by Jana DeLeon
“Please,” Helena said, and smirked. “This guy couldn’t cure a cold sore. What the hell does he know about anxiety? Besides, hooking up with an asshole like this is enough to cause high blood pressure.”
“That’s enough,” Maryse said, and shot Helena a dirty look.
Christopher stared at her, a confused expression on his face, but stopped pouring the champagne at half a glass. Great. Not only had Helena ruined a great dinner, Maryse wasn’t even going to be able to drink enough to forget her misery.
“Would you like to order an appetizer?” Christopher asked and placed the half-empty champagne glass in front of her. “I hear the rum-soaked shrimp are delicious.”
Before she could answer, Helena jumped in. “Ha! He’s just trying to get you into bed and thinks now is a great time because you’re vulnerable. Look how desperate he is to get alcohol into you—first the champagne, now the shrimp. What a louse.”
Maryse finally reached the boiling point and she knew she was about to lose it. Helena’s return from the dead, her wreck, that awful will reading, breaking and entering, Sabine’s warning about Helena, and her unwanted and unprecedented attraction to Luc LeJeune swam violently in her mind like angry piranha. “Did you ever stop to think that someone might like me for some other reason than sex?”
The diners at the tables surrounding them grew silent, and it occurred to Maryse that not only had she not whispered as she’d originally intended, but speaking out loud to a ghost that no one else could see did not bode well for her date that everyone could see. Christopher stared at her in shock, his face beginning to flush.
“For the record,” he said, keeping his voice low and controlled, “I wasn’t thinking of sleeping with you at all. I mean, I thought about it, but that’s not what this dinner is about.” He shook his head and looked closely at her. “Maybe we ought to head home. You’re obviously not feeling up to this yet.”
Maryse clenched her hands and held in tears of embarrassment and anger, afraid to even look at Helena lest she do something even more foolish, like try to stab her to death with the butter knife or choke her with the two hundred-dollar champagne she’d barely gotten a taste of. “Maybe that’s a good idea,” Maryse agreed, since the only other alternative was dinner with Helena—something she obviously couldn’t manage with any decorum or taste.
Feeling guilty, Maryse reached across the table to place one hand on Christopher’s arm. “I’m really sorry about this, and I swear, I didn’t think your intentions were anything but honorable. I just don’t know what’s come over me.”
“That’s all right,” he said, giving her a curt nod, and Maryse knew he was miffed. “We’ll call this one a night and try again some other time when you’re feeling more up to it.”
Meekly agreeing, Maryse plucked her purse off the chair, rose from her seat, and attempted to follow Christopher out of the restaurant without making eye contact with any of the curious patrons. Aside from marrying Hank, this had to be the single most mortifying moment of her life.
As she jumped into the car, hoping to erase the night from her memory and start all over, Helena walked through the car door and sat in the back seat. “Cool, huh?” the ghost said. “I figured out that walking-through-walls thing when I got to the restaurant.”
Great. Just fucking great.
Maryse looked out the car window and watched Christopher tip the valet. “You had to follow me to the car, too?” she hissed. “Haven’t you caused me enough trouble already?”
“Oh, please,” Helena said, and gave Christopher a disgusted look. “I was only trying to stop you from making the biggest mistake of your life.”
“The biggest mistake of my life was marrying your son.”
Helena stared at her for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay, then the second biggest mistake of your life.”
Maryse turned around in her seat and glared at Helena. “And why in the world would taking up with a good-looking, successful doctor be a mistake? Can you tell me that? I’ve known Christopher since we were kids, and all I ever wanted was a healthy relationship with a man. I got cheated the first time around.”
Helena snorted. “Healthy relationship? You’re barking up the wrong tree, honey. You might have known him as a kid, but one of you has changed. And it’s not you. First of all, that doctor does not have ‘relationships.’ He has conquests. How do you think I knew where you were eating? I used to eat here several times a week, and your perfect doctor was always here with a different woman.”
“I don’t believe you,” Maryse said. “Besides, what’s wrong with dating other women? He didn’t come back to Mudbug until a week or so ago. I could hardly ask for anything exclusive before we even reconnected.”
Helena rolled her eyes. “You weren’t interested in anything exclusive. You just wanted to get laid. You’re not even wearing underwear.”
Maryse felt her blood boil. “I never wear underwear!” she shouted, at the exact same moment Christopher opened the car door.
Maryse whipped around in her seat, trying not to groan. She could feel Christopher staring at her, but he didn’t move. Finally, he sank into the driver’s seat and started the car. As he pulled out of the parking lot, he leaned over and whispered, “Good to know.”
Maryse just nodded and tried to smile, although she was certain it came out more like a grimace. She turned slightly and glanced at the backseat, hoping at least for the opportunity to give Helena the finger behind the headrest, but the backseat was empty.
