The Ultimate Seven Sisters Collection

by M. L. Bullock

  “Remember that day, at the ribbon-cutting?”

  “Yes, I remember,” I said quietly. I knew it was hard for her to talk about TD, even now.

  “I don’t know what I would have done if I had looked out into that audience and didn’t see you.”

  “You would have been just fine, Detra Ann. You are strong—stronger than you think.”

  She squeezed me tighter and laid her head on my shoulder. I couldn’t help but touch her hair. “I will never forget it.” We danced until Etta sang her last notes. When the dance ended, she stepped back and reached for the gift before I could say or do anything else. “Now open it before I change my mind.”

  Quickly, I opened it, pulling the ribbon first and removing the golden cardboard lid. Inside was a silver key tied to another blue ribbon. I recognized it—this was the key to Cotton City Treasures. Puzzled, I turned it over in my hand.

  “I’m giving you my share of the business, Henri. It’s time for me to move on. I’ve taken a job in Atlanta—I’m leaving at the end of the week.”

  It felt like someone had kicked me in the gut. I put the key back in the box and replaced the lid. “I can’t take this. This is too much, Detra Ann. I can’t let you do this.”

  “It’s already done, my friend. I signed the papers yesterday, and it is official. You are the sole proprietor of Cotton City Treasures—you own it all. It’s just my way of saying thank you. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here today. I mean, I know I’m not a hundred percent yet, but you have been a lifesaver. Truly. Thank you for everything.”

  Stunned, I murmured, “You’re welcome.”

  She sprang from her chair and hugged me, and I breathed in her sweet smell. Detra Ann sometimes wore expensive perfume, the kind you normally only got a whiff of in fashion magazines, but then there were times when she smelled like sun-dried sheets and wildflowers. That’s how I always thought of her. And now she was leaving. “I thought this would be easy, but it’s not. I will miss you most of all,” she whispered in my ear. After a few moments, she reached for her purse and headed out the door. “I have to go. I’ll come by and see you before I leave, I promise.”

  I watched her car lights disappear down Conception Street, and then I closed the door. I felt like my heart had been snatched out. Lenore was standing in the doorway, her hair wild and damp from her shower. Her olive-colored skin practically glowed in the candlelight.

  “Please tell me you weren’t intending on telling that ghost you loved her. She’s not for you, Henri.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Lenore.”

  She clucked her tongue, “You’ve always been a fool when it came to women. Remember Peaches?” As she strolled across the wooden floor, I noticed she was wearing a pair of my socks. She peered through the blinds and said, “She was a nightmare, and she left you high and dry just like I told you she would. Then there was that red-haired stripper, Anastasia…”

  “She wasn’t a stripper—she was a burlesque dancer, and that was over ten years ago.”

  “Don’t correct me. You’ve got a bad habit of thinking you’re the only one that’s right, Henri Lamar Devecheaux. You can’t love that girl. She’s already dead—she’s a ghost. At the very least, she’s a shade.”

  “What are you talking about?” I knew I would regret asking, but I did it anyway. “What the hell is a shade, Lenore?”

  “Someone who’s been touched by Death. A part of her is already gone. Death only got his bony hands on part of her, but all that’s left is a shadow—a shade. He’ll come for the rest.” She stood closer to me now—she touched my hand tentatively as if she thought I was a shade too. “You know what I am saying is true. I can see it in your face. What do you have to do with this, Henri?” I didn’t answer her. I wanted her to leave my home, but I was too polite to say so. She touched my arm again. Sure that I was real, her face softened; her voice was unusually soft and kind. “She’s someone who should have died but escaped the reaper’s hands. But he’ll come back for her. And if you’re anywhere around her when he does, he might take you too. She’s been amongst the dead, seen them, touched them. Death won’t let her go—she’s his. She can never be yours, cousin.”

  “I don’t believe a word you’re saying. You don’t either. You just like tormenting me, don’t you? This isn’t about Detra Ann at all. This is about Aleezabeth. Tell me the truth, Lenore. Why are you here? What do you want? Money?”

