Ghost Town (The Ghost Files Book 6)

by Chanel Smith

  “What did he scream before he attacked?” Ellen asked once Henry was seated, a bit more tranquil and catching his breath after his struggle and cursing.

  “What did he say?” Henry looked at her with an incredulous expression on his face. “I was nearly killed and you’re worried about what he had to say?”

  “It might be important.” She urged him on with her eyes. She had a way of using them that made it nearly impossible to resist.

  “He was angry that he’d been awakened by that God awful music and that he was going to kill everyone in the house one day if it didn’t stop, paraphrasing, of course.”

  “I’ll be damned,” I chuckled. “Archie really doesn’t appreciate jazz.”

  “What?” Ellen turned toward me, wrinkling her brow.

  “Nothing, just something that hit me when I noticed how he went into a rage right after the upbeat number started. He seems to be okay with smooth jazz, but doesn’t like the hard stuff.”

  “Monty, can we talk about this later?”

  She evidently wasn’t taking me seriously at the moment, though I was pretty sure that my discovery was an important piece to the puzzle. I wasn’t sure what Archie’s dislike of jazz had to do with it, but it had to be something.

  “Did he say anything else?” Ellen continued the questioning.

  “Nothing that I could hear after sinking into that nasty, dark water,” Henry replied. He sniffed himself. “I cannot stand this any longer. I must get out of these clothes and get myself into a shower.”

  “You can use the shower in the apartment,” Ellen offered.

  “No thank you,” he replied, rising to his feet. “I want to be as far away from you lunatics as possible. Meddling with demonic spirits does not sound like a way to live a long and healthy life.”

  I caught a slight smile breaking across Ellen’s lips at his last statement. The suddenly humorous mood that had overtaken us took its effect on my already warped mind.

  “You know,” I said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as we strolled back toward the house, “we’re just missing a voodoo mask and a sheriff with his eyes too close together and I would have sworn that I’d already seen this one on an episode of Scooby Doo.”

  “Where the hell did that come from?” She stopped and turned to look at me.

  “The word ‘meddling,’ actually.” I laughed. “Who uses that?”

  “You do realize that you’re impossible, right?”

  “Closer to improbable.”

  “What? Actually, never mind. What were you saying about Archie, I mean, the spirit, being okay with smooth jazz, but not liking upbeat jazz?”

  “The smooth stuff didn’t seem to bother him or he might have awakened and had his fit sooner, so, I deduced that he must like smooth jazz, but didn’t like upbeat jazz.”

  “How does that matter?” she asked.

  “Well, I would suggest that we ask the band not to play any more of the upbeat stuff so we don’t get him agitated. He’s not really in the mood to talk when he’s like that. Am I right?”

  “Actually, Monty, you might be onto something.”

  “Wouldn’t hurt to try, right?”

  “We’re going to need another translator and, well, we only have two more nights to solve this.”

  “Then we have nothing to lose by trying out my theory, right?”

  “I guess not.”

  “I’ve got another idea.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’d like to follow him into the swamp and see where he goes.”

  “You’re starting to sound like a Scooby Doo episode.”

  Chapter Nine

  “No music?” LaBeaux nearly shouted the question when Ellen and I sat down with him in the parlor to try to explain that we needed to make the spirit more tranquil so that we could actually get a chance to speak to him. “One of the reasons that we opened this place was to provide an upscale dinner and jazz club that can also hold events like the one that is scheduled to be here on Saturday night, which, I don’t think I need to remind you, is in two more days.”

  “We’re not saying that you need to get rid of the music completely,” Ellen countered. “Just a couple more nights. Give us another shot to try to get him to talk to us so that we can solve the problem.”

  “But I don’t understand what the music has to do with it,” he responded. I could read the increased stress on his face as he was wondering if his investment was about to crash and burn.

  “Our spirit seems to become agitated by jazz music.” I answered.

  “But, who doesn’t like jazz?”

  “Evidently our ghost doesn’t. Not the upbeat stuff anyway. I don’t think he minds the smooth stuff, just not the upbeat, hardcore stuff.”

  He looked at me as if I was an alien. When I didn’t crack a smile, which believe me was not an easy thing, he finally spoke. “You’re actually serious, aren’t you?”

  I nodded.

  “Okay. I’ll put off the music for a couple of nights.” He sighed. “But you have got to get this problem solved. I have way too much money riding on this to watch it all go down the drain.”

  “We understand, sir,” Ellen put in. “We’ll be out of your hair before Saturday night. I promise.”

  “I hope so,” he whispered. The expression on his face told us that he wasn’t entirely convinced that we were going to be able to get the job done, but having no other options available at the moment, he simply had to accept it. “Two more nights,” he said, rising from his seat and walking out of the parlor.

  “Were you able to locate another translator?” I asked Ellen.

  “I did better than that, actually,” she replied.

  “You mean better than Henry?” I made my best attempt at using the French pronunciation of the name.

  “Yeah, this one isn’t as likely to be spooked by paranormal presence,” she replied.

  “Hell. I’m spooked by a paranormal presence.”

  “You’re still afraid of ghosts?” she teased. “You could have fooled me.”

