A Mansion, A Drag Queen, And A New Job (Deanna Oscar Paranormal Mystery, #1)

by CC Dragon

  “You’re not funny.” Gran batted a transparent hand through my knee. “It all depends on if she takes to it. Children usually do okay. It’s different for each person.”

  “Now what?” I raked my fingers through my hair and pulled it up into a ponytail. “They want a body but it’s still moving around. This guy is going to kill again. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing!” I pulled a pillow from behind me and covered my head with it as I flopped facedown onto the covers.

  “I know. It’s hard. The pressure is unfair. They wouldn’t expect a psychologist to know where a body is buried or who the next victim will be.” Her sympathy only helped a little.

  “Your reputation precedes me. I want to help. I don’t know how.” No doubt my voice was muffled under the pillow, but I doubted it would affect my communication with Gran.

  “You know, you’re in too much of a rush. You can’t force things. Deanna, what you need is a visit home.”

  “My parents? Not a chance. I can’t take them now. I couldn’t leave anyway. Not yet. I might not be able to really help but I can’t walk away from this. I can’t.” My parents weren’t the overly supportive types. Especially Dad with psychic stuff.

  “I meant home, to the Other Side. You’re too tense to think straight tonight. You’ll sleep better.”

  “No, no way. I don’t belong there.” I sat up and put the pillow back. She’d just try to get me to talk to Grandpa again. I didn’t need that. “It creeps me out.”

  “Is that your professional opinion?” Gran made a joke! I liked her more and more.

  “You want me to analyze an out-of-body experience? That’s like trying to analyze this.” I tapped my temple. “I’m not dead. Having conscious knowledge of visiting Heaven, or the Other Side or whatever you call it, is seriously screwed up. Last time I was freaked out I might not be able to get back.”

  “What’s the problem this time?” She wasn’t buying it. “You know you can get back.”

  “I can’t see him. You bring Grandpa around and I’ll just wake myself up again. I know how.” That was a promise.

  “He wants to talk to you.”

  “Very convenient. He wants to be nice now that he’s dead.” I flexed my neck. Talk of Grandpa caused excessive tension. “How’d he get into Heaven anyway? Must be a pretty easy entry requirement.”

  “Are you mad at him for not treating you well or at me for not being there?” She wasn’t going to take my bait.

  “Both.” It was the truth, though much less at her than him. Gran was trying to redirect my anger. Luckily, I had enough for everyone. Over the years I’d learned how to control it like an expert.

  “That’s a lot to carry around. Doesn’t do you much good.” She didn’t look hurt.

  “I’ll be the judge of that. Who’s the psychologist here anyway? I’m not ready to forgive him—yet.” I tapped my nails on the bed. “You want my professional opinion? Some deep emotions, particularly those triggered in childhood, take time to work through. Just because I’m not ready to hug Grandpa doesn’t mean I’m wrong or not progressing. He earned his time in the doghouse.”

  “Come if you like. I promise, no Grandpa. You might as well, that crazy killer isn’t going to stop driving until dawn.” She faded.

  “How dumb can I be?” I instantly realized my mistake. I’d wasted time asking about Heaven’s entrance policy and not asking the right questions.

  I put the book away and grabbed a pen and paper from the nightstand. I wasn’t sure what I’d remember, or if I could control my body enough to write it down when I was over there. It was worth a try.

  I curled up on the covers with pen and paper in hand. It felt like more work than it should, but I cleared my mind of everything. I smelled rosewater again. That was another question I had to ask Gran someday. I’d smelled it before. I tried to write the question and was out.

  * * * * *

  My next conscious thought was how white the room was. Still, it didn’t feel clinical or cold.

  The waiting room again. I looked around, getting that queasy feeling. It was calm and serene here but my brain just wouldn’t forget that I was still physically in bed. It no longer felt like a dream here.

  Heaven wasn’t a place I wanted to stay long, at least not for now. Maybe I’d get used to it, maybe. I looked for Gran and was relieved when she came through a door. “I like this place even less alone.”

