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

by CC Dragon

  The judge sat back from his plate. “How did you find the body?”

  “The killer’s mind. Once I’m tuned in, I can try to get information.” I left off the bit about seeing the ghost dancing on the burial site. It was uncomfortable enough. I didn’t need to add to it with the extra weird.

  “How do I get that radio station?” Lance laughed.

  I threw Mary Lou a look that questioned my presence here. She cringed at her husband’s behavior. At least it wasn’t intentional.

  “If I knew how, I’d tune it out.” A joke was better than being rude. Mary Lou should’ve gone for the younger brother—the judge. He wasn’t convinced about me yet, but he wasn’t being a jerk either.

  “Come on, Miss Deanna.” Lance had no intention of letting this go. “You have to tell me about my future. Will I have sons or daughters?”

  “Mary Lou’s not pregnant.” Was this a test? I looked over at Mary Lou who shook her head to confirm my answer.

  “Not yet,” Lance added. “But you should know.”

  “Lance, she isn’t a magic act.” Mary Lou flushed with embarrassment.

  “Aren’t you curious, Mary Lou?” Mrs. Weathers piped up. “Come on, sweetie, tell me how many grandkiddies I’ll have. The Weathers line must continue. Can’t seem to get my other two boys married.”

  The only way to settle this was to give them something. I closed my eyes and saw Mary Lou with a little girl. I couldn’t tell how long in the future. “One little girl.” I opened my eyes and the tension hadn’t evaporated yet.

  “That’s all?” Lance set his wineglass down with a clink.

  “Maybe she didn’t look far enough?” Mrs. Weathers jiggled the ice in her glass.

  Mary Lou’s eyes pleaded at me from her end of the table. I closed my eyes again and tried to see more. I couldn’t lie so I tried to fast forward. “I see another baby.”

  “A boy?” Mrs. Weathers asked.

  “It’s hard to tell but it’s wrapped in a pale green blanket.” I opened my eyes before I pushed too far and I got an answer they didn’t want to hear. “Maybe I’ve had too much to drink. Alcohol dampens my gift.”

  “There you go, green blanket. Boy.” Lance seemed satisfied.

  “Better to have the girl first anyway. Mommy’s little helper, Daddy’s little princess.” Mrs. Weathers lifted her now full glass. “To my future grandson and granddaughter.”

  We all toasted and I could barely swallow. I needed to start calling universities back tomorrow. I wasn’t going to be the official New Orleans dinner party entertainment.

  “Where do you teach, Miss Deanna?” The judge politely changed the subject and I could finally breathe. Anything to get off ghosts and babies.

  “Nowhere yet. I just finished my PhDs and was interviewing. Gran’s death was an unexpected detour. Then this horrible murder. I taught at Northwestern while I was in grad school though. I enjoyed the students.” I looked at him in detail now that I had a better chance.

  Nice features and medium coloring. Well-built with clear brown eyes. I was enjoying the voice of the judge and things were going pretty normal for a change.

  Then I saw my first ghost of the evening. She just stood there behind the judge. I couldn’t talk to her now, but that was fine. She didn’t seem at all interested in me anyway. She was focused mostly on the judge.

  The ghost was young and thin, somehow I knew she was related to the judge. But I couldn’t be rude to the living and start a conversation right there.

  “Our Uncle Jojo is on the board of Tulane, if you’re thinking of teaching here.” The judge dominated the conversation for the rest of the evening with talk of the university and others in the area. I got the feeling he didn’t want any more of his brother’s antics. He held my attention with my glance only occasionally shifting to the ghost who had said nothing.

  I survived dinner with the help of the judge and as I headed out, he stopped me. “Do you need a ride home, Miss Deanna?”

  “No, I’m just the next mansion over.” I didn’t want to put him out or end up alone in a car with him. Might cause a Weathers’ family scandal.

  He came closer. “Please allow me. I can’t take much more of my brother tonight.”

  “Well, I think I might be getting a blister from all this walking in heels,” I said a bit louder.

