You’re the One That I Haunt

by Terri Garey

  “Is that what he told you?” Of course it was. “She was thirteen, Tina! Thirteen! Why would a thirteen-year-old girl hit on a grown man?”

  She sneered at me. “Don’t know much about girls these days, do ya? Crystal knew how to wrap men around her finger from the day she was born.” Her look turned fierce. “I ain’t gonna let that happen to Amber Marie. She’s gonna grow up righteous in the Lord. Pure. Jimmy Boyd is a modern-day apostle. He’s gonna help me keep her on the straight and narrow.”

  I flicked a glance at Jimmy Boyd’s pickup. “Apostle, huh? Is that what they call child molesters these days?”

  For a second I thought she was going to hit me. Her free hand clenched and unclenched as though she were considering it.

  “Jimmy was right about you,” she said, after a moment. “You are a lost soul. Empty inside. That’s why Crystal can fill your head with lies—because there was nothing there to begin with.”

  I didn’t give her the favor of a reaction.

  “You need to get yourself to church, girl.” She brushed past me on her way to the trailer. “Now get off my property. You ain’t wanted here.”

  CHAPTER 19

  “You might not care about the danger you put yourself in to help others, Nicki, but I do. Does the way I feel mean less to you than the needs of total strangers?” Joe was pissed, and I didn’t really blame him. We’d left Bryantville behind us, the Georgia countryside speeding past as we headed back to Atlanta.

  “What was I supposed to do, Joe? Let that creep molest that little girl the way he did her older sister?”

  “You don’t know that he molested anyone,” he said grimly, eyes on the road.

  “Yes, I do,” I said stubbornly. “Crystal told me.”

  “And you just assume she’s telling the truth. Why would you believe anything she said? She claims I killed her, she claims some guy molested her—she’s caused nothing but trouble since the day she died. She’s sold her soul to the Devil, for God’s sake!” His voice was rising. “How do you know this wasn’t just some twisted plan to torment somebody else? Somebody she didn’t have access to any other way?”

  I bit my lip, staring out the window. “She didn’t know Boyd was going to be at the trailer.”

  “How do you know? Are you a psychic now?”

  That comment earned him a look that would’ve sent Evan running for cover, but Joe wasn’t Evan. Not by a long shot.

  “She took you over again, didn’t she? On the porch.”

  Reluctantly, I nodded, not trusting my voice at the moment. I didn’t want to fight with him.

  “You were about to hit that guy with a board.”

  “But I didn’t,” I said quickly. “I shoved her out, got control of myself. No harm done.”

  “This time,” he said darkly. “He could’ve snatched that board away and smashed you over the head with it, or me. Maybe that’s what Crystal wanted all along—did you think about that?”

  “I didn’t know what was going to happen,” I began, but Joe cut me off.

  “Exactly. But you still thought that showing up out of the blue to tell a grieving mother that her daughter had been sexually molested was the way to go. Has it ever occurred to you that your efforts to do good in the world could actually make things worse?”

  I sighed, internally admitting that he might have a point. No matter which way you looked at it, it hadn’t been a good plan. I’d risked possession, heart failure, and his career by rushing off into the boondocks with some stupid idea about confronting a grieving mother with something no mother would want to hear.

  We were both quiet for a little while as he drove. I knew his anger was mainly due to his fear for my safety, and though he hadn’t said anything about his job, guilt over the position I’d put him in gnawed at me. What if Tina Cowart called her lawyer and told him Joe and I had been out to her trailer and threatened her pastor? I’m sure Lisa Butler and the board of directors at the hospital would be thrilled to hear that. His temporary suspension could easily become permanent.

  It didn’t matter that I’d tried to keep him from going. I shouldn’t have gone there to begin with, period. Putting my health at risk and ignoring his concerns could be taken as selfish instead of selfless—but I didn’t know what to do about it.

  It was confusing, and frustrating. Worse, I’d had a chance to save a little girl’s life from getting ruined, and I’d totally blown it.

  Now Joe was mad at me, and I was no closer to getting rid of Crystal than I was before.

