Deadly Night (4 page)

She
had
seen something. She just didn’t know what. She wasn’t even sure that Amelia’s words and fears hadn’t crept into her mind, and made her
think
that there were…

That there were strange lights in the darkness, and that the noises that had awakened her in the middle of the night had no earthly cause. As if something—or someone—was being dragged across the lawn below her window. That there were whispers of sound in the middle of the night, eerie and unfathomable, as if some mad scientist were at work on the property.

“No, of course not,” she said with more certainty, tossing her hair back with feigned impatience.

Because all those things were imaginary, she insisted to herself.

She knew the explanation. Hadn’t she managed to graduate with a three-point-nine average, and degrees in both psychology and drama? She understood the depths of the human mind. She had simply been sharing Amelia’s nightmares, which were themselves a very understandable manifestation of her fear of death.

Kendall couldn’t allow herself to believe—
ever
—that any of it had been true.

Because Kendall was a fraud. She was an excellent performer, and she was a total fraud.

Although there had been a few times when…

The psychologist in her kicked in and insisted that there had been nothing inexplicable about those few times, either. She had been trained as an actress, pure and simple, and now she made both psychology and theater pay by playing psychic for a living. And “playing” was the operative word, she reminded herself. She wasn’t a real psychic, if such a thing even existed. Everything she had experienced could be explained. The mind was an amazing combination of logic and imagination, and it was the logical part’s job to kick in when the imagination became too fanciful.

“Guess what we want to do with the place?” Jeremy asked her.

“It’s not what
we
want to do,” Aidan corrected before she could answer him.

“I have no idea,” she said to Jeremy, ignoring Aidan.

“Restore the house and find a way to use it to benefit the community,” Zachary answered for Jeremy.

“Oh?” she said politely. Looking at the two younger Flynns, she could believe they were sincere, but she suspected things would go quite differently if Aidan had anything to say about it.

“I thought,” Jeremy explained, “that we’d give ourselves the goal of getting it up and running by Halloween, then open it to the public and use the profits to benefit Children’s House.”

“You mean open it as a haunted house?” she asked.

Aidan gave a disgusted snort.

Zachary said, “Well, we’ll have a party, anyway, though a haunted house would be great. We’ll have to give that some thought.”

“I’m sure it
would
be great,” she said, but a chill seemed to sweep through her.

She wanted to tell him not to do it, and she didn’t know why. All she knew was that the idea of creating a haunted house here was a bad one. A
very
bad one.

Why? she mocked herself. Did she really think they could wake the dead?

“It could really benefit the kids,” Jeremy told her. “I can take this to a whole new level. And I can use the radio spots I’ve already taped to promote it.”

“It—it sounds good,” she had to admit.

“The party would just be a grand opening,” Zachary said. “I’d like to see this place brought back to its original grandeur, and then we can use it for all kinds of functions to benefit the community.”

Could they really do it? she wondered. She felt the sun on her face at that moment, shining through the odd storm clouds that had gathered earlier, and the breeze suddenly gentled. A good omen? She did love this old house, and it would be nice to see it restored and being used for something important.

She knew this place backwards and forwards. She’d been young when Amelia had entered her life, young enough to fall under the spell of the plantation’s legends and ready to have fun with its spooky history.

“Let’s not get so far ahead of ourselves,” Aidan said firmly, looking at his brothers.

Not just an idiot, a killjoy, too, she decided.

Then he turned to look at her, and for a moment there was a genuine smile on his face.

It changed him. It made him look approachable, human. Sexy. Now where the hell had that thought come from?

“I’m sorry if I was rude earlier, Miss Montgomery. Could you possibly give us the grand tour?” he asked her, and added politely, “If you have the time.”

“I…”

“Please,” he said.

One word didn’t change the fact that he was an idiot, she told herself, even if he
was
still smiling. Suckering her in. Well, too bad for him, because she was no fool.

On the other hand, she had just been thinking about how well she knew and loved the house—their house now—so what would it hurt to go through it one last time, only with them?

“Sure. Come on.”