  “You take her home, Judge.” Mrs. Weathers waved a warning finger at him. “Ladies shouldn’t have to walk anywhere if they don’t wish it.”

  “My pleasure.” He held the door.

  I smiled at the party and headed out the door. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you,” he said pointedly once the door was closed. “Lance is more out of town than he is in. I should want to spend more time with him but as much as I try, I’ve never been close to Lance. We don’t have that much in common despite our similar career choices.”

  “I understand that. I never fit in much with my family either.” I had no intention of commenting on their family squabbles but I could sympathize. So far, the judge seemed to be the nicest of them all.

  “Lance is different. He and Matt are closer.” The judge tried to find the words as he opened the passenger side door of his black BMW and let me slide in. “We’re different.”

  “I know what Matt is,” I replied once he was in the driver’s seat.

  “Lance is a lot like that, but a bit more of a snob. Matt likes to think he’s a good old boy with a badge. They both love their power.”

  “And what are you?”

  “Didn’t you hear? I’m the judge.” He looked at me with exasperation. Then he glanced behind us to pull out onto the street. Clearly, he didn’t like the label.

  I burst out laughing. “Do you have a real name, or are you stuck with the occupation because your mother named you that? Pretty cruel.” I understood labels—psychic, crazy and bad daughter. I owned them all.

  “It’s John. Dull. Mom just likes saying her sons the judge, the lawyer and the cop. But she only does this constant title nonsense with me. I think, because I’m the youngest, she’s actually forgotten my name.”

  “Maybe it’s the scotch?” I teased.

  “Maybe it’s her age. She’s seventy-five.” He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye.

  I turned and looked at him. “She can’t be.” The woman didn’t look a day over sixty. Drunk and sixty, but no more than sixty.

  “She’s seventy-five. It’s called stress-free Southern living. Her daddy was rich and she was the deb of her season. Married young to a man just as rich, and did the society mom thing. Nannies, maids and all of it.” He pulled into my driveway and put the car in park.

  “I’m glad you were there. I don’t know if I could’ve tolerated Lance all night.” I reached for the door as he exited the car. It was a disease down here. I took my hand off the door and waited. There were worse things in the world than this Southern gentleman thing. He opened my door.

  “You didn’t have to do that.” The Northern girl in me had to let him know I was independent.

  “I can’t get rusty. Gentlemen have to make it look effortless and expect no credit or thanks.” He gave me a slight bow.

  “I like that policy. Thanks for the ride. I would’ve driven over, but Gran’s old Jeep isn’t exactly dinner party transportation.” I straightened my jacket and checked that I had my purse.

  “You’ll have to get a new car. If you’re staying.” He closed the passenger door and proceeded to walk me to the door. “I was serious about Tulane. If you’re interested in teaching, I’m sure we can arrange something. Even if it’s just part-time for now.”

  “Thanks, I’m just not sure what I’m going to do yet. I already have an interview there.” I fished my keys out of my purse. Before I could put them in the door opened.

  The judge’s eyes bugged out at the movement without a body. All I could do was shrug and smile. Missy was an excellent watchdog. “The house is haunted. Ghosts are very dedicated chaperones and staff. Can you see her?
”

  He leaned in and looked around the door to look. No one was there, no one that he could see. I saw Missy studying him without expression. “I don’t see anyone. But whoever is there, I assure you, my intentions are honorable.”

  “Her name is Missy,” I supplied.

  “Missy.” He nodded at the empty air, playing along and believing me that there was a ghost. At least I hoped he believed me and wasn’t mocking me.

  Missy smiled and took a step back.

  I laughed. “Quit charming my ghosts. They might follow you home. Thanks for the lift.” I stepped into the doorway and Missy backed up a bit.

  “My pleasure. I hope Matt and Lance won’t drive you back North.”

  “They’re the least of my problems, believe it or not. Goodnight.” I put my hand on the door.

  “Goodnight.” He turned and headed back to the car. As soon as he was safely in, I closed the door and locked it behind me.

