by D C Young
I had witnessed a very small portion of the argument that took place between Mister Ambrose, Kingsley Fulcrum’s client, and the deceased, Mister Collins. Though I had heard what was being said and had witnessed Mister Collins pulling a gun to shoot Mister Ambrose before the latter, pulled his own gun and shot Collins dead. It was clearly a case of self defense. Sam did an excellent job of clarifying my testimony, but she wasn’t quite prepared for the second bit of information that I had for her; the more critical information and the reason that I had held off giving her my testimony in California.
The look on her face was classic when I told her of how the deceased Mister Collins had filled me in on the details of the argument that got him killed; post mortem. In fact, I had to fight to maintain control when she asked her next question, a very befuddled and blunt, “What?”
I explained how Mister Collin’s spirit had refused to cross over into the next dimension until justice for Mister Ambrose was delivered. That had made little sense at first, seeing that Mister Ambrose had acted in self defense but Collins had clarified that he wouldn’t be at peace until Ambrose was free from the charges laid against him. That explanation had not helped to lessen Sam’s confusion, so I had continued with the second bit of information that I had for her; how the two had actually been channeling Yemaya.
Yemaya was a powerful motherly deity of the Orishas. The Orishas were deities who found their way to the Americas, mostly the Caribbean, through the Atlantic slave trade, which brought the beliefs from the Yoruba people of Southwestern Nigeria and Tongo. The Yemaya was specifically linked to the waters, including oceans, lakes and rivers. In addition, she is the amniotic fluid in the pregnant woman’s womb, and also the breasts which nurture. She is highly protective and a powerful feminine energy force. Ambrose and Collins had learned that she was pissed off at New Orleans and their argument had been about whether they should tell anyone or not.
To Sam’s credit, she caught onto the significance of what I told her right away. It did take some convincing, however, to get her to understand that she needed to join the Elder and the Hanged One in New Orleans to confirm what had only been rumors, up to the point that Mister Collins had revealed the facts to me.
The weightiness of the conversation had threatened to put a damper on the rest of our evening together, so it was at that time that I decided to bring up the fact that my granddaddy and great granddaddy were bootleggers of bourbon.
“No wonder you are so fond of the drink,” she laughed. “It’s in your blood.”
“And all the more reason for you not to get any ideas about my usefulness as a vitamin supplement,” I quipped.
“No hardly, Rennie,” she laughed. “I wouldn’t touch the stuff, straight or in a mixed drink.”
“You don’t like Coke either, I take it?” I laughed. “Mama called it Devil in a bottle.”
“The Coke or the bourbon,” she asked.
“The bourbon,” I replied. “To get the same opinion about Coke, you’d have to ask my daddy about it.”
Where I had been certain that our friendship had a bright future, it was in that particular moment that the ice, so to speak, had been broken. We continued to laugh and make jokes about our particular contributions in the paranormal world throughout the evening. The fun that we’d been having and the racket that we’d stirred up, brought out the rest of the family; mine, not Sams.
There is simply no way to explain the difficulty involved in trying to have a decent conversation with a person while everyone around you is putting in their two cents worth about every comment that is made and every statement offered. I told Sam about what was going on in the room while we were speaking and it was then that I learned what her daughter had said about her impressions of the house when she arrived.
“Tammy has nailed it, bless her heart” I responded. I spoke in a different tone than I had been using with Sam. It was a general announcement that I hoped would be heard by all of my kinfolk. “I hope that everyone present will make our guests feel comfortable and at home instead of pulling a lot of nonsense.”
I was sad to see Sam and her family leave. There’s no point in playing down that fact. It had been a very long time since I had been so thoroughly entertained and laughed so hard at Seagull Point. It was a struggle for me not to hug Sam’s neck when I escorted the lot of them out onto the front porch and watched them scurry off back to Tybee.
Chapter Twelve
Sam
Extended vacation.
New Orleans, huh?
