Nuit Aux Trois

by Melinda Barron

  "The Forshees usually close it down for two weeks around Halloween, and then everything is fine until next year. This year, they want us to try and make contact with Alison."

  "They want you to send her toward the light?"

  Dev smiled. “No. She's too good for business. They want us to get some sort of concrete evidence that she exists; photos, readings—basically anything that will verify the haunting. We're having a séance on Halloween night."

  Quinn nodded and took a slow sip of her coffee. “So, you want us to spend Halloween with a murdering ghost?"

  Fletch laughed. “She hasn't killed anyone since Amedee, and you can't say he didn't deserve it."

  "Good point."

  "It's gonna be fun,” Fletch said. “You know you wanna go."

  "I don't know, guys. I mean, I understand your fascination with the paranormal, but I don't share it. You know that."

  They scooted closer to her and Quinn felt her clit twitch in pleasure.

  "Look at it this way, Boo,” Fletch said, gently rubbing her arm. “It's a few days of vacation, a few days away from the city. A few days of clean air and free time to relax or do some reading."

  Do some fucking, maybe?

  Her thoughts grew increasingly desperate as Fletch continued to stroke her arm.

  Stop that, stop that! Don't touch me like that. I might jump you both.

  "Plus, you can take your laptop and send out resumes,” Dev said, his finger tracing her other arm. “You need this time. You know you do. Just say yes and we'll be on our way."

  She took a bite of her sausage, chewing thoughtfully. A picture of her boss Mark's face as he told her she'd never make it as an anchor popped into her brain. Maybe Dev and Fletch were right. If she left for a while, they'd see how much she did around there. How popular she was with the viewers. The idea just might work.

  She nodded, coming to a decision. “Fine, I'll do it. But, one floating candlestick and I'm out of there. I mean it!"

  They laughed and Dev poured more coffee into the cups. They clinked them together and both took a sip.

  Quinn whipped her head back and forth between them. “I mean it. Tell me you understand when I say I mean it."

  The men stood and picked up the dishes and trays, heading back toward the door.

  "Hey, answer me!” At the doorway, they both blew her a kiss and stepped outside.

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  Chapter Two

  Rachel Forshee pointed toward a large oak tree fifty feet from the back porch of the plantation house. “Last night, Alison made a move toward the main house. But, she turned back at that tree right there."

  Quinn plastered a fake smile on her face. “Did you see her?” She turned toward Dev and Fletch, and her face twisted into a grimace.

  "No. But several of the guests reported a white figure dancing around the trees right at dusk."

  "Really? And they didn't consider the possibility it could be Spanish moss dancing in the wind?"

  Dev stepped forward and put his hand on Quinn's arm, gently pushing her backwards.

  "Did anyone happen to take a photo? Have a digital camera, or a cell phone? Although, black and white film works the best for capturing ghostly images."

  Rachel's smile dropped. “No. No photos. But I'm sure you can take care of that.” Her smile reappeared and she bounded off the stairs.

  "Come on. I'll show you Alison's house. It's been closed since October first and we think that's why she's venturing toward the main house. She's lonely."

  Quinn rolled her eyes and Fletch shook his finger at her and mouthed, “Behave, chér."

  She nodded, but it would be a tough thing to do. She had no interest in the paranormal, and they knew it. Still, talking about ghosts was a great way to take her mind off the two hours she'd spent sandwiched between the two of them in Dev's pickup as they drove from New Orleans to Alison's.

  Each brush of a thigh, each knowing smile, had almost driven her nuts. She'd wanted to beg them to pull over so they could have a quickie in the bed of the truck. Sometimes, from the looks they gave her, it was almost as if they knew what she was thinking.

  She knew her nipples had been hard, and still were. Worse yet, she knew her panties were wet. It was a terrible thing to know she was so attracted to two men who felt nothing more for her than deep friendship.

  Alison's House was about 1,500 feet from the main house, set back in a copse of trees. The two-story house stood out amid the greenery, gleaming with a coat of fresh, white paint. Four large columns supporting the upstairs porch, giving the home a majestic feel.

