by Paula Morris
“She could help with the locket?” Frank was all excited now as well.
“No, she can’t. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”
“I do, too!” Aurelia was indignant. “Someone told me all about it at school this morning. They said that someone had seen you on Rampart Street, and you were all ranting and raving about a locket you needed to find.”
Rebecca’s stomach dropped. Amy and Jessica. Unbelievable. They had been sitting there in the car for a minute or two before Rebecca noticed them, and this was the juicy piece of gossip they’d taken back to Temple Mead.
“One girl thought that maybe you’d stolen it and then lost it, and if you didn’t find it, the Mafia in New York would kill you. But someone else thought that you’d dropped the locket at the Bowmans’ house the night you burned it down, and that’s why you were desperate to find it again, before the police did, because that would be evidence and you’d go to jail.”
Rebecca was beyond exasperated. “I didn’t burn down the Bowmans’ house, and — this is the most ridiculous conversation.” She hated being the subject of speculation at her old school, and it didn’t escape her that every speculation involved criminal activity of some kind. “Aurelia, come on. We should go.”
“Just tell me about the locket,” Aurelia pleaded. “I’m sure I could help.”
Before Rebecca realized what he was doing, Frank took Aurelia’s hand again, and she gasped, eyes bright with excitement.
“I’m the one looking for the locket,” he told her. “My name is Frank O’Connor. Do you really think you could help?”
“No, she cannot!” Rebecca exclaimed, wrenching Aurelia’s hand free.
“Becca! He wants me to help him!”
“Don’t listen to him,” Rebecca said. She started walking away, dragging a reluctant Aurelia along the sidewalk, and shooting Frank the angriest of looks.
“I’m sorry,” he called after her. “Please don’t be upset with me!”
Rebecca ignored him. She kept hold of Aurelia’s hand and pulled her as hard as she could down Orleans Avenue.
You’re so selfish, Becca,” Aurelia was complaining. “You just want to keep all the ghosts to yourself, so you can be the special and important one.”
“That’s not true,” Rebecca told her, but the criticism stung. Maybe there was some truth in it. Was that why she hadn’t breathed a word of any of this to Ling? “I just don’t want anything bad happening to you, OK? I’m just trying to protect you.”
“Protect me from what? Nobody ever tells me anything.”
“I’ll explain, I promise. I’ll tell you everything. Just not right now.”
Aurelia muttered and sulked all the way to the Croissant d’or, and once they were there, would only speak to Ling and Phil. She even refused Ling’s offer of a cookie, sitting with her arms folded and her bottom lip stuck out. Rebecca knew she was going to have to make peace with Aurelia before things got even more out of hand.
Phil insisted on walking them up to Tremé, even though it would make him late meeting his mother at the World War II Museum. Rebecca fell back a little, so Phil and Ling could keep chatting away to each other, and so she could grab her chance with Aurelia. It wasn’t easy, because her cousin was still fuming.
“Relia,” Rebecca said in a low voice, reaching for Aurelia’s hand. Aurelia pulled it away and kept looking straight ahead. “Relia, I’m sorry. I promise I’ll tell you everything.”
“When?” Aurelia demanded. “Tonight?”
Rebecca’s dad was taking them to Commander’s Palace for dinner, and Aunt Claudia and Aurelia were invited as well. Even though the restaurant was only on the other side of Lafayette Cemetery, Aunt Claudia hadn’t been for years. Rebecca didn’t remember her ever going to restaurants.
“It might be tricky tonight.”
“Then you’ll say it’s tricky tomorrow, and it’s tricky the day after, and then you’ll go home.”
“OK. I’ll try my best tonight. Straight after dinner, all right?”
“You promise?” Aurelia still sounded sulky.
Rebecca nodded. What she was going to tell Aurelia she didn’t know, but at least she had some time to think about it.
“And you have to promise me something,” she said. Ling and Phil had already crossed the street, but Rebecca dawdled long enough to miss the crosswalk light. “You can’t say a word about the ghost….”
“Frank?”
“Yes, Frank. You can’t say a word about him, or what you saw today, to anyone. Not to your mother, not to Claire, not to Ling, not to my dad — promise?”