  She smiled and led me back the way she came. It was just like a city. A thriving metropolis of people. There were beautiful buildings and houses of every design. Every architectural style in history. Some I’d never seen before. “No clouds?”

  She chuckled. “It’s nothing like people expect. Which is exactly why reorientation is necessary.”

  We entered Gran’s house. I kept an eye out for Grandpa. No sign of him. Something else was conspicuously missing in Gran’s new home. “No statues?”

  “Statues?” Gran gave me a confused look. “My taste in art is simpler. I like landscape paintings. All forms of art happen here.”

  Her walls were lined with paintings of rolling hills and meadows. Lovely, but she’d totally missed my point. “Gran, your house. My house, now. It has more crucifixes and statues of Mary and the saints than Vatican City. Don’t even get me started on the holy water. It’s weird. There’s nothing here like that.”

  She waved me toward a comfy-looking squat burgundy chair. I sat and tried to make myself write a description of the house. I wanted to get my body to takes notes. The house had similar decoration in furniture to what I now owned but it was much smaller.

  “I never liked all that space. In life you take what you get.” She sat across from me. “As for religious decorations. I had to deal with bad spirits. You have to go with your strengths when handling evil. Whatever faith or philosophy works for you. I had a lot of protection in that house. Protection and religious expression aren’t really a concern here though some people practice their religions.”

  Dumb question. If you were in Heaven why would you need to show your faith? You made it in. “I had another question though. This might sound dumb but what’s the right one?”

  “The right what?” She looked confused.

  “I guess Catholic worked out okay. I mean, you’re here.” I tried to tell my hands to write.

  “It’s a little more complicated and a lot simpler here than it is there. There’s no one right religion. People are judged by their deeds not by their affiliations.”

  Made sense. The Catholic Church would have a fit. However this wasn’t my real reason for coming to this side tonight. I didn’t want to waste time. I wasn’t sure how time passed here, could be that minutes were hours of sleep or the other way around. “Who’s the next victim?”

  Gran’s face dropped. “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Why? Right now I can’t see past Little Cel’s body. You were a psychic. That can’t have disappeared. Why won’t you use your talents here to help me help them? Dying didn’t take it away, did it?”

  “That’s not my life now.” She settled her hands uneasily in her lap.

  “I can’t learn it all fast enough. I wish I could but I’m not up to speed. How can you not help?” This wasn’t the Gran everyone in New Orleans gushed about.

  “I want to help but that isn’t how it works. I can visit you and help you adjust. I can help Little Cel adjust here. But I can’t hand you the answers. Things happen for a reason. I can’t change them.”

  Great, Heaven had a Prime Directive. My youngest brother was a Star Trek addict so I was well versed in the Federation’s noninterference policy. I just never expected spirits had a similar code of conduct. “Then there’s no point in my talking to Little Cel. She has you to help her but she can’t help me save another little girl.”

  “I didn’t say that.” Gran held up a hand.

  “If you can’t help how the hell can she?” I caught myself on my language too late and waited for lightning to strike.

  Nothi
ng happened.

  Gran didn’t even correct me. “Little Cel was directly involved with this situation. She can help you find her murderer. That information she can share. She is permitted to help you solve her death. She can even haunt him, if she wants.”

  “I want. I love that. She can help me catch him. When can I see her? How’s she doing?” I finally had hope.

  “Fine, she’s fine. I just wouldn’t expect her very soon. Reorientation can’t be postponed. Children tend to cross over automatically, adults can choose to stay more easily. You’ll do okay on your own. Finding the body will be no trouble for you. You’re already tuned into the killer. Little Cel likes you. She sought you out. When she’s ready, she’ll be there and be able to help you. Let her come to you,” Gran advised.

  I exhaled, or at least I thought I did. It felt like what I did but I had no idea if I was controlling my body or my consciousness here. I was over-thinking it all and giving myself a headache. I was good at that. “Maybe Dad’s right?” I leaned back.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe I am overeducated. I’m thinking about all of this too much.”