  We reached the Little Five Points area in record time, although the silence between us made it seem like an eternity. It wasn’t that we weren’t speaking so much as it seemed there wasn’t a whole lot left to say. I could only hope that the tension would ease once we’d gone on about our usual routines.

  And then, with a pang of guilt, I realized that Joe’s regular routine wasn’t available to him. He was on suspension.

  “Look, I’m really sorry,” I murmured, as he pulled up in front of Handbags and Gladrags, ready to drop me off. “I never meant to drag you into anything.”

  He turned his head in my direction, face expressionless. I couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses. “I know you didn’t.”

  Hardly the reassurance I craved, but at least he didn’t seem angry anymore.

  “You’re not just risking another heart attack, Nicki,” he said quietly. “You’re risking our future together.”

  At that point, I didn’t have the nerve to ask him what our future entailed—I was having a hard enough time just dealing with the present.

  So I leaned over and gave him a quick kiss good-bye, which he returned. “Call me later?”

  He nodded, and I decided to be satisfied with that. Then I got out of the car and went to work.

  “Way to go, genius.”

  The girl in the mirror didn’t answer me, but that was okay—I knew what she was going to say before she said it. With a sigh, I finished washing my hands and snagged a paper towel to dry them.

  I wasn’t used to feeling like a failure, but at the moment I couldn’t help it. I knew Joe would forgive my latest fiasco, but what if one day I went too far, and he didn’t?

  A knock on the bathroom door made me jump. “Nicki? We’ve got a bunch of customers out here. I need help.”

  Despite Evan’s impatience, his tone was chipper. And why not? He was sporting a ring the size of Texas today, while my boyfriend was ticked because I kept sticking my nose in where it didn’t belong.

  I opened the bathroom door to the sound of women’s laughter. “Oh, look,” someone said, “I wore an eyelet dress like this to a USO party back in 1945. Ralph always loved me in blue.”

  “Ralph loved you in anything, dear.” That voice sounded familiar.

  “Actually, he loved me in nothing even more.”

  Another burst of laughter hit me as I walked from the hallway into the front of the store. At least a dozen older women were having a good time browsing the racks, and two of them I recognized.

  “There you are, dear,” said Grandma Bijou. She came toward me, arms open for a hug. The now-familiar scent of roses surrounded me, oddly comforting after the morning I’d had. “Let me introduce you to my friends.”

  A dizzying round of introductions followed: Estelle, Betty, Lorraine, Pearl, a couple of Marys and at least one Helen—I lost track after that. Telling them apart was going to be a problem, as they were all gray-haired, smiling, and very sweet. Except for Odessa, who was glowering, as usual.

  “I told you the Savannah Garden Club was going to invade Atlanta,” Bijou said proudly, “didn’t I?”

  “Oh,” I said stupidly, suddenly realizing what was going on, “you did.”

  Looking around the group, I found it very hard to believe these little old ladies knew anything about witchcraft or Wicca or whatever.

  But then, I still found it hard to believe half the things that were going on in my life, so I kept my mouth shut.

  “Can
I offer you ladies some tea? Coffee?” Evan bustled in, carrying a tray full of yummies and looking very pleased with himself. “You must try the cherry tarts,” he said, offering the tray to the woman nearest him. “And the cheese biscuits are to die for.”

  He’d obviously gotten a heads-up on our influx of customers; I recognized the baked goods as coming from A Little Taste of Heaven, an upscale bake shop in Buckhead. He even had little specialty napkins.

  “Mmm,” said one of the women, taking a tart without hesitation, “what a darling young man you are.”

  I wasn’t surprised; little old ladies always loved Evan, and vice versa.

  “Isn’t he, though?” Bijou beamed at Evan as if he were her own, while Odessa picked up a cheese biscuit and sniffed it suspiciously.

  The next hour was a blur of laughter, conversation, and shopping assistance, as Evan and I did everything we could to improve our bottom line while making Bijou’s friends feel at home.

  “You and Butchie all ‘kissed and made up’?” I whispered to him when I had the chance.

  The satisfied grin he gave me was enough of an answer for now. I knew I’d hear the details later, when the Garden Club was gone.