  As if she didn’t hear me, she walked around the room, examining my pictures and my collection of antique silver spoons. “That’s probably why she’s drinking and taking those pills. She feels cold Death creeping into her bones and thinks she can escape it. It won’t work. It never does. She’s a ghost already…”

  “Shut up, Lenore! If you don’t stop talking like that, you will have to go. I don’t believe Detra Ann is the only one drinking too much. You’re on dope now, aren’t you?”

  She closed her eyes and held her breath, tilting her head like she was listening to an invisible voice. Then her eyes sprung open and she said, “I’m here to help you, Henri. I didn’t come for any other reason. You’re about to see the supernatural like you’ve never seen it before! I want to help you, cousin. You’re the last family I got, and I’ll be damned if I just let you go.” She pursed her lips and scowled at me. “I lost Aleezabeth. We both lost her—I won’t lose you too. I am staying right here until that ghost is gone. Have a care for your soul, Henri. Please.”

  I rubbed my forehead in frustration. “Listen, if you want to stay for a while, fine. But there are some ground rules. Number one, you aren’t just lying around the house all day. You’ve got to get a job. When I leave the house, you leave the house. No climbing in the windows or kicking down doors. Number two, you leave Detra Ann alone. No talking to her about all this crazy stuff—in fact, you don’t talk to her at all. She’s been through enough. Number three, if you steal from me, you’re out of here. All I have to do is call Detective Simmons at the Mobile Police Department and she’ll come pick you up tout de suite. Those are the rules. You understand?”

  Lenore could see I was serious. She didn’t argue and nodded her head. “Can I smoke in here?”

  “Not in my house, but there’s a chair in the backyard if you want to puff on your cancer sticks. You’ve got the guest room—that’s the room you broke into. Do you have clothes?”

  “I’ve got enough, and the guest room suits me fine.”

  “I’m cleaning the kitchen and going to bed. There’s some leftover chicken in there if you’re hungry.”

  “I think I’ll go smoke first.” Without even a thank you, Lenore slipped out of the house and into the darkened backyard.

  With a sigh I went to the kitchen to tidy up. Corking the wine and removing the dishes from the table, I slid on my rubber gloves and let the hot water run in the sink. I had a dishwasher, a nice stainless steel one, but I liked washing dishes by hand. It was therapeutic. After tonight’s turn of events, I needed some therapy. The woman I loved—yes, I could admit that now—was leaving me behind. Isn’t that terrific? I cracked the window a bit to let some cool air in. It was too early in the year to turn on the air conditioning, but the house felt stuffy tonight.

  I squirted the blue dishwashing liquid into the sink and watched the suds build. I caught a whiff of Lenore’s cigarette. I thought about asking her to move away from the window, but then I heard her whisper into a phone. “Hey! You ain’t going to believe this, but I found one.” I froze and turned off the water. It was quiet for a moment. “Sure I’m sure.” Another pause. “Yeah, probably, but we’ll have to move fast.”

  Chills ran up and down my spine. For a second it was as if the air stopped moving and I stopped breathing. I knew exactly what—no, who—Lenore was talking about.

  Detra Ann.

  Chapter 4—Carrie Jo

  Desmond Taylor insisted that I meet him at Idlewood first thing in the morning, and I was happy to do so. Off the beaten path, the old h
ouse stood off Carlen Street about a mile from Seven Sisters. Another forgotten gem crumbling into the Mobile landscape, Idlewood was in nowhere near the condition Ashland’s family home had been. It was in far worse shape. And to think I believed restoring Seven Sisters had been challenging. Still, the old house had good bones, as Terrence Dale used to say. And to top it off, it had a fascinating history. One that I couldn’t walk away from.

  Idlewood was actually a twin home. The original house was the Idlewild Plantation in Derby, Louisiana. The McClellans visited the home and loved it so much they purchased copies of the original plans and reconstructed it here in Mobile. Idlewild was a raised plantation—a unique construction because of its mix of French and English features. Typical for the wild woods of Louisiana, it had been a rarity during its time here in Mobile. The front facade of Idlewood had three dormers, which gave it a graceful look despite the sagging roof. Rusty, ornamental cast-iron balustrades looked promising but in much need of some skilled attention. But the thing I loved the most were the galleries. This type of house normally had molded capitals, but Idlewood’s galleries were lined with gorgeous fluted, Doric columns that begged to be restored to their former elegance.

