Dante got out of the police car and they both stood looking in the direction of Sandra’s house wearing matching mirrored sunglasses, so no one could make eye contact with them. Hanky was on the passenger side closest to Sandra.
“Detective Hanky here.” She was holding up her shield strutting across the street in Sandra’s direction, announcing herself loud enough for the people living on the West Bank—the other side of the Mississippi River—to hear her.
“Can’t Hanky wait in the car?” I had to trot alongside Dante as his long strides caught up with her. “Dante, this is not going to be productive if Sandra feels threatened.” I lowered my voice hoping only he heard me. “Use your common sense.”
He put a hand on Hanky’s arm and nodded his head back toward the police car. She was not pleased. I could feel her making mean eyes at me from behind her mirrored sunglasses.
“I’ll make myself useful,” she said as she pulled out a notebook and headed toward cars parked on the wrong side of the street.
Dante and I met Sandra in front of her house. I introduced them. Sandra looked at Dante. She said “I remember you. Thanks for helping Brandy get me out of the hedges last week.”
“No problem.” Dante started to ask her if we could go inside since the cats were now rubbing all around our legs. He wasn’t a big fan of felines. I noticed Sandra’s attention was clearly elsewhere. She was watching what Hanky was doing.
“What’s she doing?” Sandra asked.
Dante turned to see what she was referring to. I knew who she was referring to…Hanky.
“Don’t worry about her,” I said. “Can we go inside a minute so Dante can show you some photos?”
“Hey you! Hey, lady cop! Why are you writing down that license plate number?” Sandra yelled at Hanky who was several houses down the street standing behind a car parked in the wrong direction. When Hanky ignored her, Sandra took off running in her direction. “Hey, you hear me? Someone loaned me that car!”
“Sandra!” I called after her and Dante stood perfectly still and glared at me.
Sandra’s unexpected departure gave her a healthy head start toward Hanky. I grabbed Dante’s arm and pulled him along with me in hot pursuit.
“Mind your own business Cat Lady, or I’ll write you a summons for having too many animals,” Hanky said, not moving an inch as Sandra stopped nose-to-nose with her, pushing into Hanky’s personal space.
Some heated words ensued by the time Dante and I caught up with them. I pulled Sandra away from Hanky and tried to reason with her while Dante stood in front of Hanky, blocking her view of us. Just as the situation was calming down and I had Sandra turned around to walk back to her house, Hanky announced in her megawatt voice, “Feeding them only means they’re going to reproduce more cats. You’re adding to the problem not solving it!”
Sandra spun around baring her teeth like one of her hungry feral felines and started swinging at Hanky. I would have been down with watching Sandra and Hanky in a cat fight under any other circumstance, but the clock was ticking away rapidly as Jiff’s arrival loomed and Dante hadn’t even asked Sandra anything he came to speak to her about. I dragged Sandra back to her house as Dante wrestled Hanky back to the squad car and left.
Chapter Nineteen
As four o’clock approached, I was never so ready to get out of town. I thought about waiting at the curb and jumping into Jiff’s car before he came to a complete stop. I wanted to get out of New Orleans, away from Dante, Hanky, Sandra and the CluckIt fiasco, my family, all of it. I needed a break. I was excited and a tad nervous about spending this much uninterrupted time with Jiff.
My dad always said, “You don’t know someone until you travel with them.” Jiff and I were about to get to know each other a lot better even if it was only an hour by car and we were just spending the weekend.
“Are you ready?” Jiff asked when I opened my front door and found him poised to knock. He brought Isabella, his Schnauzer, to room at our house with Meaux and Jesus. Okay, I was trying not to call him Jesus out loud, only to myself. Suzanne was going to dog sit all three.
“Hey, Isabella. Meaux, you remember Isabella?”
I reached down to pet her as they circled our feet playing and pawing at each other. The little rescue stood in the kitchen doorway watching Meaux and Isabella. I turned to him and slipped, saying, “This is Jesus and I think y’all will be great company for each other this weekend.”
The little rescue was still timid around everyone, but was interested and stood a few feet away wagging his nubby tail.
“Jesus? You named a dog Jesus?” Jiff asked.
“No. I didn’t.” I didn’t want to bring up Dante’s name so early in our weekend together.
“Do you think you’ll ever find him a home if you keep that name?”
“I don’t put his name on the emails I send out. Most people rename them anyway.”
“Well, it looks like you’re ready,” Jiff said and picked up my overnight bag and followed me out to his Mercedes. “I have our trip all mapped out.” The top was down and the humidity was low, meaning it was a perfect day for a drive.
“I thought this was right outside of Baton Rouge? Isn’t it only an hour away?”
“Yes, but I have reservations for us at The Myrtles Plantation for tonight and dinner plans there. I also made plans for tomorrow evening and a Sunday brunch before we head back.”
I locked my front door and we headed to his car. I held onto his arm and teased, “that’s assuming you can put up with me for that long. The Myrtles? It’s still haunted? No Ghostbuster treatment to rid it of his non-paying guests?”