“All right.” Aurelia jabbed at the crosswalk button. Ling and Phil didn’t seem to have noticed that Rebecca and Aurelia had fallen behind. How did they find so much to talk about?
“And you never told me why Toby Sutton was following you,” said Rebecca, “or why you ended up on Rampart Street.”
Aurelia sniffed.
“I’ll tell you tonight,” she said, sticking her nose in the air. “After dinner.”
That afternoon’s work on the Basin Street High land seemed harder and dirtier; the sun was more punishing; and Mr. Boyd was even more of a taskmaster.
“Curly Sue!” he bellowed at Aurelia. “Get your Uptown behind over here. Now, try to be a good influence on the Jailbirds. Show them how you like your gardens to look on St. Charles Street. I want to see every piece of trash GONE.”
Ling and Rebecca made trip after trip to a giant rented composter with armfuls of stinky, prickly vegetation. Raf, who arrived late, not wearing his school uniform, was working on the far side of the playground with Brando. Junior was nowhere to be seen at all. Rebecca tried not to look at the falling-down house where the locket lay hidden, but she couldn’t help glancing over there, especially when Aurelia and the Jailbirds were stationed nearby to pick up litter. Gideon Mason, Frank’s murderer, had seen Aurelia with Frank that day. What if he decided to accost her and threaten her, the way he’d done with Rebecca?
Ling must have noticed Rebecca’s constant looking over at the house, because she nudged her, nodding to Aurelia.
“What was up with her at the café?” Ling muttered to Rebecca. They were both turfing weeds into the composter, and they needed to keep their voices down to avoid incurring the wrath of Mr. Boyd. “She’s in a major huff about something.”
“She’s annoyed with me,” Rebecca whispered back. “She thinks I’m not including her in … stuff.”
“Well,” said Ling, gesturing with a bulbous weed toward Mr. Boyd. He was busy confiscating the cell phone of one of the Jailbirds and shouting. “After this afternoon she may not want to be included.”
Mr. Boyd stared over in their direction.
“Man, he must have bionic ears,” Rebecca muttered, and they hustled back to the mound of waiting weeds.
After a steady, arm-aching two hours of work, Raf ambled over. He was carrying two cold bottles of water for them.
“Mr. Boyd says to tell you that the word ‘volunteer’ comes from the Latin voluntarius. He says it means ‘of one’s free will.’”
“And he’s telling us this … why?” Ling opened her bottle of water and splashed a little over her head.
“He means you free to go whenever you like,” Raf explained. “He’s not as nasty as he seems. He knows you guys work hard, and this isn’t your own school or anything.”
“We can keep going for a while,” Rebecca said, glancing at Ling to make sure that was OK. Ling, glugging down water, nodded. “Tomorrow is the last day we can help, and we’ll need to finish early. We’re going to this — thing.”
She felt shy about telling Raf what “this thing” was exactly. He might look at them differently if he thought they hung out with the Temple Mead/St. Simeon’s crowd. If St. Simeon’s needed to clear ground for a schoolyard expansion, it would hire landscape gardeners. It wouldn’t need to rely on willing — and not-so-willing — teen labor.
“No problem,” Raf said. He star
ted walking away, then stopped. “You going to the country club, right?”
Rebecca and Ling exchanged bemused glances. How could Raf possibly know this?
“Ye-es,” Rebecca said slowly. Raf laughed.
“My aunt told my grandmother you were in her store this morning.” He laughed again, backing away. “Uptown, downtown, everyone’s in your business.”
“I guess,” said Rebecca, shaking her head. Unbelievable. Next Raf would be telling her that he’d heard she’d burnt down the Bowman mansion and was looking for a missing locket.
“You might see my brother,” Raf called over his shoulder. “He’ll be there.”
“Your brother goes to St. Simeon’s?” Ling asked.
“No, he’s at college. Xavier. He works banquets at the country club. He’ll be bussing your table.”
“Well,” said Ling, when Raf had gone. “This thing tomorrow night is going to be weird, isn’t it?”
“It’s going to be awful,” Rebecca said. “Sorry. But we already bought our dresses.”
“As everyone knows, apparently.” Ling threw her water bottle toward the recycling bin and raised her arms in triumph when it dropped straight in. “It’s the talk of New Orleans. Uptown Girl and Miss Thing have bought their dresses!”