It’s been a long time since I’ve been to New Orleans. I love the place, the people, the culture… I mean who doesn’t but dammit, I sure can do without all the damn ghosts. Savannah is a calm spot for paranormal activity compared to New Orleans and Hurricane Katrina did not improve things one little bit.
In truth, I still have a problem figuring out why vampires love that city so much. There are thousands of vampires living in and around New Orleans, including a couple dozen famous ones.
I mean New York Best seller list type famous over here. One author had made her fortune re-telling their stories for decades.
There were even whole nests of vampires that sailed up and down the Mississippi River on elaborate steamboats that they called home. Another famous author had blown the lid off that story and made a killing off it too.
Like I said, I love the place, but I was never at ease in New Orleans or the state of Louisiana for that matter.
Ironic… uneasy in the ‘Big Easy’. There was no ‘Laissez les bon temps rouler’ for me… ever.
Louisiana was the home to the most supernatural and paranormal beings per capita in the United States of America… that’s an unofficial, unrecorded fact! Witches, werewolves, vampires, ghosts; Louisiana was home to a full roll call of everything that went bump in the night.
Creepy…
Still, my responsibilities outweighed my personal discomfort. I’d made promises and I would never break them. I still had to pass the change of plans by Mary Lou and Rick for approval, there was no telling if they could, or even wanted to, change our holiday plans. For all I knew, they didn’t have the time or desire to go to New Orleans with me.
Kingsley had graciously offered to finance the trip for all of us to go, but that was dependent on the others, and he appreciated that. Either way, I would be making the trip though.
The kids were having so much fun on their travels so far; I kind of wanted to keep the experience going for them if I could. Tammy and Anthony had never been to Louisiana and the Benoir sisters had promised we’d get to see much more than just New Orleans if we came. Point Coupee parish, where they had a family estate, promised culture, cuisine and sightseeing only authentic Cajun Louisiana could offer.
I want my kids to have unique experiences like this, especially with their cousins.
When we returned to Tybee Island that Sunday night, the mood was a little sullen among the adults. We were all tired and mosquito-bitten and after all the kids had gone to bed, we lounged outside on the upstairs balcony. I broke the news as gently as I could.
“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news but I won’t be headed straight back to Fullerton with you and the kids on Thursday. I hope you guys don’t mind watching Tammy and Anthony for a few days until I get back.”
“Sam, I’m way too tired to even try to figure out what you mean by that so please just start explaining,” Mary Lou said weakly.
“It looks like I’ll be heading to New Orleans for a few days after this.”
“Is it the case you been dabbling in for Kingsley?” Rick asked with more interest than I expected. Usually, it was Mary Lou who wanted to hear every detail about my cases. She was slow in response, but certainly didn’t disappoint and was soon listening as keenly as Rick was.
“Yeah. Turns out his client had some very important information about something that’s going to happen in Louisiana. As soon as the charges are dropped, they’ll both be flying out there to meet up with a cou
ple of our other colleagues. It’s a big deal and they’ve asked for my help. I would have taken you all with me but I’m not sure what’s happening out there; it could be dangerous. I’m sorry if it’s an inconvenience.”
“Dangerous? Inconvenience? These aren’t words we typically use on summer vacation, Sam,” Mary Lou said as she sat up in her hammock. “There’s no way we’re gonna abandon you in the middle of the trip, the kids would have too many questions. And furthermore, New Orleans in summertime, you’ve got to be kidding! What’s more beautiful than that?” Rick looked like he was about to say something but Mary Lou stopped him dead in his tracks. “Don’t you even say Mardi Gras, Mister, or I’ll sock you over the head with this flip flop.”
Rick laughed, then turned to Sam and said, “I’m volunteering at the Fire Station next week but I’m sure I can push it back a couple of days. When do you think we’ll be heading back to Cali?”