  “Why didn’t you invite the judge in for a drink?” Missy scolded.

  “Since when are you so forward? He has the proper manners and you cave? Besides, it wasn’t a date. Just a ride.” I waved her off.

  As cute and polite as the judge was, I had a file of papers to go through. I’d never sleep until I got through them. Why had Darren killed his sister? The thought had plagued me all night. If I knew why, maybe I could stop him from killing again.

  My mind flipped to Darren. He was outside the girl’s house now. I could feel him watching every move. He was in the back, no numbers or street signs for me to see. Darren was plotting his entry. It wouldn’t be tonight. This was recon.

  I pulled out the file, changed out of the pantsuit I might have to retire from my Southern wardrobe and flopped on the bed for a dull night of reading doctor’s notes. There was more to this than the file would tell me, but I had to start somewhere. If only I could get some ghostly help.

  Suddenly, the French doors opposite my bed rattled with a force stronger than the wind. I jumped.

  I had a visitor knocking.

  Chapter Ten

  I opened the French doors and the rush of wind stopped. There was nothing out there. At least that I could see. I went back to the bed and opened the file to be productive.

  It wasn’t my imagination. There was something out there but it could just be a ghost playing games. I needed to deal with Darren.

  A flash of metallic pale green appeared in my head. I blinked and saw a car of the same color. It had nothing to do with Darren. But I was going to see that car here in New Orleans.

  Anyone who thought there was clear logic or meaning in every psychic vision was seriously mistaken. So much of it didn’t really make sense until more pieces showed up. I got what I got.

  I shook off the color and refocused on the pictures in Darren’s file. There was a copy of the article from the library and another article with a picture. The twin’s name was Warren.

  “At least I wasn’t going crazy on the names,” I muttered to myself.

  “No, but you didn’t get them right, either. Did you?” sneered the little boy from the balcony. It was the little grave-stomping ghost from earlier.

  I looked up but tried not to show any reaction. I studied the ghost boy for a moment. Just like his picture, he hadn’t aged a day, unlike his brother. Darren’s picture was of a young man with defeated eyes. He’d already done time in a mental facility and, if we caught him, he’d do time in another—if not, he’d land in jail eventually.

  “I’m not always right. No one is. Why don’t you tell me how you died, Warren?”

  He stalked in the room and the wind whipped around him. “Why do you care?”

  “You look like you could use some help. Most people go back home to the Other Side when they die. Nice, peaceful and happy in Heaven.”

  “Not me, this is where I belong. The Other Side is for whole dead people.”

  Where Little Cel was timid and fearful, Warren was angry and rude. He’d been dead a lot longer, and apparently chose to haunt and terrorize instead of being normal and going back where he belonged.

  “Whole people? Is that really why you’re sticking with your brother? You feel incomplete?”

  Warren gritted his transparent teeth. “I tried to go around without him but it wasn’t fair. Didn’t work.”

  “How did you die?” I settled on my stomach on the bed, propping my head up with a pillow. Trying to ease him into sharing might not work, but it was option number one.

  “She pushed me. I told her, ‘No girls in the tree house’ but she didn’t listen. Brought all her dolls and that dumb tea set.” He sat down, grumbling.

  “Your younger sister?” I flipped through the photos casually and found the girl. “But the newspaper said she’d died because Darren dropped her out of the tree house, not you.”

  “That was later, stupid. I started it all. I tipped over her little table and the tea set broke. She started crying and having a hissy fit over nothing.”

  “Maybe she liked the tea set? Kids get attached to things. Like you and the tree house.”

  “And those dolls.” Warren rolled his eyes. “Mom had handmade them for her. Little Princess.”

  I wanted to talk about the dolls but it might be too soon. I needed more detail about why before I brought up the murders. That was guaranteed to work up the little guy. “What did you do after you broke the tea set?”

  “I chucked one of the dolls out of the tree house and held another ready to drop it in the mud.” A sinister grin spread across his face. “She screamed and came after me. She was nuts. Pushing me, grabbing for the doll.”

