Brown Eyed Ghoul

by H. P. Mallory

  Very well, he grumbled. I will defend myself by admitting despite my fair share of “dalliances” as you affectionately termed them, and the pleasure of discovering the apex of the thighs of more than one nice lady, I have yet to enjoy the pleasure of yours! That was the only point I intended to make.

  Well, now that you’ve made it, let’s both focus on this never ending list of home sales, shall we? I replied as I started scanning the long list.

  Drake didn’t reply except to make a “hmph!” noise before falling silent. I, meanwhile, was busily engaged in scanning the numerous entries of home sales. When I reached the bottom of the page, I clicked over to the next one and saw Peter’s name. The entry, however, wasn’t the one I was looking for. The one I saw claimed Peter sold a property to a man named David Lawson for $50,000.

  “Ugh,” I grumbled, settling my initial excitement down again.

  Returning to my scan of the entries, I found another one for Peter, but it still wasn’t the transaction I was looking for. This time, he sold a property to a family with the last name of Kelton for $32,300.

  “Double ugh,” I muttered as I continued with my search. When I reached the top of page three, I found what I was looking for. “Bam!” I said as a huge smile spread across my face. I read the sale out loud: “Transfer of property located at 12 Davis Landing Road in Slidell, Louisiana, to Guarda Josephine Sauveterre for an undisclosed dollar amount.”

  Coincidentally, it was the same location where I’d had the misfortune of my first encounter with Guarda. For some reason, I found it quite interesting to know she’d lived in the same place for nearly sixty years. I was also more than convinced that the “undisclosed dollar amount” was merely covering the fact that Peter gave the property to Guarda, although I was convinced he hadn’t done so out of his abundant generosity.

  Tres bien, very good, ma minette, Drake congratulated me.

  Even I felt like patting myself on the back.

  SEVEN

  It wasn’t an easy decision, but I eventually opted to come clean with Peter regarding Adele’s death. Well, at least, most of it. I didn’t think it was fair to keep the information to myself, but at the same time, I also didn’t want to burden him with the intimate details. I had no idea how he might handle the information.

  “What do you remember about Adele’s … passing?” I asked him. We were sitting at the breakfast table in my kitchen and snacking on finger sandwiches while drinking mint juleps. When it came to Southern hospitality, I was still trying very hard, but not too sure how well I was doing. The mint julep tasted a little too heavy on the mint …

  For this meeting with Peter, I requested that Ryan and Lovie not be in attendance. I imagined Peter would probably prefer to hear the difficult information alone, without a crowd. I know I would have. I’d even opted to shut Drake out of the conversation in deference to Peter.

  “I’m not entirely sure if it’s due to the passing of so many years that my memory seems clouded, or perhaps it’s the body’s way of releasing painful memories; however, I must admit I cannot recall very much.” He shook his head with a heartfelt sigh before taking another bite from his half-eaten sandwich. I could tell by the vacant expression in his eyes that he wasn’t tasting it.

  “Do you remember anything?” I asked with another sip of my mint julep. I made a mental note to check the recipe again. Something just tasted off … Although Peter seemed to like it, so what did I know?

  “There are several particulars that come to mind,” he started before looking off into the distance at something beyond my head. He was quiet for another few seconds, and when he finally spoke again, his low voice sounded oddly loud in the otherwise quiet room. “I remember wakin’ up in my bed an’ not feelin’ like myself,” he started. However, the words died on his tongue. He took another sip of his julep and continued. “It might seem strange to you, as it certainly does to me, but the memory that stands out the most is the intensity of the headache I felt upon wakin’. Thinkin’ back on it, I can almost feel the pain again, as if it never left me. It felt like my head got broken into pieces.”

  I wasn’t sure if that was par for the course when being put under the spell of voodoo magic, but I guessed it could have been. “When you woke up, were you alone?” I asked.