  “I’m just getting used to them, but yeah, they still freak me out a little bit.”

  She only laughed, which was a little bit different than the strange way that she had been acting. Rather than rock the boat when the water had smoothed out a little bit, I plunged ahead on subject, rather than opening up a conversation about what had been bugging her.

  “What makes you think our new translator will be different?” I asked.

  “He practiced voodoo,” she said. “Didn’t you tell me that voodoo practitioners considered themselves servants of the spirits?”

  “Yes. I did.”

  “In some ways, Henry leaving might have been a lucky break for us.”

  “How so?”

  “I’m thinking that it is going to be much easier to have the combination of channeling and translation all in one package.”

  “You could be right,” I replied. “I have to admit that I wasn’t really missing Henry anyway.”

  “Still holding onto that irrational dislike of the French, huh?”

  “Hey, I had an irrational dislike of boathouses too, and look what happened there.”

  “Fine. It’s silly, but silliness is one of the things that I love about you.” She leaned over on the love seat and gave me a very long, passionate kiss. I was a little bit surprised at first, but I warmed up to it after a few seconds. That is one department where Ellen has always done quite well; keeping me warmed up with passion. In fact, I was a little bit disappointed when she stopped and became businesslike again; I was sort of hoping for some afternoon delight.

  “Prince John should be arriving pretty soon,” she said as she broke away from our kiss and then stood.

  “Prince John? Are you serious?”

  “I didn’t make it up,” she said, raising her hands like she was caught in a stage hold up.

  “And you think that he’ll be better than Henry?”

  “He’s bringing a boat.”


  “Seriously?” I forgot all about his name and suddenly had visions of sitting in the driver’s seat of one of those airboats as we skimmed across the bayou in pursuit of Archie. Not that we would need that kind of speed to keep up with him, but I was enjoying the fantasy just the same.

  “I know how much you love the afternoon heat, so let’s head down to the dock and wait for him.”

  “How about we watch from the dining room window until we see him come into sight.”

  “I’ll let you wear shorts and a golf shirt to go meet him.”

  “Shorts and a golf shirt for the remainder of our time here and you’re on.” If I was going to be in on a bargain, I might as well go for broke.

  “Deal!” she said, beaming.

  I became instantly suspicious about the fact that she gave in much too easily, but it only took me a couple of minutes to locate the clothing that I had been desiring to wear since before we left So Cal. It took me about three minutes longer to change into them and present myself before my beautiful wife again.

  “Boat deck shoes and the works, huh?” she laughed when she saw me. “Just tie a sweater around your neck and we could call you Chawles.” Her Boston accent wasn’t too far off base.

  “Yes, indeed, and I went to Hawvaad.” My accent wasn’t quite as good, but it was passable.

  “You ready then?”

  “Let’s do this.”

  The heat was still unbearably thick and heavy and I still had to wipe sweat from my brow at least a dozen times on our walk down to the dock. We found a shade tree along the bank and settled in under it, only slightly more comfortable than when we had been out in the sun. Luckily, we didn’t have to wait long before we saw a man, standing in a flat-bottomed boat approaching between the cypress trees where Archie disappeared every night.

  I wasn’t feeling enough energy to rise up from my shady spot under the tree, but Ellen insisted that we go to the dock to meet him. As he arrived, I noticed that he had crazy eyes that seemed to look both directions at the same time and they were a golden color that were extremely brilliant against the dark brown skin tone. I thought Henry got on my nerves? This guy is plain spooky.

  “Ellen and Monty,” he said, though it didn’t seem as though he was looking at either of us as he spoke. He leapt from the boat and onto the dock with a dexterity that defied his age. As he came out of the boat, he held a coil of rope in his hand and he took several wraps and a couple of half-hitches around one of the pilings that stood up above the dock.

  “You must be Prince John,” Ellen said, extending her hand when he was finished tying off the boat and had turned toward us.

  “I am indeed,” he said, sweeping his hat from his head, bowing toward her and then straightening up again with a grin that showed a number of missing teeth. “And you will be Monty.”

  “Monty Drew.” I took his hand to shake it. His grip was very light, something that I had noticed that some men did when they shook hands, but it was something that I’d never gotten used to. It made me feel like I had grasped hold of a damp, limp fish.

  “We’ve a spirit that you want to be speaking to, uh?”

  “Yes.” Ellen replied. “He speaks French and neither of us understand him. That’s where you will come in. I need someone who is not afraid of them.”

  “Ah, yes, I have speak to da spirits before. I is not ‘fraidd of da spirits.

  To be completely honest with you, I was more afraid of Prince John than I was of any ghost or paranormal of any kind, but I must also admit that for some reason, I trusted him more than I did Henry. Prince John had crazy eyes that would take some getting used to, but by and large, I felt like he was a decent man with a good heart.

  “He comes in da eventide, then?” Prince John asked.

  “He does,” Ellen replied. “We’ve hardly had a chance to talk to him because he has been angry and agitated most of the time when he arrives at the dock.”

  “It seems he doesn’t like upbeat jazz music,” I broke in. “It wakes him up and pisses him off.”

  “He don’ like da jazz music?” Prince John chuckled deep inside his chest. “Ev’ybody like da jazz music.”

