by Sandra Cox
Christopher removed his jacket and cap, his eyes never leaving the rearview mirror. Four minutes later his rented car came screaming into sight. Holding the duffel bag, he jumped out of the van, handed the young man two bills, climbed into his car and headed for the airport.
Grinning as he pocketed his money, the driver returned to his van. He was still smiling ten minutes later, when a lovely blonde in an old red Probe pulled up alongside him and motioned him over.
While the young man tried to strike up a conversation with the pretty but infuriated blonde, several miles away Christopher settled into the pilot’s seat of his private plane. His hand on the throttle, he nosed it off the runway.
He’d left the rental car at the airport. Both the car and his hotel bill had been paid in advance and his luggage stowed on his plane. All the loose ends had been tied up except perhaps the blonde. He felt a twinge of regret. Under different circumstances he would have enjoyed getting to know her better. His grin widened, much better. Oh, well, it just wasn’t to be.
He circled once. Then like a large silver bird, the plane glided upward toward wispy white clouds. Capitol Airport grew smaller and smaller, until finally it disappeared from view.
Soon the green crystal would be in the hands of its rightful owner. Christopher glanced at the duffel bag sitting in the seat beside him then jerked the wheel as a luminous green glow radiated through the canvas.
Christopher could feel his pupils dilate and the blood drain from his face. He blinked then stared. There was no phosphoric glow, just an ordinary canvas bag set on the seat beside him.
White-knuckling the wheel, his teeth clenched, Christopher straightened out the plane as he flew it through the clouds. “It was just my imagination.”
* * * * *
While Christopher winged his way toward New Orleans, Gabby wailed into the phone, “But, Daddy, she stole my crystal.”
As soon as Gabby realized she had really and truly lost Saint, she’d turned around and headed for a home, a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. Gabby knew before she’d walked in the door that the crystal was gone.
“Gabriella,” her father’s bull-like voice bellowed over the phone, “we’ve had one murder, three rapes and five break-ins. And that has been in the last four hours. I don’t have time to be chasing down a nineteen-dollar crystal ball.”
The receiver clicked in her ear.
“Make that six break-ins,” she said into the phone, but the only response was a dial tone. She cradled the phone then stared at it, her expression pensive.
Flopping down on the bed, she picked up the crisp green hundred dollar bills. “Probably counterfeit,” Gabby muttered to herself.
Jericho and Ned sat side by side watching her. Ned’s head cocked to the side as if he were trying to figure out her mood. Jericho, a bored expression on his narrow face, obviously didn’t care about her mood one way or the other.
She tapped the bills against the palm of her hand, an idea forming. “Christopher Saint, you are going to rue the day you took my ball.”
She picked up the phone and tried again. The dispatcher came on. “Agnes,” Gabby began.
“He won’t talk to you, Gabby. He said specifically not to put you through.”
Gabby sat on the edge of the bed, curling the phone cord around her finger. “As a matter of fact I don’t want to talk to him. I want to talk to you.”
“Uh-oh.”
Gabby had known Agnes as long as she could remember. The dispatcher was a feisty sixty-year-old black woman with a tough exterior that hid a heart of gold.
“Agnes, would you get me Christopher Saint’s address?”
The voice on the other end of the phone was heavy with suspicion. “Girl, what you want it for? And why ain’t you askin’ your daddy?”
“Duh, Agnes, he won’t talk to me. I’m working on a story.” Which was true as far as it went.
That was all it took for Agnes. Gabby’s father might grumble constantly about her not having a real job and living off the trust fund an aunt left her, but Agnes was a true fan. Every story, no matter how insignificant or how far back in the paper, was praised and admired.
“Give me ten minutes, I’ll call you back. What are you working on anyway?” she added in a conspiratorial whisper.
“Crystal balls.”
“Oh.”
Gabby grinned, knowing Agnes was struggling to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “I know, Agnes. I was a skeptic too. But there’s something to all this mumbo jumbo. Did you know that if you compress quartz it creates a positive and negative charge? Isn’t that wild?” Not as wild as seeing that hateful man’s face in her green crystal, but she wasn’t going into that right now.