  The jewelry counter was a big hit, as one of the ladies, Estelle, was a total turquoise lover and another, one of the Marys, adored anything with carved coral. We had some quality Victorian pieces that went like hotcakes—brooches, hair combs, necklaces, and bracelets. Rings were argued over and tried on gnarled, ancient hands that were quick to whip out checkbooks and credit cards. All in all, a great afternoon.

  Until it was over.

  “Well, dear,” said Grandma Bijou finally, looking tired but happy. “I’ll expect to see you later this evening at the Embassy Suites. We can all meet in my room at eight o’clock for the cleansing ceremony.”

  “Cleansing ceremony?” I squeaked.

  “To remove the Evil Eye,” said Lorraine, eagerly.

  “It works best during a new moon,” put in Betty, “but we’ll make do.”

  Twelve gray heads nodded in unison, while Odessa gave her trademark, “Huh.”

  “Great,” I said, resigned. “Can I bring anything? Hemlock? Wolfbane?”

  Bijou tsked at me. “Now is not the time to be flip, dear. The Lord helps those who help themselves, you know, Wicca notwithstanding.”

  I looked at Evan to see him nodding along with all the little old ladies. Should’ve known he’d be a convert after the broken-heart experiment.

  “Lord help me” was right.

  I hadn’t heard from Joe all day, but I figured we had time to grab a quick dinner before I met up with the little old ladies from La-La Land, so I called him around five that afternoon to see if he wanted to meet me at Nellie Belle’s for some soul food after Evan and I closed up shop.

  Disappointed when he didn’t answer, I left him a message and went back to work. When I hadn’t heard from him by six, I tried again, but this time his phone went straight to voice mail.

  “Wanna grab a bite?” I asked Evan, as I tallied the day’s receipts. He’d already locked the front door and was sweeping up.

  “Sorry, no can do. I’m cooking chicken stir-fry for Butch tonight. It’s his favorite dish.” He smirked a little as he added, “Besides me, of course.”

  “Oh, how the worm has turned,” I answered, smiling. “Yesterday the sky was falling, and today Chicken Little is having stir-fry with Foxy Loxy.”

  “I know,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

  He held up his hand to admire his ring for the umpteenth time that day. “Platinum. Can you believe it?”

  I could, actually. My best bud was worth his weight in gold, but platinum was even better.

  “Are you two lovebirds having the bands engraved?”

  Shaking his head, he gave a little shrug. “Butchie doesn’t want to. Says by the time we get both of our names on there, it would be too hard to read, and he’s right.”

  I gave him a puzzled look.

  “His real name’s Bartholomew,” he said, trying hard not to laugh.

  “Bartholomew?” I was already giggling, having no such compunctions.

  “Bartholomew Andreas Bernaducci.” Despite his best efforts, Evan burst out laughing. “Why do you think he goes by Butch?”

  “It’s better than Nicholette Nadine.” I laughed, having always hated my middle name, even though I was named after my mom’s sister. “Why do parents do that to their kids? When I have kids they’re going to have normal names like Dave or Susie.”

  Evan arched a brow in my direction. “Anything you want to tell me?”

  I wadded up a used sticky note and threw it at him. “Bite your tongue. Kids are not on the agenda just yet.”

  He smirked at me. “Just wait until Joe pops the question. Your biological clock is ticking, you know.”

  Shamelessly, I gave him the finger. “Tick this.”

  He tsked absently and went back to sweeping. “Naughty, naughty. What would Dave and Susie say?”

  I shook my head, knowing better than to encourage him. Pretty soon he’d be arranging play dates for my nonexistent offspring, and ordering baby T-shirts that said, “I only cry when ugly people hold me.”

  Which would be kind of cute, actually.

  A few minutes later I sent Evan home to be with his big bald Italian bouncer, and found myself alone and very, very hungry. Breakfast had been a piece of toast, and lunch a single cheese biscuit I’d managed to snag before they were all gone. I tried one more time to reach Joe, with no success, then left by the front door, resigned to eating dinner by myself.

