Flapjack made a vomiting sound.
The crowd gathered cheered Gilbert’s announcement, but a voice broke through the applause and shouted above them, “New Orleans doesn’t want you here!”
A flurry of whispers and gasps swooped through the crowd and Gilbert’s plastic mask faltered for a moment before he was able to reignite his toothy grin.
“Go back to Hollywood where you belong!” The heckler shouted, making her voice even bigger. “Everyone here knows you’re a fraud!”
Gilbert’s brows twitched. “More details will be posted soon, family. Make sure you check my website for tickets. Going live soon.”
The video blacked out abruptly.
“Nothing like trying to make lemonade only to get a few more lemons pelted at your head,” Flapjack said, lounging back to continue cleaning himself. “Looks like ole’ Gil has some damage control to do. Personally, I’m glad someone was there to be the voice of reason.”
My lips twisted to one side as I scrolled through a sea of comments that were flooding the interrupted video feed. “Yeah, well, judging by these comments, it looks like he has a pretty big anti-fan club to balance out the sycophants.”
Flapjack roused and came to peer at the screen. I had no idea when he’d learned to read, but at some point, whether as a feline or ghost, he’d picked up the skill.
“Click on that one,” he said, directing his fuzzy chin toward the top. “Someone linked to another video.”
The new video started, showing the same scene on Saint Charles Avenue, only this time it showed the perspective of someone on the fringe of the bustling crowd. It picked up right at Gilbert’s closing statement. The heckler shouted out her remarks and the crowd parted to reveal a woman in a chartreuse-colored dress that hit just below her knees.
“Everyone here knows you’re a fraud!” the young woman shouted above the scandalized crowd.
Flapjack cackled. “We should have made popcorn.”
“Wait a second—” I leaned in closer, squinting at the grainy video. “I think I know her.”
“You do?”
“Yeah.” I gestured at the screen. “She’s the girl from the curiosities shop Lucas and I stopped at on my first day here.”
“Hmm. That’s a weird coincidence,” Flapjack replied, more carefully studying the girl.
The video continued past the point where Gilbert’s had shut off. He held up his hands, smiling and waving at the crowd, but there was an undercurrent of anger showing in the tense lines at his eyes.
“I know the truth,” the girl said when Gilbert turned away. “It will all come to light!”
Gilbert shot a murderous glare over his shoulder at her and then hurried away to a waiting town car. The crowd pressed in on the girl, asking what she meant, but she shook her head and slipped away as the video cut.
“What do you think that was all about?” Flapjack asked.
I closed my laptop and sat back. “I have no idea, but I think it’s safe to say the two have some kind of history.”
Before we could speculate further, Gwen and Hayward shimmered through the door to the suite.
“There you are!” I exclaimed.
Flapjack scowled at them. “What? Did you two decide to go sightseeing or something?”
Gwen returned his fiery glare. “No, actually we were helping!”
“Oh! Well, that’s a relief,” Flapjack replied, sarcasm rolling off of him. “Because we’ve just been sitting here eating beignets. Good to know you two had your eye on the ball.”
Hayward looked shell-shocked and nervous as he hovered in place beside her. Gwen was protective of him, especially as they’d grown closer following a misunderstanding that had threatened to tear apart their entire friendship. I wasn’t sure how to label their new relationship, but they danced somewhere between friends and more than that as far as I could tell.
“Hayward?” I said, ignoring Gwen and Flapjack’s bickering. “Are you all right?”
Gwen stiffened and gave a pained expression, realizing she’d let Flapjack drag her off mission. She placed a hand on Hayward’s arm and led him forward half a foot.
“Scarlet,” she said, her tone strained. “Hayward has something he needs to tell you.”
“All right? What is it?”
“Yeah,” Flapjack said. “Spit it out!”
I shot him a look.
Hayward bobbed his head, his thick mustache twitching. “Well, Lady Scarlet, I found a witness to the murder.”