  According to Mr. Taylor, Idlewood’s current owner, this Greek revival plantation house had undergone at least a dozen changes since the original construction. But fortunately these had been relatively minor and had not taken away from the original owner’s vision. Luckily for me, I knew what Idlewood had really looked like, right down to the paisley wallpaper in the hallway—I had seen it in a dream. Once upon a time, about a hundred and fifty years ago, there had been a grand Christmas ball held here at Idlewood. Dr. Hoyt Page and his beloved Christine Cottonwood rekindled their romance in the upstairs nursery. A little boy battled the flu, and rare Christmas snowflakes had fallen, much to the delight of a pair of cocker spaniels and the gathered party. Unfortunately, I could not revisit the nursery or any of the rooms on the top floor, as the stairs were deemed unsafe.

  “Tell me, Mr. Taylor, what did you have in mind?”

  The older man thought carefully before he spoke. “I’ll be honest with you, Mrs. Stuart. I am not sure what to do with this old house. It doesn’t seem practical to me to restore it. My wife and the Historical Society seem to think differently, but then again my wife is a sentimental old gal.” He chuckled and continued, “I don’t have a bottomless pocketbook, but I do have a heart to restore Idlewood, if that’s possible. From what I hear about your work at Seven Sisters, you really put that home back on the map. Maybe we can do that here. I don’t know. Believe it or not, I’ve been offered a substantial grant to begin the restoration. But I’m not a foolish man. I’ve been in business all my life, and I know this kind of project isn’t something to take too lightly. We could be looking at a very long project, and I have a construction business to run. I don’t have time to manage all this. Not to mention I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  I chewed my lip and looked around the room at the dusty walls and cracked floors. He was right, of course. Restoration was hard work. It took hundreds of hours of research, and then there were acquisitions. Then there was the reconstruction of the property and meeting all the requirements of the local historical society, which could be a major task in itself. I felt sad thinking about working on a new project without Terrence Dale—and probably without Ashland. Still, this was what I did. What I had always wanted to do. Maybe getting the Seven Sisters job had been just a fluke—I’m sure Hollis Matthews knew about my dream catching from Mia, and that’s why they wanted me in Mobile—but this…this was an opportunity to prove my abilities as a researcher.

  “You are right. It is a commitment, Mr. Taylor. Here’s how we’ll start. Let me ask you a few questions.”

  After another thirty minutes I got the bottom line. Mr. Taylor didn’t want to be involved in the daily decisions, but he did want monthly updates. He would use his construction company to do the work under my team’s supervision. Before anything began or any plans were finalized, we would undertake a lengthy appraisal process. He had a dollar figure in mind, and he wouldn’t pursue the restoration if the cost exceeded that amount. His ultimate goal was for the home to turn enough profit so all future maintenance would be self-supported. He didn’t want to be stuck managing a “money pit,” and I couldn’t blame him there.

  And one more caveat. He had no idea how to collect antiques, but his wife was eager to help. In fact, he wanted her to help. I agreed to his terms, and we ended the meeting with a handshake. Mr. and Mrs. Taylor were going out of town on an extended cruise in a few days, and he wanted to have a detailed project proposal before he left. Which meant I’d have to work day and night for the next forty-eight hours to pull something together. I agreed to do that but reminded him this was just a preliminary proposal. When it came to restoration, there was always that one thing you hadn’t considered—like the cost of taking care of any bodies you uncovered.

  I left the meeting so excited that my hands were shaking as I dug my cell phone out of my purse. Ashland should have been the first person I called, but after last night, I still couldn’t face him. I thought about calling Rachel and then just frowned in the rearview mirror and tossed the phone back in my purse.

  You are being a total jerk, Carrie Jo! You can’t get mad about some dreams.

  Oh, yeah? Well, why is he dreaming about other women? Is he seeing other women?

  Sick of my own drama, I flipped on the radio. Bob Marley sang “Three Little Birds,” and for the next fifteen minutes I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel as I sang loudly and completely off-key. By the time I made it to my office at Oak Plaza, I felt more like my old self again.

