The Stars We Walked Upon (Seven Sisters Series Book 5)

by M. L. Bullock

  “Get up now!” I shouted in my most authoritative voice. “On your feet! Put your hands where I can see them!”

  The intruder didn’t respond right away, but when she did I almost fell over. “Calm down, Henri. It’s just me,” the crumpled figure complained.

  “Lenore?”

  “Yep, the one and only.”

  “What the hell are you doing climbing through the window? I could have shot you!”

  “If you shoot me, you better hope you kill me. Because if you didn’t, you know I would kick your ass!” She dusted herself off and stood up to face me. Her expression let me know that nothing much had changed. She was still as crazy and defiant as ever. From the way her clothing looked, she didn’t need to bother trying to tidy herself up. The only time I’d seen my cousin dressed appropriately or nicely was at our grandmother’s funeral, and that had been more than twenty years ago. Today’s outfit was red leggings and an oversize pink shirt with black combat boots.

  “I’m going to ask again, why are you climbing through my window? You plan on robbing me?”

  “I don’t want nothing you have, Henri Devecheaux—I never have, and I’m sure as hell not a thief!” A little more apologetically she added, “I couldn’t come through the front door. You got a damn ghost on the front porch. You know I don’t fool with no ghosts.”

  I laughed, setting my gun down with a sigh of relief. “What do you mean?” Before I could get an answer from her, the doorbell rang. “Um…just wait right here.”

  “No, Henri! Don’t you open that door! I’m telling you the truth, fool! Don’t you ever listen? A ghost is out there!”

  “Lenore, have you been drinking? That’s my dinner guest, Detra Ann. She’s a real person, my business partner—not a ghost.” I sighed and pointed toward the screwed-up window. “Just fix my screen. Please. I’ll be right back.” I couldn’t believe my luck. My crazy cousin had to show up tonight of all nights. Once again I felt as if the Man Upstairs had it in for me.

  Sliding the gun into the back of my pants, I strode to the front door. It wouldn’t do to wave a gun around in front of Detra Ann, considering she’d been shot last year. The glass reflected her slender frame. I could tell from the length of her shadow that she was wearing high heels. That was promising. You didn’t wear high heels unless you wanted to impress someone. At least that was true for most women I’d met. On the other hand, Detra Ann wore high heels almost every day. I wasn’t sure who she was trying to impress. She was a natural beauty, even with bleached blond hair.

  I opened the door with a smile, trying to act as naturally as possible. “Hey! Right on time. Come in, please.”

  “Oh, Henri. It smells wonderful. Nice shirt.” She kissed my cheek and handed me a bottle of her favorite red wine. I pretended I didn’t notice the smell of whiskey on her breath. “I hope this goes with what you’ve prepared.” She flashed an empty smile.

  “This is perfect.” Remembering the gun in my waistband, I pointed to the dining room and excused myself. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”

  “Are you still fussing in the kitchen? Is there something I can help you with?”

  “No. Everything is ready. This won’t take a minute.”

  “Okey dokey.” She smiled again and walked to the dining room.

  As I was returning the gun to the desk drawer, I heard the shower running in the bathroom. What was I going to do with Lenore? She had always been a lost soul, but her behavior had gotten worse after Aleezabeth disappeared. We had been the three amigos—Peas, Carrots and Onions, our grandma had called us. I was pretty sure I’d been Onions.

  Aleezabeth…

  How long had it been since I’d summoned up her memory? When was the last time I’d called the sheriff of Dumont and demanded an update? Too long ago. I’d let Aleezabeth down, first by leaving her to walk home by herself and now by failing to find her and bring her home.

  I leaned against the doorframe with the wine bottle in my hand. So much for a nice, relaxing evening with Detra Ann. I’d have to explain Lenore before she had a chance to crash our dinner.

  “Hey, you coming? I’m going to start without you!”

  “Yep, on the way.” I stopped by the kitchen for the corkscrew and strolled into join her. To my surprise, Detra Ann had lit the candles and was already digging into supper. I poured the wine and sat down with her.

  “Hidden talents, Henri. I had no idea you could cook like this. Are you professionally trained? Did you go to culinary school somewhere?”

