You know, all from the Revolutionary War. I thought most ghosts here would be from the Civil War, but since I now understand Sherman didn’t burn Savannah and just kind of made camp here, that’s probably not true, right? I mean, if there was no battle, there probably aren’t a lot of Civil War ghosts hanging around. But then again, maybe there are. Maybe some of the local soldiers who died in the war came back home for a haunting. What do you think?”
Madam’s mouth hung open. After a few moments her eyes blinked and focused. “I am sure that Madam can help you with your problem. The cost is fifty dollars. I accept cash or credit card,” Madam said.
Not bad. And since Ghosthunter Magazine would pay the expenses of this trip, Giselle didn’t object to this small sacrifice for the cause. Opening her purse, she withdrew the magazine’s credit card from her wallet. Madam grabbed it from her as soon as it cleared the leather.
Madam crossed the room to a small desk in the corner. The only item on the desk was a credit card machine. Before Giselle could say “crystal balls”, Madam had swiped the card and returned to Giselle for her signature on the charge slip.
The business accomplished, Madam smiled and pulled Giselle to the table and chairs. Placing both hands on her shoulders, Madam pushed Giselle firmly into one chair and took her place in the other.
“Perhaps we can begin with a tarot reading. This will tell us your past, present and future,” Madam said.
“We don’t need to get into the past. I mean I already know my past. And I’m not sure I’m interested in going there again. How about we just stick with the present and the future, with emphasis on finding a Savannah ghost?”
Madam ignored this statement. She handed Giselle the tarot cards. “Think about your question as you shuffle and cut the cards.”
After Giselle had finished, Madam all but snatched them back and commenced laying cards on the table, one by one. Madam placed six cards in a clockwise direction. The last card was placed at the center. The fool. That probably represented Giselle.
Madam spoke with a timbre to her voice a shade deeper than it had been before the reading. “The first card is lovers followed by knight of cups. Madam sees that you will meet a tall, blond and handsome stranger.”
At least that prediction was novel. Weren’t all the strangers normally tall, dark and handsome?
“This stranger will become very important in your life. See this?” Madam pointed to the general vicinity of three cards. “These cards tell Madam that this stranger will fall in love with you. Love at first sight.”
“I just met tall, blond and drool-worthy, thank you very much. We did not hit it off. He certainly didn’t fall in love at first sight. I don’t think it would be stretching the point to say that Mr. Hunky never wants to see me again.”
“No, that is impossible. This man I see in the cards is very attracted to you.”
“While I, of course, find my own love life fascinating, it’s not getting me any closer to finding a ghost. Can we get back to the point here?”
Madam’s eyes narrowed into a glare. She looked down at the cards again. “I see from the chariot card that you will face a struggle. This man will want to marry you. You will need to make a decision. You may marry him and you may not. But see these cards here? There is the devil coupled with the high priestess. Madam believes that this may be your possible mother–in–law. She is a very strong figure. The high priestess does not want your happiness with this man. I see that this high priestess will hate you, revile you, wish you dead. She will—”
“Stop.” Giselle held up a hand. “I get the picture. Can we focus on this weekend and my ghost? I need a ghost.”
Madam broke away from her medium voice and took on a Southern drawl. “Honey. You shouldn’t marry a man if his mother doesn’t like you. A mother-in-law can make your life hell. I know from experience.”
Quack.
“Yes. Yes. But this isn’t helping me with what I came here for,” Giselle said.
“All right.” Madam sighed and gathered the cards together. She stacked the deck out of the way. “Madam will see all in your palm.” Madam grabbed Giselle’s right hand and yanked it across the table. Holding it between both her own hands, she leaned o
ver and stared into the palm.
“I again see that your life is going to change.” Madam traced her index finger over one line on the palm. “You are in a struggle. This palm indicates a great love. A man is coming into your life. But there is an obstacle. There is danger. I see that someone will try to kill you.”
She again broke out of her medium voice and into a Southern drawl. “I’m telling you, honey, this is a mother-in-law. You shouldn’t even think about a relationship unless his mother likes you. A disagreeable mother-in-law is a nightmare.”
What? Again? She jerked her hand out of the medium’s grasp. “Madam this is unacceptable. I’ve paid you good money and I don’t want to hear about this mythical mother-in-law. I don’t have a mother-in-law. I’m not getting a mother-in-law. I want to hear about a ghost.”
