by CC Dragon
I headed out to the garage door and climbed in the Jeep. Heading out, I noticed Mary Lou out front in her garden, directing the gardeners or so it appeared. She waved and I waved back. The wind felt good in my hair even as the humidity left it curlier than normal.
By instinct, I found my way to the police station. First stop. I parked and headed in. The noise and voices were loud. The front desk was packed two people deep and I wasn’t interested in being official.
Psychic gifts shaved some time off things. I knew Matt was here and I found him reading a case file. Paperwork. I snuck up on him. “I need a copy of that picture.”
“What the hell? How’d you get back here?” he demanded.
“I walked. You need better security around here. I need a copy of that picture, with the doll.”
“No, that’s evidence. I can’t have a leak.” He wagged a finger at me.
“I’m not a leak. I’m the one who found her body. I’m going help you catch this guy. But I need a picture of the doll to link it all together.”
“Can’t do it.”
“Yes, you can. What if it’s just the doll? A picture of the evidence, that’s all. I don’t need the body. I’m not going to put it up on the Internet.”
He chewed on the inside of his mouth or tobacco. I wasn’t sure which and didn’t want to know. “Okay but paper only. No digitals. If it gets in the papers or television, I’m cutting off your access and finding some charges.”
“Sure, that’s what it’d mean.” I rolled my eyes and waited for him to get a copy of the picture. He handed it to me in a sealed envelope. Clearly this was something I wasn’t supposed to get but we Catholic schoolgirls were supposed to break the rules. That was the fun of it.
I opened the envelope before I left just to be sure he hadn’t given me something else to get rid of me. Then I stuffed it in my purse. “Thanks.”
“You come up with anything concrete, you let me know.”
“Cross my heart.” I left the station and hopped back in the Jeep.
Did Matt think I wanted to bring in a killer on my own? That was their job. I just had to help find him and keep any more girls from being killed. Darren’s medical records from the institution were the next essential piece to the puzzle.
St. Luke’s Mental Hospital, look out!
Chapter Nine
With the picture of the doll in my pocket, I jostled in the Jeep until I arrived at St. Luke’s Mental Hospital. Definitely not the right car for me. I had a flash of a classic car and wondered if it was just a wish. A working car like that was extremely rare and bad on gas mileage. But for now, I had the Jeep and parked it.
I walked through the first set of automatic doors into a lobby. It was late afternoon, which apparently meant minimal staff at the front desk. It felt like the right time, anyway. If I could figure out how my powers worked, it’d be helpful but I just had to follow that gut instinct and hope I didn’t screw it up.
As I passed through the second set of doors, I saw I was right. There was only one young blonde girl behind the desk. She looked vaguely familiar but I couldn’t place her. Psychics didn’t have any better memories than normal people—at least I didn’t. I just hoped she wasn’t a by-the-rules type. She was reading intently, which necessitated my making some sort of noise.
“Hello.” I tried to sound casual.
The girl looked up and she stared at me. “Dr. Oscar?” She knew me and broke out in a smile.
“Yes. I’m sorry. I don’t remember your name.”
“I’m Kitty Evans. Don’t feel bad, I’m sure you’ve had hundreds of students. I was in one of your intro to psych classes. You were the T.A. anyway.” She reached out to shake my hand.
“You looked familiar. What are you doing in New Orleans?”
“Interning. What about you? You must be done with your degrees now.” She wanted small talk but I had a killer to figure out.
“Actually I am. I was interviewing for teaching jobs when I took a little detour. Maybe you can help me?” I didn’t need to rehash my history to get a file, did I?
“Sure.” She agreed too quickly.
“I’m helping the police with a case. Guest profiler sort of. I need to get a look at a former patient’s file.”
“Oh.” Her face dropped.
“I know, I know, the privacy thing. But you see, I already know what I need to know. Mostly. I just need to be confirmed. Be able to prove it.” I sounded more like a patient than a PhD.
“So it’s true?” Kitty whispered.
