Mystic Mayhem (24 page)

I just couldn't take it anymore. I whirled around. "Damn you, Quincy Boudreaux. What the devil is wrong with you anyway? Didn't your mama teach you anything? You're never supposed to spoil a tender moment like this with crappy news. Now go away!"

He had the grace to look contrite. "I can't do that, Mel. Somebody took the money, and unless we find out who, Fabrizio's still on the hook for it."

Jack and Cat walked up, and from the look on Cat's face, I thought she might launch a screeching assault on her boyfriend, too.

The Mansion shuttle bus arrived. To put distance from the argument, we all turned and watched as Lurch rolled out a luggage cart and began to stow bags in the bus.

When he was done, he took a selfie in front of the bus then rolled the cart back to the building as several guests, including Rosalyn Whitlock, her son, Billy, and Terrence the Caterpillar Man, came out.

Lurch had taken up his normal position outside the door. Terrence stopped, spoke to Lurch, and handed him a wrapped package the size of a shoebox. They were too far away to hear what was being said. Lurch nodded slowly while Terrence turned away, walked briskly to the shuttle, and with a chipper salute in our direction, climbed aboard.

Panic began to rise in me. If I didn't do something quickly, the bus would leave, and all my suspects would slip away, and with them would go any chance Quincy had to solve the theft of the money and absolve Fabrizio of it.

"Q, can't you make them stay?" I asked. "One of them took the money. Can't you—"

He shook his head and shrugged. "No probable cause."

A low roll of thunder broke into the conversation. We paused, and all six of us looked up, but there wasn't a cloud in the sky.

Another low rumble, and we all turned, realizing that Lurch had walked up behind us and was grumbling. "Mr. Stockton." His voice was so low sometimes he was hard to hear, and sometimes, like now, its timbre nearly shook the ground. He held out the box Terrence had left him. "Mr. Montague wanted Federal Express pick this up, but then the bus came, and he said he couldn't wait any longer. He asked me to ship it."

Jack look confused. "Sure," he said. "Is there a problem?"

Lurch bent so he didn't tower quite as much over Jack and pointed to the shipping label attached to the box.

Jack looked up at Lurch, his brows drawn together. Lurch jabbed his fingers at the label a second time. Jack read, "Ship to Mr. Terrence Montague, Hotel Royale, Buenos Aires, Argentina? Sounds as if Mr. Montague is taking a vacation. After all this, I can't say as I blame the man."

Lurch made that sound again, like a bulldozer over gravel, and jabbed his finger at the label one more time.

Jack stared at the label a beat—then two—then his eyes widened as he shouted, "Stop. Deputy! Stop that man!"

*   *   *

As it turned out, Terrence the Caterpillar Man had indicated the value of the box's contents at—wait for it—ninety thousand dollars.

All that sneaking around and keeping quiet and maintaining a low profile, and then the fool writes a number like that on a box he's sending out of the country?

Duh. Really?

But then he probably never planned on having anyone else see it. It was a blessing the shuttle bus driver was running early that morning, or my good friend Fabrizio might still be trying to explain why he had ten thousand dollars of Cecile Elway's money and where the rest of it was.

But that wasn't necessary. When Q peeled the brown wrapping paper off the shoebox and opened it up, all those greenbacks stared back at us.

Harry gave an uncharacteristic whoop, grabbed Fabrizio, and in a move so unlike the genteel Southern man he was bred to be, smacked him right on the mouth.

Looked like things worked out in the end, after all.

The Sunday following all the action at The Mansion, the action was all about St. Antoine's. A paint store over in Metairie had a contractor go belly up right in the middle of a big job, and the owner had a surplus of pale-yellow paint he was willing to donate to the cause. While it wasn't exactly a heavenly color, it was bright and sunny and cheerful, and, believe me, the folks in the Holy Cross neighborhood could really use a little of all that.

A good-sized group of Magic card players was scheduled to arrive at The Mansion the next morning for a tournament, but bookings were light that weekend, and I had the day off.

Cat and I woke up early, walked over to the Café du Monde for beignets and chicory coffee. After, we chipped in together for a taxi over to the Ninth Ward. We arrived at eight thirty, in time to help spread tarps over the new pews and run tape around the windows.