  Quinn sized it up as they drew closer. It was early in the afternoon and it didn't look too spooky. She said as much to Rachel.

  "Oh, it's a great house,” she said softly. “Very popular with our guests. It's just around the time of her death that Alison makes things unpleasant. Other times during the year she does things like tickle guests, or move furniture around. Cold spots. Nothing too spooky."

  "Does she provide turn-down service?” Quinn gave Rachel an innocent look, and the older woman laughed.

  "You don't believe in ghosts, do you?"

  "No. I'm a reporter, trained to look at the facts. I'm afraid tickling guests, moving furniture, and cold spots don't give me much to work with."

  Rachel's smile softened. “Then it's a good thing you're here in October. Because Alison does much more than that, as I've said."

  Quinn eyed Dev and Fletch, who stood on the porch, waiting for the ladies. They both had amused expressions on their faces. Dev's eyes twinkled as Quinn drew near.

  "She's a skeptic, Rachel. Do you think we can turn her?"

  "Oh, I think we can,” the woman replied. She opened the door and stepped aside as her guests walked inside.

  Quinn moved through the large door and stopped, her breath catching in her throat. She'd never been in a plantation house until today. The larger house was magnificent, but the smaller one was even more so. Stunning area rugs and runners protected gleaming hard wood floors, while silk-covered cushions adorned the antique wood furniture and provided guests with a comfortable place to rest. The drop leaf tables looked as if they'd just been polished, and sitting near the open floor to ceiling windows was a chair unlike anything Quinn had ever seen.

  She crossed to it and circled it, riveted by its beauty.

  "You and Alison are going to get along just fine,” Rachel said. “That's her favorite piece of furniture. We've tried to move it out, but it always ends up back in the same spot. The upholsterer had to come out here to finish his work because Alison wouldn't let us take it from the house."

  Quinn continued to circle. “What is it?"

  "It's called a confidante,” Rachel said. “Four seats in a circle, separated by arms that rise up and taper to meet in the center. It's a beautiful piece."

  "It's extraordinary,” Quinn said. “I've seen a double seated chair, where they sit side by side so they're facing each other, but I've never seen a piece like this before."

  "I'm glad you like it,” Rachel said. They stood for a few more minutes, and then Dev cleared his throat.

  "Perhaps you could show us our rooms?"

  Quinn vaguely heard the woman say she'd prepared two rooms upstairs, right next to each other with a shared bathroom down the hallway. She stayed in place until Fletch called out her name.

  "Com’ on, Boo, let's go see our home for the next few days."

  She nodded and moved toward him. When she stepped away from the chair a feeling of cold invaded her body. The Arctic chill was so sharp, so invasive, that she shivered and moved faster across the room.

  At the doorway, Fletch put his arm around her and kissed her forehead.

  "Something hauntin’ ya?"

  "No. I'm fine."

  "You sure? Looked to me like you were bewitched for a minute or two."

  She pushed away from him. “Stop trying to scare me."

  His laughter followed her as she headed for t
he stairs. She pushed her inexplicable attraction to the chair aside, along with the cold she'd just felt. It was no more than two weeks worth of talk making her react to a supposedly haunted house; nothing more at work than the power of suggestion.

  She turned her thoughts to Mark. He'd been horribly upset with her for taking two weeks of vacation but she'd refused to back down. She needed this time to think. She'd done quite a bit of it at home, while Dev and Fletch had worked. Now, in the country, she was going to put her thoughts together and come to a decision about what to do, while Dev and Fletch hunted for their ghost.

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  Chapter Three

  If she'd been impressed by the downstairs, she was more so by the upstairs. Long, grand hallways were decorated with drop-leaf tables and carpet runners in shades of deep, rich red. Portraits lined the walls and Quinn longed to stop and examine them, but knew there was no time now. She would have to come back later.

  "This is your room, Quinn,” Rachel said. “The windows and balcony face the gardens. I thought you might enjoy the view."