What should have been the perfect date with the perfect man was ruined. Even worse, instead of fantasizing about her night with Christopher, the only thing she could think of was Luc LeJeune’s kiss. It was all his fault she’d gotten into this mess to begin with. Maryse sank back in her seat with a sigh, feeling sexually frustrated for the first time in, well, forever.
And there wasn’t a single battery-operated device in her nightstand to handle the job.
Chapter Nine
Unless Helena learned to fly, Maryse figured it would take her at least an hour to get to Maryse’s cabin. Relieved to be rid of the ghost and frustrated that her date with an eligible doctor had ended with her thinking of Luc LeJeune, Maryse reached for the tequila bottle and poured herself a shot. She gritted her teeth as the bitter liquid burned her throat. She was a lousy drinker. A cold beer was one thing, hard liquor was another.
She poured another shot but couldn’t get it past her lips. Disgusted with herself, Helena, and her night, she walked into the kitchen and began to make a peanut butter sandwich.
She didn’t even care whether Christopher called her again. Which was good, because despite the intriguing underwear comment, he probably wasn’t interested in being embarrassed in a fancy restaurant again anytime in this life. She took a bite of the sandwich and pulled a beer from the refrigerator.
She went back into the living room and plopped down on the couch, trying to ignore the fact that the reason Dr. Christopher held no appeal to her was because Luc LeJeune held entirely too much. Damn that man! Why did he have to go and kiss her? She was doing a fine job of pretending she didn’t find him sexy as hell, and then he crossed that line. And once you crossed that line, there was no going back. Oh, she could pretend it didn’t affect her, but she wasn’t going to fool anyone—especially not Luc.
And all of this thrown at her when she really, really needed to be concentrating on finding that plant for the trials. Whatever Blooming Flower had brewed up for Maryse’s dad had been working. The cancer was moving toward remission, and he hadn’t experienced a single side effect—something that could rarely be said for the radiation treatment he’d refused. Then Blooming Flower had died without revealing her secret. The secret Maryse was still searching for. She took a long swallow of beer and flipped the remote to some boring talk show.
It was over an hour before Helena showed up. Maryse was about to go to bed when the ghost popped into the living room, walking straight through the wall and the television. Fo
r a moment, Maryse thought she was having a hallucination that someone had stepped out of the television set, but then her vision cleared a bit, and the pink polyester seemed to glow in the dim living room light.
“What took you so long?” she asked. “Couldn’t catch a ride?”
“You know good and well no normal person’s coming out into a swamp in the middle of the night.”
Maryse glanced up at the clock on the wall. “It’s only eleven. Hardly the middle of the night.”
“When you’re my age, eight o’clock is the middle of the night.”
Maryse shook her head. Something else in life to look forward to. “Look, Helena, I’m a little drunk, and I’m tired. I’m in no mood to deal with you, especially after that stunt you pulled tonight. I know you might find this hard to believe, but I don’t want to live alone on the bayou with only a cat for company the rest of my life. I’m an introvert, not a hermit. Snagging a doctor isn’t exactly the worst way to go, regardless of whether you think I could have landed him or not.”
“Hmm. You live like a hermit. When’s the last time you got out of the bayou for anything…dinner, a movie, a night on the town? Maybe if you spent some time in the general population, you could meet a nice man. Something the doctor is not. He uses women.”
Maryse waved one hand in the air. “I am not going to discuss this with you. It’s simply none of your business. You never liked me anyway, so let me take my chances. What the hell difference does it make to you if I end up a two-time loser?”
Helena studied her for a moment, seeming to contemplate her next words. Finally, she sighed and said, “I never said I didn’t like you. And besides, none of that matters now. We have bigger fish to fry, and I can’t have a decent conversation with you if you’re in such a snit.”
“Well, then you’re out of luck tonight.” Maryse rose from the couch. “I’m going to bed. Are you staying?”
Helena sat on the couch and glared at the television remote. “Don’t have much choice do I, if I want to talk to you. As long as I’m stuck here, will you at least change the channel?”
Maryse considered refusing for a moment. Hell, she considered turning the whole damned thing off and making Helena sit in the dark, but she just didn’t have the energy to listen to the griping. “You know, you could have saved us both the hassle and stayed at the hotel. I’m sure there are at least twenty televisions on there with all kinds of things to watch.”
Helena gave her a horrified look. “Oh, no—I already tried that one. Do you have any idea what those salesmen turn on when they are away from their wives? I can’t believe Mildred allows that crap in her hotel. Good God, the things I’ve seen.”
Some of the things Helena had seen were probably the same things Maryse could have been doing herself if her mother-in-law hadn’t cheated her of the opportunity. But she thought it wise not to point that out. “Fine. What do you want to watch?”
“I heard down at the beauty shop that channel six is doing an all-night marathon of real hauntings,” Helena replied, looking animated for the first time that evening. “That will be interesting. Maybe I could learn how to move things.”
