“Forget about Laura,” Chris instructed.
“Let’s definitely forget about Laura,” Millie said. “That should be our group motto.”
“We need to focus on what we can prove.” Chris was insistent. “Was there anything else of note in the autopsy, Hannah? What do the marks on the feet indicate?”
“Well, without going into detail that will gross everybody out, the marks are significant because they show where blood was pooling,” Hannah answered. “The thing is, this man was probably bedridden. There’s physically no way he was walking around. The marks on his feet seem to indicate he was doing a lot of walking. So much so that there are the early formations of blisters, which means he covered a great distance.”
“Wait.” I leaned forward so I could grab the photo and give it a better look. “If he was walking, I understand why he might have the blister on the bottom part of his foot like this. But why would he have it on the top?”
“Some people who have a weak side get blisters like that,” Hannah explained. “For example, people recovering from a stroke might have a weak left side so they put more weight on their right foot, making it dip to the side a bit. That’s what this looks like to me.”
“That he had a stroke?”
“That he had a weak side,” she corrected. “He was obviously struggling to walk. I can’t guess as to why. They’re running further blood tests. The initial ones they ran were ... troubling.”
“How so?” Jack asked. “What was off about them?”
“They’re calling the original blood draws tainted because, under a microscope, the blood looks older than it should.”
Ah. We were finally getting somewhere. “Are you saying the blood looks like it was drawn from a corpse?”
“It was drawn from a corpse,” Jack reminded me.
“Let me rephrase that,” I countered. “Are you saying the blood appears to have been drawn from a corpse that was dead for more than a few hours?”
Hannah nodded once. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“I can’t believe I’m going to ask this question, but I don’t see where I have a choice,” Jack groused. “How old did the blood appear?”
“About two weeks old.”
“Oh, geez.”
I leaned forward, excited. “That means he was really a zombie. There’s proof.”
“There definitely is,” Chris agreed, his eyes gleaming. “Good job attracting a walking dead killer, Charlie. We’re finally going to find the proof we’re looking for.”
“Yes, good job, Charlie,” Laura drawled. “You’re everyone’s favorite pet.”
Leon made a face as he leaned closer to Jack. He obviously meant to whisper his question, but he spoke loud enough that I could hear. “What’s her deal?” he asked his longtime friend.
“She’s evil,” Jack replied, rubbing the back of his neck.
“She’s kind of hot.”
“She also probably has chlamydia because she gets around.”
“That’s what condoms are for.”
“Ugh. Do what you want.” Jack slid his eyes to me, his lips curving down when he saw my smile. “You’re not going to let this zombie thing go now, are you?”
“I wasn’t going to let it go before Hannah told us what she found. Now I’m just really excited.”
“Well, if you’re really excited ... .” He trailed off, tapping his fingers on the tabletop. “We need to talk to the family of the most recent missing body. If we can get to them before the stories of zombies make the rounds, we might be able to figure part of this out.”
“I’ve got a name for you,” Leon offered. “I’m willing to give it to you if you let me stay behind with your friend Laura.”
“I’ll take Charlie. Just give me the information.”
“Somehow I knew you would take Charlie. You guys are so cute.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just give me the information.”
ELIZABETH “BETSY” LAFLEUR LOOKED to be in her early seventies and beaten down by life when she opened the door. That made her younger than her husband, who was in his nineties, but the exhaustion weighing her down was palpable.
“Can I help you?” She looked fearful as she glanced between faces. “If you’re selling something, I’m not interested. I don’t like solicitors.”
“We’re not selling anything,” Jack replied, digging in his pocket for the badge he carried. It didn’t identify him as a police officer but it looked official, which he often found helpful in situations like this. “I’m with the Legacy Foundation. We’re investigators, and right now we’re looking into some of the missing bodies that are being reported around the French Quarter.”
“Oh.” Betsy pushed open her door to allow us entrance. “I wondered when someone was going to stop by. I’ve been expecting the police ever since I was notified that Martin’s body was gone.”
Jack and I exchanged quick looks. That was both good and bad news. It was good that we would be able to question her when she was fresh and hadn’t had time to prepare answers. Things would turn bad when Thibodeaux realized we’d beaten him to the man’s wife. We couldn’t think about that now, though.
“We don’t want to take up much of your time,” Jack offered as she led us through the modest house, stopping when we reached a brightly-painted kitchen. “Oh, wow!” I turned a circle when we hit the room and I realized the ceiling was made up of what looked to be greenhouse panels. “This is ... neat.”
“Martin designed it for me,” she said as she pointed toward the table. “It’s my favorite room in the house for obvious reasons. The glass filters out harmful UV rays, but I can grow anything in here, even during the dead of winter when we sometimes get hard freezes. I absolutely love growing things. You should see my garden when it’s in full bloom.”
“This is amazing.” I meant it. “I’ve always thought it would be cool to garden, but I don’t have a yard.”
“You don’t have a yard?” Betsy looked horrified. “How is that possible?”