She walked past him. Her backpack with her belongings—and the diary—was resting against the entry wall. For a moment she felt a twinge of guilt about the diary, but she told herself to quit worrying about it and kept going. She could hear them following behind her. “As you can see, this is the shotgun hall. It got the name because—”

“A shot fired from the front door would just go straight through and out the back,” Jeremy said. “And will you look at that stairway?”

“Don’t forget to look at the wood rot,” Aidan said.

“Easily fixed,” Zachary assured him. “Honestly, Aidan. I bought a studio that had wood rot. All it took was a decent carpenter to get it fixed.”

The house really was beautiful, Kendall thought as she always did whenever she was there. Its grandeur was decaying, sure, but the elegance was still there behind the peeling paint and the rotting wood. There were floor to ceiling windows in the ballroom. The parlor was still furnished with a Duncan Phyfe love seat and nineteenth-century needlepoint chairs. There was even a grand piano—badly in need of tuning, Kendall warned them—along with elegant occasional tables, a secretary and more. They paused to study the wall of family portraits, some beautifully painted works of art, others less accurate and attractive records of the past.

“Amelia?” Aidan asked, looking at the photo on the far right.

Amelia hadn’t been painted as a young and beautiful girl. She’d had the painting done only a few years ago, and it showed her as Kendall knew her, with a cap of snow-white hair, fine features worn with time, bright eyes and the kindly smile she had always offered.

“She looks like a nice woman,” Zachary said.

“She was,” Kendall assured them.

Upstairs, Aidan tested walls and stomped on the floors. He gave a cursory glance up the stairs into the attic, which was filled with trunks.

“Family history,” Zach assured him.

But even that drew nothing more than a noncommittal “hmm” from Aidan as they headed back downstairs.

Despite its age, Kendall had always found the kitchen quite charming, with its
Leave It to Beaver
wholesomeness.

All three brothers looked at it skeptically, clearly not sharing her enthusiasm.

“It’s wonderful. See, there’s a dumbwaiter,” she said, and showed them the small pulley-drawn elevator that had once brought hot food upstairs and returned dirty plates, laundry—and probably a small child or two, upon occasion.

At last they went outside. She showed them the original kitchen, now a caretaker’s cottage, should there ever again be a caretaker, and the smokehouse, which still smelled of smoke. Even the stables, which were in the best condition of any place on the property, still smelled of hay and horses, though Amelia hadn’t had a horse in over twenty years. They walked on to the neat row of old slave quarters, all of them two-roomed, most of them in serious need of repair. As they walked toward the last in line, Aidan said, “Someone has been living out here.”

“Really?” she said, surprised. He looked at her, and she realized he had been studying her reaction. She could tell that he believed her, but she resented the fact that he had doubted her at all.

“How do you know?” Zach asked, frowning.

Aidan kicked at a pile of broken two-by-fours. “The soup cans,” he said dryly.

“Great. And we’re detectives,” Jeremy muttered ruefully. “We would have seen them—eventually,” he added.

“Soup cans and beer bottles.” Aidan looked at Kendall. “You really didn’t know.”

It was a statement, not a question.

She shook her head. “But…Amelia said she saw lights. Maybe she wasn’t imagining things.”

“And you never checked that out?”

“Hey,” she said firmly, “I came out to be with her when she was alone and sick and afraid. I wasn’t employed by the estate. She…saw lots of things at the end.”

“Well, if she saw lights, she was right,” Aidan said, and kicked the pile again.

Then he frowned, his features tense. He bent down and started digging through the rubbish.

“Aidan, what the hell…?” Jeremy asked, as Aidan pulled something out from under the rest of the garbage.

“What is it?” Kendall asked curiously.

He held it up then, and she felt a churning in her stomach, thinking it couldn’t possibly be what it looked like.

But it was.

“A thighbone,” he said. “A human thighbone.”

A
t least they hadn’t made her stay while they called the police, Kendall thought, although they’d told her the police would certainly want to talk to her at some point.

And, she thought dryly, not even Aidan Flynn seemed to think
she
was responsible for the bone being there.

A human thighbone.

She felt a chill sweep through her.