“You did?” My heart surged. “That’s great!”
Hayward didn’t return my enthusiasm and the embers of hope sputtered.
“What?” I asked, flicking a nervous glance at Gwen. “What is it? What did they tell you?”
“You see, Lady Scarlet, the witness isn’t what you might call a friendly ghost. He won’t tell us anything unless we do something for him first.”
“Okay? I mean, that’s not ideal, but we’ve handled nasties in the past. What do they want in exchange for the information?”
Gwen and Hayward shared a dark look. “He wants his freedom. You see, at present, he’s been trapped in the house.”
I groaned. “Let me guess, inside a mirror?”
Hayward’s eyes went wide. “How did you know?”
“Because the universe hates me,” I grumbled. “That’s how.”
Chapter 11
When preparing to make a deal with the devil—or, in this case, a homicidal ghost—it’s best to get a second opinion before signing on the dotted line. I thought about calling Holly, but decided against it. I’d bothered her enough, and considering she’d sent the ghosts through the mysterious haven network instead of herself, I had to assume she was busy. It was rare for me to break down and admit I needed backup, so when I crossed Holly off my mental list, I was left casting about for a second option.
There was only one other place I could think to go, even if the name made Flapjack snicker when we were standing out front of the shop. “Madame Firefly’s Mirror of Truth? Wow, you weren’t kidding about the hokey name.”
I read the sign again and winced. “It’s a little cheesy, but they might have some information about the Saint Charles ghost.”
“You really think this Lilah is going to talk to us?” Gwen asked.
“I don’t see why not,” I replied. Flapjack had filled Gwen and Hayward in on who we were looking for during the walk to Madame Firefly’s shop. “We’re trying to help, not make a profit or put the whole thing on TV like Gilbert Jenkins.”
I drew in a deep breath and then reached for the door. The longer I stood out front, the more tangled up I’d get. Time to rip off the Band-Aid.
The bell jingled and for a moment, my heart squeezed, recalling the easy-breezy happiness I’d felt the first time I’d crossed the shop’s threshold. Lucas had been holding my hand, smiling at me, and everything felt right in the world. It was almost comical how different the circumstances were on the second visit, just days later.
“Whoa!” Flapjack exclaimed. “This must be what it would look like if Aunt Zelda and Hilda had a garage sale.”
“Who?” Gwen asked him.
“Zelda and Hilda Spellman? From Sabrina the Teenage Witch,” Flapjack said, with much scorn and indignation. “I swear, you’re wasting your afterlife.”
Hayward puffed out his chest. “Some of us use the time to better ourselves, not fill our heads with mindless television.”
Flapjack snorted. “Says the man who hasn’t missed an episode of Days of Our Lives in at least a decade.”
Gwen giggled. “Really?”
Hayward’s mustache twitched as he muttered something under his breath.
The curtains behind the front counter billowed and Marla appeared with a pleasant smile. I took a few hurried steps forward to distance myself from the bickering ghosts.
“Good afternoon,” Marla greeted. “Can I help you find something specific this afternoon?”
If she noticed the ghosts, she mad
e no indication of it. Her dark eyes remained trained on my own as I approached the counter. “I was actually here to see if you might be able to give me some information on some local folklore. I’m sure you know all the good ghost stories around here.”
“Ghost stories?” Marla repeated, a twinge of something—disappointment, maybe—showing at her eyes. “I’m not sure I have any worth telling. There are dozens of ghost tours in this city.”
“Right, well, this is actually a specific story,” I said. “In a house on Saint Charles Avenue?”
Marla eyed me. “I see. Well, for a customer, I might be able to jog my memory.”
I remembered her eagerness to make a sale the last time I’d been in the shop.
On impulse, I grabbed the first thing I saw on the counter, a hardback volume of Celtic charms, and held it out with a smile. “I’d also like to buy this book, of course.”
The lines eased a little but didn’t fully fade. “Of course.”
