Once Haunted, Twice Shy (The Peyton Clark Series Book 2)

by H. P. Mallory

“An’ did y’all read that article that came out yestaday in the Advocate?” A waitress appeared from directly behind Harry as if she’d just materialized from thin air. She was youngish—probably in her early twenties, with a long, lean, and willowy body. Her face was plain but would still be considered pretty. She glanced first at Harry, then at me, before her eyes settled on Ryan and continued to settle on him just like I figured they would.

  “No, ma’am, can’t say I have read the article,” Ryan started and shook his head, offering her a lopsided smile, which caused her cheeks to color. “I’m a Times-Picayune man, mahself.”

  The waitress smiled submissively at him, batting her eyelashes as she dropped her chin and gazed at him with wide, brown eyes. Apparently I suddenly had lots in common with the invisible man for all the interest she paid me . . .

  “What’d the article say, Sadie Rose?” Harry asked, obviously prodding her to continue with her story since the only task currently occupying her was making cow eyes at my boyfriend.

  “Oh,” she said with a little giggle, and then tossed her longish blond hair over her shoulder flirtatiously. “Well, jist that people are sayin’ paranormal activity is up in N’awlins citywide.”

  “Really?” I asked, frowning because I couldn’t say this information pleased me at all. In general, I didn’t do well with anything ghostly given the fact that the haunt who had taken residence in my house better resembled the demon from The Amityville Horror than it did Casper.

  The pretty waitress nodded but didn’t divert her attention from the Adonis sitting across the table from me. “Yeah, really. The maître d’ at Le Pavilion Hotel said he’s gotten more accounts o’ ghostly activity from his employees this week than he had all last year. An’ apparently Count Arnaud has been causin’ trouble at Arnaud’s restaurant these past few days as well.” She tapped her fingers against her lips as she appeared to attempt to remember more incidences. “The manager at Hotel Monteleone was also interviewed but I plum forgot what it was he had ta say ’bout it.”

  “Un-be-lee-va-ble!” Mabel piped up eagerly. “And on the ghost tour that Mama and I just took, everyone on the tour got oo-rbs in their photos an’ about half of them said they could see a face in one of the windows.”

  “Really—?” I started before “Mama” interrupted me.

  “Real-ley. Our guide said she’d never seen so much activity before.” Then she faced Harry, nodding. “She also said that all the activity just started up a couple of nights ago.”

  “Jist like the article in the Advocate said,” Sadie Rose added, nodding as she continued to gaze at Ryan. I glanced over at him and found him studying me with an expression that said he was hoping I’d taken notice of the attention Sadie was paying him. I cocked an unamused brow and frowned at him.

  “Very strange,” Harry concurred as he started for the inside of the restaurant again, presumably to check on his other tables. “Guess we’ll nevah know why!”

  “I tell you, Mama,” Mabel continued, “there’s a reason awl this ghostly stuff is goin’ on.”

  “You might be right, Mabel, you might be right,” her mother answered.

  I desperately hoped Mabel was wrong.

  I didn’t know why, but I just couldn’t deny or shake my sense of foreboding. Instead, it began to build up so much that I actually started to feel sick. It just seemed incredibly strange that in the course of a couple of days, the spiritual activity in this city seemed to be at an all-time high. I tried to talk myself down from my current mental position of perilously perched on a ledge by focusing on the facts. Fact one: all the ghost talk could be sheer hearsay. Fact two: even if it wasn’t hearsay, there was only a handful of incidents in question; The happenings at Emile’s, the ghost tour the women mentioned, and the three or so examples discussed by the Advocate newspaper. A more plausible explanation was simply coincidence—that Emile’s, Count Arnaud’s, and whatever other ghosts’ spectral energy just happened to coincide with all the orbs that appeared in the pictures on the ghost tour. However, my upset stomach refused to stop churning. Why? Because I didn’t believe things occurred by mere happenstance. Not anymore, anyway.

  To make matters worse, I still hadn’t told Ryan about Drake, and in my present state of frazzlement, that was one conversation I didn’t look forward to having. Well, not yet, anyway. I felt sure there would be a perfect time to bring it up, but that perfect time definitely wasn’t now. And probably not tomorrow either, come to think of it.

