by Jana DeLeon
“And she took you in?”
“Yes. Aunt Margaret was a nurse. She never married and, to hear the talk, never even dated much. All I know is she took me in. Gave me a home, food, clothes…took care of me.”
Beau nodded. “And your mother? What did your aunt have to say about her?”
Sabine frowned. “Not much. She didn’t really know my mother or her parents that well. Apparently they were from the dirt-poor branch of the family that lived deep in the bayou—in huts, really. All Aunt Meg knew was that my mother’s parents had died young, probably when she was a teenager, and she didn’t know of any other children at all.”
“Was there any other family?”
“Not that Aunt Meg was aware of.” Sabine frowned, recalling her recent conversation in Dr. Breaux’s office.
“What’s wrong?”
“Well, my whole life Aunt Meg always said she had no other living relatives, but I just found out this week that was a lie.”
Beau leaned forward and stared at her. “Why would she lie?”
Sabine shrugged. “Since my aunt passed away years ago, I can only guess it’s because the relative she failed to mention was her nephew, a loser of monumental proportions. Harold is in jail right now for an assortment of charges, attempted murder being two of them, and who knows what else the cops will find now that they’re looking.”
“Then it’s just as well you weren’t obligated to exchange Christmas cards or anything.”
Sabine smiled.
“I need to tell you up front that I journal all my cases from start to finish, but I promise any documentation I acquire or create will always remain confidential. Writing things down helps me reach logical conclusions, and I tend to remember things more easily if I write them longhand.”
“Do most detectives work like that?” Sabine asked.
“I can’t speak for other detectives, really. I started keeping journals when I was a kid. The habit just stuck, I guess.” He looked down at the table and fiddled with a packet of sugar.
Sabine, sensing he was somewhat embarrassed, continued. “Well, that’s basically it in a nutshell.” She reached for the gold heart-shaped locket that was always around her neck. “This locket belonged to my mother. That information in that folder and this piece of jewelry are all I really know about them.”
Beau looked back up at her. “And a drawing from beyond.”
Sabine nodded. “Raissa’s very talented. I’m fortunate to know her.”
Beau narrowed his eyes at her. “Do you really buy into all that psychic stuff?”
Sabine laughed. “She didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“Raissa’s my mentor. I own the psychic shop across the street.”
Beau hopped into his vehicle and stared at Sabine as she unlocked the front door of her shop. Read ’em and Reap. Good God Almighty! He’d stepped into the middle of a nut parade. And the worst part was, against his own better judgment, he’d picked up a banner and agreed to march. No doubt about it—he was going to make a colossal fool of himself over a beautiful woman who walked like a ballet dancer. Maybe he needed to reconsider his vow of bachelorhood and settle down with a nice accountant or something. Women like Sabine LeVeche could only get him into trouble.
Sabine turned before entering the shop and gave him a wave and a smile. Beau waved back and started his truck, hoping the drive back to the city would clear his head and help him make sense of the mess he’d just gotten himself into. Not one psychic but two. And he had actually agreed to embark on a search for dead people with his biggest lead supposedly coming from the dead people themselves. For a man who was more than a skeptic, it was an irony he wasn’t quite ready to fathom.
As he drove out of town and onto the highway to New Orleans, he pulled Raissa’s drawing out of the envelope and took another look. He knew he’d seen that face somewhere before, but not exactly that face and not in person. For the life of him, that’s all he could remember. Given the sheer number of photos he’d viewed when he was an FBI agent, God only knew when he’d seen a picture that resembled the man in the drawing. Hell, there was nothing to say he’d even seen it while working at the FBI. Raissa had claimed she thought the man looked familiar, too, so for all he knew it could have been a likeness in a local newspaper.
But for some reason, that didn’t feel right.