“What’s true?” I whispered back.
“Everyone said you were special. You know, psychic.” She leaned closer. “That’s how you know?”
“You guys knew? I mean, about me.” I tapped my right temple. Somewhere along the line I’d adopted Ivy’s gesture as a way of not having to say too much or too little. It was just easier. I had no idea that any of my students had known.
“We knew. You knew things no one told you. Who was cheating. Who was sleeping with whom. Not in a gossipy way but like it was fact.” Kitty sat back down in her rolling office chair.
“So, can I get a look at this guy’s file?” All I could hope for was I’d impressed her enough and that common matriculation meant something.
“Prove it.” She smiled.
“Prove what?”
“Prove your skills.” She tapped her temple. “I’ll pull the file, but you have to give me something in it so I know you know and it’s not all just a crock.”
“Sure. The name is Darren Gordon.” I set my bucket purse on the desk, while Kitty rolled back to the files of prior patients.
Moments later, she came back with the file closed. “So?”
“A picture of the patient’s sister, at about age six, with four dolls at a tea party in a tree house.” I looked Kitty straight in the eye, just in case she thought I could see though the file or something really weird. “Darren killed his sister when he was only twelve.”
She opened the file at an angle where I couldn’t see and flipped through page after page.
Then the flipping stopped.
“Wow.” She put the picture I’d described on the desk. “You’re amazing.”
“Hit.” I pulled the picture of the doll buried with Little Cel out of my bag. “Same doll.”
Kitty looked and she chewed her lip.
I’d found the guy and I could prove it. The dolls were the key. The next victim had one too. “Can I get a copy of that file now?”
“It’s against the rules. You really need a warrant but...” She still looked a bit stunned, and walked away.
Frozen, I stood there worried she was calling the cops. Or a superior. It was illegal, yes. But you can’t get a warrant based on a psychic vision.
A few minutes later, she handed me a large plain white envelope containing the murderer’s file. “You didn’t get it from me.”
I tucked the envelope under my arm. “Absolutely not. Thanks.”
“Are you really working with the cops?” she asked.
“For this case at least, I’m consulting.” I didn’t want her to think I’d lied about that. “Thanks for the help.”
I headed for the door and immediately noticed I wasn’t alone in the waiting room. It was that little ghost from the swamp again.
I was being stalked.
Or haunted in a very strange way.
“Go away!” shouted the little boy ghost. This time I got a closer look. He appeared about ten years old.
“You go away!” I moved closer. “Who are you, anyway?”
“Leave us alone!”
“Us? You’re all alone, little guy. Why don’t you go to hell where you belong? Quit jumping on graves. Unless you want to tell me how you’re involved in this girl’s murder.”
“No!” He stomped his foot.
“Are you helping the killer somehow? What’s in it for you? You’re dead.” If this place had video surveillance, they’d get to see me talking to myself. I needed to b
e careful or I’d end up a patient there.
He folded his arms tight and pressed his lips together in a frown. It looked like he was trying to hold his breath but ghosts didn’t breathe.
“Fine.” I walked away. Ghosts weren’t all necessarily ready for help, I reminded myself. They weren’t all good either. This ghost was neither.
He was, however, connected to Darren. Which would make sense why he was hanging around here. Darren had spent a lot of time in St. Luke’s.
I walked out the front door, and found Matt waiting for me in an unmarked car. He spotted me and got out in that slow Southern way I wasn’t used to yet. I still had my Chicago pace going.
“Whatcha got there, Doc?”
“Nothing,” I lied. “Am I being followed?”
“No. Free city. But the plates on the Jeep are expired. You need to renew those. Could write you a ticket. Consider this a warning. Come on, big envelope there. You’ve got something.”
“I was looking into getting a job in New Orleans. It’s just the paperwork. An old friend was giving me a hand.” I took my chances that he wouldn’t get pissed and tow the car because of plates. “I’ll look into the plates, thanks.”
“Why here? Why at the mental institution where Darren Gordon was held?” he pressed.