“But that’s not really what I’m working on.” This time it was Gabby who lowered her voice. “Agnes, you knew someone stole my crystal didn’t you?”
“The whole department knows,” Agnes responded dryly. “We all heard your dad’s less-than-melodious voice telling you not to bother him about a nineteen-dollar toy. The sergeant’s a good man, Gabby and a good father, just extremely overworked.”
Gabby strove for patience. “I know that, Agnes. But someone offered me a thousand dollars for the crystal. Now why would someone do that for a toy as Dad calls it?”
Why, indeed?
Before she could mention the two thousand that had been left on her nightstand and if that didn’t have implications she didn’t know what did, Agnes interrupted, “Gabby, maybe you’re getting in over your head. Something doesn’t smell right.”
His timing impeccable, Ned chose that moment to pass gas.
“You got that right,” Gabby said wrinkling her nose. Nope, she definitely better not mention the two thousand to Agnes. Maybe it was just as well that Daddy had hung up on her before she could tell him that little gem. Gabby grinned and said instead, “What if this is it, Agnes? I know it’s a long shot, but what if this is my big break? From what my dad said, Christopher Saint is news. Maybe we peons in the Midwest have never heard of him, but I bet if you checked the society columns in the rest of the country, you’d find his name,” she said shrewdly.
“You really think he stole your ball?”
“I’m sure of it. I saw him.”
“Gotta go, got an incoming. I’ll call you back with that address.”
“You’re a babe, Agnes.”
“That’s what the men tell me, honey. Hee. Hee.” The phone clicked.
Ten minutes later Agnes called back. “He lives in New Orleans,” she said triumphantly. “And you were right, honey. His family is as rich as Croesus.”
Gabby nodded to herself, remembering the Saints ball cap sitting on that arrogant head. “Do you have an address?”
“Do I have an address? Of course, I do.”
“And it is?”
“1010 St. Charles Street. He lives with his aunt Tamara James.”
“You’re the best. I’ll bring you back some beads.”
“Girl, don’t you go exposing yourself!”
Gabby grinned. “It’s not Mardi Gras and I promise I will purchase them.”
“Gabby.”
“Yes, Agnes?”
“You be careful, hear.”
“I’ll be as safe as houses, whatever that means.”
“Houses tend to get blown away in a hurricane,” Agnes warned.
“I’ll be careful. Bye, Agnes.”
“Bye, honey.”
“And Agnes.”
“Yes?”
“Thanks.”
Agnes whispered conspiratorially, “You’re welcome, baby. Sergeant just walked by got to go,” and hung up.
Gabby was already redialing. “Amy, I’m going to be out of town for a few days, will you take care of Jericho and Ned?”
Chapter Eight
Gabby stood on St. Charles Avenue in front of a house that looked right out of the pages of Gone With the Wind.
Before she left Springfield, she’d sat down and whipped out a piece on energy deri
ved from crystals and sent it to the newspaper. It was the first in a series on crystal balls and the people that used them. Hopefully, the paper would like it enough to buy it and the subsequent series.
She had then gone to the library and done more research. It had taken her two days, but she’d finally found what she’d been looking for. It had been in a tattered copy of the private works of Octavia Brown donated to the library in 1980 titled Crystal Balls.
Tamara James, Christopher Saint’s aunt, had a crystal ball that had been in her family for generations. It was said to possess unearthly power. Disbelievers scoffed, but believers considered it a holy relic.
Gabby had also found a microfiche copy of a more current weekly magazine that catered to the occult. In it was a gossipy little piece that suggested the ball had recently been stolen.
It hadn’t taken a rocket scientist to put two and two together. Her crystal and Mrs. James’ stolen crystal were one in the same.
Gabby straightened her shoulders and walked briskly up the brick walkway. She didn’t quite have all the pieces yet, but she soon would.
Her sandals clicked against the wood as she walked across the wide verandah. She stopped at the door, took a deep breath then rang the bell.