Oh goody. “Yeah, sure, and if things don’t work out here with that little business concerning your soul, at least you’ll know where to find friends.”
Maryse awakened the next morning to the ringing of her telephone. She groaned and covered her pounding head with her pillow, trying to block out the shrill sound.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Helena asked.
“No,” Maryse replied without even looking out from under the pillow. “Go away.”
“Sounds like someone needs coffee.”
The phone finally stopped, and the answering machine kicked on. “Ms. Robicheaux,” a polite voice began, “this is Mrs. Baker down at the insurance company. I just wanted to let you know that we finished processing the claim on your truck, and unfortunately, it is totaled. We’ll be preparing two checks, one for the last payment due on your loan and the other for the balance due to you. If you don’t receive that within ten days, please contact me at the office and let me know. Thanks and have a nice day.”
Maryse pulled the pillow back and looked at the answering machine. Last payment? What the hell were they talking about? She owed another two years on that truck. Knowing she couldn’t sleep until she sorted things out, she pushed herself off the bed and grabbed the phone off the nightstand to call her bank, happy to see that Helena had at least vacated the room.
When the branch manager picked up, Maryse explained what had happened and that she needed to verify the amount needed to pay off the loan on her truck.
“I hope you weren’t injured in your accident, Ms. Ro-bicheaux.”
“I’ll be fine. Just a little bumped around.”
“Well, that’s good to hear. Just one more second…ah, yes, you owe just a tad bit more than one payment on your truck. I can print the exact amount and fax it to you if you’d like.”
Maryse rubbed her forehead, not sure she could stand all the confusion without at least taking an aspirin or fifty. “How can that be? I have two more years left on that loan.”
“We’ve been splitting those extra checks every month and applying the money to your house and truck payments.” The manager sounded confused. “Those were your instructions. I hope we didn’t misunderstand.”
“What extra checks?”
“Are you sure you’re all right, Ms. Robicheaux?”
“I’m fine,” Maryse replied, beginning to get a little irritated. “I’m just having trouble remembering everything. The doc says it will all come back in time.”
“Okay,” the manager said, but didn’t sound completely convinced. “The first cashier’s check was received in this office almost two years ago with instructions to apply it to your house. When you bought the truck, we received instructions to change application to half of the check on each of the loans. We’ve been doing that every month since.”
“You’ve been receiving cashier’s checks every month for almost two years?” A sneaky suspicion began forming in Maryse’s mind—one she didn’t understand in the least and wasn’t even sure she wanted to. “Exactly how much are these cashier’s checks for?”
“Five hundred twenty-five dollars. Are you sure you’re all right, Ms. Robicheaux? This conversation is really starting to concern me.”
“I have a doctor’s appointment today,” she managed to mumble. “Thanks.” She hung up the phone and stared out the window over the bayou. She’d never sent the bank checks for five hundred twenty-five dollars, but she’d paid someone else that exact same amount every month for almost two years. “Helena!”
She stalked into the living room, but the ghost was nowhere in sight. It didn’t take long to check every nook and cranny of a one-bedroom cabin, so it was only minutes before Maryse was certain the ghost had fled. And she’d bet it was during that phone call.
Maryse smelled a two-year-old rat. And she’d bet her truck payoff check that rat’s name was Helena Henry.
Luc made it into the office a little early, but not for any reason except he just hadn’t slept well. God knows, he wasn’t attempting another break-in of Maryse’s lab unless he did so in the dead of night. And given the woman’s strange behavior, probably even that wasn’t safe. Besides, he’d delivered the notebook to his buddy back at the agency. If anyone could get to the bottom of what Maryse was up to, it would be Brian.
He flipped his cell phone open just in case he’d missed a call but was once again disappointed by the blank display. Frustrated, he sat back in the chair and propped his feet on the desk. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Maryse was certainly easy on the eyes, so following her had been no hardship but had definitely been a study in bizarre. Still, it hadn’t gotten him anywhere. From where he sat, the only thing Maryse was mixed up in was something to do with her in-laws and her missing husband, and he was no closer to finding the informant than he had been the first day her
e. If only the DEQ would let him branch out a bit and investigate some of the other residents, but his orders were clear—he was a zoologist and was to do nothing to make people think otherwise.
He rose from the desk and headed to the coffeepot on a corner table. At least making coffee was doing something productive. He dished the grounds up and was just about to fill the pot with water when his cell phone rang.
He reached into his pocket and, recognizing the agency’s main number, he pressed the Talk button. “LeJeune.”
“Luc, it’s Brian. I got that information on the notebook.”
Luc felt his hand tighten on the coffee pot handle. “And?”
“It was definitely chemical formulas—you were right about that.”
“Okay, but for what?”
There was a slight pause on the other end. “We don’t know exactly.”
