Page 30 of The Lady on Esplanade
“It’s a male spirit.An adult male.Definitely not a kid; older than me.Forties, maybe.Judging by his clothing, my guess is contemporary, like, anywhere from the eighties or nineties to now.Guys’ fashions don’t really change that much, so it’s hard for me to tell.And I couldn’t really get a good look at him.I sensed his presence the very first time I entered the Esplanade house.I felt that he’s somehow connected to Honey and Joan.That’s why I was looking so closely at their photos.”
“Okay,” I said.“But since Cooper and I and the majority of people can’t see him, then it doesn’t matter, right?Melanie and Jack have lived with the benign ghosts in their Tradd Street house for years.There was a pretty nasty one that Melanie got rid of, but the rest of them just sort of rub along nicely with the living.”
Beau nodded.“I know.But Sybil—the one with the perfume—acts like a protector, sort of like she’s shielding the living and any benevolent ghosts, like the little boy, from him.Because this adult male entity is definitely not a nice person.Or he wasn’t a nice person, and death hasn’t improved his disposition.”
“So as long as she’s there, everything’s fine, right?If she’s happy to stay and protect the rest of us, more power to her, right?”
Beau’s brown eyes bored into mine, sending an electric pulse through my blood.“I’m not so sure.He’s getting stronger with each new person who walks through the door.That includes you, and Cooper, and any of the workers we hire for the project.He feeds off your energy and is getting stronger and stronger.I barely noticed him the first time I entered the house, and now I feel his presence like a sharp blade being held to my throat.”
I stepped back.“Like Antoine?”
“Yeah.And the stronger he gets, the more he’ll be able to manipulate the physical world in a negative way.”
“So we need to find out who he is, so we can get rid of him.”
“ ‘We’?”A quick mouth tilt momentarily softened his grim expression.
“Well, we do have a good track record.And I’d hate to throw in the towel without a fight on our first murder-flip project.”An involuntary shudder rippled through me as a flashback to the night in the Ryans’ attic played in my head.
He frowned and scratched the back of his neck.“I’m not sure, Nola.We barely survived the last time—remember?”
“Oh, I remember.Trust me.But I’d like to believe that our experience has made us stronger.And smarter.So we can be more prepared next time.”
His gaze locked with mine.“My gut tells me that I should say no, that you and I shouldn’t be working together, and that what happened in Mimi’s attic was an anomaly or we just got lucky.Because…”
He stopped, but I knew what he’d been about to say—the same words I’d heard him say to his dead mother over the phone.I want her too much.She’s dangerous.I can’t afford to lose my focus.I can’t ever let that happen again.
“Because…?”I prompted.
“Because it could be dangerous.You need to have a talk with Cooper and let him know.I need you both to go in with eyes wide-open.”
Beau held open the passenger-side door while I climbed in, and shut it before walking around the truck, opening the driver’s-side door, and sliding behind the wheel.
We drove in silence, neither of us wanting to take the risk of turning on the radio.We hadn’t gone far when I began to feel tiny pricks of awareness on the back of my neck.Like the feeling of someone watching me.I turned to look, expecting to find the baby doll propped against the leather and staring at me.But the space was bare except for a Saints baseball cap and a reusable grocery bag from Whole Foods.
I jerked my gaze to Beau.Dark beard stubble peppered his chin, highlighted by the pallor of his skin.His eyes were trained on the rearview mirror, and he was looking at something in the empty backseat.
“What is it?”I asked.
“Nothing,” he said.“Nothing at all.”He pressed his foot down on the accelerator as if trying to outpace whatever it was he was seeing.As if we both didn’t already know that the only way to fight one’s demons was to face them.
CHAPTER 10
Jolene and I stood outside the Lucy Rose boutique on Magazine Street, peering into the front window.“Come on, Nola.I am absolutely positive that we’ll find something in here for you to wear tonight.I never leave this store empty-handed.”
With multiple shopping bags draped over her arm, she pulled open the door.Eyeing my pitiful lone and very small bag, she said, “I know you can do better than that.”
I’d been to the Magazine Street shop of the renowned New Orleans native and jewelry designer Mignon Faget and purchased pretty, dangly fleur-de-lis earrings for Sarah.They were the first Christmas present I’d bought this year, and I was feeling proud of myself for starting before December.Melanie usually had all gifts purchased, wrapped, and labeled by October, so I had a long way to go, but at least this was a start.
Jolene continued.“They have thecutestclothes and accessories.I know we’ll find the perfect outfit for you.And then we can go to Petcetera to get something festive for Mardi for Thanksgiving.Doyou think I should ask Mama to set a place for him at the table?You know how he likes to be a part of the action.”
I’d given up trying to say no to Jolene’s invitation to go with her to Mississippi for the upcoming holiday.It wasn’t worth the cold coffee and burnt muffins that had been my morning staples until I’d finally agreed.And as Jolene pointed out, my Creole cottage had been waiting for a makeover for more than five decades; it could wait a little longer.
Delaying work on my house was made somewhat more palatable by speaking with Thibaut, who let me know that the roof issue was more extensive than previously thought and that repointing the bricks would have to be put off for now.At least I had that to look forward to.That and redoing my spreadsheets, which I updated daily and helpfully tacked onto the kitchen wall to keep Thibaut and Jorge on track.There was still some debate about scheduling potty breaks, so I left them off.For now.
Jolene immediately headed over to a rack of clothing marked SALE.Watching Jolene shop was like watching Michelangelo sculpt hisDavidor Leonardo da Vinci paint hisMona Lisa.She was swift, methodical, and thorough as she flipped through hangers, pulling out a lilac cashmere cardigan with the precision of a scientist pulling out DNA from a smear of blood.
Reaching into her animal-print handbag—which matched her shoes, naturally—she retrieved a cell phone–sized plastic folder containing swatches of fabric.I’d seen her whip it out in the other stores we’d already visited and I’d been afraid to ask, but my curiosity won out.