A heavyset black woman wearing a black dress and crisp white apron answered the door. She looked at Gabby inquiringly.
“I’m here to see Tamara James.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Yes.”
The woman gave her a look she’d seen on her mother’s face whenever she had been caught out in a lie.
Gabby backpedaled. “No. But I must speak to her. I believe she has something of mine.”
“And what might that be?” the woman asked, her expression skeptical.
Gabby jutted her chin in the air. “My green crystal ball.”
The woman gave a long-suffering sigh. “Lord save us,” she muttered under her breath. Then in normal tones, “Won’t you come in?”
Gabby stepped into the hall and looked around. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling and tinkled with the wind from the opened door. For the second time in less than a month, she was in love. Or lust. Her crystal ball belonged here. She belonged here.
The maid broke into her reverie. “This way please.”
As they walked through the house, Gabby gawked like a tourist. After what seemed like miles, they came to a courtyard.
Gabby stared in wonder. “Oh, this is beautiful,” she breathed. The courtyard was bricked in to keep the world out. At its center was a fountain, with a fish spouting water. The water cascaded in a soothing continuous flow, the sound soft and hypnotic. The knot in Gabby’s stomach began to ease.
The scent of jasmine tickled her senses. She inhaled and smiled. White orchids and red hibiscus bloomed profusely. Ivy covered the walls.
She was still smiling dreamily when an intrusive voice asked, “Young lady, who might you be?”
Gabby came back to reality with a snap. She straightened and before the maid could introduce her, she marched forward. “Gabriella Bell and I believe you have my crystal.”
The two women eyed each other. Gabby had never felt more like an Amazon. She was wearing a peach-colored denim jumper that stopped two inches short of her knees, with a white tee underneath. Her tan legs were bare, her feet shod in white sandals.
Over the years Gabby had found she could wear a tent and still draw admiring glances. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case today. Next to her hostess, she resembled a bag lady.
The diminutive woman in front of her looked more like an aging fairy, of the winged variety, than she did a flesh and blood mortal. She couldn’t have been more than five foot tall, which made her nearly a foot shorter than Gabby. Her hair was snow white and she wore a purple, wispy something that seemed to billow out like wings with each movement.
“Young lady have you lost your senses?” the diminutive woman asked, her tones crisp.
Gabby fought down the feeling of intimidation and straightened her shoulder. “No, ma’am,” she replied stubbornly. “I bought a green crystal for five hundred dollars. I believe your nephew Christopher Saint stole it from me.”
“Good heavens,” the woman said faintly. “And what makes you think it was Christopher or my crystal?”
“Research. I’m an independent reporter,” Gabby said proudly, lifting her chin. “It’s what I do.”
The small woman held out her hand. “I’m Tamara James.”
Gabby took it, her own paw engulfing the tiny woman’s hand. “I know.”
“Beatrice, would you be so kind as to fetch us some tea?”
Beatrice nodded and disappeared into the house.
Tamara, her head tipped to one side, studied Gabby much like she would an exotic bird that had mistakenly flown into her courtyard. She motioned toward a wrought iron bench. “Won’t you set down, child.”
Gabby sat down, exposing her bare legs halfway up her thigh. She pulled at her skirt, but there was no way she could get the fabric to her knees. Giving up, she straightened her shoulders and put her feet together flat on the floor, her hands folded in her lap, a reflex from her mother’s etiquette lessons, which had been drummed into her head since she was six years old.
With a swish of airy fabric, Tamara sat down next to her. “So you think I’ve stolen your ball?”
“Not you, ma’am, your nephew. I won’t press charges. I just want it back.”
Tamara laughed. It reminded Gabby fleetingly of bells tinkling. “Can you show me proof?” she inquired.
Gabby dug into her tiny white clutch and handed her the receipt.
Tamara took it and squinted at it. She handed it back. “Young woman I respect your tenacity. I will freely give you the five hundred you paid for it, but under no circumstances will I give you my ball.”