I shrugged. “I live in an apartment ... and I just moved to the Northeast. I think it’s going to be quite a while before I have a house of my own.”
“You could always rent one of those community parcels that they have on building roofs,” Jack suggested. “If you really want to try, that would be the way to start. Just one small plot to see if you can handle it.”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll have to research how expensive they are.”
He looked as if he was going to argue, perhaps go off about how I shouldn’t constantly be worried about money, but he changed course quickly. He clearly remembered that we were working with a limited timetable and it was important we get our information — and then get out — before Thibodeaux came calling.
“Ma’am, we really don’t want to bother you when you’re going through a trying time like this,” Jack started, choosing his words carefully. He smiled when she poured hot water from a teakettle into a cup and pushed it in front of him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She managed a weak smile. “I’ve been grappling with Martin’s death for what seems like forever. He only died ten days ago, but it’s been coming for months. It’s strange to say, but I was mourning him before he died. It got much worse when he finally passed.
“Even when he was sick and in hospice care, I could still talk to him,” she continued. “He didn’t have much energy. He could stay awake for twenty minutes at the end and then sleep for eight hours. I didn’t mind waiting, because those twenty minutes meant everything.
“You wouldn’t think I’d miss him the way I do.” Her expression turned wistful. “But I do. I miss him so much. I would give anything to have those twenty minutes back.”
She was so sincere that I felt tears pricking the back of my eyes. When I glanced at Jack, I found he looked as miserable as I felt.
“It’s good that you have memories of him,” he said finally. “I wish there was something I could do to make you feel bett
er. The thing is, we do have a few questions.”
“Because you need to capture the grave robbers.” Betsy nodded. “I understand. What are your questions?”
“Well, for starters, were you practitioners of voodoo?”
Whatever invasive query she was expecting, it wasn’t that. Betsy made a face that I would’ve found comical under different circumstances. “We most certainly were not! We’re Catholics. He had Last Rites and everything. Actually, Martin had Last Rites four times because he came so close to death and then rallied. That’s neither here nor there, though. Why would you ask if we were involved in voodoo?”
Jack licked his lips and I recognized the debate going through his head by the way his eyes gleamed under the light.
“Because there are rumors going around the French Quarter,” I volunteered, drawing Betsy’s eyes to me. “They’re horrible rumors, the stuff of nightmares really, but we have to ask about them. We’re trying to figure out exactly what’s going on because we’re hearing conflicting tales.”
“And what stories are you hearing?”
“Well, your husband’s body is not the first to go missing. Quite a few have gone missing.”
“Do you think the bodies are being sold?” Betsy looked disgusted at the thought. “I mean ... I can’t imagine what else is being done with them. It’s awful to think about.”
“It’s definitely awful.” I had no problem agreeing with that. “The thing is, some people — and I’m not talking about everybody affected — are reporting that they’ve received visits from their loved ones after their deaths.”
Betsy’s forehead wrinkled as she absorbed my words. “Wait ... are you talking about bodies getting up and walking around?”
“No,” Jack replied hurriedly.
“Yes,” I supplied emphatically. “That’s exactly what we’re talking about.”
“Charlie,” Jack groaned, covering his eyes. “We need to work on your tact.”
Betsy ignored him and remained focused on me. “Are you talking about ... zombies? You are, aren’t you? Is this a joke?” She looked around, as if searching for hidden cameras. “I don’t see what else it could be but a joke. Zombies aren’t real.”
“We’re not saying it’s zombies,” I offered. “We think something else may be going on and perhaps someone is trying to make people believe it’s zombies.”
“And how are they doing that?”
“Yeah, Charlie, how are they doing that?” Jack asked.
I pretended I didn’t hear him. “We’re not sure how or why anyone would want to do anything like this. It’s troubling because there has to be a reason people are going after those grieving. We want to make sure that whoever is doing this doesn’t get away with it ... whatever their end game may be.”
“Oh.” Understanding blossomed on Betsy’s face. “You think that someone who owns a voodoo shop is trying to make people believe the dead are walking around. I guess they think they can get money out of the bereaved by saying they can bring their loved ones back. That’s diabolical.”
I was pretty sure I said nothing of the sort. I was even more certain I didn’t believe that. What was important was that she believed it, which is why I immediately began nodding. “We don’t know how or who, but we’re looking into it. You haven’t seen Martin, have you?”
“No, and now that you’ve told me it might happen I’ll make sure I’m ready.”
She sounded so determined I had to swallow ... hard. “How will you do that?”
“I’m going to get my gun and wait for him to show up. When he does, I’m going to take down whoever is pretending to be him. They’ll have to be close. I mean ... it’s not as if they can just prop a body on the fence and then walk away.”
“Definitely not,” I agreed. “It’s just ... do you think a gun is the right answer? Perhaps it might be smarter to just lock yourself in the house and call the police.”
“Nope. I’m going to shoot them.”
I cringed as I turned to Jack, who was vibrating with annoyance. “Now I know why you always admonish me to keep my mouth shut when we’re doing things like this.”