“I would think by Sunday morning but if it gets more complicated, you guys and the kids will be going on home while I might have to stay behind,” Sam replied.
There was a moment of silence as they seemed to be mulling over the new arrangements and then Mary Lou suddenly howled, “It’s settled then, bring on Bourbon Street!”
Four days later we were on our way to New Orleans… just like that.
Damn, I love my family. They’re just a weird as I am sometimes!
Chapter Thirteen
Rick
I love New Orleans.
When our flight finally landed at Louis Armstrong New Orleans airport, the kids were almost in a full blown frenzy. Mary Lou and I had been coming up with all sorts of amazing plans for our stay in the city and I could tell the kids were quickly becoming mind-blown by it all.
There was Jackson Square and St. Louis Cathedral, The City of the Dead and Madame Laveau’s tomb, Bourbon Street and Lake Pontchartrain, The Audubon Nature Institute and the Aquarium of the Americas. But most importantly, and what was certain to come first, was beignets and coffee and food, food and more food.
And drinks of course… we had Mary Lou in tow after all.
Her stomach had actually started growling as soon as we got into the cab to go to the hotel. All the talk of delicious New Orleans cuisine was making Sam’s stomach grumble too, but we all knew it wasn’t for fried sweet dough covered in powdered sugar.
Mary Lou and I had promised to take the kids straight to the DeVille Coffee House for lunch where they could have either Crepes Suzette and beignets or a hearty Muffaletta, a sandwich with loads of ham, salami, mozzarella and olive salad on a Kaiser roll. Tammy couldn’t wait to get her hands on one of the bowl sized cups of café au lait, while Anthony could already taste the ham and olives.
So, in an effort to get everyone satisfied in a timely manner, Sam suggested we go straight to the coffee shop to eat while she went with the luggage and got us all checked in at the hotel. The idea pleased everyone and no one thought to ask if she was hungry too.
Of course she was hungry, just not for crepes and coffee.
She had frequented a vampire food vendor, suggested by her friend, Veronica Melbourne, a few times while we were in Savannah. According to Mary Lou, Sam had found the service to be high quality and discreet. So, as soon as she got into the hotel suite she would be sharing with Tammy and Anthony, Sam quickly dug through her hand bag for the set of business cards Veronica had given her weeks before our departure from California.
It was a virtual black book of all the underground ‘vampire food vendors’ Veronica usually patronized while out and about on her travels across the lower forty-eight states. In New Orleans, she would be visiting a little red brick house on Fairway Drive in Metairie, where a gentleman by the name of Castille would provide her with as many clean, safe and legally obtained blood bags as she could pay for. No questions asked.
It wasn’t a long walk to that part of town and Sam wasn’t afraid to go alone either.
She’s a fricking vampire for crying out loud. And more importantly my amazing, bad-ass sister-in-law!
Finding the red brick house wasn’t difficult either. She was a little surprised by that and even more so by how ordinary the place looked. It gave new meaning to the phrase, ‘hiding in plain sight’. When she’d described the neighborhood to us later that evening, I was convinced that none of the neighbors even imagined that they lived next door to a vampire blood bank.
After her refreshing and nutritious visit at Castille’s place, Sam took a walk through Metairie Cemetery and then a tram ride straight down Canal Street and around to Toulouse Station. From there, she walked leisurely back to St. Ann’s Street, sauntering through Jackson Square and enjoying the views of St. Louis Cathedral on the way back to our hotel.
Chapter Fourteen
Anthony
I really love New Orleans.
I’m a guy of simple pleasures, what can I say.
The minute we sat down at DeVille Coffee House, I was in heaven. Firstly, a pretty Cajun girl came to our table to wait on us. She was gorgeous, with pale grey eyes as big and round as almonds and a pretty smile. Much to my chagrin, Tammy caught me staring a couple of times and kicked me under the table. At least she didn’t tease me.
That was one thing about my sister, she never teased me… not anymore at least, and I tried my best to return the favor.
