At first he didn’t respond, but I tried again. “Henri, can you hear me? It’s me, CJ. And Ashland is here too.”
He opened his eyes and looked at me. I saw a tear slide down his cheek. “You’re okay,” he whispered, then looked at Ashland. “And you’re okay. Thank you, Lord.”
“Yes, we’re fine. What about you? What does the doctor say, Henri?”
“I don’t know. I can’t remember. But you are okay, so that’s all that matters. Did we stop her? Will she come back?”
The sound of his weak voice, cracked with desperation, broke my heart. I didn’t know Devecheaux well, but I knew he usually had a deep, booming voice. He’d made a mistake participating in that séance at Seven Sisters, but he’d tried to make amends, hadn’t he? He had sent the music box back to us. Buffeted by Isla’s angry spirit, he’d fought against her to come to us, to warn us, to help us. That’s what I wanted to believe. I hoped it was true. People were still good, right? Some of them, anyway. Oh Mia, why did things turn out like this?
I smiled down at him. “No, Isla won’t come back. Her power is broken, Henri. She has no more hold on us. We found her secret and exposed it. Tomorrow, the rest of her secrets will be exposed too. People will know what she did, who she really was. Louis Beaumont will be given a proper burial. It’s all okay.”
“Thank the Lord. Oh goodness, I can’t believe this happened to me. I’ve never had to battle anything like that.”
Ashland said, “Mr. Devecheaux, I’m going to have to ask you to please keep this off your website. CJ told me that you have some kind of supernatural website featuring old houses in Mobile, but I don’t want what happened tonight to show up there. Please. Getting rid of Isla was a step in the right direction, but I have a feeling that’s not the end of the story. Somehow I know we haven’t met the most dangerous thing yet.” He paused and looked at me, his eyes wide at his own confession. This was all new territory for him. “I’ve got to find a missing girl, and sharing this all over the Internet won’t help me. If you agree to keep quiet, I’ll reward you for your trouble.”
I just looked at Ashland. Even though I knew he was concerned for Seven Sisters, I was surprised he was even raising this issue. But I kept my mouth shut and just listened to the conversation.
The big man smiled. “That’s mighty kind of you two. I appreciate that, and you can count on me. I won’t tell a soul. Not even Mia, if she ever came around again.”
“Thanks, Henri. Why don’t you get some sleep…we’ll come see you in the morning.”
“That will be fine, but I have to tell you what I saw.” He reached for my hand with his own cold, clammy one. He rubbed the back of my hand and closed his eyes for a minute.
“It was Isla that led you to the Moonlight Garden, wasn’t it, Henri?”
“She did, CJ, but that’s not everything. I saw a man there too, a handsome man with angry dark eyes, dark hair, a fancy hat and a white collared shirt. He watched us from the edge and didn’t come close. He watched Isla. When he saw she failed, he turned and walked away. Right into the mist…”
“Must have been the captain. Captain David Garrett. What else did you see?”
“I saw the young lady, Cal…Cal…”
“Calpurnia?”
“Yes, she was standing beside Ashland in the garden. She was smiling and clapping when he opened the bag, and then she disappeared.”
I smiled at Ashland too. The old Ashland would have stormed out of the room and run away from all this, but this was not the old Ashland. He had a new respect for the supernatural, I imagined. I suspected he had some abilities too, although he probably wasn’t ready to talk about them yet.
“Thanks for telling us.” I squeezed Devecheaux’s oversized hand, ready to leave him to rest. He was going to need it.
“Now wait! I saw someone with you too.”
I froze. Who would be following me? My father? I’d never seen him or met him, and I didn’t know if he was dead or alive. I didn’t even know who he was. Did Devecheaux mean my mother was dead? We never talked, and I was fairly sure she didn’t love me, couldn’t love me…mental illness was so cruel. But I had always imagined I would know if she were dead.
“I saw a young man, about as tall as you.” Devecheaux smiled like he knew a secret. An amazing, happy secret. “A fine figure who wore black trousers, a black vest and a billowing white shirt. He had dark skin, very dark skin, and short dark hair. That boy had intelligent eyes and full lips. I didn’t catch his name—I think he is known by a few, if that makes sense.”