Madam’s lips pursed so tightly the lines around her lips stood out. “Madam cannot change your fate. Madam is telling you what she sees. But if you are not yet satisfied, we will use the crystal ball. This crystal ball has been in my family for generations. It has never failed to accurately reveal the future.”
Placing both hands, palms upward, under the crystal ball, the medium lifted and then placed it at the center of the table. She peered down into the orb. Giselle bent forward. She could see nothing in its depths.
Seconds passed before Madam spoke. “It is clouded, but I see you standing with a man. He is tall and blond. I cannot see his face, but I can see that he is embracing you. He is leaning forward to kiss you. He is very tender this man. But there is also darkness. I see a huge black bird. A raven is swooping down at you. This bird is trying to peck at your head and eyes.”
Madam jerked back to an upright position in her seat. “Aha. You see, I’m right. It is the mother-in-law.”
“That’s it.” Giselle slapped a hand on the table. “I’ve had it with the mother-in-law bit. I’m tempted to contact the Savannah Bunko Squad and report you for fraud. It’s obvious, Madam, that you’re a charlatan who’s bilking innocent people. You make believe you have genuine psychic talent when you don’t.”
Hey, wait a minute. That didn’t sound so good. Make-believe psychic talent? That hit a little too close to home. And for that matter, was “bunko” a real word? It would be embarrassing to threaten with a word that’s not a word. Worse yet, a word that didn’t mean what she thought it meant.
“How dare you. You ungrateful, horrible brat. No wonder your mother-in-law hates you.”
Apparently, bunko was a real word and Madam understood what it meant.
The medium leapt to her feet. Her violent movement upset the table. Time slowed as the tabletop tilted. The tarot deck flew and the cards scattered into the air like confetti. The crystal ball rolled from its holder toward the table’s edge and then over. The ball began falling, falling, falling, falling to the floor. Omigod. Giselle needed a miracle.
Giselle made a move to catch the rolling ball. Madam made a move to catch it. Their heads banged together, hard. The ball slipped between them and…thunk. It lay, smooth and opaque, on the floor atop an area rug.
The ball hadn’t shattered as Giselle expected. It was perfect. No harm done. A miracle. The first in her accident-prone life.
Admiring the miracle ball, Giselle noticed the rug beneath. Probably Persian. Beautiful reds and golds. Antique.
A faint noise brought Giselle’s focus back to the crystal ball. A crack had appeared in its surface. To Giselle’s horror, the size of the crack increased to a giant fissure. Then the ball split. One half fell in one direction and one half in the other, right there on the beautiful Persian rug.
Madam screamed. Her face flushed bright red. “You stupid, stupid girl. You’ve broken it.”
“I’m so sorry, Madam,” Giselle started. “But to be fair, you were the one who—”
“Get out. Get out. Go, before I—” Madam looked around her as if searching for a potential weapon.
Grabbing her purse, Giselle dashed from the room. She stumbled into the hall and then out of the house. The front door slammed shut behind her. A hop forward kept the door’s knob from hitting her in the butt. Madam cursed at her from behind the door. It was fortunate Madam didn’t have real power. If she had, Giselle would have turned into a toad about now.
Shaking her head, Giselle, trudged down the creaking steps of the porch and headed toward the park. A sudden thought struck. Madam had possession of the magazine’s credit card number. One psychic reading, fifty dollars. One family heirloom crystal ball, priceless. The magazine’s bill was going to suffer for this.
Her boss, legendary for his cheapness, would definitely not be happy. At this exact moment, Willie’s psychic ears had to be burning. Heck, his whole head had probably exploded. She’d better turn off her cell phone.
Giselle glanced at her watch. 2:40 p.m. Still no ghost. Not even a hint of one.
Chapter Three
After her not-so-psychic reading with Madam Divinity, Giselle returned to the luxurious B&B to retrieve her things. Fortunately, after some begging, the manager allowed Giselle a late check out. Willie would have been furious if the magazine was charged for another night. An envelope had been left for her at the front desk.