“Oh, really?” He was shrill. “Don’t you think it’s a little late for that particular epiphany?”
“I guess. I’m going to turn things over to you.”
“Well, great.” He didn’t look thrilled with the prospect. “You opened the barn door and let the horses out, and now I’m supposed to corral them without a rope. This should be interesting.”
I couldn’t have agreed more. I was interested in how he was going to fix my mess. I decided to sit back and let him get to work. I was officially done inserting myself into the investigation ... at least for today.
Fourteen
Betsy was relatively calm by the time she let us out of her house. We took a moment to claim our shoes in the foyer and then stepped out onto the front porch with her in tow, where something shiny caught my attention at the base of the walkway.
“What’s that?” I hopped down the steps and bent over, brushing some of the dirt out of the way and came up with an odd coin. It was silver and looked to have a weird series of squiggles and dashes on the front. “Is this yours?” I held it out to Betsy, who made a face when she saw it.
“That’s not worth anything,” she said, shaking her head dismissively. “In fact, that’s worth less than nothing. Martin had four or five he used to carry around in his pockets. They were trinkets handed out at one of the Mardi Gras parades.”
I studied the coin with interest. “Even if it’s not real silver, it has to be nostalgic for you.”
“I have all the rest.” She waved me off. “You keep it. I didn’t even know it was out here. It’s not worth any money.”
“Are you sure?” I didn’t want to take something, especially if she might regret it later. Still, the coin intrigued me.
Her smile was benign. “I’m sure. You look the sort to enjoy something like that. Just don’t try to spend it. They’re really worth nothing. They’re iron, not silver. They just polish them up something pretty.”
Jack peered over my shoulder at the coin. “It’s kind of neat. Keep it for good luck, Charlie.”
“It wasn’t good luck for Martin,” Betsy said bitterly. “He still died.”
Jack nodded, a pitying look washing over his handsome features. “Oh, I don’t know. You guys spent decades together. You loved each other a great deal. That’s obvious. That seems pretty lucky to me.”
Betsy’s smile turned watery. “I guess you’re right. This thing is just ... I think it’s too much for me to bear.”
“It would be too much for anyone,” Jack conceded. “We’ll be in contact if we have any information. Until then, just remember, that’s not your husband. He left his body. While it’s still a crime what’s happening here, he’s not going through it. He’s someplace better.”
“Thank you. That helps a great deal.”
I waited until Betsy shut the door to speak again. “You’re good with people, Jack. I don’t know why that always surprises me.”
“You’re good with people, too, when you don’t speak before you think.”
“Yeah, well ... .”
“Come on.” He gestured for me to follow him. “I want to get out of here. I feel ... heavy. This is New Orleans. We shouldn’t be feeling this heavy.”
I was right there with him.
JACK WANTED TO WALK THROUGH THE French Quarter to let me look around after our depressing conversation. I had the distinct impression he was trying to butter me up before dressing me down, but he didn’t say anything about my words to the widow. Of course, that meant I had to say something, because I was uncomfortable at the thought of it hanging over my head.
“If you want to tell me I was stupid to say what I did, I’m ready for it.”
He arched an eyebrow. “I don’t particularly enjoy calling you stupid.”
“You’re thinking it, though.”
“How do you know? Are you
suddenly a mind reader?”
That was an interesting question. It also reminded me of the flash I got off him earlier. “Maybe I am. Will you immediately discount it if I tell you I can occasionally read people?”
His lips curved. “I don’t know. What am I thinking right now?”
“That you want to mess with me.” That was easy to read and I didn’t need to tap my magic to do it. “You want to put me at ease and you’re trying really hard not to yell about the things I said earlier. Before we started dating you used to yell at me all the time. You don’t any longer.”
“Well, there’s a reason for that.”
“We’re dating.”
“And you haven’t done anything ridiculous in weeks.” He grinned as he watched my reaction. “You’re new to this, Charlie. Believe it or not, when I yelled at you I did it because I was worried. I’m not always great at reining in my temper, but I’ve been trying.”
“I get that. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I don’t know why I always realize that after it’s too late to take it back.”
“You’re young.”
“You’re not that much older than me ... and I’m not a child.”
He let loose a low chuckle. “Oh, I know. I tried to look at you as a child for the first few weeks because I didn’t like the feelings you were stirring up. I thought if I could paint you a certain way in my head that I would stop being attracted to you.”
“How did that work out?”
He swooped over and gave me a quick kiss. “How do you think?”
I laughed at his expression. It was a cross between annoyance and acceptance. “You can still yell. I shouldn’t have said what I did, especially the way I did. I’m an idiot sometimes.”
“You’re enthusiastic,” he corrected. “And I don’t want to yell at you, Charlie. I don’t want you to ever be afraid of me.”
The naked emotion he was emitting caught me off guard. “I would never be afraid of you. I promise.”
“Well, I’m glad about that. I still don’t want to yell.”
The Undead Uproar Page 13
