Mischief in Mudbug

by Jana DeLeon

  Sabine just nodded, trying not to look at Helena, but dying to know what the ghost had found out.

  “I don’t blame you,” Beau said. “Just let us know when everything’s ready. We’re not going anywhere.”

  Catherine tried to smile at his attempt at a joke, but it came out more like a grimace. Whatever was bothering her seemed to intensify right along with the storm. She nodded and left the room.

  Sabine watched as the light of the lantern faded away, then turned on her flashlight and faced Beau. “I know this wasn’t in the plans and I’ll admit this house and the people who live here give me the creeps, but this might also be the opportunity to get to the bottom of this.”

  Beau stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “We are trapped in this mansion out of a horror novel and you think this is some sort of opportunity? An opportunity for what—a shallow grave?”

  “An opportunity to catch the killer in the act.”

  “You’re not exactly convincing me of anything here, Sabine.”

  “If I’m in a room alone, then the killer might take a shot at me.”

  Beau shook his head. “Which is exactly my problem with all of this. No way. I’m not letting you stay by yourself.”

  “But I have a plan—”

  “Damn it, Sabine! You want me to sit in my room, and who knows how far away that is, and wait for someone to attack you? And what? Hope you can fight them off or yell loud enough for me to hear you and get there in time? That’s a bullshit plan and you know it. And if you want to throw in the insanity angle then our number one suspect is Frances and her room is on the same hall.”

  “It’s not like I’m unprotected, Beau—you’ve seen me shoot. I’ll be fine. If they’d slipped anything into my food, I’d be laid out on the floor already, and I won’t drink the hot chocolate. That way I can stay conscious.”

  “Really? And if the killer gets creative and pumps gas through a vent in your room—what then? You going to tell me you can shoot people in your sleep? Because if so, you should have warned me last night and I would have worn a bulletproof vest to bed.”

  “Whoohoo!” Helena hooted and danced a jig. “Sabine got lucky.” Helena looked Beau up and down. “Really lucky. Damn.”

  Sabine felt her checks burning red and was glad the flashlight didn’t give away her mortal embarrassment. Bad enough her roll with the sexy PI had been announced to Helena, but even worse, she’d had a vivid recall of just how good Beau Villeneuve looked in bed. She bit her lower lip, struggling with a way to let Beau in on her secret weapon, but there simply wasn’t any way to lessen the blow. “You trust me, right?”

  “This has nothing to do with me trusting you. It’s about not trusting them.”

  “What if I told you I could ensure that even if something happened to me, you could be notified?”

  Beau shook his head. “Our cell phones don’t get a signal out this far. I’ve already checked. And even if they did normally, they wouldn’t in this storm. Maybe if the rooms are right next to each other, but I seriously doubt prim and proper Catherine is going to go for that.”

  “What if I had a more elusive, albeit much more offensive, method of calling you for help?” She bit her lip, then pressed forward before she could change her mind. “I snuck someone into the estate with us.”

  “Where, in your handbag? Even if there wasn’t a monsoon outside, there’s no way into this fortress that isn’t covered with iron bars or security cameras.”

  “She rode with us in the truck.”

  Beau blew out a breath of frustration. “I don’t have time for games. We have to come up with a plan, and right now the best one I can think of involves walking out of here and swimming across that damned bayou of alligators. It’s the safer of the two options.”

  “She’s a ghost. Helena Henry’s ghost, to be exact.”

  Beau stared. “What do you want from me, Sabine? Jesus, I’ve kept an open mind about everything, but telling me I taxied a ghost over here is way beyond my limit.”

  “Helena,” Sabine said and pointed to a desk in the corner. “Get that pad of paper and pen and bring it over here so that you can answer some questions. And make it fast. We need to go from ‘no way in hell’ to ‘I believe’ in a minute or less.”