  She opened the door and Quinn's mouth dropped to the floor. The room looked as if it were fit for royalty. A large tester bed, covered in a deep green satin spread, occupied the middle of the floor. Matching, gauzy curtains hung from each bedpost. Numerous antiques filled the room, and the French doors opened onto a patio that ran the entire length of the top floor.

  "Wow. That sounds really lame, but wow."

  She turned toward Dev and Fletch, who stood in the doorway, smiling. She returned their smile, then walked toward the French doors.

  "This was Alison's room,” Rachel said softly. “It connects with the room next door, which belonged to Amedee. His room is larger, so I put the two of you in there, Dev. I hope that's satisfactory? If I need to open another, well, I thought, you know, that you two..."

  Rachel blushed and Dev smiled.

  "It's perfect,” Dev replied. “Absolutely perfect."

  The sound of his voice sent a shiver up Quinn's spine. Perfect because they belonged to the ghost? Or perfect because they were close to each other?

  She straightened her back. Don't go there, Quinn.

  "How do you know this was Alison's room? Did she leave a map, or lead someone here?"

  "She left diaries,” Rachel said. “I have them at the main house if you'd like to see them."

  "We'd love to see them,” Fletch said with a nod. “They may give us good information. Can we get ‘em today?"

  "Of course,” Rachel said. “Dinner is at seven. I'll have the diaries ready for you then. Oh, and Alison's portrait is right across the hall if you want to see it. We have Amedee's and Delphie's hanging up there as well. Delphie was Alison's sister and Amedee's widow."

  "We'd like to see a family tree, also,” Dev said. “For research purposes."

  "Of course,” Rachel replied. “Alison never had a child, despite the fact she and Amedee were married for three years. Delphie was pregnant at the time of Amedee's death, but the child also died. She had several children with her next husband, though."

  "Is there anyone left from the Badeaux family?” Dev leaned against the doorjamb.

  "No, not that I know of,” Rachel said. “The house has passed from hand to hand, as you know. No one has ever claimed to be a member of the family."

  Dev and Fletch nodded, then Rachel cleared her throat. “Let me show you your room, then I'll need to go up and see to dinner."

  Rachel stepped back through the door and Quinn turned toward the gardens.

  "You comin'?” Fletch asked.

  "No. I'll check it out later. I just want to get my bearings."

  "Then come next door later. We'll show you our equipment and discuss the plan of attack."

  Fletch left without getting an answer. Quinn swallowed a question about which “equipment” she would get to see. Then she turned, slowly taking in the paintings of horses and southern ladies in hoop dresses which decorated the walls. Moving on, she examined the mirrors and then turned toward the bed.

  No feeling of cold invaded her bones as she ran her hand down one wooden post. Probably, the feelings she'd experienced downstairs were produced from the anticipation of being in a “haunted house.” Surely if Alison were haunting the house, her spirit would be felt in her bedroom.

  She jumped up onto the high bed and bounced a few times. “Are you here, Alison? Come on out and greet me."

  Quinn's laugh broke the resulting silence.

  "Haunted indeed.” She leaned back on the bed and stretched. “Well, at least it's a few days of vacation."

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  Chapter Four

  "What exactly does this do?” Quinn held up a hand-held device that featured several buttons and toggle switches. At the top was a scale of numbers from zero to one hundred, in increments of five.

  "That's an EMF meter,” Dev said. “It measures electromagnetic fields, which some people believe a ghost can disturb when they try to manifest."

  "I see. And this?” She held up a thermometer. “You need this to tell you it's cold?"

  Fletch snatched it out of her hand. “You giving out negative energy, Boo."

  "Sorry. I just wonder if this really works.” She spread her hands out to indicate the numerous items spread on the table."

  "We'll see tonight, after it's dark,” Dev replied. “We got a few hours before dinner. We're going to explore. Want to go with us?"

  Quinn shook her head and yawned. “I'd rather take a nap and explore tomorrow. Or, maybe tonight Alison can take me for a tour."