“Kitty works here. I don’t know that many people in New Orleans yet. I just looked up a former student. Networking to get a job is a crime?” I tossed my purse and the envelope in the Jeep.
“No, but I think you got his file.” Matt leaned on my Jeep.
“That’d be illegal. Of course, I’m not a lawyer or a cop, but patient privacy is very important to us psychologists.”
“What do you need that file for anyway? Psychic like you should already know it all.”
“You’re right. I don’t know it all, but I know enough. You won’t get a warrant or believe me until you see something in black and white though. Will you?” I replied.
“I can’t get a warrant on illegally gotten evidence either.” He watched me for any reaction.
I gave no hint of tension as I climbed into the Jeep. “You won’t. I’ll get you something you can use. Gotta go. Talk to you soon.”
I started the Jeep and threw it into gear. Matt made no move to stop me or go into St. Luke’s. I headed for home and tried to forget about the cops for now.
I exhaled slowly, and for once felt like I was doing something that would help catch the killer. Analyzing Darren’s file was something I could do objectively and without any special skills. Just psychology.
I parked the Jeep in the garage and pocketed the keys. Two for two, not a bad run for a couple of hours’ work. I walked in the back door with every intention of going over the file, but Ivy and Mary Lou were at the kitchen table waiting for me.
“There you are.” Ivy looked a little worried.
“I told Missy where I’d be.”
Ivy rolled her eyes. “That helps. Like I can see her.”
“Deanna, I’m glad I caught you at home. I need a big favor.” Mary Lou looked serious, but still serene. Not a hair out of place.
“Sure, what do you need?” I got a bottle of water from the fridge.
“I’m stuck with an odd number for dinner.” Mary Lou sounded worried, as though that was an actual problem.
I didn’t follow the tragedy. “So?”
“I need one more at dinner. Please, Deanna! I hate an odd number. You can meet my husband tonight. He’s in town for a change. You can’t pass up the opportunity. I even convinced my brother-in-law to come. If you don’t come he’ll be stuck talking to the same boring people he already knows. Then he’ll never come to another of my parties. He’s not big on dinner parties as it is.”
“Matt? Not big on parties? I can believe it. He just harassed me today. I’m not someone he’ll want to talk to. Besides, I’m not big on dinner parties either.” No way was I going to be stuck at a dinner party with Matt.
“No, not that brother-in-law. He’s at work. Besides, he’s not good company at dinners. This is the youngest of the Weathers brothers. He’s a judge. One of the youngest judges in the parish. Cute, single and very nice.” Mary Lou’s smile never broke.
I caught the distinct scent of a fix-up. “Mary Lou, I’m sort of busy with my grandmother’s estate and getting it all sorted and settled. I’m not looking for anything extra.” That and I’d already made out with Greg. Not that it meant anything. I just didn’t need more complications.
“It’s nothing like that. I want you to meet people in New Orleans other than just cops, ghosts and criminals. Matt told me you’re helping him. Plus, you’ll be invited to all of the balls eventually. You should know more people. Expand your social circle.” Mary Lou sipped her coffee.
“Balls? I’m not sure I’ll be at any of those.” People still had balls? The most formal thing I’d ever attended was my senior prom or the time I stood up in the wedding of a rich Northside friend.
“You might feel differently once you see the judge.” Ivy winked.
“It’s only dinner, please. Nothing really formal. I really don’t want an empty chair.” Mary Lou wasn’t letting this go.
I didn’t want the neighbors to think I was the antisocial psychic. “What time?”
“Seven o’clock sharp and you don’t need to bring a thing. I absolutely insist. The wine is already breathing.” Mary Lou got up and sprinted for the door. “Now pleases excuse me. I have a lot to do. Thanks, Deanna.”
“Why couldn’t she have just invited you instead?” I asked Ivy.
“Not my circle, sweetie. Plus, the Weathers at the same table as a drag queen? Doubtful. Very doubtful. The judge is cute but not worth enduring the rest of them.” She smiled. “You’d better shower and get dressed.”
