by Jana DeLeon
He took another look at the locked door and sighed. No matter what, Maryse Robicheaux was up to something, and the way she shot out of the office led him to believe that she was off to do something important and personal. After all, she had taken the day off work. Glancing at his watch, he realized it had been ten minutes since Maryse had fled the office. He flipped his cell phone open again and punched some buttons.
A map of the Mudbug area filled the display, and Luc watched as a small blinking dot came into view, moving rapidly across the bayou that stretched alongside downtown. So whatever couldn’t wait had taken her into the bayou, and he’d be willing to bet everything he owned that whatever she was doing didn’t have anything to do with her job as a state botanist.
But he was about to find out.
Maryse pushed down the throttle of her bass boat and zoomed across the bayou. Even though she’d been awake for hours, there was still that tiny thought lingering in the back of her mind that she’d wake up any moment and find the whole thing had been one big dream—parts of it a nightmare.
Of course, that theory already had two strikes against it. The first being that she completely lacked the imagination to even dream something this weird, and the second being that even if she had dreamed up a haunting, the last person she would have put in the starring role was Helena. And now, against her better judgment, she was headed down the bayou to a stretch of bank within easy view of Helena Henry’s house. Not that Maryse knew where Helena hung out, exactly, but her house seemed to make the most sense. And the last thing Maryse needed today was another dose of Helena.
In fact, the more she thought about it, the more avoiding Helena seemed like the best plan. Maryse spent most of her days in the bayou, and even though Helena claimed she could walk on water, and quite possibly run, she probably couldn’t keep up with a boat—not in ghostly high heels, anyway.
Of course, her cabin posed a bit of a problem. Helena had already “dropped by,” so that wasn’t safe at all. There was always the Mudbug Hotel, but it probably wouldn’t take Helena long to get around to that one either, given that the hotel owner, Mildred, had essentially raised Maryse after her mother died.
She turned the steering wheel and guided her boat into a large offshoot of the bayou that ran parallel to downtown Mudbug. The bayou was lined with cypress trees on one side and historical homes on the other, Helena’s estate being the largest, of course. Maryse could see the white, imposing monstrosity as soon as she made the turn. She wondered for about the millionth time what God could possibly be thinking by sending a scientist a ghost.
She’d always figured He had a sense of humor, but this was ridiculous.
Cutting her boat over toward the cypress trees, she let off the throttle and tried to find the tiny shoots of greenery she needed for the trials. They’d been here just last week, she could have sworn it, but no matter how hard she looked, the plant in question seemed to evade her. She had just leaned over the side of the boat to finger something that looked reasonably close to the plant in question when she heard shouting behind her.
Maryse groaned, afraid to look. She turned around and confirmed this world was definitely going to hell in a hand-basket.
Helena Henry was walking on water.
Chapter Five
The bayou tide was moving in a slow roll out toward the Gulf. But Helena Henry was a force of her own, inexorably making her way against the current. Every move forward put her a little farther downstream, and then every five steps or so, she’d jog a bit upstream, huffing like she was about to keel over.
If she hadn’t already been dead, that is.
Maryse stared at Helena and frowned, not certain whether to be more worried about another visit with the ghost or the fact that her physical fitness level apparently wouldn’t get any better in death. Perhaps she should start eating better and working out more. Or at least working out more—giving up beer was out of the question.
It took another couple of minutes for Helena to make it across the bayou and climb over the side of Maryse’s boat. She slumped onto the bench, dragging huge breaths in and out.
“Are you all right?” Maryse asked.
“Of course not.” Helena shot her a dirty look. “I’m dead.”
“Damn it, I know that. I just thought…I didn’t know…never mind.” The whole situation was simply too mind-boggling for thought.
“Sort of an ass-ripper, huh?” Helena said. “You’d think you’d get a better body if you’re destined to roam the Earth as a spirit.”
Maryse shook her head. “You don’t know any such thing about your destiny. Maybe the line’s too long at the Pearly Gates—maybe there was a thunderstorm on Cloud Nine and all the flights are delayed.” Maybe Hell’s full and they’re waiting for an opening.
“Maybe I’m stuck here until I figure out who killed me,” Helena said.
Maryse sat back on her seat with a sigh. “We’ve already had this discussion, Helena. I’m not an investigator and don’t want to be. In fact, I don’t want to be involved in this at all. You’ve already got Harold gunning for me—not that I’m complaining about the inheritance—but my point is my plate is not just full, it’s overflowing. I’m not about to get myself deeper in the hole by doing whatever you had in mind.”
Helena grinned. “I was thinking we’d start with a little B&E.”
“Oh, no.” Maryse shook her head. “I am not breaking into anything. I know you might find this hard to believe, but you’re not worth going to jail for, game preserve or no.”
“Oh, c’mon, Maryse. You never want to have any fun. Besides, technically, I own the house we’d be breaking into.”