  Nellie Belle’s was a hole-in-the-wall, like so many places in Little Five, but they had the best barbecued ribs and corn on the cob in Atlanta. I slid into a booth near the back, glad to find one empty. It was a Friday night, and the place did a steady business, luckily most of it takeout. The red-checkered tablecloth was standard barbecue chic, as was the big jar of dill pickles in the middle of the table.

  “What’ll it be?” A dreadlocked black teenager slapped some napkins and silverware down in front of me as I got settled. There were no menus at Nellie’s, just a chalkboard over the counter.

  “Rib basket,” I said, “and a Diet Coke. Large.” My mouth was already watering—the smell of hickory smoke and baked beans permeated the place.

  I could see Lou, the owner, flipping meat on the giant grill, his ever-present blue-and-white bandanna keeping the sweat from his eyes. Every now and then, he’d wipe his face with a napkin he kept stuck in his back pocket. Cleanliness was not next to godliness in a place like this, but I figured the heat took care of most of the germs.

  Five minutes later I was chowing down on some falling-off-the-bone tender pork ribs. I had to close my eyes for a second, just to savor the tangy flavor of Lou’s homemade barbecue sauce. When I opened them, there was an elderly black woman sitting across the table from me.

  “Good, ain’t they?” she said. Smiling and plump, she was watching me eat, and obviously enjoying my enjoyment.

  I nodded, my mouth full of ribs.

  “You need you some molasses corn bread to sop up that sauce.” She was wearing a blue-and-white bandanna over her nappy hair, just like Lou, and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. “Waste not, want not.”

  Swallowing, I reached for a napkin with fingers already sticky with barbecue sauce. “Don’t worry,” I said, wondering where she’d come from, “I won’t waste any of it. I’m starving.”

  “Good,” she said, nodding, “If you hungry, you come to the right place.”

  The guy who’d waited on me came up and slid a basket of corn bread on the table without saying a word, then walked away. The place was busy, and so was he, but I was surprised he hadn’t asked the old woman what she wanted.

  “Did you order already?” I was only trying to be polite. There was no place else for her to sit, and I wasn’t going to begrudge an old woman a seat at my booth.

  She waved a hand n
egligently in my direction. “Don’t you worry about me none. I don’t eat much.”

  Considering her girth, I somehow doubted that, but I wasn’t going to argue—I just pushed the basket of bread toward her instead. “Have some corn bread while you wait. There’s plenty.” Taking another bite of ribs, I looked around while I chewed, hoping she’d take the hint that I’d rather eat than chat.

  She didn’t. “Them ribs is smoked for eighteen hours—that’s what makes ’em so tender. You tried the sausage yet? Mmm-mmm. You won’t never eat sausage again without wishing it was Nellie Belle’s sausage.”

  I was watching Lou cook while she talked. He was a master at work, moving meat around on the grill, rolling corncobs in butter and wrapping them in aluminum foil, stirring huge pots of baked beans and collard greens, all in a well-timed choreography of motion. On the wall over the grill was a bunch of plaques, some certificates, his business license and a framed dollar bill. But it was the picture in the middle of all those things that made me freeze, rib halfway to my mouth.

  IN MEMORIAM—NELLIE BELLE BAYLESS 1923–1999—FOUNDER, LOVING MOTHER, AND BEST DAMN COOK ON THE PLANET. The woman in the picture was elderly, plump, black and wore a blue-and-white bandanna over horn-rimmed glasses.

  “What’s the matter, chile?” asked Nellie Belle. “You look like you seen a ghost.” She laughed out loud, but there was no malice in her laughter.

  I stared at her, not knowing what to say.

  “Now, now, don’t you fret none. I ain’t going to hurt you. I just like seeing people enjoy they food, that’s all. I seen you in here befo’, haven’t I?”

  I nodded, still speechless.

  “They’s something different about you now, though. You got a light shinin’ on you that wasn’t there befo’, and when I seen it, I says to myself, ‘Nellie Belle, she understand. She gone be able to talk to you without running screamin’ out the door.” She sighed, leaning back in the booth. “It gets lonely sometimes with nobody to talk to.” She looked over at Lou and gave him a fond smile. “My boy know I’m here, but he cain’t talk to me, and I don’t want to scare him none.”