I’d committed myself. Probably should head back to St. Luke’s and really commit myself. Instead, I headed upstairs to find something to wear to my first New Orleans dinner party. My only rationale was that knowing a judge couldn’t be a bad thing if I wanted to be taken seriously.
* * * * *
“I’m so glad you came!” Mary Lou looked genuinely relieved when she opened the door.
“Thanks.” I walked in and a couple men stood. Talk about old-fashioned manners. Mary Lou directed me to an older woman perched in a high-back chair.
“Deanna, this is my mother-in-law. Mrs. Lolly Weathers,” Mary Lou introduced.
Mrs. Weathers looked me up and down and then set her drink down. “Are you a lesbian?” she asked.
“No, are you?” I couldn’t hide my surprise at that one, but I got a laugh out of the room.
“No, but I do think husbands are more trouble than they’re worth.” She sipped a glass full of amber liquid on ice.
“Why do you ask?” I had to know what was going through her clearly scotch-soaked brain to trigger doubts about my orientation.
“Most ladies don’t attend dinner parties in pants.” She pointed at my legs.
“Sorry about that. In Chicago that’s never been an issue. Plus, I wasn’t expecting dinner parties when I packed.” I’d overruled the peasant dress for tonight as not formal enough. Ivy had agreed.
“Mother Weathers, I told you Miss Deanna is here settling Mrs. Elinor Oscar’s affairs. Why would she bring nice dresses for that?” Mary Lou grabbed me by the arm and turned me in another direction. “So sorry about her. No sense of exceptions to her rules.”
Mary Lou started a whirl of introducing me to the rest of the room. There was some logic to it, I was sure, but I knew I’d never remember all of the names. Finally she got to two people I would remember. “This is my husband, Lance Weathers. And his younger brother, the judge.”
I shook hands with both of them. They didn’t look alike and nothing like Matt. The judge, apparently, wasn’t referred to by any other name. He was clearly the youngest by at least ten years.
Before I could attempt any small talk, dinner was served and I found myself seated next to the judge and kitty-corner f
rom Lance. Not my first choice. Mrs. Weathers and Mary Lou would’ve been more fun but the view to my left was pretty good.
“What do you do, Miss Deanna?” the judge asked.
“I’m a psychology professor.” Not exactly the truth, but not really a lie either. It was what I was qualified to do.
I didn’t want to take the conversation in any impolite directions. I had no idea what Mary Lou or Matt had told them already. My wardrobe was already strike one against me. Talk about ghosts might not be appropriate.
“That’s interesting. I’d heard you were wandering around a swamp today, looking for dead bodies.” Lance grinned. The rest of the table grew quiet with interest or unease. Maybe it was both, I couldn’t tell.
Maybe I was the evening’s entertainment?
“Actually, I was showing your brother Matt where to find one. He couldn’t seem to track it down.” I casually sipped my water.
“So you’re really a psychic then?” the judge asked.
“Well, I’m not sure there’s a license for that yet, but I’ve been doing my best. Helping with the case as much as I can. Not what I expected when I came here for a job interview and found out my grandmother died.”
“I don’t understand. How can you be psychic and not know the future? Isn’t that the point?” The judge was skeptical. Not as overtly rude about it as his brother Lance, but he wasn’t convinced.
“The first rule I discovered about it was that I’m never psychic about myself. I have no idea what’ll happen in my future. Life would be pretty dull and pointless if I did.” The next course was served and I did my best to use the most logical utensil, it appeared as though the entire silver drawer had been laid out for a simple dinner party.
“You don’t just get all these flashes of crimes, do you? When I think of all the murders and crime that happen in New Orleans. Poor thing, you’d be dead from exhaustion.” Mrs. Weathers downed another scotch without ceremony and a dedicated maid moved to fill her glass again.
“No, it’s not like that. If I know someone, and they’re going to die, I’ll usually see it. But I don’t see every crime or death in the world.”