“It’s Muncie.” Tears filled my eyes. I supposed he was there to be close to Calpurnia. He was her closest friend, and she was his. “Was he with Callie?”
“No, he was with you, always staying close to you.”
I blinked tears out of my eyes, not understanding what he was saying. “That’s got to be a mistake. He was Calpurnia’s dearest friend. He must have been there to watch what was happening or at the very least protect her from Isla.”
Devecheaux’s face fell. “I know what I saw. That boy was there protecting you, just like Calpurnia was watching over Mr. Stuart. When you hunkered down beside me, he was there too. He had kind eyes, full of love and sympathy.” He contemplated me for a moment and said, “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
I turned beet red and said, “I’m not ashamed of Muncie; I just don’t understand. I just assumed…I mean…Callie is related to Ashland, but could I be related to Muncie? I don’t know much about my own bloodline, so it’s possible, I suppose.” I couldn’t understand what he meant, but the man was sick. Maybe he just needed to rest. I squeezed his hand. “We can talk about this tomorrow. Now get some rest.”
Ashland and I lingered by the door, whispering to one another. It appeared that Devecheaux had finally fallen asleep. I was glad. Suddenly, I had an idea. “I need to sleep with those jewels.”
“What?” he said with a laugh.
“Seriously, I need to sleep with them to see who I dream about; it might help us find Calpurnia. Look, I’m not going to steal them.”
“I didn’t say you would.” Ashland shook his head, rolling his eyes.
“Well, we need to find Calpurnia, right?”
“How do you know that will work? You said so yourself—that’s not a sure method. What if you end up dreaming about another murderer or something? Carrie Jo, you have no idea what doors you’ll be opening, and I can’t go with you. I hate to think of you fighting with the ghost of Jeremiah Cottonwood alone!”
“Well, I’ll amp up the power, then. I plan on dreaming in the house.”
“No way!” he nearly shouted. “That’s not going to happen. You can’t sleep on the property; you’ll dream the whole time. Something significant is always happening there.”
“Come on, Ashland. You want me to find Calpurnia just as much as I do. This is the way to do it.”
“This is the wrong way. No cheating. I want you to find her the regular way, like a historian. And you’re an excellent historian. Promise me?”
“I know this will work if I do it correctly. I’m getting better at it.”
“No!” It was Devecheaux’s rough voice pleading with us from his hospital bed. “Please don’t do whatever you’re planning, CJ. You should know—Isla isn’t the only ghost in that house. There are other things left undone, other secrets that you don’t know about. Sometimes it’s better to leave some things in the dark. Promise me?”
I could hear his heart monitor beeping fast, then faster and faster. I felt compelled to agree. “Okay, okay, I won’t. For now. Goodnight, Henri. See you in the morning.”
“I’ll see you then. I promise you, I’ll be right as rain.”
Chapter 3
By nine o’clock the next day, an archaeological dig began right behind the mausoleum at Seven Sisters. It wasn’t a coincidence, but we had to give Louis Beaumont a proper burial, hopefully with as little police involvement as possible. The less the police department knew, the be
tter. It was easy enough to tell Detective Simmons some family legends about a lost uncle who died on the property sometime between 1830 and 1850. The coroner came out to take a look at the bones and agreed with Professor Wachowski of the University of South Alabama; the remains were of a man who died from blunt force trauma to the head almost two hundred years ago. The plan was to allow USA to do a full examination of the bones, and then we would place Beaumont inside the mausoleum next to his beloved sister. Things moved smoothly, almost too smoothly to be believed.
I stopped by the hospital before I went to Seven Sisters, but to my surprise Henri Devecheaux wasn’t there. According to the nurse, he checked himself out without leaving a note, a phone number or anything. I felt a deep sense of loss—I barely knew him, but I liked him. I think he’d been caught up in the whirlwind, an unexpected near-casualty of the machinations of a malevolent ghost. I hoped he would be safe, no matter where he went.