  I took a big swig of the fruity red wine. “No, but I’ve always loved cooking. I think it’s just a part of my heritage. You know, everyone from New Orleans can cook.”

  She shook her head as she finished a bite of the chicken. “That’s not true at all. I had an aunt from New Orleans, and she was the worst cook on the planet. Every Christmas she’d make us these God-awful pralines and then call us the next day to see if we’d eaten them. It was so funny because my dad would lie to her and tell her they hit the spot. She never knew he had a hole dug in the backyard that he lovingly called ‘the spot.’”

  “That sounds like something my father would have done. He was kind of a jokester.”

  “I’ve never heard you talk about your father. Is he still alive?”

  I took another swig of wine and eyed the hallway nervously. “I’m not sure.”

  “What?” she asked incredulously.

  “He kind of slipped away. Daddy liked playing music, or he did before he hooked up with my mother. He was a high school science teacher, but he dabbled in music—mostly jazz. One weekend a group of his old band buddies came around, and when they left town, Dad and his sax left too. I assumed he left with them.”

  “That must have been so hard on you. How old were you?”

  “Fourteen. My birthday was the month before he left.”

  “And you’ve never seen him in all this time?”

  “No, but that’s not unusual for my family—we’re all a bunch of wanderers. For example, my cousin Lenore showed up tonight. I haven’t seen her in years, and suddenly she’s here.”

  Her dark eyelashes fluttered in surprise. “You should have said something. We could have had dinner another night. I hope I didn’t inconvenience you, Henri.”

  “You’re never an inconvenience.”

  She dabbed her mouth with the linen napkin and smirked. I could tell she didn’t believe me. After a year, I knew her facial expressions pretty well. At least I thought I did. We chitchatted about work stuff, like the crate of antiques that had come in that morning, a client that refused to pay us, the noise from the construction on Dauphin Street. When our plates were nearly empty and the conversation died down, I felt more relaxed. I was pretty sure that Lenore had passed out on my bed, but at least she wouldn’t be crashing our dinner date—I hoped.

  “I have to admit I had an ulterior motive for inviting you here.”

  She set the napkin on the table, leaned back in the chair and appraised me suspiciously. “Not to steal your thunder, but before you tell me, I have something for you. For your birthday.”

  “How did you know I had a birthday?”

  “I took a peek at your driver’s license a while back. Since you didn’t mention it, I figured you wanted to keep it quiet. You know, thirty-five isn’t ancient.” Opening her oversize purse she removed a gold box with a royal blue ribbon wrapped around it. “This is for you.” She slid it toward me.

  I laughed in surprise. “I can’t believe you did that. You’re full of surprises, Detra Ann.”

  “Wait until you open it.”

  I picked up the box and put it back down. “I am sure this is a wonderful gift, but I really want something else.”

  She froze for a second and said, “Okay, what do you want?”

  “I want a dance. I mean, it is my birthday.” I walked to the CD player and hit play. I hadn’t planned this, but it felt right. Etta James began her sweet serenade.

  At last…my l
ove has come along…my lonely days are over…and life is like a song…

  With a sad smile, Detra Ann joined me on the makeshift dance floor. Her arms slid around my neck, and I held her close. Her long blond hair rubbed against my hands, and I did my best to breathe slowly so my heart wouldn’t beat out of my chest.

  “Remember that day, at the ribbon-cutting?”

  “Yes, I remember,” I said quietly. I knew it was hard for her to talk about TD, even now.

  “I don’t know what I would have done if I had looked out into that audience and didn’t see you.”

  “You would have been just fine, Detra Ann. You are strong—stronger than you think.”

  She squeezed me tighter and laid her head on my shoulder. I couldn’t help but touch her hair. “I will never forget it.” We danced until Etta sang her last notes. When the dance ended, she stepped back and reached for the gift before I could say or do anything else. “Now open it before I change my mind.”

  Quickly, I opened it, pulling the ribbon first and removing the golden cardboard lid. Inside was a silver key tied to another blue ribbon. I recognized it—this was the key to Cotton City Treasures. Puzzled, I turned it over in my hand.

