Ghost of a Chance Book 1 in Above the Grave Trilogy (8 page)

She didn’t need an answer. Something down deep told
her that it was and she again felt a small pang down in the pit
of her stomach.
Even though his was the largest and most
beautiful tomb with its large Celtic cross for a tombstone, she
could clearly see that it hadn’t been the most visited. She ran
her fingers over the date 1830 to 1860. He had only been five
years older than her when he died. This peaked her curiosity
even more.

Next to Brendan’s was a much smaller tomb. It had at
least thirty partially melted candles around it that had mostly
been knocked over and washed slightly away from it. Instead
of a cross there was an angel hovering over her holding a stone
heart in her hand. At the base of the tomb lay a small covered
metal cup that was rusted with age. She debated on whether or
not to open the cup but her curiosity got the best of her and she
couldn’t help but lift the lid and take a peek inside.

As soon as she lifted the lid she snapped it shut again.
“Holy shit!” She exclaimed then lifted the lid slowly again to
make sure that what she saw was really gold coins inside of the
cup.

Growing up around New Orleans she knew the stories
of Mari Laveau and how people would take money and place at
her grave in hopes that she would grant their deepest darkest
wishes. That was the only thing that she could think of now as
she saw the cup full of money at the foot of the grave. She felt
ill all of a sudden when she realized that she was staring at
hoodoo money.

“A witch?” She said out loud as she looked up at the
tombstone angel. “A voodoo witch?”

She put the lid back on and went to the front of the
tomb to read the name. Half expecting it to say Mari Laveau,
she walked slowly and very carefully not to step on any of the
candles.

“Lezetta LeBlanc.” She read aloud. “Crap. I just said
her name.” She whispered and covered her mouth. She wasn’t
sure what the voodoo rules were, shejust read people’s tarot
cards for Christ’s sake. She could somewhat tell people their
futures not change them or alter their lives in any way. As far
as she was concerned it didn’t matter what those cards said,
everyone was responsible for and made their own destiny.

The dates on Lezetta’s stone were 1835 to 1859. She
had only been a year younger than herself. Drew didn’t want
to ask any favors of the witch. She didn’t want to be obligated
to anyone or anything but, out of respect for the young woman,
she wanted to leave her a gift. She felt in her ragged jeans
pocket for a quarter and found only a crumpled up five dollar
bill. She bent back down to the cup and lifted the lid once
more. She tried to tuck the bill behind some of the coins that
were already in the cup without actually disturbing the coins.
She failed. Some of the coins went tumbling from their current
position. That’s when she noticed the most beautiful diamond
ring that she had ever seen. It was so obviously antique. She
wanted so badly to touch it, to pick it up and put it on her
finger.

To hell with rituals and rules, she thought.

“May I?” She said to the grave and then picked up the
ring to have a better look. “I promise I will put it right back,
I’m just admiring.” She said when she felt a cool breeze blow
by.

The ring was gorgeous. It was a Claddagh Irish ring.
As all Claddagh rings did, it had a crown on top of two hands
holding a heart.
In the middle of the heart was the most
beautiful heart shaped diamond.

“Let love and friendship reign.” She said quietly. She
turned the ring over to read the engraving on the back.

 

“Forever Yours, Brendan.”

 

She felt that damn pang in her heart this time. Then
she felt the tears roll down her face.

“What happened to you two? You
were both so young.
I’ve never even felt anything close to what he must have felt
for you. I have never even had the desire to try. Does that
mean that I never will?”

She felt another breeze blow by her, but this time it felt
warm. Almost like a hug.
She placed the ring carefully back
into the cup and closed the lid then wiped the tears from her
cheek. It was time to take a ride. She needed to clear her head.
She hadn’t cried in many years and yet the last two days had
made her more emotional than she had been her whole life.
She was becoming girly and she didn’t like it. Before she
cleared her head too much though, she thought she would visit
the local library. Maybe she could find some information on
these two. Later she would come back and clean up their grave
sites.

The morning had turned out to be a pretty good one.
She called her insurance agent and found out that the life
insurance policy her mother had bought her when she was born
was now worth $10,000 cash value.
She drove straight there,
signed the papers and was told that the money should be direct
deposited in her bank account within a few days.

She used the rest of her last paycheck and tips to
purchase some art supplies, lots of food for the pantry, a couple
of magazines and the new Nora Roberts novel, and paid the
taxi cab driver a fifty dollar tip in advance to at least take her
things to the front door.
She had him stop by the storage
company and have them meet him with her television as well.
She wasn’t sure how she was going to carry that by herself into
the house, she figured that she would manage somehow.

Drew supposed the next investment she was going to
have to make was a car. Living downtown near everything that
she could possibly need made owning a motorcycle as you’re
only means of transportation no problem at all. Now that she
lived out in BFE she was finding it difficult to get her things
where she needed on nothing but a Harley.

She had one more stop to make before she went home
and that was the library. She didn’t know what kind of public
records she would be able to get from 1859 and 1860 but she
was bound and determined to get whatever she could.

She had always loved the smell of the library, the smell
of dust and very old pages.
If knowledge had a smell she
imagined that would be it. The librarian was a punk little thing
with pitch black hair and tattoos creeping up the back and sides
of her neck.
She looked like someone that you would see
bartending downtown or poking needles at a tat shop, not really
your book worm type.
Much like Drew she realized to her
dismay. She wanted to grow up all of a sudden and wasn’t too
sure that she hadn’t already in the last couple of days.

“And what can I do for you?” The girl said rudely as
she read some kind of book of poetry, never looking up to see
who exactly she was helping.

“I need some information on a couple of people that
died around 1860, Brendan O’Keefe and Lezetta LaBlanc. Do
you have any idea where I might be able to look them up?”