He took another glance at the drawing and frowned. Somewhere buried in the depths of his mind was the answer. He slipped the drawing back into the folder and concentrated on the road ahead of him. As soon as he got back to his apartment, he would pull out his journals from his FBI years. Maybe something in them would spark his memory. Beyond the basics of background searching, the drawing was his best lead for now.
Unless, of course, Raissa or Sabine could call up more spirits to give them an address.
Sabine opened the tiny window in the corner of the attic of her store’s building and stuck her head out, hoping for a breeze. She coughed once, wheezed a couple more times, then pulled her head back inside and stared at Maryse, who was already tugging on boxes tucked in the far corners of the room.
“I can’t believe you haven’t looked at any of this stuff since last time,” Maryse said.
“Please, you act like my aunt stored the secrets of the world in those boxes. We’ve been through this before and didn’t find a thing.”
“We were eighteen. What might be important now is something we might not have noticed or understood then.”
Sabine sneezed and tugged another box from its hiding spot. “I guess so. But if all I end up with is a cold, you’re making me soup every day.”
Maryse waved a hand in dismissal. “You live across the street from every restaurant in town and they all deliver. Besides, I burned the toast this morning. Luc won’t even let me use the microwave.”
Sabine laughed. “Smart man.” Her scientific-minded friend gave a whole new meaning to the term “nondomestic.”
“I don’t have to take this abuse from both of you. And if I find an anti-aging formula in here or a Farmer’s Almanac for 2015, or something equally as cool, I’m not letting you in on it.”
“Who the hell reads the Farmer’s Almanac?” Helena’s voice boomed from the doorway.
“Farmers,” Sabine shot back. “What do you want, Helena?”
“I saw the ‘Closed’ sign for the shop and thought I’d come see what you were up to.”
“We’re cleaning out the attic,” Sabine said.
“Hmmmpf,” Helena grunted. “Looks like this shit’s been here for a hundred years. You’re not much of a housekeeper, are you, Sabine?”
Sabine stared at the empty doorway. “I guess your attic was spotless?”
“Of course. I paid people to clean it twice a year.”
“Never mind.” Sabine rolled her eyes, and Maryse grinned. Sabine turned around and opened a box of ancient clothes. She pulled out the first couple of garments, then waved one in the air. “Hey, Maryse, you think one of the playhouses in New Orleans would be interested in these?”
Maryse looked up from an old steamer trunk that she was struggling to pull into the middle of the room. “Cool! I think they’d be thrilled.”
“Some of this material is fantastic, and so well-preserved. I might keep a couple myself and make something of them.”
Maryse nodded. “If anyone can make it wearable, you can. That pink would look good on you.” She pointed to a pretty calico dress.
Sabine held up the dress and studied the color. “I don’t know. This is the same color as that T-shirt I wore to that breast cancer walk in New Orleans last month. A picture of me, Mildred, and a couple others ended up in the newspaper and the shirt made me look all washed out.”
“None of you look good in the newspaper,” Helena said. “Look at that shot of Maryse the local paper had. Maryse looked like the running year of bad weather.”
“Well,” Maryse said, “the next time a ghost wakes you up in the dead of nig
ht because a man is crawling through your bedroom window to kill you, and you have to run down the street in your pajamas and bare feet, and you just miss dying by a half a second, then you can tell me how bad I look.”
“She’s got a point.” Sabine glanced over at the doorway, an idea forming in her mind. “Helena, are you planning on sticking around for a while?”
“Yeah, although the beauty shop is a hell of a lot more interesting than the two of you. Now, if Maryse would let me in her house when Luc was there…that would probably be something to see.”
“Not on your life,” Maryse said and glanced over at Sabine, who was holding up a large lime green dress with ruffles from top to bottom. “What’s with the gigantic ruffle thing?”
Sabine grinned. “I was thinking that Helena ought to wear it. Then I could see her. Or her clothes anyway.”
“Oh no,” Helena said. “I’ll wear a hat or something or a wristband, or even one of those cone bras like Madonna wore in that video, but I’m not wearing that monstrosity. No one over the age of four should ever wear ruffles, especially across their butt. And green? Jesus, I’d look like moving shrubbery.”