Mama and Grandmama Ida showed up about ten minutes after we did. After they set up Crockpots, a couple of hot plates, and an ice chest in the half-done kitchen to keep the hot food hot and the cold food cold for lunch, both joined us in the chapel.

Grandmama and I were busy with an enormous tarp up by the vestibule. As we worked, I told her all about the excitement at The Mansion and the part I played in it. She listened, oohing and aahing in all the appropriate spots. We spread the tarp over three rows of pews before heading back for another one. We put our arms around each other as we walked. I loved my grandmama with all my heart. And I always knew she loved me too.

*   *   *

"Sounds like you had quite an adventure, child." She gave me a peck on the cheek. "I'm glad I didn't know anything about it until it was all over."

"I'm glad I listened to that little voice in my head that helped me out of the water, then led me through the maze of secret passages in the hotel. If I hadn't had my own common sense to lead me along, I might not have made it either time."

She didn't say anything for a while. When I bent to pull out another tarp, she stopped me by placing her hand on top of mine. "You think that was your own subconscious you heard?"

"Well, yeah." I was a little confused. "What do you think it was?"

She smiled, looking every bit like a plump cat getting ready to lick the cream off its whiskers. "I don't think, child. I know."

I waited and when she didn't continue right away, I prompted her with a tug on her hand. "All right, Grandmama, let's hear it."

"It was your granddaddy, you silly goose."

"Oh, really?"

She nodded, helped me pick up the tarp, and then turned back toward the uncovered pews. "Maybe you don't remember, but that last day, the day before he died, he made you sit down beside him for a long talk."

"I remember." He hadn't looked sick, Granddaddy Joe. He spent a lot of time on the front porch stoop in his rocker, reading the newspaper or the Bible and listening to Dixieland jazz and gospel music. I had just turned eighteen, a high school graduate at loose ends, trying to figure out who I was going to be, where I was going to go. I'd just come back from registering at Loyola University, where I planned to attend classes that fall.

"Mellie gal," he'd said. "If someday you come home and I've moved on, I want you to know that I'm not really gone. I'll always be with you, girl, whenever you need me, watching over you."

He and I sat there, him in the rocker, me on the top step. Grandmama Ida had come out and joined us, bringing a pitcher of sweet tea with her. We talked well until after the sun had gone, about all kinds of things, the weather, the music on his boom box, the awesome green beans Grandmama bought down at the green grocer and was cooking up for dinner. When Mama came home, we all ate dinner together, and then we went to our side of the house and my grandparents to theirs.

In the morning he'd gone, "moved on," as he liked to say. I missed him every day. His laugh. The way he used to take out his teeth and make them chatter at me. The stories he told me. The love of art and music he instilled in me. I never had a father to speak of. He left for parts unknown when I was just little. But Granddaddy Joe made up for that in spades. Fabrizio reminded me so much of him. I figured that was why I felt so close to my friend.

I hadn't thought about the promise he made me for years, not until today.

My grandmama is one of the few people I feel I can talk to about some of the weirdness that goes on in this world. She's a strong believer in God and Jesus, as well as some of the spookier things none of us really has an explanation for. So I know if she thinks something's a load of cow dung, it probably is.

"Grandmama, really? You think that voice I heard those times was him? Granddaddy Joe?"

She smiled that smile that told me I was a silly young girl, but a silly young girl that was well loved. "Why of course it was, child. Does your subconscious call you 'Mellie gal'?"

I grinned back at her. Now that I thought about it, no one ever called me that. No one but him. It made me feel warm. It made me feel safe. It even made me feel a little nervous.

Along about ten, the shuttle from The Mansion pulled up out front, and about twenty of my favorite people piled out. They usually brought the bus across the river via the Crescent City Connection bridge. Jack came, of course, looking cool and sexy in a pair of loose jeans that hung low on his hips, a thin white T-shirt that had seen better days, and old canvas sneakers he'd probably had since high school. His hair was a little messy, and he didn't look like he'd bothered to shave. I'd never seen him like that, and he looked adorable.