“Not anymore you don’t. The historical society does.”
“But no one’s there. I’ve already checked. It won’t take ten minutes at the most.”
Maryse shook her head again, her jaw set. “No way.”
Helena studied her for a moment. “If you just do this one little break-in, I promise to go away for at least a day.”
Damn. Helena was playing dirty. A whole day ghost free was very tempting. But would she keep her word?
“It’s too much of a risk,” Maryse said finally. “What if someone sees me? There’s no way I could explain being inside your house when you’re dead. Everyone would think I was stealing or something.”
Helena laughed. “You…Ms. Goodie Two-Shoes…stealing? Not likely.” She narrowed her eyes at Maryse. “I might have a cell phone number for Hank somewhere inside and perhaps even a last known address.”
Maryse was instantly angry. “You told me you didn’t know where Hank was. I always knew you were a royal bitch, Helena, but keeping me from getting a divorce after the way Hank treated me is low, even for you.”
“Now, don’t get your panties in a knot.” Helena put up a hand in protest. “I didn’t know where Hank was until today. He called a few hours ago, and Harold wrote down his information on a tablet next to the kitchen phone.” She shrugged and looked away. “I guess he’s still trying to figure out how to get some money and clear his worthless butt with the locals.”
Maryse stared at her for a moment, but Helena wouldn’t meet her eyes. Was that actually remorse…sadness she saw in Helena’s expression when she talked about Hank and her money? Was it possible that Helena had been hurt by Hank’s disappearing act, too?
Letting out a sigh, she pulled up her anchor, not even glancing at Helena. She looked both ways up the bayou to make sure it was clear, then started her boat and crossed the bayou to Helena’s dock.
“Dock on the left side,” Helena instructed. “That way the boathouse covers you from one direction and the cattails will hide you on the other.” She gave Maryse a gleeful smile and clapped her hands like a five-year-old.
Oh goodie. All they needed were party hats and a cake.
Maryse edged the boat in between the dock and an enormous growth of cattails, then checked the bayou again. Still clear. And Helena had been right about the docking spot. The
boat was almost completely hidden.
Of course, that in no way solved the problem of walking up the pier and across the backyard to the house, but hey, who was she to complain? She’d never even had a traffic ticket, but she was about to commit a crime with a woman who couldn’t testify on her behalf and certainly couldn’t be thrown in the clink along with her.
Helena hopped out of the boat, skipped across the remaining water of the bayou to the shore, then turned around and waved for Maryse to follow. Casting one final glance around, Maryse pulled off her rubber boots, stepped onto the dock, and hurried down the pier and across the yard behind Helena.
She expected Helena to go to the back door, but instead, the ghost trailed off to the side and ducked around behind a row of azalea bushes. Maryse pushed aside a bit of the dense foliage and followed her. There was a small path, about a foot wide, between the bushes and the house. When they reached a narrow window, Helena stopped and pointed.
“You’re small. You should be able to fit through that.”
“Excuse me? You want me to climb in a window like a thief? Why don’t you have a key hidden outside somewhere?”
“Because I didn’t want anyone to break in, silly. C’mon, the window is low enough for you to climb in, and the latch on this one has been broken for months.”
The window was about four feet from the ground. God knew she wasn’t an acrobat, but she could probably make it work. At this point, she’d stick her head in a lion’s mouth for information on Hank. She reached up and pushed on the window, sliding it up until it wouldn’t go any farther.
She placed both of her hands on the window ledge and looked over at Helena. “I am so leaving this house through a doorway. Got it?”
Helena nodded. “Whatever you want to do. Just hop on in there and open the side door for me.
Maryse stared at her. “Let me get this straight. I have to do circus moves through a window, but you get to stroll in through the door. Why don’t you walk through a wall or something?”
“Oh, sure.” Helena pouted. “Go picking on my weaknesses when I’m at a low point.”
“You can’t walk through walls?”
“Not exactly. Well, I did once, but I haven’t perfected it yet. Last time I tried I almost knocked myself out. If you hadn’t left your patio door open yesterday, I wouldn’t have gotten into your cabin.”
Maryse shook her head. “There is something incredibly wrong with all of this, but I don’t have time to sort it out now.” Before she could change her mind, she pulled herself up to the window and shoved her head and shoulders through. She lost her momentum about midway through, and she kicked her legs trying to edge through the narrow opening. Finally, she crossed the balancing threshold and tumbled through the window headfirst into a stack of dirty laundry.
“Yuck.” She pulled herself up from the floor and brushed a really tacky pair of boxers from her shoulder. “You owe me huge, Helena,” she yelled out the window.
“Yeah, yeah, just open the damned door.”
Maryse picked her way through the dirty laundry, careful not to step on anything. Tennis shoes didn’t protect you from being grossed out, and Maryse knew if any of Harold’s boxers had touched her bare skin, she wouldn’t be able to look at a Calvin Klein ad for a long time.