  Helena lifted the paper and pen from the desk and walked over to stand next to Beau. The look on his face was beyond comprehension, and Sabine could only imagine what thoughts must be racing through his mind. Helena began to write and Beau looked down at the paper in amazement.

  I am Helena Henry. I was murdered and have been visible to Maryse since my death and more recently to Sabine. Sorry if this startles the shit out of you, but it’s not a fucking picnic for me either. I’ve been here spying on these psychos for hours and haven’t had a thing to eat. Deal with it and let’s get this over with.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sabine waited anxiously for Beau to react, worried that she’d thrown way too much at him at once, especially with everything else going on. He stared at the paper as if it were going to explode. Then he took one hand and slowly passed it through Helena. “It’s colder. I swear, the air is colder where she’s standing.” He looked at Sabine. “I can’t believe it, but it’s real.” His expression instantly shifted to one of immediate realization. “Holy mother of God, she’s been following you around all this time. That’s how you got into the medical records room.”

  Sabine nodded. “She’s also the one who created the vision for Raissa to draw my parents from. Helena’s been involved from the beginning, and she’s going to see it to the end. I’m so sorry to spring it on you like this. I’d hoped you would never have to know.”

  “That might have been nice.” He glanced at the paper once more then looked at Sabine, a pained expression on his face. “She wasn’t in the room last night…”

  “No! Maryse and I have a strict rule about unannounced visiting—especially bedroom visits.”

  The pen began moving again and Beau leaned over. A single word appeared.

  Spoilsports.

  Beau smiled. “She’s kinda a handful, isn’t she?”

  “You have no idea. But she’ll also do anything to help me. If anything happens to me while I’m alone in my room, Helena will alert you.”

  Beau stared at the wall for a couple of seconds, obviously lost in thought. Finally, he looked Sabine directly in the eyes. “It was Helena who called 911 that night in your apartment, wasn’t it? That’s why no one ever spoke. You were already passed out.”

  Sabine nodded.

  Beau paced the length of the room twice, then stopped and looked at the pad of paper again. “You know this is insane, right?”

  “Seems to be no shortage of crazy in this house. Why should we be any different?”

  “I do have an idea. It’s not very nice, but I think if you can pull it off it might get Adelaide’s tongue loosened. I’d be willing to bet she knows everything that goes on in this house.”

  “What’s the idea?”

  Beau smiled. “Adelaide believes in spirits, the afterlife, right? Couldn’t Helena create visions for her just like she did for Raissa? I figure if Adelaide is the one to settle you in your room, then you might have a chance to call up spirits via Helena, and get Adelaide to tell some family secrets.”

  Sabine frowned. “But if Adelaide’s memory is going, like Alford said, is anything she says really dependable?”

  “We only have Alford’s word that Adelaide’s mind is going, and he’s getting that directly from the Fortescues. What better way to discount the ramblings of an old woman than to say she’s losing her faculties?”

  “You have a point.” Sabine looked over at Helena. “Do you think you can help me spook the housekeeper?”

  Helena shrugged. “I could probably manage a vision or two…for a piece of that chocolate cake I saw y’all eating.”

  Sabine sighed. “I’ll see what I can do, but it’s going to have to wait. Now, before Catherine gets back, tell me wha
t you’ve found, Helena. You had a strange look on your face when you entered the room.”

  “The first place I checked was Catherine and William’s room. Catherine had this box of clippings on William with parts of the text highlighted—everything he’d ever done, looks like, from birth to the war. But after the war, there was nothing. I assumed at first that after she got married and had the kids, she was just too busy to keep up with it any longer, but then I started reading the highlighted text and it didn’t make sense at all.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, like the article about William receiving a medal of bravery for being shot in the leg trying to help another soldier. You’d think she would have highlighted his name and medal of bravery, right? But instead, she’d highlighted the text that mentioned the shot he took to the leg. They were all like that. I couldn’t make any sense of the things she highlighted. I started to take them, but I figured it wasn’t a good idea.”