She tried to convince herself that it wasn’t really shocking. Even now, so long after the storm, terrible things were still turning up. This was, no doubt, just another sad relic washed from a flooded grave. She
had
to dismiss her fear and unease.

Most of the time, she could make it from the Flynn plantation back to the French Quarter in thirty minutes, but that day the traffic was so bad that it was four o’clock by the time she finally made it back to her shop. She rushed in feeling guilty, since she had told Vinnie she would be back by three. His band was playing on Bourbon Street that night and needed to start setting up at five.

She let out a sigh of relief when he called out a hello to her and didn’t sound angry.

He was standing behind the counter where they brewed coffee and tea for their customers, and offered pastries from the bakery down the street. He was absentmindedly twirling a lock of his long dark hair—necessary for his job as guitarist and vocalist—and reading the newspaper. He looked up at her, his dark eyes and half-smile filled with curiosity.

“So you didn’t get in and out before the long-lost heirs appeared, huh?” he asked.

“No.”

“Details, please.”

She shrugged. “There are three of them.”

“Right, like the whole parish doesn’t know that. I’ve already met two of them, remember? Tell me something new.”

“I don’t know what to tell you.”

“What did you think they were like?”

“The two you’ve met are nice—the third one’s a jerk.”

“The youngest one, Zach, has given a lot of struggling musicians a break. He owns a few studios. Small places, but he lets new talent use ’em for free sometimes, and they’ve been able to get their music out there and make a little money.”

“You know more than I do, then,” she told him.

“Well, of course I do,” Vinnie said. “I—unlike some other people—have a life. I actually get out there and talk to people.”

“I’m so happy for you,” she assured him dryly.

“So the oldest brother is the dickhead?”

“He’s…”

“A dickhead,” Vinnie repeated.

“Hey, they came, I left, it’s over. It doesn’t matter.”

She pretended to busy herself, arranging a local artist’s hand-painted greeting cards more neatly in their display slots.

“Then what’s wrong?” he demanded, then answered his own question. “Why am I asking? That place should have gone to you.”

“I didn’t stay with Amelia because I hoped she would leave me the house,” she said firmly. “I figured it would go to back taxes, to tell you the truth. I don’t know a thing about construction, but even I know it needs big money put into it just so it stays standing.”

“Maybe you can buy it,” Vinnie suggested. “When it’s fixed.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.”

She stared at the cards. “There aren’t enough tarot cards for me to read in all of New Orleans to make enough money to buy that house.” She paused, and looked at Vinnie. “I wouldn’t even have this shop if it weren’t for Amelia, although I did pay her back. Every penny.”

“I know you did. And you did a lot more for her than that.”

“She was like my honorary grandmother,” Kendall reminded him.

“It’s probably because of his wife,” he said. “The brother, I mean.”

It took her a minute to change gears. “Um, the oldest brother is probably a jerk because of his wife?” she asked. “What, is she a bitch or…something?”

Vinnie looked at her, frowning, and shook his head. “She’s dead.”

“Oh, sorry.” She paused. “How on earth do you know all this? The attorneys told me they were in business together, and then the lawyer called this morning and said they’d be taking possession today. And I’d heard the middle brother on the radio, but…”

Vinnie walked over to her and affectionately brushed her jaw with his knuckles. “I’ve played with two of them,” he reminded her.

“Then you know them—and anything about them—better than I do, and I don’t know why you’re asking me questions,” she told him impatiently.

He laughed and shook his head. “I can’t say that I
know
them, not really. And I’ve never met the oldest one, but apparently he can’t play guitar. Hey, maybe that’s why he’s a dickhead.”

“Back up, bozo,” she commanded. “What about the wife?”

“I told you, she’s dead.”

“But…how?”

Vinnie brought a finger to his lips. They heard voices coming from the back. Mason Adler appeared in the hallway, escorting a small woman with a T-shirt printed with a New Orleans Saints logo. She was carrying a map of the French Quarter, sporting a sunburn and wearing sunglass with alligators encircling the lenses. If she had worn a sign that proclaimed her a tourist, it couldn’t have been more obvious.