The side door had a single deadbolt that Maryse slid back before she pushed the door open. Helena strolled inside like this was all completely normal and jumped over the stack of laundry and into the kitchen. “This way, and hurry. Harold should be home anytime now. He’ll be needing to pack.”
Maryse crept down the hall and into the kitchen, catching a glimpse of Helena as she disappeared around a corner. “You kind of left out that part about Harold coming home, Helena!” She rounded the corner and saw Helena at the top of a humongous circular stairway, beckoning to her from the second floor.
“It’s in my bedroom.”
Maryse glanced out the front window at the driveway. Clear. She blew out a breath and followed Helena up the stairs, wondering what exactly “it” was and why it was in the bedroom.
At the top of the stairs, Helena pointed to a closed door. “That’s my bedroom. I need to look in my safe.”
“Your safe? I’m risking an arrest over your pearls or something?”
“No, no! Just please get in there and open the safe. I’m afraid things aren’t going the way I’d planned.”
“Sort of an understatement considering you’re dead, huh?” Maryse pushed the door open and stepped inside. “Where’s the safe?”
Helena pointed to an oil painting on the wall across from the bed. It was an original of Hank, probably around age three and long before he’d become a burden on society. That incredible smile was already in place, even on such a small child, and Maryse felt a tingle all over again as she looked at the man she’d married.
Holding in a sigh, she lifted the painting from the wall, exposing the safe behind it. She glanced at the combination lock, then looked at Helena. “Well, do you have dynamite or are you going to give me the combination?”
“Fourteen, three, forty.”
Maryse twirled the dial and heard a click when she stopped on the last number. She looked over at Helena, who nodded, then pulled the lever to open the safe. She’d barely gotten the door open before Helena was standing almost on top of her, trying to peer inside.
“Damn it!” Helena ranted. “That son of a bitch didn’t even wait until my body was cold before he took the cash.”
“What did you expect? You didn’t leave him anything from your estate. He’s probably out pawning your silver right now.”
Helena sighed. “You’re right, but that’s not what I’m worried about. Pull out that stack of papers in the back.”
Maryse reached inside, removed a stack of envelopes, then looked at Helena.
“Flip through them,” Helena instructed. “I’m looking for one from Able & Able.”
Maryse shuffled through the envelopes one at a time, studying the return addresses. When she reached the end of the stack, she looked over at Helena. “There’s nothing here with that name on it.”
“Double damn!” Helena paced the bedroom up one way and down the other. “I knew it. There’s no telling how long that worthless husband of mine has been pilfering from my safe.”
Maryse studied Helena, a bad feeling washing over her. Should ghosts really be this worried about things they couldn’t control? “What exactly was in that letter, Helena?”
Helena stopped pacing and looked at her for a moment, her expression wavering as if on the verge of saying something important. Finally, she shook her head and looked away. “Nothing to concern yourself with. At least not yet. If it becomes an issue, I’ll let you know.”
“You’ll let me know? I have news for you, Helena. All of this is an issue for me. I don’t believe in ghosts. I don’t believe in breaking and entering, and furthermore—”
Before she could complete the sentence, a tiny red light in a small box on the backside of the bedroom door started to blink. Had that been there before? She didn’t remember seeing a blinking light when she’d entered the room. Surely she would have remembered.
“Uh, Helena,” Maryse said and pointed to the box. “What exactly is that red light?”
Helena whirled around to look at the light, then spun back around, a panicked look on her face. “It’s the alarm. Harold must have set it when he left. It’s on a delay, but we don’t have much time left before it goes off.”
Maryse tossed the stack of envelopes back into the safe, slammed the safe door and whirled the dial, then hung the picture on the wall as quickly as she could. She’d stepped one foot outside the bedroom door when the sirens went off. The shrill shriek of the alarm deafened her for a moment, and Maryse froze.
“Run!” Helena cried and ran down the staircase.
Maryse took the steps two at a time, passing Helena on the way, and almost fell as she hit the foyer floor. The scream of police sirens was far too close
for comfort, and Maryse struggled to pick up the pace. Skidding on the polished wood, she dashed around the corner and onto the textured tile in the kitchen, where her shoes had a much better grip and she picked up some speed. She ran into the laundry room, shoving down the window where she’d entered the house. Then she rushed out the side door, locking it before she slammed it behind her.
She made for the huge hedge of bushes that separated Helena’s yard from her neighbor’s and ran as fast as she could to the dock. She jumped in the boat from shore, banging her knee against the metal bench, and stifled a yell. Limping over to the controls, she started the boat, threw it into reverse and shoved down the throttle.
The boat shot out from between the dock and the cattails, and she changed it to drive and forced the throttle all the way down again, causing the boat to leap out of the water and slam back down onto the bayou, jolting her so hard her teeth hurt. She looked back at Helena’s house and blew out a breath of relief when she didn’t see police or any curious neighbors observing her departure.