Gabby’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you do that, if you didn’t think you had my globe?”
“Because I admire your grit,” Tamara said quietly. “Coming here took a lot of courage.”
Gabby glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. The word grit seemed out of place in this woman’s vocabulary. She was too otherworldly. She should be discussing fairies and magicians and sprites.
At that moment, Beatrice came out carrying tall crystal glasses of iced tea with sprigs of mint floating in them. The cubes clicked as she handed a glass first to Mrs. James, then one to Gabby.
The drink felt cool in Gabby’s hand, condensation already forming along its surface. Idly, she drew a ring around the glass with her forefinger.
“Beatrice will you get me my checkbook?”
“No,” Gabby said firmly, causing both older women to look at her. She turned to Tamara. “You can’t buy me off. I want my crystal. Besides, someone left two thousand dollars beside my bed when they took it. I have no doubt it was your nephew.”
Beatrice glanced from one to the other uneasily.
Tamara motioned her back. “It’s all right, Beatrice. You can go about your duties.”
Beatrice gave Gabby a dark look. “I’ll be watching you. And if I come out here and find you gone with Miz. James’ lifeless body lyin’ on the ground, I’ll personally come after you.”
Gabby felt her eyes widened in disbelief. “Good Gad,” she exclaimed in much the same tones as her father.
Tamara shrugged and smiled as her maid strode off, throwing obstinate glances over her shoulders. “She reads murder mysteries. And why would my nephew leave money by your bed?” she queried lifting her perfectly formed silver eyebrows.
“That question is unnecessary and in extremely bad taste,” Gabby ground out.
“Then let me try again. Why do you want my globe, child? To resell for unimaginable dollars?” Tamara prodded gently.
“No,” Gabby said vehemently. “It’s mine I tell you. Mine.” Gabby knew she sounded more like a spoiled child than a reasonable adult. But damn it, she wanted her globe back, had to have it back, much like a druggie wanting a fix.<
br />
Gabby squirmed a bit under Tamara’s thoughtful gaze. Her eyes were a pretty violet shade that matched her costume. She wondered fleetingly if that was their true color or if Tamara wore tinted contacts.
“Have you ever seen anything in the ball?” she asked quietly.
Gabby straightened. “Why, er, yes. That’s what crystals are for. To see and tell fortunes right?” she replied, her chin raised, her tone flippant.
“Who have you seen in the ball, Ms. Bell?”
Gabriella blinked at the intensity of the older woman’s gaze. She was tempted to blurt out, “your nephew” but she had never told anyone that and she had no intention of starting now.
“No one, I just made that up.”
“What do you think of my nephew?” Tamara probed.
Gabby threw her a startled look. Could the old woman read her mind?
“I think he’s a common thief. And,” she added, “he has cold eyes.”
Tamara smiled. A smile that softened her features and made Gabby realize she must have been a beauty without peer in her day. “There is nothing common about my nephew.” Then she said briskly, “Well, young lady, we seem to be at an impasse.”
“I want my globe.” The need for it was intense. She could feel its presence. The globe was here, pulling at her like a magnet.
“You can’t have it.” Tamara took a sip of her iced tea, completely unperturbed.
Gabby stood up. “Then I will go to the police.”
Tamara shook her head. “You do what you must, my dear, but I feel it only fair to warn you, everyone in New Orleans, including the police, know that ball has been in my family since the beginning of time. The only way it will leave my possession is on my death.”
She cocked her head as if thinking. “Now that’s a thought.” Then shook her head. “No Beatrice would be onto you.”
Gabby rolled her eyes.
“Actually, there is one other way. When my nephew marries, I will give the ball to his bride. Do you want the ball enough to marry my nephew?”
Gabby shuddered. “Not for your ball, your wonderful estate and all your money.”
“My, you do have strong feelings for my nephew.”
Gabby tried to clear her head. The conversation was getting out of hand. And then she opened her mouth and made it even worse. “And no society tart he might marry is going to have it either. I’ll steal it back,” she threatened.