  The first thing I saw when I stepped inside was a ridiculously large vase full of pink roses. There had to have been at least a hundred buds crammed into the white ceramic vase. It smelled glorious, but it did seem a bit much. Unless you were at a funeral. As I slid my coat off, I smiled at Rachel. “Gee, who died? Those can’t be from Chip.”

  “Uh, no. Those are for you, actually.” She handed me a card and smiled. “Happy anniversary!”

  “Oh.” I took the card and smiled sheepishly. “Thank you so much.”

  “You hit the flower jackpot, I think. I’d be lucky if Chip bought me just a half dozen. He’s a sweetie but not big on sentimentalism. Me either, I guess. What should I do with these? Put them in your office? I can’t leave them here. I don’t think the visitors will be able to see my desk.”

  “I’ll take them. I have a table in my office. Let me put my purse and coat away first. Then I’ll tell you the awesome news!”

  “No bother. I think I can handle this monster.” Rachel wrapped her arms around the massive vase. “So what did you get Ashland?”

  I felt a bit woozy for a second but caught my balance easily. I wished I could tell Rachel my secret, but I had to tell Ashland first. If I ever got around to speaking to him again. Just a few weeks ago I thought telling Ashland that we were having a baby would be the perfect anniversary present. Now I didn’t know when I would tell him. “I’ll be honest with you. I’ve been so busy with our new office that I haven’t even thought about it.”

  “Carrie Jo! Are you kidding me? It’s your second anniversary—you have to do something.” As if she could fix my problem, she asked, “What did you give him last year?”

  “Okay, now who’s being sentimental?” I helped her position the white ceramic vase on the table and arranged the flowers. Touching the soft petals, I remembered our first kiss. I would never forget that night. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

  “Let’s see…last year I got him a first-edition copy of The Jungle Book, believe it or not. He’s a huge Kipling fan.”

  Shoot! I must be the worst wife on the planet. Spying on his dreams and forgetting our anniversary. Yep, I’m batting a thousand.

  Before she could ask me anything else, I told her the good news about Idlewood. Immediately we fired up our computers and began grabb
ing the research we needed for the proposal. Of course, we had the Seven Sisters model to go by, but each job had its own challenges. Ashland called me sometime around lunch, but I let it go to voicemail. Rachel’s eyes widened, but she didn’t ask any more questions. We ordered Chinese and kept working. By the time five o’clock came around, I needed a break from numbers and plans and debated on whether or not to head home.

  Just then, Chip arrived to pick up Rachel. I’d already asked her to work on a Saturday, and I couldn’t very well insist she work past five. She had a life—it wasn’t her fault I was trying to avoid mine. “Have fun, you two.”

  Chip waved goodbye and walked out the door, but Rachel lingered behind. “Carrie Jo, it’s your anniversary. Go home, for goodness’ sake. Whatever you two are going through, you can work it out. I just know it. We’ve got a handle on this now. Go home. I’ll come and help you tomorrow.”

  “I appreciate that. I’ll go home soon, I promise.”

  “No need, apparently…your husband is here! Have a nice night! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  “Which is what?” I asked with a laugh.

  Ashland walked in, his expensive cologne filling the room before his arrival. God, that man always smelled so good. And he looked great, of course. I could see he’d bought a new shirt, light blue like his eyes, and he had taken the time to get a haircut. My emotions surged again—on one hand I wanted to feel his hands on my skin, but on the other hand I wanted to slap the smile off his face. This was indeed a dilemma.

  Where had even-tempered, reasonable Carrie Jo gone? When would she be back?

  “Hey, I tried to call you. Did you get my messages?”

  “Were there more than one?” I picked up my cell and saw he’d called three times. “Oh yeah, I’ve been slammed here. It’s been kind of crazy. Sorry about that.” I shuffled the papers around on my desk and avoided eye contact.

  “You haven’t been in business for more than a week. You’re slammed already? What do you have going on?” He sounded a little irritated, as if he didn’t quite believe me. He picked up the sheaf of papers on my desk and scanned them. A slow smile spread across his handsome face. “You got Idlewood? That’s amazing, Carrie Jo.”