  “No,” Sabine agreed. “We don’t want anyone to get suspicious. And be careful when you search and make sure you put everything back exactly as you found it, okay?”

  “I’m being careful,” Helena promised. “After that I took a trip to Frances’s room and what a doozy that was. The woman has more crosses in that tiny space than the entire cathedral in Rome and a candle on every level surface. I figure either she’s trying to repent for something major or believes in vampires. Then I found a newspaper stashed in between her mattresses.”

  Sabine nodded. “Catherine mentioned something about Frances reading the newspaper again. I got the impression they tried to keep it from her.”

  “Well, the odd part about this one is it was a month old. So I flipped through it and you’ll never guess what I found—that photo of you at that breast cancer walk in New Orleans. Your picture was circled along with a comment in the article about you owning Read ’em and Reap.”

  Sabine sucked in a breath. “That’s how she knew about me before Beau contacted Mr. Alford. She saw me in the paper and noticed my resemblance to her brother. Could it have been Frances who tried to break into my store?”

  Helena nodded. “I wondered that myself, so I took off out of there and made my way through the garage and the carriage house. Sure enough, in the carriage house there was the white truck that I saw in the park the day of the break-in.”

  “You’re sure it was the same?”

  “It was the same make and model. I’m pretty sure there’s another one or two in the world like it but it’s too big of a coincidence to ignore, don’t you think?”

  “Yes,” Sabine agreed, “and with Catherine busy with church things and William throwing them back at the bar, Frances would have had plenty of opportunities to take the truck and pay me a visit. But for what?” Sabine frowned and repeated everything Helena had said so far to Beau.

  Beau shook his head. “Maybe she was going to talk to you but when the shop was closed, she figured no one was there and she’d do some snooping. Lord only knows for what…a birth certificate, pictures? Either way, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the truck is the same make and model as the one Helena saw.”

  Sabine frowned. “But what about the person I kicked that night outside of the general store? That couldn’t have been Frances. A kick would have sent her sprawling.”

  “Not necessarily,” Beau said. “Sometimes the insane can show remarkable strength if they’re experiencing an adrenaline rush. It’s documented all the time.”

  “And the poison…the bomb? Do you really think Frances is capable of those things?”

  “No,” Beau said, “but I think she’s capable of getting someone else to do them, and I’m sure she’s got the trust fund to back it up. But we also have to remember that anyone with access to the household could have used that truck. Frances might be winning the insanity wars, but we still don’t know for sure it was her that tried to break into your store, or that attacked you on the street. And if it was, we don’t know that she was alone.”

  “True. But who would help her commit a crime and why?”

  “She’d do it for the inheritance,” Helena chimed in. “If the Fortescues’ estate was set up anything like my family’s, then your father, as firstborn, would inherit the house and all its contents, along with his share of the estate. Since he’s dead, his portion would pass to you as his firstborn.”

  “And skip Frances entirely?”

  Helena nodded. “The house could, yes. And I’m guessing this place is worth a pretty penny.”

  Sabine repeated Helena’s comments to Beau. “It reminds me of something Catherine said when she invited me to dinner. About being the ‘firstborn child of a firstborn child.’ ”

  “So quite possibly, a fortune at stake,” Beau said, “and more importantly, her home. Maybe Frances was afraid she’d have to leave.”

  “I would never do that,” Sabine protested.

  “You and I know that,” Beau said, “but Frances doesn’t, and she’s not exactly playing with a full deck. The more I hear, the less I like this idea of you playing bait, Sabine. I think—” He stopped talking as Adelaide walked into the room.

  “If you are ready,” Adelaide said, “I can take you to your rooms now.”

  Beau’s mind raced with possibilities, none of them good. This situation had gone from bad, to horrible, to out of the fucking world in less than ten minutes time. If there was ever a situation where he needed to think quickly and clearly, it was now. But the overload of information, coupled with being stranded in Hell House—accompanied by a ghost, no less—had his mind racing out of control. Keeping Sabine safe, then getting her out of that house was his top priority and he needed a plan. Yesterday.