The weeks went by, and I was soon distracted with a dozen tasks. I began to notice that the house had quieted somehow. The frenetic excitement that had vibrated right underneath the surface during our initial months of restoration had vanished. The house felt empty, but somewhere in the wings, something waited—some pending experience that hadn’t manifested yet. Or maybe it had happened but was doomed to repeat itself. I shivered. Doomed. Why would that word come to mind?
I watched TD walk from room to room with his clipboard, writing furiously on his many checklists. I didn’t bother attempting to engage him in conversation. He barely spoke to me anymore, or to Ashland. He had made it clear that he wanted this job to be over and never wanted to come back here again. Privately, I had talked to Ashland about letting TD go because he couldn’t handle what he’d witnessed. But Ashland had refused, even though TD wouldn’t talk to him beyond a “yes” or “no.” I thought the three of us had been not just colleagues but friends. Now the closeness we’d developed during the restoration had vanished—another unfortunate casualty of the supernatural activity that seemed to ooze from the house.
He was aloof with Ashland and me, but he’d gotten quite close to Detra Ann. She stopped by frequently to bring him lunch or a coffee in the morning. As the old southern belles would say, “she’d set her cap for him.” He didn’t mind, apparently; just a few days after the lunch deliveries, I spotted him kissing her in his truck. Good for you, Terrence Dale! Back to the land of the living, I see. I waved at them as I walked to my car at the end of the day without waiting to see if they waved back. I didn’t want to know.
On the other hand, my whirlwind romance with Ashland had come to a screeching halt. He’d developed a new habit—daydreaming. It interrupted everything: staff meetings, one-on-one conversations, even his interactions with vendors and subcontractors. I had no idea what was going on in his head, and it didn’t seem like he wanted to share it with me. That stung, but I had some processing to do too. At least Calpurnia’s treasure had been recovered; all the pieces now were in the safekeeping of a trusted local jeweler who would attempt to appraise each item. I’m sure his findings would be staggering—even for Ashland, who was no stranger to wealth. Somehow, Ashland had managed to keep the news of the discovery under wraps, but I knew that wouldn’t last long. People always talked, didn’t they?
The month had slipped by, and now we were in the dog days of August. I looked forward to September when we might get a reprieve from the unbearable heat. I’d spent one Friday afternoon working in the glass case in the upstairs hallway. I was so proud of the unique collection of hand-painted fans we were displaying. They had come from local families anxious to be a part of the Seven Sisters story. Even after all these years, the house was still a landmark, an enduring part of local culture. I closed the case with a sigh of pleasure.
When I left Seven Sisters that day, my goal had been to quietly slip out with another treasure I had squirreled away in my purse. Rachel K. and I had dug through the last remaining trunk, an extremely old one with a cracked leather lid, and it was there that I found the treasure hidden. It was an old schoolroom book with brittle paper and faded ink. The inner pages displayed beautiful penmanship and some painfully long sentences. Nothing like what you would see students using today. I didn’t know whose book it was until I started scanning through it. And then there it was: “My name is Monticello...” I held my breath as I read the next few paragraphs. Some pages were poems that he’d copied, probably at the behest of a teacher like Christine or Calpurnia. This was no journal—not intimate details about his life—but it was proof that he’d been here. Now I had something I could dream with! More than ever, the idea of hiding out in my comfortable apartment for a session of dream catching appealed to me. I’d fallen out of the habit in the past few weeks and for some reason hadn’t cracked open any of Calpurnia’s journals. It was like a quiet voice inside my head said, “No, not yet.”
Bette was going on a long weekend trip with her beau. She was so excited about the excursion, and I couldn’t help but grin thinking about her bouncing curls and big smile. That meant it would be Bienville and me, but if I decided to slip away, there was always something to do in Mobile—a music festival or some kind of food fest happening. I absently thought of William. I supposed he’d gone back home by now or moved on with his tour. Despite how things had turned out, I believed William had liked me in his own way. But Mia had fallen for him hard…unbeknownst to me, of course. I shook my head and slung my purse strap over my shoulder. Think of something else!