“I hate to admit it,” Maryse said and laughed, “but she’s right.”
“Probably so,” Sabine agreed, “but I’d still like to see it.”
“No way,” Helena said.
“You know,” Sabine said, “I could still work in that exorcism Maryse and I discussed before. You wouldn’t want me to sic the power of God on you, would you, Helena?” Sabine knew an exorcism wouldn’t do a thing to the ghost, but Helena still wasn’t sure.
“Fine,” Helena huffed. “Throw that damned thing toward the door.”
Sabine tossed the ruffled nightmare toward the doorway and grinned at Maryse as Helena grunted and complained while tugging.
“Are you happy now?” Helena asked.
Sabine took one look at the doorway, now totally eclipsed in a sea of jiggling green, and howled in laughter.
Maryse shook her head. “That is just wrong.”
Sabine wiped at her eyes, tears of laughter blurring her vision. “You ought to see it without Helena in it. Oh my God, that is just the funniest thing I have seen in forever.”
“That’s it,” Helena said. “I’m taking this thing off.”
And that’s when the sound of glass breaking downstairs made them all freeze.
Chapter Three
Sabine froze, straining to hear any further noise from downstairs. She eased up beside Maryse, who was standing stock-still, her eyes as wide as an owl’s.
“What the hell,” Maryse whispered. “I thought the shop was locked.”
“It is,” Sabine said. “Do you have your cell phone? Mine’s downstairs.”
Maryse shook her head, her eyes wide. “I forgot it at home. Shit.”
“Oh hell,” Helena said. “I’ll go check it out. Not like anything can happen to me.” And with that, the green blob floated out the door and down the narrow attic staircase. Sabine peered after her, still not taking a breath.
There was dead silence for several seconds, but it felt like an eternity. Great. Just when Helena flapping her jaws would have been appreciated, she had to go silent. Sabine couldn’t take just standing there for another moment. She looked over at Maryse, who nodded. As quietly as possible, they began to creep down the stairs but didn’t make it two steps before the ancient staircase creaked, the noise seemingly amplified in the dead silence of the building.
They stopped short, but it was too late. A crash came from the storage room at the back of the shop and then a terrifying scream. Sabine rushed down the remainder of the stairs and rounded the corner in her upstairs apartment, grabbing a butcher knife from the kitchen counter as she took the next set of stairs down into the shop. She skidded to a stop at the back door, and Maryse stumbled into her from behind, sending them both sprawling.
Sabine hit the wood floor hands and knees first and felt a piercing pain in her palms. She jumped back up, looked at her hands, and saw tiny shards of glass embedded in her skin. Someone had broken the window in the door. Helena was nowhere in sight. Neither was the screaming intruder.
“It’s ten o’clock in the morning,” Maryse said, staring at the door. “It’s broad daylight, Sabine. I mean, I know this is the back of the building, but what kind of person would risk trying to break in right now?”
“I was just wondering the same thing.” Sabine peered out the broken window and looked up and down the alley. “And where in the world is Helena?”
Maryse’s eyes widened. “At this point, God only knows.” Maryse reached over to open the door, but it didn’t budge. “The landlord still hasn’t fixed this?”
“No. And I guess it’s a good thing. That’s why they couldn’t get inside.” Sabine looked over at Maryse, who stared at the door, a worried look on her face. “What’s that look?”
Maryse sighed. “I was just wondering how much of this has to do with you hearing Helena, like she’s some bad-luck curse or something.”
“She can’t control the universe, Maryse. I know her appearance or rising or whatever it was brought you nothing but trouble, but that’s no reason to think she’s responsible for this.”
Maryse didn’t look convinced. “Maybe not, but in all the time you’ve lived here you’ve never had a problem.”
Sabine nodded. “Yeah. I guess I need to call the police, right?”