  He nodded at first, but seemed to think better of it and then shook his head. “I thought I was alone. Adele wasn’t in the bed beside me, but when I woke up …” He paused again and closed his eyes as if he were trying to extract the memories from the corners of his mind. “I stood up, and that was when I saw her,” he said. Opening his eyes, he focused on me. It was all I could do to hold his gaze because the pain I saw in his eyes was almost palpable. “She was in the fetal position, crumpled up in the corner of the room.”

  “Do you remember what was she wearing?”

  “I will never forget it,” he answered with a wistful sigh. “It was the same white dress she always wore to Sunday morning breakfast,” he finished, and a sweet, melancholic smile curved his lips. I nodded as I took a deep breath and remembered looking down at myself while I was in the visionary state. I could suddenly recall the eyelet fringe on the white dress I was wearing over myriad petticoats. It felt as if I still had it on. So I was inside Adele’s body in the vision! It was just as I’d suspected.

  I shook the memory off and focused on collecting all of the facts again. Finally, it seemed they were starting to give me a more complete picture of the situation. “Is that all you can remember? Waking up and finding Adele crumpled in the corner? And was she already deceased at that point?”

  “Yes, she was,” he answered in an audibly constricted tone. “And, yes, that’s all I can remember about the moment I woke up and found her.”

  “Was there anyone else in the house with you?”

  He shook his head. “That was my first thought too. As soon as I realized Adele was no longer with me, I immediately checked every room in the house. I was intent on finding the man who hurt my wife.”

  “And did you ever call the police?” I asked.

  He nodded immediately. “Yes, of course! After I checked the house, I called the police. Perhaps it was not the right order of events, but my mind at the time was a jumbled mess of thoughts. I doubt I could have tied my own shoes if you’d asked me.”

  “I understand,” I replied with a heartfelt sigh. “And what happened then?”

  He dropped his attention to the edges of the floor where the travertine stone met the wall. “The police were there instantly. They questioned me over and over again, trying to piece together my story, I suppose.” He glanced up at me with a sad smile. “It certainly doesn’t sound like a particularly convincing one, does it?” He sighed and shook his head, as if answering his own question. “I just couldn’t remember anything leading up to that point. I can’t now, and I couldn’t then. I couldn’t even recall getting into my bed. Or if Adele was with me the night before. The police asked if I were a drinkin’ man, and even though I do enjoy a libation or two in the evening, alcohol certainly couldn’t account for my clouded mind. I couldn’t remember a single thing.”

  “So what did the police think happened?”

  He placed the remainder of his sandwich back on the plate and cleared his throat before facing me. “Well, they thought I was the one who did it, of course,” he nodded as if he couldn’t blame them. “From the looks of it and all the circumstantial evidence, it made sense. I was the only one in the house and there was no forcible entry or exit.”

  He had no idea how much it made sense, but I was starting to loathe my role as the one to tell him. Not when there was so much anguish in his eyes already.

  “No one, includin’ myself, could understand how I couldn’t remember anything,” he continued. “It didn’t sound like I was tellin’ the truth.”

  “The police didn’t believe you?”

  He frowned and started stirring the ice cubes around in the glass. “I believe they did at first, because they could see
how frazzled I was. They said perhaps I’d gotten hit over the head and the blow affected my memory.”

  “That sounds plausible,” I offered.

  But he shook his head. “I went in for testin’ and there were no signs of trauma to my head, or my body. So that explanation was promptly eliminated.”

  “What happened next?”

  He shook his head and suddenly looked baffled. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” I asked, unable to mask my surprise.

  “It shocked me too,” he answered with a nod. “One minute, they were hot on the path of accusin’ me o’ the crime, an’ the next, they dropped it, just like that,” he said as he snapped his fingers together.

  “They dropped the case against you?” I asked incredulously. I had to wonder if Guarda might have had something to do with that outcome. I wasn’t sure why she would have still needed Peter at that point, but maybe she had. Or maybe it was closer to the truth to say she had some sort of attachment to him? I guessed on that point, I would never know the truth.