The sky was clouding over by the time Aunt Claudia, her day of fortune-telling in the Quarter finished, came by to collect Aurelia.
“Rain coming in for Jazz Fest,” Aunt Claudia sighed, rubbing her bracelets the way she always did when she was anxious. Rain was bad for her business, Rebecca remembered. Nobody wanted to sit out in the pouring rain having their tarot cards read.
Aurelia waved good-bye to her new BFFs, the Jailbirds, with much more enthusiasm than her halfhearted “see ya” to Rebecca, but she seemed bouncy enough getting into Aunt Claudia’s car, her usual good humor restored. If Gideon Mason had menaced her, Rebecca reasoned, she wouldn’t look so cheerful. And now the crisis was over, more or less, because Aurelia had ballet class after school tomorrow, and wouldn’t have time to come downtown.
Half an hour later, with their mound of decaying weeds successfully transported, Rebecca and Ling set off back to the house on Orleans Avenue. Rebecca was looking forward to a hot shower, hoping the steam would help clear her head.
Usually they would be walking past people sitting out on their porches or front steps, or even in a fold-up chair on the sidewalk, but it was quiet outside this afternoon. The sky was dark with clouds by now, thunder rumbling in the distance.
“Do you think we’ll make it home before the rain?” Ling asked. “I can’t believe how dark it got all of a sudden.”
“Yeah, I …” Rebecca couldn’t finish her sentence. There, on the other side of the street, was Gideon Mason. He glowered long and hard at Rebecca, then started crossing the street toward them.
“I saw you today,” the ghost said, quickening his pace. “You and that other girl. Pretty little thing. Dumb like you. Didn’t I warn you? Didn’t I tell you to keep away?”
Rebecca’s heart was pumping. She wanted to scream at the ghost, but she couldn’t: Ling was here. She started walking faster, refusing to turn around and look at him. He was freaking her out. She just wanted him to leave her alone.
“You can’t get away from me!” he called, and Rebecca, panic surging, grabbed Ling’s arm.
“I think maybe we should run,” she said.
Ling hesitated, looking up again at the sky.
“Really? You think it’s that …”
“Run!” cried Rebecca, and took off down the street, praying that Ling would follow. She ran so fast her heart felt as though it were exploding in her chest; her face was boiling, and even her ears throbbed. Behind her she could hear Ling’s footsteps pounding, but Rebecca didn’t dare look around. She didn’t want to see the ghost. She didn’t want to know if he was following as well.
On Rampart, Rebecca darted across the street without looking, noticing too late a car that had to swerve to avoid her, and only stopping on the island because Ling was shouting at her.
“Rebecca! That car almost hit you!”
Rebecca buckled over, wheezing. Ling thudded across the road and placed a protective hand on her back.
“I’d rather be soaked to the skin than get ourselves killed,” Ling gasped. “This is crazy.”
“Sorry,” Rebecca managed to spit out. Still breathing hard, she straightened up. Thunder rumbled again, longer and louder this time. The sky was charcoal. She blinked back tears, annoyed with herself for feeling so scared. The ghost couldn’t hurt her — wasn’t that what Frank said? But if that were true, why did Gideon Mason keep threatening her?
A light shone into her eyes, which didn’t make any sense: The sun was hidden behind the swarming mass of dark clouds. But when Rebecca looked up, she saw the source of the strange light. The top gallery of the corner town house was illuminated by the same silvery glow Rebecca had observed the other night. And there, like a wisp of smoke, was the ethereal girl she’d seen before, bending over the railing. Delphine.
“What is it?” asked Ling, following Rebecca’s gaze.
“Nothing,” Rebecca said, transfixed by the eerie half-light radiating from the gallery. Didn’t Frank say the girl only haunted at night? It was still late afternoon, but maybe the dark sky had triggered her reappearance.
“Hello!” Delphine called down to Rebecca. “Hello!”
Rebecca stared up at her, openmouthed.
“Dude,” said Ling, who had no idea what Rebecca was looking at. “You’re scaring me.”