  “Did you get enough to eat?” Ryan asked me with a restrained smirk as he dropped his gaze to the empty plates in front of me. That was probably another reason for my upset stomach—Drake insisting that I consume every last bite of the entire meal I ordered.

  Looking up at Ryan, I raised one brow as if to say I wasn’t amused by his question. “Yes, I ate plenty. Thanks for asking.”

  He chuckled as he shook his head. “Ah girl, I was just givin’ you a hard time!” Then the laugh died on his lips as he reached for my hand, running the pads of his fingers across my knuckles. His eyes smoldered as he looked at me. “I do love those ticked off expressions of yours though.”

  I gave him another one . . . since he liked them so much. “Let’s get out of here,” I said after a protracted silence. Groaning with the weight of my stomach, I stretched my arms above my head, hoping the plethora of food inside me could find a previously unoccupied section of my belly to fill. But no such luck—it remained uncomfortably lodged in my stomach like a boulder.

  Ryan nodded and stood up, pulling my chair out for me as I momentarily defied gravity and hoisted my body to standing. I offered Harry a quick wave when he approached us to gather our paid bill from the table. Ryan threw his arm around me and hummed something I didn’t recognize as we started for the front doors.

  “Want to check out Lafayette?” He casually asked as he pulled me into him for a hug. He gave me an extra tight squeeze, and growled like he was pretending to be a bear.

  “Watch it, Hulk, you don’t know your own strength!” I said with a laugh before answering his question on the subject of visiting Lafayette Cemetery. It was our usual jaunt after meeting at Commander’s for brunch or lunch. Lafayette Cemetery No. 1 was right across the street from Commander’s Palace, bounded by Washington Avenue, Prytania Street, Sixth Street, and Coliseum Street.

  “Lafayette Cemetery?” Drake piped up. “Oui, oui! I should very much like to see it!”

  I could just imagine him jumping up and down with unconcealed excitement. “Yeah, sure,” I answered, addressing both Ryan and Drake even though I didn’t really feel like visiting the cemetery. ’Course after eating so much, there probably wasn’t anything better for me to do than walk off my massively large, and now lingering, lunch.

  Holding hands, we scurried across Washington Avenue. Once we reached the sidewalk, I was careful not to trip over the invasive tree roots that contorted the cement, making it an obstacle course just to get to the cemetery. I paused for a second or two at the entrance, taking in the black wrought-iron gate, and the words “Lafayette Cemetery No. 1” scrawled across the top in white, capital letters.

  “I do love this cemetery,” I said in a small voice as I spotted the multiple aboveground tombs that were so iconically New Orleans. They were arranged in such a way as to look like houses in a city, which was a fitting description, seeing how the cemetery was dubbed the “City of the Dead.” The cemetery was one of my favorite places, owing to its rich history, the beauty of the tombs, and the serene quiet that somehow always managed to give me peace of mind.

  I took a few steps into the grounds and glanced left to right, taking in row upon row of housing for the dead. Along the wall that paralleled Washington Avenue were hundreds of wall tombs, but I couldn’t say they fascinated me as much as the aboveground tombs.

  “I believe Lafayette has not changed at all in one hundred years, ma minette,” Drake said w
ith reverence.

  “Somehow, I’m not surprised.” If the truth be told, the cemetery looked like it was a page straight out of a history book, preserved through time, even though the tombs themselves were crumbling with their advanced years. The walkways all around the tombs were broken and uneven and I’d watched tourists trip on several occasions. The narrow inlets between some of the tombs were so congested with weeds, broken bricks, and mortar, they were barely traversable. Run-down as it was, though, to me it was beautiful.

  As we made our way deeper into the cemetery, we were interrupted by the loud voice of a woman, her heavy drawl pointing to her obvious Southern descent. She stood amid a crowd of maybe twenty people, pointing various directions as she spouted out anecdotes and information regarding the cemetery.