  Dev put his hand behind her neck and lowered his lips to hers gently. “We'll turn you into a believer yet."

  She pulled back and looked into his eyes, which twinkled with delight. Then, she turned to Fletch, who kissed her forehead. The two men picked up several pieces of equipment she didn't recognize and left the room.

  Quinn ran her tongue over her lips, the imprint of Dev's lips making her tingle. She needed to talk to them about the kissing. It was fine for them; they had each other to relieve tension. But each time they'd kissed her lately the tension had become stronger and stronger. And frankly, Quinn wasn't sure she could take much more without ripping off their clothes and having her way with them.

  She left their room and paused in the hallway to examine the portrait of Alison and Amedee. Alison was petite and blond, her blue eye sparking with mischief. Amedee looked strong and handsome, his hand resting on Alison's shoulder, his dark eyes almost seductive. Delphie looked much like her sister, except she didn't look as soft and sweet. Her hair was also more strawberry blond than her sister's sunny blonde.

  "You don't look unhappy, Alison, and he looks pretty sexy,” Quinn said. “What forced you into another man's arms?"

  She stared at the portrait as if she expected it to answer her. Then she let out a huff of disgust.

  "I'm losing it.” She went to her room, slipped off her shoes, climbed into the bed, and burrowed beneath the satiny covers. Her eyes closed immediately and then flew back open.

  "Um, Alison. If we're going to play tonight I need some rest. Why don't you take a nap yourself?” Then she laughed, and fell asleep.

  * * * *

  "Oh, oh, Amedee, my love. Yes. There. Oh."

  Quinn sat up in bed. Light still drifted through the French doors, so she knew she hadn't slept long. The soft moans of a woman in the throes of passion filled the room.

  "Yes. Amedee. Faster, my love. Oh..."

  Quinn reached behind her and pulled a pillow to her chest. “Fletch? Dev?"

  A man's voice joined the woman's, his moans and grunts deep and pleasurable.

  "So wet for me, Alison. So very wet and open."

  Quinn squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. Alison and Amedee? I thought she hated him.

  "Amedee. I'm going to spend. I'm going to, ah..."

  "Dev? Fletch? Is this a joke?"

  The moans increased, then suddenly stopped.
The man chuckled, and the woman giggled.

  "You're late,” he said, his voice deep with desire. “We started without you. But we have all night to play. Undress and join us, my love."

  "Join us? Dev! This is not funny.” Quinn jumped from the bed and headed for the hallway. She yanked the door open and stepped outside into the empty space.

  "Son of a ... Dev!” She stepped back into the room and stopped short. The room was cold. Freezing cold. And a woman stood in the center, staring at the bed. Quinn stopped dead in her tracks and stared. This woman wasn't Alison. The painting of Alison had shown a petite blond woman. This woman was petite, true, but her hair was flaming red. And she was angry. It poured off her floating form in waves.

  "Alison?” The form turned toward her and Quinn backed toward the doorway.

  She couldn't make out a face, but the second the apparition turned toward where Quinn stood, opened its mouth, and screamed. Quinn scrambled out the door and ran straight into Fletch's chest.

  "Boo. What's—"

  "In there.” She pointed toward the door but Dev was already inside. Fletch gently set her aside and followed him in.

  "There's nothing in here, Quinn,” Dev said. “What made you scream?"

  "I didn't. That, that ... thing did."

  Fletch turned in a circle, ending up in the same spot with his eyes trained on Quinn. “Boo, there's no thing."

  "There was! I heard two people making love, and then another person came in and then a woman appeared and screamed. It was a woman. She screamed."

  "Calm down, calm down.” Dev took Quinn's face in his head and tilted her face toward his. “It's okay."

  "No. She stood right here.” Quinn pulled away and stormed to the center of the room. She planted her feet where the floating form had stood.

  "Boo, we get no reading."

  "I don't care, Fletch. I know what I saw."

  Dev stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back into his chest. “We have about an hour before dinner. Let's go sit in the other bedroom and talk about what you saw."