Page 99 of The House on Prytania
“Tell me more to convince me, because I’m now thinking that whatever they did to Sunny they did to you, too.”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. But you also need to know that they’re as afraid of Michael’s great-grandfather as we are.”
“What do you mean?” He looked at me long enough that someone in the adjacent lane honked at him for drifting.
“They don’t mention him by name at all because they’re afraid of summoning him.”
Beau’s face remained rigid. “Have they seen him?”
“Not that I know of, although Sarah and Jolene experienced a few freaky things that could have been caused by his presence. But that’ssomething I’ve been wondering about.” I adjusted myself in my seat so I could face him. “The spirit whose name we aren’t going to mention has been felt in more than one location—at the Sabatiers’ beach house and my cottage, and I’m pretty sure the negative energy that Sarah and I experienced at the cemetery was from him. I should probably already know this, but aren’t ghosts supposed to be stuck in just one place? It seems unfair that they should be allowed to wander.”
He looked at me with the hint of a smile. “Unfair? That’s one way to describe it. Sort of like why some people can communicate with them and others can’t. Or why some spirits can find enough energy to show themselves and others remain hidden except when someone like Melanie or me shows up.”
“Exactly. So... why?”
“I don’t know.”
I frowned. “You don’t know?”
“That’s right. I have no idea. There are some things that will always be a mystery. Like, why do some guys believe that women can’t understand sports and think that a beer pong championship in college belongs on a résumé? Or why do I think about you every time I see a shade of blue on something that matches your eyes?” He shrugged. “There are just some things I can’t explain. Just because I can see and talk to spirits doesn’t give me a lot of understanding concerning their reasoning. The one thing I know for sure is that ghosts behave pretty much like they did in life, appearing in places where their influence was felt when they were living.”
I struggled to listen to what he was saying, my mind replaying the part about my eyes. I forced myself to focus, hearing his last words.
“...or a person they were closely connected with in life. Especially if there’s unfinished business the deceased believes needs to be taken care of.”
“Like your mother.” The words came out of my mouth before I could think to call them back.
His jaw clenched. He was silent for a long time, the rhythm of the tires against the road the only sound in the truck. “A ghost doesn’tneed a roof or walls, Nola. A person can be just as haunted as a house.”
His words stung. I knew that. I had always known. “Then maybe you need to speak with your mother. Ask her why she’s here. Maybe all she wants is your forgiveness so she can move on.”
As if I hadn’t said anything at all, he said, “Michael’s great-grandfather had such a powerful hold on his family, it would make sense that he would continue to try to control them even from the grave.” He turned his head to look at me. “Or return to the scene of a crime to keep his involvement a secret by terrorizing anyone who would threaten exposure.”
A shudder threaded its way through me as I recalled the shadow at the top of the stairs and being locked in the closet. “Great,” I said. “An equal opportunity ghost. Sort of like an ‘expect it when you least expect it’ spirit.”
“Pretty much. I didn’t make the rules. By an accident of birth, I’m just forced to live with them.”
We drove in silence for several miles before Beau reached forward and turned the radio on to the weather channel to give us both something to worry about besides an angry spirit seeking vengeance and controlling the living from the grave.
CHAPTER 33
After we made a quick stop at the Maple Street Bakery & Café in downtown Abita Springs to fortify ourselves with hot coffee, Beau drove us several miles west of town on a two-laned highway. The road ran through a tunnel of tall pines and other old-growth trees that hung over the roadway like nosy neighbors. We didn’t pass another vehicle, either because it was generally a less-traveled road or because other people had the sense to stay at home as the temperature hovered just above freezing.
I was looking for an old farmstead that sat on more than one hundred acres of overgrown fields and would have continued to exist undisturbed if my company’s client, a real-estate developer, hadn’t decided that it would be the perfect spot for a new neighborhood. Despite my general dislike of developers, this one seemed to at least have a conscience, as he’d asked for a report on any viable historical properties that might still be standing and might be restored and incorporated into the new development.
The GPS coordinates had Beau turning onto a weed-choked drive through more trees, eventually stopping at a clearing. A once-grand Victorian farmhouse with a wraparound porch and a corner towerwith a pointed turret sat in the middle of what might have once been a lovely vista over fields full of crops. Now desolation swept through the broken windows and missing front door like a quiet hurricane, the destruction taking years instead of minutes.
Beau studied the house, his face grim. “I’m not leaving you here and coming back to pick you up when you’re done like we did last time. This is like the beginning of every horror movie I’ve ever seen.”
“Just because it’s old and abandoned doesn’t make it creepy.”
“Maybe not, but the old woman staring at us from the top turret window sure does.”
As I followed his gaze, I became aware of the snapping on his wrist and of the first drops of rain hitting the windshield from the hovering dark clouds. “Fine. You can wait in the truck. I’ll work fast, but I need to be thorough, so I can’t race through it.”
He surprised me by sliding out of the truck to join me next to the broken front steps. “It’ll go faster if I help. Just show me what to do.”
I grinned. “I’ve been waiting for years for you to say that to me.”