  “Well, I’ll be!” she interrupted her soliloquy as soon as she spotted Ryan. A huge smile widened her mouth and she immediately waved for us to join her. She wasn’t exactly an attractive woman—maybe she had been at one time, but that time had long since passed. Her hair was dark and stringy, dangling to her elbows. It looked like it hadn’t seen a pair of scissors in at least ten years. Her face was round and jubilant with red cheeks and open, round, smiling eyes. She was wearing something that resembled an Old West saloon girl: a purple ostrich feather jutting out of her headband, and black, lacy ribbons that adorned her deeply plunging décolletage. Her puffed sleeves billowed like her brown skirts, which were edged with black lace and completed with a protruding petticoat underneath. Owing to her exceedingly large belly, the costume made her look more like a tree trunk than a sexy woman of the night.

  “Le choc! The shock! I believe we have spotted a specter! Albeit a poorly dressed one!” Drake said with an amused chuckle. I decided to ignore him.

  “Hello, Prudence,” Ryan said with sincere affability, dropping my hand and waving to her in turn. He faced me with a quick smile and whispered, “Pru an’ I went to school together from the time we were young’uns.”

  “This, ladies and gentlemen, is a good friend of mine, Mr. Ryan Kelly,” Prudence said as everyone in the tour turned to face Ryan and me. We both smiled uneasily, obviously nowhere near as comfortable in the limelight as Prudence was. “Mr. Ryan Kelly is not only the most handsome man in N’awlins, but also a well-known face ’round these parts! Rye, you gonna join mah tour o’ what?”

  Ryan chuckled, looking down at me inquisitively, but Prudence answered for me. “’Course the doll ain’t gonna mind! This here tour’s the best for history facts and ghost facts and best o’ all, I ain’t gonna charge ya one cent!” Then she glanced at the crowd and added: “That’s what we call a lagniappe round these parts, somethin’ a little extra.”

  “Thanks, Pru—” Ryan started before she interrupted him.

  “Yep, free tour for you an’ your honey, Mr. Kelly, though tips are very much encouraged an’ appreciated.”

  Everyone laughed at that while I mentally resigned myself to my unexpected fate. “How can we turn that down?” I answered in as loud a voice as I could muster.

  “That there is one smart woman!” Prudence hollered before turning back to the crowd and resuming her act of information-touting tour guide.

  “Imposteur!” Drake yelled from deep inside me. “I know more about Lafayette’s history than this trollop! You should abandon this tour at once and allow me to answer any of your questions!”

  “Drake, quit it!” I barked back at him. “Either be quiet and enjoy the tour, or I’m going to turn you off!”

  “La souffrance!” he replied theatrically.

  “I don’t know how anyone could put up with your drama!”

  “I will have you know that neither my face nor my character ever left me wanting where females were concerned!” Somehow I wasn’t surprised, but decided to withhold my comment. “Depending on the severity of the trollop’s offenses, perhaps I shall request that you turn me off!”

  “Ugh,” I grumbled in response. “Just shut up and listen, will you? You might learn something.”

  And while it wasn’t lost on me that he didn’t respond, I couldn’t say I cared.

  “Now, where was I?” Prudence bellowed out. “Ah, yes . . . Lafayette Cemetery Numero Uno, this one we’re standin’ in, is the oldest of the seven cemeteries in N’awlins. There’re about eleven hundred family tombs and more than seven thousand people buried in Lafayette One, which is just one single city block.”

  “I could have told you that,” Drake grumbled.

  “But you didn’t, so shut it!”

  “What’s the oldest grave here?” a young woman asked from the front row.

  “Drake?” I asked with a secret smile.

  “Hmm,” he started, and I imagined him striking the pose of The Thinker. “If I am not mistaken, I believe the correct answer is the late 1700s, ma minette.”

  From her stance on a precarious-looking two-foot-high brick wall, Prudence smiled down at the woman in the first row who’d asked the question. But her grin was impatient and said she didn’t appreciate any interruptions. “The first burial records we’ve come across are dated from 1843, although we do know that the cemetery was in use prior to that date.”

  “Well, someone isn’t up on his New Orleans historical facts,” I said snidely. “Good thing you aren’t leading this tour, Drake Montague, or we’d all be fed incorrect information!”