Uncle Rick took charge of ordering for everyone. Both he and Aunt Mary seemed to know the menu there inside and out; he also seemed to know exactly what she wanted to eat.
I admire those two so much. When I grow up I want to meet someone and have a relationship like theirs.
He ordered for us kids first. Deluxe BLT’s and creamy vanilla milkshakes for my three cousins.
They were bouncing around in their seats at the mere mention of that.
A Mufalletta sandwich with the works and a large coke for me.
Amen, I can hear all the angels in heaven singing…
“I’ll have the same for myself as well,” Uncle Rick added, just to make the waitress’ job a little easier.
Crepes Suzette and beignets with a cup of decaf café au lait for Tammy.
“May I have it in one of those big cups?” she asked excitedly.
The waitress nodded her head and in a smooth accent, replied, “That’s how we serve it, little miss. Would you like foam and cinnamon on top?”
“Yes, please!”
The waitress made a note of that on her order sheet.
Finally, he asked for a Croque Madame, a berry salad and a tall iced mocha for Aunt Mary.
When the food arrived, there was silence at the table. You would have thought we’d been prisoners of war for the last year and just released to have a decent meal. At least my cousins didn’t lick the plates clean or wipe the milkshake out of the glass with their fingers.
I think that was just out of sheer fear of what Aunt Mary would do to them if they did.
My sandwich was delicious. Being a California kid, I can appreciate a good olive when I taste one and the ones in my sandwich were top notch and delicious. The cold cuts too, were the best quality and that Kaiser roll had to be bakery fresh.
Tammy mmmm’d and yummed her way through every bite of her crepes and coffee and after taking just one of the beignets from the giant plate that had come out of the kitchen for her, she passed the rest around so the rest of us could have some dessert.
OMG… beignets! My new favorite food. They should be a food group all to themselves.
Chapter Fifteen
Mary Lou
What a wonderful place NOLA is.
After lunch, Rick took the kids and me on a short walking tour as we made our way towards St. Ann’s Street. We walked through Jackson Square and Rick answered all kinds of questions the kids had about the cathedral and the city’s history.
On the corner of Jackson Square and St. Ann Street, about a block from our hotel, my three little monsters caught sight of a shaved ice seller and instantly forgot they’d just downed huge
BLT’s and milkshakes. They were howling for the sweet, cold treat like starving street urchins.
I was glad I relented anyway. In the end, meeting the woman selling the icy treats was one of the precious gems I would take from our trip.
As she served the children freshly shaved ice flavored with sweet, homemade cherry sauce, she smiled at Rick and I and asked if we were enjoying our visit to New Orleans so far. The kids sat in a row along a low wall eating merrily as the two of us stood chatting with the lovely lady. Her name was Finelle, a very Creole name, if you asked me, and she spoke eloquently and very highly of her home town.
Before we left her to head on to the Hotel D’armes, she handed me a thick booklet the local Visitor Center handed out to tourists.
“Read the excerpt on page fifteen, ma’am,” she said with a little wink. “It was written by a local woman whose family has lived in South Louisiana for centuries. I think she sums up how we all feel about our hometown in the very best words there are.”
I took the booklet and thanked her profusely.
Later that night, after the kids were asleep, I showered and put on my dressing gown, then sat in the comfy armchair by the hotel room desk and read the article. It was entitled, ‘New Orleans: my beloved city’ by Erika Benoir Blackwell of Pointe Coupee parish.
It read:
‘There’s nothing quite like New Orleans, especially the Vieux Carré or the French Quarter, in wintertime. From Halloween to New Year’s Day, the entire city teems with silent celebration. During the months of October and November, there are several festivals celebrating the arts and cuisine of Louisiana, such as Voodoo on the Bayou and the New Orleans Film Festival. But those are just vehicles by which the city council has lured off season tourists to the South Eastern parishes for years. No one who lives here cares much about those.