I licked my lips and eyed the rest of the offerings. I tapped at the Plexiglas on a small display case and then smiled. “Uh, and one of those, er, crystal necklaces, too.”
That seemed to do it; Marla’s smile returned as she made a show of unlocking the case to remove the necklace I’d selected. She placed it inside a red velvet box and slipped it into a paper bag that was stamped with the shop’s name and a small crow underneath the lettering. The book went in next and then Marla rang up the purchases.
“I have to admit, she’s got the hustle down pat,” Flapjack said.
I glared at him.
“Relax, Scar. She can’t see us.”
“How do you—” I stopped short. Marla looked up, not giving any of the ghosts a second glance. She really couldn’t see Flapjack, Gwen, or Hayward.
Digging in my purse, I located my wallet. “How do you prefer payment?” I asked awkwardly.
Marla handed over the paper bag. “We take all major cards.”
“Right.” My cheeks warmed as I pulled out my credit card.
As Marla rang up the purchase, Flapjack took a swan dive from a bookshelf behind her and swam through the air right in front of her, paddling his fluffy legs for added effect. Gwen giggled. Hayward made a harrumph sound over my other shoulder.
Flapjack rolled like an otter and did a dramatic backstroke to complete his routine. “See?” he said, overly pleased with himself.
I frowned at him but flipped it back into a smile when Marla glanced up and handed me a receipt to sign. My eyes bulged at the numbers staring back at me.
Two-hundred and sixteen dollars. And I wasn’t even sure Marla could give me anything besides showmanship and vague breadcrumbs that would eventually lead nowhere.
“Yowzers, Scar. This better be one hell of a ghost story she tells you,” Flapjack said, coming to land beside me on the counter.
“Is there a problem?” Marla asked sweetly.
“I—uh—”
“Yeah, it’s called extortion, lady,” Flapjack interjected, pushing out the tuft on his chest as he glared up at her.
I signed the receipt and handed it back across the counter. “All good. Thank you. Now, if we can—”
The bell on the door jingled and Marla stiffened, a flicker of heat in her eyes. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Lilah pause to take out her earbuds. Her gaze darted through the room, landing on Gwen, Hayward, Flapjack, me, and then, her mother.
“Now, this one,” Flapjack said, jumping off the counter to get a closer look. “She’s on our level.”
“You’re late,” Marla said, her tone calm but with a frostbite edge.
Lilah’s eyes snapped up from Himalayan circling her ankles. “I had to take Auntie to the pharmacy and they were backed up, all right?”
“We’ll discuss this later,” Marla snipped at her daughter. “As you can see, we have a guest. This is Scarlet and I need you to take her on a spirit tour.”
Lilah considered Gwen and Hayward for a moment.
“Oh, I actually don’t need to know about all the ghosts, just the one, remember?” I said, holding up a finger.
“In any case,” Marla said. “Lilah is the best in the business. She can answer all of your questions.”
Lilah stuffed her phone and earbuds in the front pocket of her ripped, boyfriend-style jeans. “Let me go upstairs and put my stuff down.”
I nodded. “Sure, of course.”
Lilah slipped past me and rounded the front counter. With another sour look at her mother, she ducked between the thick curtains that partitioned the space. Marla sighed as she tucked my signed receipt into the register and handed over the final version. “I apologize for my daughter’s behavior,” she said. “She’s in something of a rough patch, lately.”
“It’s not a problem,” I replied, curious as to why she was passing me off on her daughter in the first place. If the ghosts were right, and Marla couldn’t see spirits, that didn’t preclude her from knowing about them. Tons of people could recite detailed accounts of spirit encounters without having any firsthand experience with them.
“Come on, let me get you situated in our reading room,” Marla said, coming around the counter. She stretched out an arm to gesture at a door in between two of the overstuffed bookcases.