A cheerful thought occurred. Perhaps Ry Leland had written her a note. Maybe he wanted to apologize for his boorish behavior. Yeah. He’d realized that he’d been completely in the wrong. He probably wanted to beg her forgiveness and ask her for a date. Giselle decided to forgive Mr. Scrumptious, but only after he’d treated her to an expensive dinner at one of Savannah’s finest restaurants. She could be magnanimous. They would go on an elegant proper dinner date, he would behave like a complete gentleman and escort her to her hotel room and then…she would jump on top of him.
Giselle smiled as she opened the envelope and pulled a piece of copy paper from inside. On the paper, written with a black marker in block letters, were four words—Leave Savannah or else.
Dammit. Not an apology from Ry. Worse, he hadn’t asked for a date. Even worse than that, the note wasn’t from him at all. Or was it? Ry wasn’t that mad, was he? No. Anyway, he didn’t know where she was staying. Double dammit. He didn’t know where she was staying. That meant he couldn’t ask for a date in the future either.
Who could have sent the note? And what did it mean? Or else, what? Or else they would kill her? She’d been in Savannah for less than twenty-four hours. It usually took longer than that for Giselle to make someone angry enough for murder.
The note could be from Madam Divinity. The medium had certainly been furious. But Madam hadn’t had time to send the note. On the other hand, Madam could have had a psychic vision of Giselle’s reading before it had happened. Maybe she’d written the note before the psychic reading had ever taken place. Na. Madam would’ve had to have real psychic talent for that. She didn’t. Mother-in-law indeed.
But who could have sent it? Mary Ellen liked playing practical jokes. Yeah, that was the answer. Giselle would no doubt laugh about this with her friend later. Nevertheless, it would be prudent not to leave any forwarding information at the B&B. Giselle stuffed the note back into the envelope and stuck it in the outside pocket of her suitcase.
Ten minutes later, she pulled her suitcase over a crack in the sidewalk as she trudged to her new digs. She felt a wheel seize and then break. Great. Now she would have to drag the thing. Giselle cursed Willie silently. It must be a hundred miles to the Great Eastern. Okay, okay. Only eight blocks, but it seemed like a hundred miles.
Finally reaching her destination, Giselle checked in and the bellman led her to a very nice room with a view of the Savannah River. This hotel didn’t have the cozy luxury of the B&B, but she couldn’t claim it was a hovel. Giselle mentally apologized to Willie.
After unpacking, Giselle threw herself onto the bed facedown and opened the guidebook. A whole section on haunted Savannah included information about a seventeen-hundreds-era building that had served as a tavern and inn for pirates. Tunnels ran under the building to th
e river. Once upon a time, drunken patrons had been shanghaied to work on ships moored in the harbor. The building now housed a restaurant.
Wow. What a great place to try to find a ghost. Besides, it was past lunchtime and hungry didn’t begin to describe Giselle. It had been at least three hours since she’d eaten.
Rolling onto her back, the comfort of the bed called to Giselle. She lowered her lids. Just a few moments to rest her burning eyes and then she would get right on the hunt for ghost pirates…pirates…pirates. She didn’t need that meanie Ry…Ry…Ry…
* * * * *
Captain Giselle the Red, pirate queen of the Caribbean, stood at the bow of her ship. The wind mixed with a spattering of sea blew against her face and whipped at her auburn hair. The long curls unfurled behind her, waving like a flag. Her ample breasts almost spilled over the black corset she wore over snug red velvet trousers. The trouser’s legs disappeared into over-the-knee black leather boots. A belt at her waist held a dangerously sharp cutlass strapped to her side.
“Arrrr,” her first mate One Eyed Jack said from behind her. “The new prisoner is below, awaiting your pleasure, Cap’n.”
“Thank you, Jack.” Giselle wheeled around to face him. “Has everything been prepared?”
“Aye, aye, Cap’n.”
“Excellent. You have the helm.”
Jack winked his remaining eye as she strode past him, her boots clicking on the heavy wood planks of the deck.
The rest of the crew bustling about her was a blur as she rushed. At the hatch, she ducked her head and leapt down the stairs below, making her way to the captain’s quarters. Anticipation thrummed through her. That bastard would pay now. Giselle the Red was known for the unforgiving torment she could inflict on a man.
Pausing at the entrance, she grasped the wrought iron knob and drew in a deep breath before throwing the door open.
A Girl, a Guy, and a Ghost Page 4