“Yes, it’s still haunted. I don’t think ghosts relocate. All the plantations are haunted if you read any of the histories about them, but The Myrtles is the one that is supposed to have sightings of ghosts and apparitions.” He smiled and pulled me to him. “That way, you will stay close to me if you don’t want a ghost to get-cha! We’re staying in the General David Bradford suite that has wraparound verandas so we can sit outside and have coffee, wine or sip mint juleps.” He took me by the hand and led me to the passenger side and opened the door for me.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had a mint julep,” I said as I got in. “I’ve led a very sheltered life.”
“Well, my little Mississippi Queen, that’s all going to change. I plan to sweep you off your feet in grand southern style. Ready?”
The hour drive flew by as Jiff told me the plans he had made for us to have dinner and take tours of any nearby plantations I wanted to visit. He said he had some time set aside for us to sit out and have a glass of wine on the veranda in the afternoon before our dinner reservations.
This was a rare treat for me, not having to plan everything and then have a backup or contingency ready when, likely as not, a crime would interrupt my evening and leave me alone.
By the time his convertible drove across the soft crunch of the pea gravel in the Myrtles driveway, I was very relaxed and enjoying myself. While Jiff checked us in I looked around the gardens nearest the house. I heard the lady at reception say there would be a complimentary tour at six o’clock p.m. for guests who wanted to learn more about the history and hauntings. Jiff told the lady if his girlfriend wanted to do it then we’d be in the grand hall on time.
His girlfriend. It was nice to be called somebody’s girlfriend and it sounded good to hear.
Our room had an antique four poster bed, our own private bath with a giant claw-foot tub, a sitting area with two chairs facing each other, and access to the wraparound verandas on the front of the house as well as the back, with a swing to sit and have drinks on.
The Myrtles brochure touted the fact that it is on the National Registry of Historic Places, the most haunted and oldest plantation in the United States, with several ghost documentaries having been filmed there. Legends as to why it’s haunted include stories of ten murders taking place on the grounds along with the main house being built over an Indian burial site.
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br /> It’s believed three Union soldiers ransacked the home during the Civil War, with one killed at the front door who left a bloodstain where he fell. That stain has never come out. Ghosts of previous residents are reported to be seen regularly on the grounds, stairways and in the dining room.
Jiff and I decided to take the tour of the grounds and the home. The guide, a man dressed in period clothing of a gentleman farmer of the late 1700’s, began with a popular story.
“The biggest ghost story involves the most common sighting of Chloe, a slave girl who had become the mistress of the plantation owner,” he began in a thick, slow drawl. “When he discovered her eavesdropping outside his door, he cut off one of her ears. She wore a green turban hiding the missing ear after that. Chloe was terrified she had lost his favor and was going to be sent to work in the fields, so she devised a plan to endear herself back into the family’s good graces and secure her place in the main house.”
The guide made eye contact with each of us.
“Her plan was to poison the plantation owner’s pregnant wife and two children so that she could be the one to rush in and save them. Only Chloe’s plan backfired and they all died. The other slaves feared the plantation owner would take it out on all of them, so they hung Chloe from a giant oak tree outside the home. They weighted her body with rocks and threw her in the Mississippi River. Her ghost is often seen close to the main house wearing a green turban.”
“Aren’t ghosts seen as vapors, like in black and white? How can anyone tell the turban is green?” I asked the tour guide. When everyone in the group turned to look at me I said, “I have an inquiring mind.”
The blank look on the face of our tour guide indicated he didn’t have an answer, nor had he ever been asked that question before.
Jiff just smiled, and then he kissed my hand he was holding. Everyone turned and we followed the guide to the next location he said was good for spotting ghosts.
There were brochures to tour other antebellum plantations, all within a few miles. But we didn’t have to leave The Myrtles to stay entertained or see a ghost! Maybe here I would see one in color.
After the tour, Jiff and I sat outside on our private veranda having a glass of champagne from the bottle he ordered and had waiting for us in the room when we returned. Our conversation drifted to Sandra and to CluckIt on the night of the murder and kidnapping.
As I told him about that night, I couldn’t help adding Sandra knew the person in the CluckIt uniform found in the lake, and her rival palm reader—one she sent negative energy to—found floating at the other end of the city. I was starting to wonder who else might show up dead that crossed paths, or phone lines with Sandra. I had niggling thoughts about the rings, Fara Theriot and the girl Sandra called Opal.
“I don’t know how to say this and I can’t put my finger on why I’m thinking it, but I feel Sandra’s involved. I’m not saying she did the murders, but it feels like she’s the linchpin,” I said. “Then, there’s the box of rings in the house right across the street from her and no one seems to know anything about the woman who used to live there before us. My landlord said her name was Fara Theriot and said no one named Opal ever lived there. Sandra said the woman who lived there before us complained about all the cats and she called her Opal.”
I was sort of musing to myself and not really talking to Jiff. “Maybe Opal and Fara are two different people who lived there.”
“Opal? You said Sandra called her Opal?” Jiff asked me.
“Yes, why?”
“Those rings you wanted me to try to get a print off and run are opals. I showed them to a jeweler friend of mine who works at Adler’s. He knew what they were immediately and said they are rare, based on their color and origin. Those rings are worth several thousand dollars, maybe more, based on the antique settings,” he said.