The girl just sat frozen staring at her book as if she was
taking the time to finish her paragraph instead of doing her job.
She finally closed it and looked up at Drew suspiciously.

“What do you want to know about them?” She said.
“Well, I bought a house, his house I think, though at
this point I am not really certain, and I would like to know its
history, their history.
Can I find that kind of information
here?”

“Not much in the books. I can tell you a little bit about
them if you want. I’m going out for a cigarette in about ten
minutes; if you want I will meet you outside.” The girl spoke
quietly as if there was some huge secret that she was hiding.

“Really?” Drew didn’t know whether to be excited or
afraid. She had grown up around this place. How was it that
moving companies and taxi cab drivers were automatically
afraid of coming close to her house and that funky little
librarians knew the story of a couple that died one hundred and
fifty years ago and she didn’t know a damn thing.

The girl just nodded her head and went back to reading
her book. Drew went back outside and sat on the steps of the
library and waited. She closed her eyes and took in the smells
of the city. She absent mindedly reached into her boot and
pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of her pocket.
When she inhaled that first puff it gave her a headache and
almost made her sick, but the taste was amazing. She hadn’t
smoked in two days and hadn’t even missed it.

“Hmm. Strange.” she said as she looked at the
cigarette then smashed it on the stairs.

“So, you bought the O’Keefe house, huh? Have you
stayed there yet? You won’t stay long when you do.” She said
as she sat next to Drew and lit her own cigarette.

“I’ve stayed there two nights actually. It isn’t so bad.
Can you tell me about them? I saw their graves today.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “You have stayed the
re? I’ve
heard that the ghost of Brendan O’Keefe haunts that house and
that Miss Lezetta haunts the cemetery. Have you met them?”

“Well, not technically. What do you know about
them? Was she a voodoo queen or something?”

“Well, I don’t know if you know much about Voodoo,
it was quite popular then, that was when Marie Laveau was still
alive, and because Marie Laveau was such a powerful woman
the law didn’t say much to anyone who practiced it.
Lezetta
was believed to practice something as well only it wasn’t
voodoo. It was some kind of black magic. All kinds of people
would go to Miss Laveau for help with love, money, sex, that
kind of thing.
Lezetta supposedly worked other kinds of
magic, magic that caused harm to people, even death.

“From what I have heard, she was breathtakingly
beautiful.
Coal dark hair that matched her eyes and well, I
suppose her heart too. Her skin was a gorgeous bronze. She
was Creole but the Spanish obviously out shown the French.
Anyway, the story is that she worked for Brendan who moved
to America after his parents died in Ireland. He had been left
responsible for his sister whom Lezetta didn’t get along with.
They were always at it I guess. Anyway, Brendan and Lezetta
evidently fell madly in love with each other, probably a spell
that she put on him, and they became inseparable.

“One evening Brendan’s sister, Mary Ann, who was
very popular with the gentlemen and was at the time courting
several of them, went missing. Her body was found a few days
later somewhere behind the house in the swamps. Her eyes
were gone and she had some type of markings engraved in her
skin.

“The townspeople automatically assumed that it was

Lezetta.
They had been suspicious of her witchery for quite
some time. After Mary Ann’s murder they were certain. Some
people believe that the heartbroken men just needed someone
to blame it on.
Others believe that some heartbroken, jealous
man did it and made it look like witch craft. Either way, they
came straight for Lezetta and burned her right there where the
cemetery is now.”

Drew was speechless. What a horrible story. What a
horrible way to die, for both girls.

“Well, I’ve got to get back to work. I hope that
helped
you out some. I wouldn’t be hanging out too close to that
cemetery if I were you though.”

“Wait!” Drew yelled as she realized the girl was going
back inside the library. “Who burns the candles?”

 

“What?” The girl asked almost stumbling as she
turned quickly around.

“The candles at the grave and the coins, who did all of
that?” Drew watched the girl as the wheels were obviously
turning in her head.

“Oh, beats me. As far as I know no one has been there
for a very, very long time.
People are afraid to go there. It
isn’t like Miss Laveau. Lezetta wasn’t a much respected
woman. I don’t imagine that she had any followers. I am sure
that there is a lot more to the story that I don’t know. That’s
just what I heard growing up.”

Drew was afraid of that. “What about Brendan? What
happened to him?”

“Look, I don’t know any more than I have already told
you, I got to go. Why don’t you ask him yourself?” She
opened the door to the library then she stopped and turned
around, “He hung himself right after Lezetta and Mary Ann
died. That really is all that I know. You may be able to find
more information in public records or in old newspaper ads, but
I doubt it. Most of that stuff was kind of kept quiet back then.
What is known, or thought anyway, has been passed on from
generation to generation by word of mouth. Urban legends you
might say. Who knows what the real story is? Good luck with
it though.”

“Thanks.” Drew said, but it was too late. The girl had
already disappeared behind the tempered glass door.

She had a feeling that whatever else she wanted to
know about what happened one hundred and fifty years ago
was going to have to come from the sources themselves.
Normally that would be impossible, not in her new world.

The ride home was a peaceful one. She knew in her
heart that everything was going to work out just fine when she
saw that the cab driver had neatly left her stuff inside the front
door. She was finally home, a place that she belonged.

Drew’s world started to change even more.
Sometimes
the color would disappear while she slept leaving only the
grays of the underworld and the bright red of blood. She could
smell the metal and taste the rust in her mouth when she woke.
Someone continued to watch her as she walked through the
swamps and the woods, sometimes in a hurry, so fast that she
could hear her own heartbeat. Sometimes she was the watcher
and saw images that made her wake in sweats and screams.
She never seemed to remember what it was that she saw when
she woke though.