  “She should check her facts, ma minette. Elle n’est pas digne de confiance. She is not trustworthy and neither is the guff she’s feeding all of these people.”

  I didn’t say anything more, but laughed inwardly as I turned my attention back to Prudence and her (apparently) inaccurate tour.

  “So how did most of the people buried here die?” she continued, pulling up her lace gloves that ended at her swollen elbows. “I’m glad you asked!” There were a few rounds of snickers and one or two laughs. “There are numerous victims of the yellow fever buried here. If you read some of the inscriptions on the tombs, you’ll find other folks died from apoplexy and even being struck by lightnin’. Also, if you look close enough, you’ll find eight tombs that list certain ladies as consorts!”

  Everyone laughed at that, including Ryan and me. “She’s pretty good,” I whispered to Ryan and he simply nodded.

  “Je suis en désaccord. I disagree,” Drake said in a decidedly irritated manner. I didn’t respond—I knew better.

  “She’s always been like this,” Ryan answered. “She’s got a flare for storytellin’.”

  “Now, let me ask y’all this: Why do you suppose the majority of N’awlins cemeteries feature aboveground tombs?” Prudence continued, her voice quaking audibly as she started to lose it. She coughed, cleared her throat, and pulled a bottle of water from a hidden pocket in her multiple skirts. After downing it, she walked the ten steps to the entryway and plopped it into a trash can.

  “Quelle question stupide! What a foolish question!” Drake lashed out. “It is owing to the city’s propensity for flooding, of course!”

  A few hands shot into the air as someone from the back yelled out, “Because of the flooding problems!”

  Hmm, so maybe Drake finally managed to get one question correct. It was about time!

  “Seems reasonable enough, right?” Prudence asked and started to nod. “Wrong!” she shouted as she immediately shook her head.

  “Merde.”

  I couldn’t help my laugh at hearing Drake curse because it was so rare. Luckily, my laugh was timed well because no one glanced back at me quizzically.

  “Most people think that our aboveground burials are due to the city’s water problems but that ain’t so. This type of burial actually started in the Mediterranean thousands o’ years ago and was introduced to N’awlins by the French and Spanish Creoles. It’s actually a very smart way to maximize space since one o’ these here tombs”—she patted the one directly behind her as if it were
a loyal pet—“can and does have multiple people buried in it.”

  “Wow,” I said, actually pleased that we got sucked into her tour since I’d never heard this before about New Orleans cemeteries, and it made total sense.

  “You must be eatin’ this up, Ms. History Buff,” Ryan responded with a little chuckle as he looped his fingers through mine before bringing my hand to his lips and kissing it. I smiled up at him and felt my heart rate increase as our eyes met. I wondered if he’d kiss me, right here in public.

  “Please instruct le barbare to keep his distance. I do not appreciate being touched by a man!” Drake ground out. “L’indécence!”

  “If you don’t like it, you can always move out!” I responded. “Speaking of which, when is that day coming?” It was a question that suddenly begged for an immediate response. I never considered exorcising Drake previously because I wanted to ensure my house was no longer haunted before I allowed Drake to re-haunt it . . . that is, unless of course, he chose to go toward the light or wherever it was that promised him a happy forever.

  The idea of him leaving my life suddenly overwhelmingly and inexplicably depressed me. That, in itself, surprised me because I usually felt nothing besides irritation where Drake was concerned.

  “I have no answer for you to that question, ma minette. It is something you must answer for yourself,” he responded.

  “Well, we can figure it out later,” I replied, very aware that I had a tendency to sweep things under the proverbial rug. Well, Drake’s exorcism date could now keep company with my need to tell Ryan about Drake’s tenancy . . . unless, of course, I allowed Drake back into my house soon. In that case, maybe what Ryan didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him? Hmm, the plan was worth a second look . . .

  “Curious as to how these tombs work?” Prudence continued. I noticed a few people yawning while others shifted their weight from one leg to the other, and still others leaned heavily against some of the tombs. “Once a coffin is placed into a tomb, the tomb is sealed with brick and mortar at the vault entrance. It takes one year and one day for the body to basically cook in this pseudo oven, at which time the tomb can be reused again.”