  “Archie doesn’t.”

  “You have a name den? Archie?”

  “Monty calls him that because of the story of Archibald Bordeaux. We think this spirit might be him wandering about looking for his missing wife.”

  “Ah yes. I recollect da story. Was tol’ of dis when I was a boy. Den maybe we talk to ‘im tonight and set his spirit at rest, no?”

  “That’s what we hope to do,” Ellen responded.

  “Ah, Ellen,” he said, taking hold of both her hands in his. “I can feel the gift on you. It is a burden at time, no?”

  “It is.” Ellen was tearing up as she focused on Prince John’s eyes.

  The man’s eyes straightened themselves out and focused straight ahead as he spoke to her. “But you ‘ave a goo’ heart an a strong soul. Do no worry fo’ nothin’, chile. We talk to de spirit an’ set thing right agin.”

  “I understand,” she said. When he released her hands, she reached up and wiped away a tear.

  “You a goo’ man too, Monty.” He turned toward me and reached up to tap my cheek softly. “You keep on love dis woman. She special woman.” He walked away from us and lay down in the grass under the shade tree that we had just left, covered his face with his hat and for all we knew, went straight to sleep.

  Chapter Ten

  The day passed by slowly and the restaurant went on with its regular business.

  LaBeaux was right about how people seemed to be intrigued by the prospect that there was a ghost. Though many were skeptics, many also believed and wanted to catch a glimpse of what they had only heard rumors about. The dining room was packed. Ellen and I enjoyed our dinner as usual, but we left off the dessert and exited the dining room early in order to meet Prince John at the docks.

  Though dinner was as delicious as usual, without the ambiance created by the jazz band, it did seem a little bit flat. I was also in better control of myself and didn’t overstuff like I had the previous nights. When it came time to slip out the back door, I was actually able to walk comfortably rather than waddle.

  As we approached the boathouse and the dock, Prince John slipped out from under the tree and came to join us. “It is time for da spirit to arrive, den?”

  “It seems to be his pattern,” Ellen responded.

  “Ah, yes. Some dey have a patter’ an some dey don’, but I tink dis one he do de ver’ same t’ing ever’ night for ver’ long time.”

  “We hope to speak to him,” Ellen said. “If you can translate?”

  “I can do dis.”

  “It is our hope that he is not agitated or angry tonight,” Ellen said, mostly to pass the time while we waited.

  “Spirit, dey don’ talk much when dey have a rage on.” He chuckled softly, a sound that was a little bit spooky in and of itself in the quiet darkness.

  We didn’t have to wait long before the specter began floating toward us across the lawn. He was right on time.

  “How is his mood?” I whispered.

  “He’s sad and confused just like before, but tranquil.”

  Prince John simply waited quietly as the spirit approached.

  “Archibald. We would like to speak to you, please, if you have a moment.” Ellen called out to him.

  The ghost stopped and looked directly at us. Evidently he didn’t recognize or associate us with the more irritating events from the previous night because what I could tell of his face, he did seem to be very sad. As Prince John began translating what Ellen had said, he nodded his head slowly and made a very morose response.

  “He say dat he only have a momen’ he need to go into de bayou. I tol’ him I can speak fo’ ‘im if he agree. He say is okay.” Prince John closed his eyes and sat cross-legged in the grass and began breathing in a rather strange manner as he waited for Ellen to speak again.

  “I can tell that you ar
e sad and confused,” Ellen began. “Why are you so sad and confused?”

  “My beloved has been lost these many years. She is somewhere in the swamp. I must find her.” The voice of the spirit came from the mouth of Prince John, translated into English, but lacking the Creole dialect that was typical of Prince John. To say the least, I was quite fascinated as I looked on.

  “What is the name of your beloved?” Ellen asked.

  “Her name is Mildred.”

  Our theory was right. The spirit was that of Archibald Bordeaux searching for his missing wife.

  “Where has she gone? Why did she leave you?” Ellen asked.

  “She didn’t leave me. That bastard Edward Fontaine came and stole her from my house. He murdered all of my servants, and might have murdered our son as well, but the boy hid himself.”

  “Why would Edward Fontaine steal your wife?”

  “Edward Fontaine is a very evil man. He is a jealous man and he could not stand to see her happy by my side.” I could see that his ire was building up a bit as he spoke about Fontaine.

  I noted that he used the present tense when he spoke of Fontaine instead of past tense. Did Ellen catch that?

  “You said he ‘IS’ an evil man or he ‘WAS’ and evil man?” She had caught it. I could always count on Ellen to be on the same page or a couple of steps ahead of me.

  “He IS an evil man.”

  “So, you believe that Fontaine is still alive? His spirit, at least?”

  “Yes. He still has my beloved hidden away somewhere out in the bayou. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude, but I need to be on my way. The night doesn’t last long and I must search the bayou for her.” When he finished speaking, he started on toward the boathouse, pulled the door open and went inside.

  With no more words to translate for the spirit, Prince John opened his eyes again and then looked around as he tried to regain his bearings. I knew exactly how he felt, I had been the channeling body before and it set one out of sorts for a few moments afterward.