Page 20 of The Lady on Esplanade
“Funny.”I swung open the heavy passenger-side door, using both hands.I got out and slammed it shut, then began walking toward the hourglass gate in front of the house.
“You forgot Pussycat,” Jolene called after me.
“Oops.Since you’re on a first-name basis with her, could you bring her, please?”
She grabbed the doll from the backseat before locking up the car and following me to the gate, carrying the doll on her shoulder like a real baby.“If I hadn’t just seen my own Pussycat on my bed when I was at my mama’s, I could swear this is the same doll.I mean, it’s from a different year, but it’s the same model.Still, it feels…different.Maybe they used a thicker plastic or something, because this one’s heavier for sure.”
“Maybe Beau can use it for a doorstop,” I said as I stepped up onto the curb.
“Why all the hate, Nola?It’s just a baby doll.”
“It’s creepy.I’m actually glad I didn’t have a mother who thought I should have dolls as a little girl.I think she saved me from a lot of therapy.”
As I unlatched the gate, I looked up at the sound of rustling leaves from a live oak.Jolene stepped past me and began moving down the walkway while I stopped to watch the green leaves twitch in a wind that seemed to surround only the one tree.The other trees and plants in the yard—and my hair—remained unmoved by whatever unseen force shook the leaves of the old oak.
The gate clattered shut behind me.I turned, feeling the temperature plummet, goose bumps tiptoeing along my neck and arms beneath my coat.Taking a step forward, I heard an unexpectedsplatand looked down at my feet, knowing what I would see reflected in the pale lamplight.A trail of wet footprints led up the walkway toward the marble front steps, coming to an abrupt halt in front of the double doors of the house on Prytania.
Oblivious to the unseen presence, Jolene rang the doorbell.“Here we go again,” I muttered as I followed the footprints up to the house.
CHAPTER 7
The front door opened and we were greeted warmly by Christopher.He was impeccably groomed, as usual, but his amber eyes were red rimmed, as if he’d been crying.
“Is everything all right?”I asked, glancing in the direction of murmuring voices in the parlor.
“It’s a good day, Nola.For Mimi especially.I haven’t seen her this happy since we thought Sunny had returned.But today, having Camille here—well, it’s a bit like having a piece of Adele back again.”
Christopher’s gaze drifted to the doll and his smile fell.“Is that a Madame Alexander?”
Jolene nodded excitedly.“It is.I figured you’d probably know.Nola hasn’t a clue.”She sent me a sidelong glance.“Nola found it in the armoire at the house on Esplanade.Beau wanted to show it to Mimi, but he keeps misplacing it.”
Christopher’s eyes met mine.“I see,” he said, as if he did.“May I?”he asked, reaching for the doll.“I’ll put it somewhere safe for now if that’s all right.Mimi’s a bit occupied right now.”
Jolene eagerly relinquished the doll, and we watched as Christopheropened the lower cabinet of a demilune chest in a small alcove next to the door.He absently wiped his palms on his pants before turning back to us.Feeling someone watching me, I turned toward the portrait of Beau’s grandfather and Mimi’s husband, Charles.His spirit—presumably now at rest—had been a benign and helpful one, but that didn’t stop me from being disturbed by the feeling of eyes in the portrait following me.
“One seltzer water and one Sazerac coming right up, ladies.”Christopher was well-versed in our drinks of choice, as well as knowing that Jolene had to be cut off after one cocktail.The three of us had learned that the hard way.“Shall we?”he asked, leading us into the front parlor filled with elegant antiques and the white marble fireplace upon which rested the familiar bust of the Roman god Bacchus.
I was relieved that plastic sheeting shielded the arched opening between the parlor and the dining room, where scaffolding covering the walls could be seen through a crack along one edge.My heart beat a little more slowly as I noted there was no swinging chandelier and no demonlike presence projecting itself from the ceiling.I still woke up at night with a scream in my throat, having not quite recovered from that awful time when Jeanne and Antoine Broussard had been sent to the light, and Beau had almost died.
The unanswered questions from that event filled my dreams, clinging to my subconscious like burrs, unwilling to let me go until I could figure out why Adele was still earthbound and what had happened to Beau’s father, Buddy.I hoped that was all.I really, really hoped that was all.My well-being was dependent on my staying sober, and sleepless nights and restless ghosts were not conducive to the tranquil and sober life for which I had moved to New Orleans.
Sam waved from where she sat next to Mimi on the sofa and widened her eyes as if to indicate that we had a lot to discuss in private later.Not for the first time, I thought that Sam and I could be good friends except for the minor detail of her being Beau’s girlfriend.Mimi rose and greeted me with a kiss on each cheek.Her unusualeyes—one green and one blue—bored into me before she took my hand and turned to a middle-aged couple seated in the pair of salmon-colored velvet Biedermeier chairs by the fireplace.Beau stood next to them in conversation before Mimi interrupted.
“Camille and Henry, I’d like you to meet a good friend of ours, Nola Trenholm.”
The woman—Camille—appeared to be in her mid-to-late forties.Her petiteness was emphasized by the extremely tall man standing next to her, presumably Henry.He was about the same age as his wife, and as blond as she was dark.Camille wore round tortoiseshell glasses that seemed too heavy and big for her nose.She pushed them up with her left hand as she reached to shake my hand with her right.
“Beau’s been telling us all about you,” Camille said, with a small yet warm smile and the soft handshake usually given by elderly women or young children.Her accent was definitely Southern, which made sense since Beau had said she was from Hoover, Alabama, where she’d grown up with his mother.The way she spoke made me think of newscasters who’d taken elocution lessons to learn how to drop their regional accents, but telltale signs always remained to give them away.It made me wonder where she’d been since leaving New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina.
Camille regarded me with bright green eyes fringed with thick black lashes, the single standout feature that made her memorable.As soon as I shook her hand her gaze shifted to the floor.With her beautiful eyes downcast, Camille disappeared into her beige cardigan and matching beige turtleneck and pants.The only areas of color that weren’t beige, besides her brown hair, were her brown loafers.
“That’s a bit worrying,” I said, “so please let me know if you need clarification on anything.”
Camille laughed, the sound confined mostly to her throat, as if she were afraid of being heard.“I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”
“And you must be Jolene,” Henry said, stretching out a hand to my roommate.
“Yes,” she drawled.