  “I’m giving you my share of the business, Henri. It’s time for me to move on. I’ve taken a job in Atlanta—I’m leaving at the end of the week.”

  It felt like someone had kicked me in the gut. I put the key back in the box and replaced the lid. “I can’t take this. This is too much, Detra Ann. I can’t let you do this.”

  “It’s already done, my friend. I signed the papers yesterday, and it is official. You are the sole proprietor of Cotton City Treasures—you own it all. It’s just my way of saying thank you. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here today. I mean, I know I’m not a hundred percent yet, but you have been a lifesaver. Truly. Thank you for everything.”

  Stunned, I murmured, “You’re welcome.”

  She sprang from her chair and hugged me, and I breathed in her sweet smell. Detra Ann sometimes wore expensive perfume, the kind you normally only got a whiff of in fashion magazines, but then there were times when she smelled like sun-dried sheets and wildflowers. That’s how I always thought of her. And now she was leaving. “I thought this would be easy, but it’s not. I will miss you most of all,” she whispered in my ear. After a few moments, she reached for her purse and headed out the door. “I have to go. I’ll come by and see you before I leave, I promise.”

  I watched her car lights disappear down Conception Street, and then I closed the door. I felt like my heart had been snatched out. Lenore was standing in the doorway, her hair wild and damp from her shower. Her olive-colored skin practically glowed in the candlelight.

  “Please tell me you weren’t intending on telling that ghost you loved her. She’s not for you, Henri.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Lenore.”

  She clucked her tongue, “You’ve always been a fool when it came to women. Remember Peaches?” As she strolled across the wooden floor, I noticed she was wearing a pair of my socks. She peered through the blinds and said, “She was a nightmare, and she left you high and dry just like I told you she would. Then there was that red-haired stripper, Anastasia…”

  “She wasn’t a stripper—she was a burlesque dancer, and that was over ten years ago.”

  “Don’t correct me. You’ve got a bad habit of thinking you’re the only one that’s right, Henri Lamar Devecheaux. You can’t love that girl. She’s already dead—she’s a ghost. At the very least, she’s a shade.”

  “What are you talking about?” I knew I would regret asking, but I did it anyway. “What the hell is a shade, Lenore?”

  “Someone who’s been touched by Death. A part of her is already gone. Death only got his bony hands on part of her, but all that’s left is a shadow—a shade. He’ll come for the rest.” She stood closer to me now—she touched my hand tentatively as if she thought I was a shade too. “You know what I am saying is true. I can see it in your face. What do you have to do with this, Henri?” I didn’t answer her. I wanted her to leave my home, but I was too polite to say so. She touched my arm again. Sure that I was real, her face softened; her voice was unusually soft and kind. “She’s someone who should have died but escaped the reaper’s hands. But he’ll come back for her. And if you’re anywhere around her when he does, he might take you too. She’s been amongst the dead, seen them, touched them. Death won’t let her go—she’s his. She can never be yours, cousin.”

  “I don’t believe a word you’re saying. You don’t either. You just like tormenting me, don’t you? This isn’t about Detra Ann at all. This is about Aleezabeth. Tell me the truth, Lenore. Why are you here? What do you want? Money?”

  As if she didn’t hear me, she walked around the room, examining my pictures and my collection of antique silver spoons. “That’s probably why she’s drinking and taking those pills. She feels cold Death creeping into her bones and thinks she can escape it. It won’t work. It never does. She’s a ghost already…”

  “Shut up, Lenore! If you don’t stop talking like that, you will have to go. I don’t believe Detra Ann is the only one drinking too much. You’re on dope now, aren’t you?”

  She closed her eyes and held her breath, tilting her head like she was listening to an invisible voice. Then her eyes sprung open and she said, “I’m here to help you, Henri. I didn’t come for any other reason. You’re about to see the supernatural like you’ve never seen it before! I want to help you, cousin. You’re the last family I got, and I’ll be damned if I just let you go.” She pursed her lips and scowled at me. “I lost Aleezabeth. We both lost her—I won’t lose you too. I am staying right here until that ghost is gone. Have a care for your soul, Henri. Please.”