  “Yes,” he answered while nodding emphatically. “It surprised the hell out of me, that’s for sure. I thought I would spend the rest of my life in prison, but not so. They just dropped the case and never opened it up again. I presumed their leads went cold? I never knew what the reason was,” he finished. Taking the last sip of his mint julep, he faced me with a new glimmer of interest in his eyes. “But, Ms. Clark, why am I the one answerin’ all these questions? I thought you were gonna answer my questions an’ fill in all the holes in the story?”

  “Well, it’s all part of the process, Peter,” I explained. “And, call me Peyton, please,” I reminded him before starting to explain my response. “The visions I experience are just that, visions. They don’t explain the situation, or offer any of the particulars as to what really went on. They are more like a brief glimpse into history, a snapshot, if you will. Sometimes, they can be very confusing and fail to get us any closer to the truth.”

  “I see,” he started, looking somewhat disappointed. “Then you weren’t able to see anything that could shed light on what really happened?”

  I shook my head, still unsure of how much I should tell him. I couldn’t tell him the whole truth, I’d already decided that much. “I wouldn’t say that, but if you’d be so kind as to continue answering my questions, it might help me make sense of what I did see.”

  “I understand,” he responded with an eager nod. “What more would you like to know?”

  “How do you know Guarda?” I asked with some trepidation. I was very nervous about asking that question, but it needed to be asked, all the same.

  “Guarda?” he said her name with a mixture of disdain and confusion. “What does that woman have to do with any of this?”

  “Maybe more than you know,” I answered, shrugging. “I remember how uncomfortable you seemed when you first mentioned her.”

  “Uncomfortable is a word that tends to accompany any encounter with Guarda.”

  “I would agree,” I replied as I studied him. I wondered if he would tell me the truth about his association with Guarda; or, at the very least, what he considered the truth.

  “Guarda was a former tenant on one of my properties,” Peter announced flatly, his jaw tightening as his eyes narrowed.

  “The property on Davis Landing Road?” I asked. “In Slidell?” He nodded and I continued. “The one in which you transferred the title over to her?”

  He chuckled as he glanced at me. “You certainly did your homework, didn’t you, Ms. Peyton?” I figured Ms. Peyton was better than Ms. Clark so I didn’t correct him.

  “I guess you could say that,” I answered, taking a deep breath. I hoped he could shed some light on the topic. “Why did you give her that property, Peter?”

  He was quiet for a few seconds, and his gaze settled on the floor again. “I don’t know,” he said at last in a low tone of voice. Lifting his hollow gaze to mine, I could see the confusion in his eyes. “I have no idea why I gave it to her.”

  “Did Adele know that you granted Guarda title to the property?”

  “Yes,” Peter answered with a brief nod. “I remember we had an argument about it. She kept asking me the same question you did—why would I give Guarda the property? I couldn’t answer her either, because I didn’t know. It became a big blank spot in my head for where that information should have been. Of course, Adele didn’t believe me. She thought I was just covering up something. She was convinced I was having an affair with Guarda.”

  “Were you?” I asked immediately before thinking better of it. Clearing my throat, I instantly thought of a kinder way to ask the question without sounding so nosy. “May I ask, what was the nature of your relationship with Guarda?”

  He laughed in a humorless way and shook his head again, as if he didn’t even know how to put the answer into words. “I don’t know, Ms. Peyton,” he replied as he looked up at me again. “I’m sure you’re sick an’ tired o’ hearin’ me say that, but it’s the unfortunate truth. I remember showin’ Guarda the property I was rentin’ on Davis Landing Road. And that was the last clear memory I have where Guarda is concerned. After that, everything gets foggy. There might be snippets of memories that occasionally flash by me, but I can’t differentiate between them and my dreams. In many ways, my dreams are more vivid than any of my memories.”

  “Your dreams?” I asked as I eyed him with keener interest.

  He nodded. “I’ve had the strangest dreams; some that I still remember as if I’d had ’em only yesterday.”