  “There are times with a gift like ours when you simply have to go on instinct but there is nothing wrong with education. Don’t put so much pressure on yourself. You don’t have to understand it all at once to help. It’d take too long to explain it all. This is the sort of job you learn while doing. They need you now.” She gave me a sympathetic head tilt.

  “I’m good at pressure. I learn fast. I need to figure out how not to get emotionally involved. It’s easier with students or patients but a young murder victim. How do you not get wrapped up in that?” I waited to see if she had an answer.

  “If you could keep that distance, you would walk away and never do what you’re doing. You’ll stick with it because you care. Family failing.” She smiled.

  “Thanks. I’ll see you later.” I gave a little wave and decided to wake up. There were no answers that’d help. I wanted to see if anything I’d tried to write down had made it onto the paper.

  My eyes snapped open. I sucked in air but I didn’t bolt up this time. Slowly, I rolled my neck, easing my muscles into a sitting position.

  The paper in front of me had scribbles. Nothing was legible. None of it made sense. I grabbed the pen and wrote down what I did remember. “Little Cel can help. Gran can’t. No right religion. Gran likes landscapes.” It all ran together in my head but I wanted to have it all down so it didn’t get hazy.

  Suddenly, it occurred to me that I hadn’t turned on a light. There were no candles lit. The sun streamed in through the sheer curtains on the French doors. Morning already. It was way past dawn. That meant something. I mentally reached out to see what had changed.

  The killer had buried the girl’s body. I closed my eyes and saw the girl in a shallow grave.

  I knew where the body was!

  Chapter Seven

  Every time I closed my eyes, I saw where the crazed killer had buried Little Cel. For some reason I couldn’t call the police. If I were wrong, I’d be wasting their time. Plus I had no idea how long it’d take for me to get to the exact location. It wasn’t like I could give them the GPS coordinates or a street address. I had to follow my gut. It could be anywhere in the bayou.

  I jumped in the shower and scrubbed myself from head to toe while trying to determine how to deal with the body location. Going through the motions of the morning routine, I didn’t recognize my life at all.

  Finally dressed in jeans and a gray t-shirt, I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and hit the speed dial for Greg. Ivy was no doubt still hung over and I couldn’t go driving aimlessly around New Orleans swamps. I’d get too into following the instinct and I’d drive into the Mississippi River.

  “Hello,” Greg answered.

  “I need a favor,” I said.

  “What kind of favor?” He sounded skeptical.

  “I know where the body is and I need someone to take me there. Or ride shotgun.”

  “Why not call the cops?” Greg took me seriously at least.

  “It could take a while to pin down and I don’t want to waste their time or listen to the bitching. This isn’t something normal for me, not yet. If I try to zoom in on the body and drive at the same time I might crash.” I took a deep breath. “If you’re busy, I can try Ivy but I know her schedule is unpredictable.”

  “Don’t bother her. She’ll still be hung over. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Greg hung up.

  I grabbed my lavender bucket purse and tossed in my recharged cell phone, a notepad and pen, and my compact. Ready to face anything, I headed downstairs and slipped on my black boots.

  It wasn’t even ten minutes when Greg pulled up and I was out the door before I thought too much about it.

  Greg had a nice shiner starting already but managed to still look hot in a polo shirt and khakis. I dropped my purse on the floor of the passenger seat and slid in. “Thanks. I know I can find her.”

  He handed me a cup of coffee.

  “You’re the best.” I sipped and coughed. The sharp taste was unlike anything I’d ever had claiming to be coffee. “This isn’t Starbucks.”

  “It’s good Louisiana chicory. I thought you liked coffee.”

  “I do. This isn’t coffee. It’s weird.” I did pack a kick.

  “If you stick around, you’ll get used to it.” He grinned. “So, we’re going after the body. You better call the cops before you touch anything.”

  “I’m not digging up or touching anything. I just want to be sure before I bring the cops out.”