Flapjack took the lead and we all piled into the stuffy, windowless room. The walls were painted an eggplant purple, illuminated by a couple of mismatched lamps that sat at opposite ends of a beat-up oak buffet that spanned the length of the wall to the right. Gwen and Hayward floated toward it, each wearing an uncomfortable expression.
“There’s something strange about the energy in here, Scarlet,” Gwen told me, eyeing an abstract piece of art that hung in the shadows. “It feels …. off.”
I looked to Flapjack but he didn’t say anything as he circled the room slowly, his tail pointed straight up like he was a fuzz-covered submarine.
“Have a seat,” Marla said, her tone brisk. “I’ll send Lilah in shortly.”
I took a step toward one of the overstuffed chairs. “Thanks.”
The door clicked shut.
“Lady Scarlet, are you quite sure this is a good idea?” Hayward asked, nervously shuffling his hat back and forth in his hands as he floated toward the door.
“Hayward, I just dropped over two hundred dollars to get some answers, and I’m not leaving until I get them.”
He bobbed his head, but the creased lines at his eyes remained tense.
I sat my shopping bag down on the circular table that dominated most of the room and Flapjack jumped up on the opposite side. He took tentative steps toward the peach-hued crystal orb embedded in the center of the table. His eyes went wider as he neared it, then he stopped, his body going completely still when he was within a hair’s width away.
“Flapjack?” I whispered. “Everything okay?”
After a beat, his head snapped to attention and he gave it a slight shake. “What?”
“You’re staring at that thing with the same face you make when someone opens a can of tuna.”
“Oh, right,” he paused and shook his head again. “I—uh, was just admiring it.”
My brows knitted together but before I could press him further, the door opened and Lilah came into the room. She closed the door behind her and took a seat opposite me, her eyes once again scanning the room to quickly study each of my ghostly companions.
Flapjack sat down and wrapped his fluffy tail around his front paws. “You know we can’t bite, right?”
Lilah’s thin brows lifted and then her eyes slowly shifted to mine. “What’s this all about?” she asked. “I don’t do exorcisms, if that’s what you’re after.”
“No, I’m not here for anything like that. These ghosts are my friends.” I glanced over my shoulder and Hayward gave me a warm smile.
“Your friends?” Lilah repeated.
I twisted back to face her and gave a short nod. “That’s right. It’s a really long story and I’d rather not get into it.”
“
Okay,” she said, stretching the word out.
I took a deep breath, trying to decide on a jumping off point. “I actually came here to see if I could get some information on a specific ghost. It’s a long shot, but I wasn’t sure where else to start.”
Lilah watched Flapjack with growing skepticism as he lifted a paw and began cleaning it. “What makes you think I can help?”
“Well, for starters, you’ll know which house I’m talking about. You were there earlier today.”
Lilah frowned. “Excuse me?”
I winced. “Right, sorry, that sounded totally creepy. Here—” I dug into my purse and pulled out my phone. I typed frantically, knowing I was seconds away from Lilah throwing all of us out on the street. I found the video of her confronting Gilbert at the Saint Charles property and flipped it around to show here. “This is you, right?”
Lilah peeled her gaze off me slowly and watched the video.
I raced ahead, hurrying to fill in the story while she watched the short clip. “My boyfriend works security for the TV show they’re filming, or were filming, at this house. I’m sure you know by now, there was a murder there a couple of nights ago. There’s a ghost in there that witnessed the whole thing but will only tell me what happened if I agree to free him from this trap thing he’s stuck in. I’m not sure—”
Lilah’s eyes went wide. “You can’t do that!”
I reared back slightly, surprised by the force of her words.
Her palms splayed on the table, she leaned in, her words coming out as a hiss, “Raymond Warrington is a monster, and he cannot be freed!”
Chapter 12
Lilah’s forceful words ricocheted through the room and I lifted my hands in surrender. “I’m only here for information,” I told her, keeping my voice steady. “Can you tell me who this guy is?”
When Good Ghosts Get the Blues Page 9