  “And?”

  “And I dropped it. It just got a little muddy. She should’ve gone after them. Gotten out of the tree house. That’s all I wanted.” His lower lip stuck out in a pout. Was that regret? A glimmer, maybe?

  “What did she do?”

  “She shoved me. Hard.” His voice became low and cold. “I fell. I fell on my head and heard a snap. Then I was standing there, watching my body lie there.”

  Little Cel died of a broken neck too. My skin crawled. “Where was your brother Darren when you died?”

  “He was inside, sick. He always got ear infections and stuff. Mom had him inside a lot. Babied him.”

  “What happened after you fell?”

  “Karen started screaming more. She ran for Mom, said I fell. Liar. She was a liar!” Warren pounded his transparent fist against his knee.

  “Were the police called?”

  “Sure, police and an ambulance, but I was already dead. It was an accident, as far as they knew. I tried to tell them, but no one could see me or hear me. She pushed me!”

  “She was what? Five years old. It wasn’t intentional.” I understand Warren’s frustration but kids pushed each other.

  “That’s what everyone said. They all tried to make her feel better. No one could see me, hear me,” he seethed.

  “Darren does.”

  Warren nodded. “Darren made himself sicker after I fell. He was upset. I stayed in our bedroom with him. At first he couldn’t really see me, but he knew I was there. I moved things, did things to let him know. After a while, he started to see and hear me.”

  “You told him the truth?” I was getting more info now. I wanted the roll to continue.

  “Sure, but no one believed him either. He tried to tell them. They were sure he was just imagining it. Just missed me and wanted to blame someone. He needed time, at least that was their theory. They were morons.”

  “But you never left him?”

  “I tried once. Darren was getting mad at me. Saying I wasn’t real, no one believed him. So I tried to go but I didn’t know where to go or what to do.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I hung around my sister’s room. Moved stuff, tried to punish her. Scare her. It didn’t really work and Darren needed me back in the end. He was afraid of the dark and didn’t like to be alone. Twins, that’s the thing about it. You’re never alone. Pe
ople don’t get how different it is. We’d never been apart our whole lives. I promised him, if he punished our sister, then I’d never leave him.” He spoke a bit odd for a kid. Maybe he’d matured? He’d been dead a long time.

  “You don’t think what your sister did was an accident?” I asked.

  “She shoved me! All because of the dolls. They’re just stupid dolls. She deserved what she got.”

  “And what did she get?” I prompted.

  “If I couldn’t live, she couldn’t live. I told Darren he had to get her for me. It took time because he didn’t want to do it. He did little things, at first. Sabotaged her bike so she’d fall, but nothing really worked well enough. Besides, I wanted her to go like I did.”

  “How did Darren get her to go into the tree house?” I could see her death clear in my mind, along with Warren’s death. But I wanted the why behind it.

  “No one went into the tree house after I died. But Darren did when I told him to. I told him to take the dolls up there. A nice little torture, he thought it’d be funny. I knew she’d go for the dolls.”

  “But taking her dolls wasn’t enough?”

  Warren smiled an evil little grin. “Once he was up there, I told Darren she’d push him out too and he’d die. That I’d gotten pushed off because I took her dolls. Which wasn’t a lie. All I had to do was convince him that she would kill him too. He didn’t want to die or for me to leave him. Darren was only twelve.”

  “He was twelve and your sister was only seven. It was no contest physically.”

  “Didn’t matter. A little shove and a long fall. He believed she was a danger. Darren hung her by her ankles outside the tree house. She cried, of course. Karen always cried. I wanted her to hang there longer, but a neighbor saw and Darren let her go.”

  “Her neck broke.” Just like Warren and the victims.

  “Fair is fair. And twins are always fair.”

  “Was it hard being a twin?” He seemed as intent on the twin thing as he was on the dolls.

  Warren shrugged. “It was hard and good. You never get anything of your own. Half the time you were treated like one person. Never alone. It was always a package deal. But not for her.”