  “That’s fine, Adelaide. We’re ready to go to our rooms now,” Sabine said, and she took the lantern Adelaide held out to her.

  “There’s another in Mr. Villeneuve’s room,” Adelaide explained as they walked down the dark hallway and into the west wing of the house.

  Beau committed every step of the hallway, every turn to memory. Knowing exactly where everything was located was key, especially if they needed to leave in a hurry. Adelaide stopped at the first room and motioned to Beau. “This one is yours, Mr. Villeneuve. There are some spare clothes on the bed, if you’d like to change. It’s just a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, but it will likely be more comfortable than what you’re wearing.”

  Beau smiled at the anxious housekeeper. “It’s all fine, Adelaide, and I really appreciate all the trouble you’ve gone to.”

  “Oh, well,” Adelaide said, apparently at a loss for not only being thanked but complimented as well. Even in the dim light, the flush on her face was evident.

  “If you ladies don’t mind,” Beau said, “I’m going to follow Mr. Alford’s example and check on my truck before I turn in.” He looked at Sabine and inclined his head toward Adelaide, hoping she took the cue to try the Helena scam on the housekeeper once they were alone in her room.

  “Mr. Villeneuve,” Adelaide said before he could leave, “there’s a big urn next to the front door that has some umbrellas in it. You help yourself.”

  “Thanks, Adelaide.” He took the lantern off the dresser and headed down the hall, weaving his way toward the main entrance of the house.

  He plucked a small umbrella from a large ceramic pot next to the door and stepped out into the hurricane. The wind and rain blew at an angle, making the umbrella more of a hindrance than a help, so he tossed it against the door and ran for his truck, holding one arm over his eyes to shield them from the worst of the pelting raindrops. Once in his truck, he tested his cell phone but wasn’t surprised to find it had no signal.

  He retrieved his spare revolver from the glove box and grabbed a backpack from the backseat. He pulled a pair of walkie-talkies from inside and checked the batteries. He didn’t think the reception would be great, but the walkie-talkies might provide enough communication for him to stay in touch with Sabine. Despite Sabine’s reassurances and Helena’s dedication,
Beau still wasn’t convinced that the ghost was the best possible protection. But if she could shoot a gun, then his spare revolver might just come in handy.

  He squinted in the darkness but couldn’t make out the attorney’s car anywhere in the front drive. Lucky bastard probably had an indoor parking spot. Although he didn’t think it possible, the rain was coming down even harder now than before. He tucked the revolver in the waistband of his pants and slung the pack over his shoulder, then ran for the house, using the meager light of the lantern to help guide him.

  He took a second to retrieve the umbrella and hurried inside, pausing only long enough to shake the water from his hair. He’d noticed earlier that the room Adelaide had prepared for him had an attached bathroom. Hopefully, the bathroom would have towels. After running in the monsoon, he was going to need one or two. Taking a right turn from the entrance, he stopped short at a door right at the edge of the hallway.

  Figuring he could snoop as well as Helena, he peered both directions in the darkness. Deciding the coast was clear, he eased open the door and held his lantern close to the opening. A bevy of jackets and boots filled the tiny closet. He rifled through at least ten women’s jackets, all too large for Frances, but then if you rarely left the house, Beau guessed you rarely needed a jacket. He searched the pockets for anything interesting, but Catherine Fortescue was apparently not the type of woman who carried miscellaneous items in her jacket pockets. It didn’t really come as a surprise.

  At the back of the closet, he found a men’s navy blue raincoat, likely William’s. Beau stuck his hand in the two outside pockets and came up with a key. It looked like a door key and fairly new, but there was no indication what door it was to. He placed the key back in the front pocket, then slipped his hand inside the interior pocket. He felt something round and plastic, but couldn’t even guess what it might be. He pulled the object from the pocket and lifted the lantern to see his bounty.