I hoped Ashland and I could connect again somehow. My feelings for him hadn’t changed, but I was a bit more cautious now. No matter—at least not this weekend. I intended to focus my energy on learning more about Muncie. I thought of the young man, his vibrant brown eyes and soft voice. I wondered if perhaps we were connected somehow, by spirit if not by blood. It was a nice thought.
I knew things about him. I knew Muncie’s secret: he could read brilliantly, write well and work basic math equations, thanks to Christine Cottonwood and her daughter. I remembered that he felt very smart for knowing all these things. Above everything else, though, he had one burning desire—he wanted to go home.
Home for him was not the faraway land of Africa, like it was for so many slaves who arrived in Mobile. His home had been Port-au-Prince, Haiti. An uncle had waited until his mother had left the house, lied to the slavers and claimed that the little boy had been his slave. Too small to explain himself to the English-speaking slavers, Muncie had been stolen from his mother, who would cry for him every day, beating her breast with her fist and praying for her boy’s return.
I couldn’t explain how I knew all this. Perhaps from the dreams, or maybe I had read it in Calpurnia’s journals, but I knew it. I reached into my purse and touched the fabric-covered book, feeling comforted. This book could be the key to so many secrets. I didn’t need to sleep at Seven Sisters; I might be able to see what I needed without putting myself in danger.
“Hey, Carrie Jo! Do you have a minute?”
Rachel sounded like she had something on her mind. It seemed I wasn’t going to get away so easily. “What is it, Rachel?”
“I’ve heard…I mean, Detra Ann told us that something happened here the night of the Moonlight Garden tour. That a ghost showed up afterward. That can’t be true, right?”
I couldn’t tell if she wanted it to be true or not, but I knew I had to be practical—and as honest as I could be. “Have you ever seen a ghost here?”
“Well, no, but there are times I feel creeped out. Like someone is watching me or something. I even thought I heard someone giggling once, but there was no one there. I’ve never actually seen anything, though.”
“Well, it is a very old house. Which is why we are all here, of course!” I chuckled, and then gave her a comforting smile. “I did see something that night, but it’s gone now, and I don’t think it will bother anyone again. You don’t have to be afraid.”
She gave an audible sigh of relief. “Oh, good, because I don’t think I
could handle that.”
“If you ever do see something, feel free to talk to me, Rachel.” I smiled and waved goodbye to her as I got into the car.
Well, talk was bound to happen. Detra Ann was full of information, wasn’t she?
I decided not to worry about it. I couldn’t stop people from talking. Right as I swung into my empty driveway, my phone rang. It was Ashland. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Does something need to be up?” He chuckled softly, sounding happier and more relaxed than he had in a long time. “What are you doing this evening?”
“What time?” I felt conflicted. I had Muncie’s book to go through, but it was hard to say no to Ashland when he was ready to spend some time with me.
“Around sunset?”
I looked at my watch. It was five, but the sun didn’t go down until sometime around seven in the middle of the summer. “I don’t know. I planned on sitting in front of the television with a bag of Doritos. Why, you want to join me?”
“That doesn’t sound like you at all—I have a better idea. Let me pick you up, and we’ll take a walk along the beach on Dauphin Island. Afterward, maybe we’ll go to Barnacle Bill’s for a quiet dinner. What do you say?”
I smiled as I turned the car off. “I say yes. That sounds nice, Ashland. What time will you pick me up?”
“In about thirty minutes? It will take us another half-hour to get to the island, but I think you’ll love it.”
“Great! Sounds perfect.”
“All right, see you in thirty.”
My heart fluttered with anticipation. I hurriedly went through my scanty closet looking for appropriate clothing. Fortunately, I’d recently purchased some nice clothes at University Mall, but I wished I had taken the time to do laundry that week. Oh well. I reached for a pretty lilac handkerchief skirt and a cream-colored peasant blouse, and then I haphazardly ripped off the tags. I had some strappy tan sandals that would work well with this ensemble. Perfect for strolling down a beach with Ashland.
The Ultimate Seven Sisters Collection Page 24