“Wait. I thought all opals were white,” I said and then I took another sip of champagne.
“Apparently there are many colors and types of Opals,” Jiff said.
“Well, I wonder if Fara and Opal are the same person? Fara is a mystery and the box of opals are a mystery. It feels like they are connected.”
“Let’s talk it through. I think if you feel that way, there’s probably a good reason for it. Look at what you do for a living. You find connections, or see irregular patterns others overlook.” Jiff poured us another glass of champagne from the bottle in the ice bucket.
“So far, she knew the palm reader, and she said she used to stop at that CluckIt on her way home before her car blew up. She also told me she describes herself on the sex line to the callers as someone she has met or seen, never as herself. So, maybe she described herself as the CluckIt cashier, or Fara Theriot, or this Opal woman who called the police on her over the cats,” I said.
“What about the other palm reader? Did she say she ever described herself as that woman?” he asked.
“I don’t know, but why wouldn’t she? She didn’t say she did, but she didn’t say she didn’t either, only that she aimed her negative energy at her after a bad day of work.”
“Negative energy?”
I brought Jiff up to date on Sandra’s belief that she caused the other palm reader to disappear and her car to self-combust because she had directed her negative energy at them when she released it.
“That isn’t the nuttiest thing I’ve ever heard, but it would be interesting to know how long she has worked as a phone sex operator, and how many murders have occurred during that time,” Jiff said.
“That’s a good place to start looking for a connection,” I said.
“Dante’s probably already looking into that,” Jiff said, but there wasn’t a sense of urgency in his statement and he didn’t add, Brandy, maybe you should mention that to him.
“I don’t know if he is, or if it’s crossed his mind. I tried to get him to talk to Sandra, but he brought Hanky with him and that didn’t turn out so well.”
When I saw the confused look on Jiff’s face, I had to explain that Sandra had had a vision of me at CluckIt the night of the murder. She had been to that CluckIt before her car blew up, and she didn’t like the other palm reader found murdered. I didn’t mention any of Sandra’s visions she had had of me standing in a big house uptown like the ones on St. Charles Avenue, or riding a bike on someone’s handlebars, or the one she had of me at CluckIt on the night of the shooting. I told Jiff what happened earlier before he picked me up when Dante met Sandra and Hanky started ticketing cars.
“That might be it. Sandra could be the unwitting force behind giving some wacko the idea of murdering these people,” Jiff said.
“I’m not sure Sandra is or isn’t being manipulated. I think there’s some connection between the CluckIt murders, the phone sex line, and Sandra. We know there’s a connection with Sandra and the neighborhood bar with Sully. You should have seen her go after Hanky. She was feral, like one of those crazy cats she feeds. It came out of nowhere,” I said.
“One minute she was feeding the cats, and then she was running across the street like she was leading a charge, directly at Hanky’s face. I could barely pull her away.”
I sipped my champagne and Jiff topped off my glass.
“Oh, I almost forgot to ask. Any fingerprints off the rings? Even if they don’t belong to Fara Theriot, maybe we can get a lead off a print unless the owner was never fingerprinted.”
“It takes a few days once we get a good one to run it through all the databases. If we’re lucky, she worked at a casino. They print everyone,” Jiff said.
“Wouldn’t that be great. Case closed.”
I leaned back in the swing and we slowly rocked back and forth looking over the grounds where majestic oaks lined a path to a nice sized barn. It was situated far enough away to see the chickens, but I couldn’t hear them clucking. I thought there might be a rooster telling another story in the morning.
“I wonder if Fara had a roommate?” I asked suddenly. “Maybe someone else lived with her named O
pal. I’m surprised I didn’t think of this before since our apartment has two bedrooms and two baths. It’s too big for one person. I’m going to have to call my landlord again and ask him if she ever had a roommate. That could explain a lot. Otherwise, I’m at a dead end.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that. You have an ability to see what others might miss. I am eternally grateful you saw something in me and showed up at the end of my parade the night I kissed you. If you hadn’t taken that chance, I don’t know what would have happened to Isabella.”
Then the champagne started to work its magic on me, and I stopped wondering what was going on back in the Brandy/Sandra orbit.
“Well, I was hoping my efforts would get me more kisses like that first one,” I said.
“That I can do anytime,” he said with a lazy smile.
He stood up from the swing and pulled me by the hand out of my chair to face him. He took my glass of champagne, placing mine and his on the small table next to our swing. My internal temperature was rising up from my feet and moving rapidly toward my head. This man had the ability to launch my hormones into overdrive with a touch. Kissing him was all I wanted to do or think about for the rest of the night.
“We’re going to be late for dinner,” I managed to eek out in a whisper as his mouth covered mine and we kissed, hungry for the physical contact with each other.
He held my face to his with one hand behind my neck. His other hand slid down my back and rested below my waist and he pressed me into him.
“I already ordered room service for dinner,” he said between kisses, adding, “and breakfast.”
He moved the hand from my neck down and both hands lifted me as I wrapped my legs around him. His lips never left mine. He carried me back inside and over to the four-poster bed.
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