  “Where to?” he asked.

  “Water. Swampy area. If you go wrong, I’ll tell you.” I clicked my seat belt into place and closed my eyes.

  After a few false starts lasting more than an hour, we were close. There was a lot of water around New Orleans.

  “To the right, up here.” My eyes were still tightly closed.

  “We’re practically in the water.” He drove slower. “This Honda doesn’t convert into an airboat.”

  “Pull over, right here.” I slapped the dashboard and as soon as the car stopped, I jumped out into the thick humid air and soggy ground. I felt sticky but knew I was right. The clearing was about thirty feet wide but she wasn’t buried in the thick of the trees. “She’s out there.”

  “Be careful,” Greg called after me.

  “Why would he dump her out here?” It seemed so pointless and random for all the time he’d been driving around with the body.

  “It’s remote out here. No average person would find her for weeks. By then the body would be unrecognizable. Probably gator food.” Greg was looking for anything that passed for a shallow grave on the other side of the clearing.

  I kept on looking on the side I knew she’d be. Arguing with that man was pointless, I was right but he could look.

  “Shit!” Greg had found something.

  “What’s wrong?” I knew it couldn’t be the body.

  “Diamondback.”

  “A what?” I looked over and saw a big snake with a big rattler on the tail. “Oh shit. Poisonous?”

  “If it weren’t, I wouldn’t have a problem with it.” Greg was backed up to the trees with no easy escape.

  “How’d you get cornered by a snake, native boy?” I came closer but had no desire to see the snake up close.

  “It happens to everyone if you go wandering around fields or a swamp.”

  “So what do we do? Call 911? Animal control maybe?”

  “Go in my trunk and get the rifle.” Greg sweated as the six-foot rattler swayed and watched his every move.

  “Okay.” I headed back to the unlocked car and popped the trunk. Returning to the scene of the snake with rifle in hand, I took a look at the hissing monster. “Won’t it get bored?”

  “No, it’s a territory thing. Throw me the gun.”

  “Throw it?” Greg was sweating way too much to catch it. “I don’t think that’s the best idea.”
<
br />   “I can do it. I can shoot it.” Manly pride was getting the better of him.

  “But if you miss the catch, the snake wins because neither of us will have the gun.”

  “I won’t miss.” He wiped his forehead.

  Ego! Men had no problem asking for help when they were sick but involve any danger or firearms and they think they’re Rambo. A little ego-soothing reverse psychology was in order. “But I throw like a girl.”

  “Try handing it.” He reached for it.

  “That thing will bite me.” I knew it wouldn’t work.

  “Try.”

  I took a few steps forward and was on the snake’s radar. It faced me as I stretched but my arm plus the gun wasn’t enough even with Greg’s long reach. “Forget this.”

  Before he could argue I stepped back, tucked the gun into my shoulder and took aim. I lined up the sights on the head of the little menace and squeezed the trigger.

  “Yuck.” I watched the headless carcass squirm. Then I glanced to make sure it was alone.

  “Not a big snake person?” Greg walked slowly to me and took a few deep breaths.

  “The only snakes in Chicago are little snakes. Hardly dangerous. These I don’t like.” I handed him the gun.

  “You’re a good shot.” He put the gun back in the trunk.

  “My grandfather owned a gun shop. Everyone had to learn to shoot. He went by the old Al Capone theory of manners.”

  “Manners?” Greg frowned? “A mobster?”

  “Sure. Back then people had better manners because everyone could legally carry a gun. You never knew what people had under their coats so you were nicer to them. Just in case theirs was bigger. That’s part of why the handshake caught on, it proved you weren’t holding a weapon.” That story was the one thing I liked about my grandfather. Maybe if I were armed as a child he’d have been nicer to me.

  “Interesting theory.”

  “Of course, most people don’t carry rifles around in their trunks in Chicago. Handguns are preferred. I think I bruised my shoulder on that thing.” I rubbed where the kickback had met my skin.