Fabrizio and Harry came, although neither was dressed for painting. Maybe they were just there to supervise and lend moral support. Valentine and some of her kitchen staff. Lurch, looking very unusual in a pair of Bermuda shorts and a tropical print shirt with huarache sandals. He reminded me of Frankenstein on vacation, only nicer looking and happier. Odeo as well as four or five others from the maintenance department. It was a good showing from Mystic Isle, and not only was Father Brian extremely grateful for their help, so was I.

When lunchtime came, we all put down our sprayers and paint brushes and headed out in back where Mama, Grandmama, and a few of the other ladies had set up an enormous potluck table. The South was well represented, with spicy Cajun food, battered and fried chicken and shrimp, rice and beans, banana cream pudding, chocolate cake, sweet tea, lemonade. You name it, I bet it was there on that table.

I sat down in one of the folding chairs trying to balance my plate on my lap and eat without creating a total disaster of spillage.

Jack came and sat beside me, and it wasn't long before just about the whole Mystic Isle group had joined us. Even Quincy, who'd shown up just in time for lunch.

It was like a family reunion.

Fabrizio looked restored. He smiled and laughed and joined in on the conversation. I got up and refilled his glass of tea.

Never having been to a séance until that disastrous night a couple of weeks ago, there was something I'd been dying to know. I bent down and whispered in his ear. "Fabrizio, at the séance? How was it done? The cold? The sound effects? And the levitating table? That was awesome!"

I pulled away and looked down at him, that face so like my grandfather's. A light came into his eyes, and the corners of his mouth turned up. He put his index finger to his lips. "Shush," he whispered.

"Was it real, Fabrizio? You can tell me."

"Apparently Mr. Elway's daughter, Rosalyn, believed it was real. She decided to pay tribute to her father and honor Cecile's bequest. Harry can breathe easier." He just shook his head, looking very mysterious. "I love you, dearest Melanie, but the Great Fabrizio can never reveal the secrets of the dark."

I sighed and gave it up, returning to sit beside Jack.

When we'd finished eating and helping pack away the foodstuff, Jack took me by the hand.

"Let's go for a walk until they get back to work."

I nodded, more than ready for a little alone time with my Cap'n Jack.

He'd been pleasant and friendly over the past week, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't expect more than that after that hot lip-lock he planted on me that night by the pool.

The sun went behind a cloud, and the air cooled, for the time being anyway. A light breeze ruffled through my hair. The birds were going crazy in the trees, but they were high enough above us that it wasn't annoying. Back at the church, Harry Connick, Jr. sang "Just the Way You Are," and Jack pulled my hand up and kissed the back of it.

We stopped walking, and he pulled me around to face him. I encircled his neck with my arms. He began to lean down, his eyes on my mouth, and I knew he was going to kiss me, so I stood on my tiptoes to make it a little easier for him.

The meeting of our mouths was just so nice, so warm, so perfect, and the longer it went the more perfect it became. I began to get that feeling inside, the one that made me squirm a little, the one that made me want him all around me, as part of me.

"Jack." When we parted, his name was on my lips.

His mouth turned up in a sweet smile. "Melanie." Apparently my name was on his lips too. "You're not like any girl I've ever known, and I want to know you better. I want to know everything about you that you'll share with me. You're so different from all those career women in New York. Their idea of a relationship is drinks and sex."

My cheeks warmed, and I had a hard time looking him in the eye. I wouldn't mind the sex either.

"But you're real and warm. Sincere and giving. I bet you have a saying in New Orleans for the kind of girl you are…" I waited. "The kind I'd like to introduce to my mother."

I caught my breath. Really? Did he really just say that? I grinned up at him. "Hmm. That's a pretty good saying, Jack, only around here they'd likely say, 'Kinda girl I'd like to take home to Mom 'n'em.'"

He grinned. "I've learned something else they say around here." He took in a breath before, "
Laissez les bon temps rouler.
" Let the good times roll.
It was sexy as hell and darn near close to perfectly executed.

"Oh, my, it drives me crazy when you speak French," I said, quoting him, quite breathless at hearing my Jack
parler
. "Cap'n Jack, looks like we might make a N'awlins man out of you yet."