“Be careful of that bad man,” the girl on the gallery cried. Her lilting accent reminded Rebecca of Lisette. “The man with the dark hair and the angry face! He’s a very, very bad man!”
A crash of thunder made Rebecca jump, and then the ghost girl and her mist of light were gone, like a movie someone had turned off. The town house was in darkness again, closed-up and shabby.
Ling was staring at Rebecca, obviously worried. “Becca, I think you had too much sun today or maybe you’re dehydrated — I don’t know. Let’s just get you home, OK?”
Rebecca nodded. She didn’t think she could speak anymore, let alone take another step. Rain was falling now, pattering onto her head, and through the watery blur she couldn’t make out anything — neither the derelict town house nor the cars hissing along both sides of Rampart. Other lights flashed and winked at her: the crosswalk signal, a flickering streetlight, a darting bolt of lightning.
Two blue eyes, like cold, crystal lakes, searing into her from the other side of the street.
Frank.
“No,” Rebecca said, closing her eyes. “No more.”
“Becca!” Ling’s voice echoed and faded. “You’re really scaring me!”
Rebecca swallowed, trying to pull herself together.
“Let’s go,” she murmured. “We have to go. We have to run.”
The crosswalk light flashed green, and Rebecca took off, pelting across the final stretch of Rampart and down Orleans Avenue. Rain swooshed into her face, half blinding her, and she staggered the last few steps to the gate, grasping for its railings. No more ghosts, she wanted to say. No more. It was all too much for her today. She could barely stand up, let alone search for her key. Ling’s hand was on her arm.
“Everything’s OK,” Ling said to her, her voice gentle. “Don’t worry. Nobody’s chasing us. Everything’s OK.”
“But it’s not OK,” Rebecca said. She was crying now, tears mixing with the rain until she felt her face was drowning. “You don’t understand. It’s not OK.”
“Let’s go inside and get out of the rain,” Ling said softly. It was easy for her to be calm, Rebecca thought. To Ling, this was just a beautiful old city. It wasn’t Night of the Living Dead. “And you can sit down, and tell me everything that’s upsetting you. Just tell me everything, and we’ll figure it out. Things are easier when there are two of us to talk them over. Uptown Girl and Miss Thing, right?”
Re
becca sobbed even harder. She really did want to tell Ling everything. She was tired of keeping all these secrets, of talking to these ghosts. Everything was too hard.
“You won’t believe me,” she said, smearing rain and tears out of her eyes. “I know you won’t.”
“Try me.” The rain was heavier now. Ling pulled Rebecca’s bag toward her and fumbled inside for the key to the gate.
“I know you won’t. I wouldn’t believe it if you told me.” None of this would make sense to a normal person. Sure, Aurelia had believed her, but Aurelia had seen the ghosts for herself.
“Well, maybe I’m not as skeptical as you are. I promise to believe you, whatever it is you’re about to say.”
Rebecca sniffed, rubbing her face.
“The thing is,” she said slowly, blinking at poor bedraggled Ling. “The thing is, there are ghosts everywhere in this town. And I can see them.”
The rain was loud on the old roof of the slave quarters, thundering onto the flagstones of the courtyard, but at last they were dry and safely inside. Rebecca lay on the bed in her little room, gazing at the steamy windows. Although she’d taken a hot shower, and was dressed in clean sweatpants and a hoodie, she still felt shivery. She’d told Ling everything — well, she’d told her a lot. Ling had listened intently, saying very little. Maybe she thought Rebecca was crazy.
Ling walked in now, carrying a towel, and helped Rebecca to sit up and wrap it around her wet hair. Then Ling pulled a white wicker chair close to the bed and sat down.
“OK,” said Ling. “While you were in the shower, I was thinking. Certain things have to happen.”
“First thing,” Rebecca croaked, “you have to believe me.”
“I believe you.”
“Really?” Rebecca wasn’t even sure if she believed herself anymore. She wriggled into a seated position again, propping herself against a pillow.
“Yes. Why wouldn’t I?” Ling looked dumbfounded. “We’ve been friends forever. Why would you start lying to me?”
“I didn’t tell you lots of stuff about what happened to me here last year. With seeing ghosts, I mean. And anyway, I could just be going crazy, right? You might think I’m out of my mind.”