  “Dreams of what?”

  “Nightmares! O’ havin’ relations with that horrible woman,” he nearly spat the words out and traces of anger clouded his expression. “Dreams o’ her practicin’ her voodoo, lyin’ naked beneath me, an’ visions o’ me bein’ inside o’ her,” he said absentmindedly. When he returned his attention to me, his eyes grew wider and his cheeks were flushed. “I apologize fer bein’ so uncouth, Ms. Clark,” he started.

  “Peyton,” I corrected him.

  “Ms. Peyton.”

  “And it’s okay. I don’t embarrass easily, and this is information that needs to come out,” I added, hoping my words might make him feel a little more comfortable.

  He nodded as he inhaled and focused on the floor again for a few more seconds. “I know this sounds absurd, but I believe that woman did something to me.”

  “Did something to you?” I repeated.

  “Yes, I don’t know if she drugged me, or used voodoo magic, but she scrambled my head somehow. She made me grant her that property. I never would have given it to her on my own! Not in a million years! I was a strict businessman, an’ never believed in charity. An’ yet, apparently, I gave that property to Guarda, jist as pretty as you please.” He cleared his throat. “An’ you bet Adele had an earful to say about that! That little woman yelled at me from daybreak to dusk, insistin’ there was something goin’ on between Guarda and me.”

  “Do you think you might have been having an affair with Guarda, even without your consent?”

  He shrugged and breathed in deeply. “Perhaps I was. I can’t say for sure because I have no recollection. All the memories are clouded an’ fleeting, I can’t sort one out from the next. I remember my first meetin’ with Guarda, when I thought she was remarkably beautiful, but that’s all I can tell you on that subject.”

  “How many days passed between the argument you had with Adele about the property transaction and Adele’s murder?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Not that much time went by. Not at all. Perhaps a few days? A week at the very most.”

  I nodded and chewed on my bottom lip. I realized the time had come for me to provide Peter with the answers he so desperately needed to know.

  EIGHT

  One Week Later

  It was raining, which seemed pretty fitting.

  As I stood in Greenwood Cemetery, centrally located at City Park Avenue and Canal Boulevard, I took some comfort in the sound of the
plump raindrops as they landed on my umbrella. I was the only one here. The funeral service for Peter MacGregor occurred much earlier in the day. Now the sun was low in the sky, and in another thirty minutes or so, it would disappear altogether.

  The old man’s death was not your fault, ma minette, Drake said, his tone of voice in my head very somber.

  I know, I responded, but the truth of his words did nothing to make me feel any better.

  Peter’s death was caused by a faulty heart that finally ceased. At least, that was according to the coroner’s report. I didn’t believe it, even though I pretended I did. I knew Peter’s heart broke in two because he couldn’t face the truth about the reason for Adele’s demise.

  Not that I’d told him the whole truth …

  I hadn’t been able to bring myself to tell him everything. Instead, I’d said I believed Guarda had something to do with Adele’s murder. I explained that my visions had been cloudy so I couldn’t say for sure how much of a role she played. But as soon as I’d mentioned Guarda, Peter managed to solve the remainder of the puzzle for himself. I’d seen as much in the knowing expression on his face and the way he’d nodded as if he’d understood I didn’t have it within me to tell him the full truth.

  Realizing the power Guarda possessed over him, it wasn’t much of a stretch for Peter to figure out she could have used her power to dispose of anyone standing between her and the property in Slidell; even Peter, himself.

  I couldn’t stop replaying the last words Peter said to me before he left my house and I never saw him again. Your heart is much too kind for this world, Ms. Peyton.

  Mon chaton, Drake started, no doubt suffering from the gravity of my guilt and gloominess. You must not allow yourself to believe for one minute that you caused MacGregror’s death. You did not tell him anything! He figured it all out for himself!

  Okay, but was that really any better than me just coming right out and telling him what happened? Either way, I’m the reason he learned the truth about Adele! The truth he obviously wasn’t prepared to handle!