  I rubbed my forehead in frustration. “Listen, if you want to stay for a while, fine. But there are some ground rules. Number one, you aren’t just lying around the house all day. You’ve got to get a job. When I leave the house, you leave the house. No climbing in the windows or kicking down doors. Number two, you leave Detra Ann alone. No talking to her about all this crazy stuff—in fact, you don’t talk to her at all. She’s been through enough. Number three, if you steal from me, you’re out of here. All I have to do is call Detective Simmons at the Mobile Police Department and she’ll come pick you up tout de suite. Those are the rules. You understand?”

  Lenore could see I was serious. She didn’t argue and nodded her head. “Can I smoke in here?”

  “Not in my house, but there’s a chair in the backyard if you want to puff on your cancer sticks. You’ve got the guest room—that’s the room you broke into. Do you have clothes?”

  “I’ve got enough, and the guest room suits me fine.”

  “I’m cleaning the kitchen and going to bed. There’s some leftover chicken in there if you’re hungry.”

  “I think I’ll go smoke first.” Without even a thank you, Lenore slipped out of the house and into the darkened backyard.

  With a sigh I went to the kitchen to tidy up. Corking the wine and removing the dishes from the table, I slid on my rubber gloves and let the hot water run in the sink. I had a dishwasher, a nice stainless steel one, but I liked washing dishes by hand. It was therapeutic. After tonight’s turn of events, I needed some therapy. The woman I loved—yes, I could admit that now—was leaving me behind. Isn’t that terrific? I cracked the window a bit to let some cool air in. It was too early in the year to turn on the air conditioning, but the house felt stuffy tonight.

  I squirted the blue dishwashing liquid into the sink and watched the suds build. I caught a whiff of Lenore’s cigarette. I thought about asking her to move away from the window, but then I heard her whisper into a phone. “Hey! You ain’t going to believe this, but I found one.” I froze and turned off the water. It was quiet for a moment. “Sure I’m sure.” Another pause. “Yeah, probably, but we’ll have to move fast.”

  Chills ran up and down my spine. For a second it was
as if the air stopped moving and I stopped breathing. I knew exactly what—no, who—Lenore was talking about.

  Detra Ann.

  Chapter Four—Carrie Jo

  Desmond Taylor insisted that I meet him at Idlewood first thing in the morning, and I was happy to do so. Off the beaten path, the old house stood off Carlen Street about a mile from Seven Sisters. Another forgotten gem crumbling into the Mobile landscape, Idlewood was in nowhere near the condition Ashland’s family home had been. It was in far worse shape. And to think I believed restoring Seven Sisters had been challenging. Still, the old house had good bones, as Terrence Dale used to say. And to top it off, it had a fascinating history. One that I couldn’t walk away from.

  Idlewood was actually a twin home. The original house was the Idlewild Plantation in Derby, Louisiana. The McClellans visited the home and loved it so much they purchased copies of the original plans and reconstructed it here in Mobile. Idlewild was a raised plantation—a unique construction because of its mix of French and English features. Typical for the wild woods of Louisiana, it had been a rarity during its time here in Mobile. The front facade of Idlewood had three dormers, which gave it a graceful look despite the sagging roof. Rusty, ornamental cast-iron balustrades looked promising but in much need of some skilled attention. But the thing I loved the most were the galleries. This type of house normally had molded capitals, but Idlewood’s galleries were lined with gorgeous fluted, Doric columns that begged to be restored to their former elegance.

  According to Mr. Taylor, Idlewood’s current owner, this Greek revival plantation house had undergone at least a dozen changes since the original construction. But fortunately these had been relatively minor and had not taken away from the original owner’s vision. Luckily for me, I knew what Idlewood had really looked like, right down to the paisley wallpaper in the hallway—I had seen it in a dream. Once upon a time, about a hundred and fifty years ago, there had been a grand Christmas ball held here at Idlewood. Dr. Hoyt Page and his beloved Christine Cottonwood rekindled their romance in the upstairs nursery. A little boy battled the flu, and rare Christmas snowflakes had fallen, much to the delight of a pair of cocker spaniels and the gathered party. Unfortunately, I could not revisit the nursery or any of the rooms on the top floor, as the stairs were deemed unsafe.