“It won’t do any good, given the caliber of our law enforcement, but you should still get something on record.” Maryse glanced around the room at the broken glass. “I guess I can’t clean up the glass until after the police taken a look, but I’ll move those boxes of inventory over in case it starts to rain. Once the cops are done, we can figure out something to do about the window until your useless landlord bothers to fix it.”
Maryse had just shifted the first box away from the door when a huge shaking mass of green fabric burst through the wall. Sabine jumped back in surprise, then realized what she was seeing. “Helena, you scared the crap out of me!”
“Sorry.” The ruffled horror slumped onto a box against the wall, and the cardboard sagged under her weight. “Can’t breathe.”
Sabine stared at the wheezing pile of green. “You’re dead, Helena. Why do you need to breathe?”
“You know,” Helena said between pants, “I’m well aware of that without you and Maryse constantly reminding me. And don’t ask me why I need to breathe. You’re the one who’s into all this paranormal crap. You tell me.”
Sabine sighed. “Did you see anything?”
“Of course I saw something. You think I went running down the alley in this dress for nothing?” Helena coughed, then wheezed out more air, sounding like a leaky air compressor. “There was someone out back. They broke the window in the door.”
“Who was it?”
“I don’t know,” Helena said. “Whoever it was wore a turtleneck, a ball cap pulled down real low, and black sunglasses.”
“A turtleneck?” Maryse asked. “In Mudbug in the summer?”
“I’m just telling you what I saw,” Helena said. “He was a little taller than you, Sabine, and moved fast. I couldn’t even come close to catching him.”
Which meant absolutely nothing, as two-year-olds and eighty-year-old invalids were also known to move faster than Helena. “Was that you who screamed?” Sabine asked.
“No. It was him, but I have no idea why. I ran downstairs and when I saw the arm reaching in through the broken window, I hauled ass through the wall to get a better look. Then he screamed and took off running. Must have cut his hand or something.”
Sabine looked over at Maryse, her lips already quivering. One look at her friend, collapsed against a storeroom shelf, and Sabine lost it. Laughter resounded in the storeroom and Sabine clutched her side. “Don’t you see…oh my God…now I can’t breathe…the dress, Helena…you ran through the wall wearing the dress.”
“It’s like one of those B horror movies,”
Maryse said. “Revenge of the Bridesmaid’s Dress.”
There was dead silence for a couple of seconds, and then Helena started to laugh. “I didn’t even think about it. I’d completely forgotten about the dress, even though the damned thing was impossible to run in. What a sight that must have been.”
“I would have definitely screamed,” Maryse said.
“Me too,” Sabine agreed. “So how far did you chase the man? Did you see a car or anything that I could tell the police?”
“He ran to the far end of the street and into the park. When I got to the end of the trail, he was already gone. I saw a white pickup truck hauling ass out of the park. That must have been him. But he was too far away for me to see a plate or anything.”
“Well, then I guess I better call the cops and tell them I chased an intruder into the park.”
“Sure,” Maryse said, “and the first thing you can explain is just how you chased an intruder through a door that’s been wedged in place since the Civil War.”
“Crap,” Sabine said.
Maryse nodded. “Been there, done that crap.”
“Hey,” Helena interrupted, “while you two dream up some bullshit story for the cops, why don’t one of you help me out of this damned dress? I think it’s stuck.”
Sabine reached over with one hand, grabbed the dress, and pulled, but the dress didn’t budge.
“I swear when this is off of me,” Helena griped, “I am going back to my MTV eras of fashion.”
Sabine took a firm hold on the dress, right at the zipper, and yanked as hard as she could, ripping the dress in two. “As long as your fashion quest doesn’t include this dress, I think we’ll be okay. I don’t think I ever want to see this again.” She tossed the dress in a box of rags next to the back door, and the light in the room dimmed. She took another look at the broken window. “Oh, no. Here comes the rain, and we left the window open upstairs.”