But she was laughing, and she looked flushed and happy. “Mason, you are just too good,” she cooed.

Mason looked at Kendall over the woman’s head and shrugged. He was a good tarot, tea-leaf and palm reader. Like her, he had majored in psychology, and he could home in on people and make his predictions believable, instead of telling them that they would find love in a month, receive a huge sum of money in a year or have two children within the next decade. He was also a striking-looking man, over six feet in height and bald as a buzzard, with black eyebrows and a gym-hardened body.

He wore one gold hoop earring, and it was seldom that people forgot him once they met him.

“Well, you know, Miss Grissom, you give off very strong vibes,” he told the cooing woman. “And look, here she is. Kendall, this is Fawn Grissom. She wanted to see
you,
but I did my best.”

“Oh, really?” Kendall smiled at their customer and offered the woman a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“How do you do?” The other woman shook her hand firmly. “My friend Ellen—do you remember her? She said you were wonderful. That’s why I came here. And I’m sure you
are
wonderful. But Mason was…well, he just
sees.
”

“He really is terrific, and I think this means you were meant to see him,” Kendall assured the woman.

The woman’s eyes widened as if Kendall had just said the wisest thing in the world. “Of course. I think it was meant to be.”

Kendall kept her smile in place. “Absolutely.”

“If you’ll all excuse me, I’ve got to get going. I’ve got a gig tonight,” Vinnie said. He waved and started toward the door.

“Vinnie, wait!” Kendall called.

He paused in the doorway, with its tinkling bell. “What’s up? I gotta get going,” he reminded her.

“Never mind. It’s nothing.” She waved him on, and chastised herself inwardly. She didn’t know why she was so curious, but she was. She wanted to know how Aidan Flynn’s wife had died, not that it was any of her business. She would never see the man again.

“This is such a wonderful shop,” Fawn Grissom told her. “You have the most delicious tea, the best reader and lovely merchandise.”

“We like to feature the work of local artists—and thank you very much,” Kendall said.

“I love those voodoo dolls,” Fawn told her, pointing to a display of elaborately dressed cotton dolls that sat on a high ledge behind the counter.

“They
are
clever, aren’t they?” Kendall asked, wishing the woman would shut up. She usually enjoyed talking with the customers, but today…

Today she felt off. She just wanted the woman to leave.

“Those are one of a kind,” Mason said with enthusiasm. “They’re made by a lady we call Gramma Mom, and they say her dolls make everyone feel good.”

What a crock!
Kendall thought. They were voodoo dolls. But they
were
one of a kind. And she was always happy to help support the old woman who lived out in the bayou.

“I’ll take two,” Fawn said. “No, what am I thinking? I need three of them. One for me, and one for each of my sisters.”

“They’re a bit expensive,” Mason warned, telling her the price. “She spends a week, at least, on each doll.”

“Oh, that’s fine. They’re worth it. They’re unique. That’s what I love about this city. You can buy so many unique things in so many different shops.”

She produced a credit card and held it out to Kendall, who was thinking about Aidan Flynn again and didn’t even notice. Mason gave a little cough to catch her attention. “Do you, uh, need me to help Miss Grissom at the register?” he said.

“Oh, sorry,” she said. What was wrong with her today? It was great for them—and Gramma Mom—to sell three dolls at once.

Fawn delightedly studied the dolls she’d chosen as Kendall rang up the sale and Mason produced boxes to hold the purchases.

“Voodoo dolls,” Fawn said thoughtfully, then looked at Kendall and grinned. “My sister’s husband is a real bastard. Think she can fix him with a few needle pricks?”

Startled, Kendall said the first thing that came into her head.

“I think she should fix him with a divorce, if he really hurts her.”

Fawn nodded gravely. “Still, a little prick…” Then she was all happiness again, bidding them goodbye and promising to return.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Mason turned to Kendall. “What’s up with you?” he asked. “She could have changed her mind while you just stood there, staring at her credit card. Have we decided we don’t want to make money here?”

“No, no, I’m sorry. I guess I’m a little tired,” Kendall said, apologizing quickly and realizing how lucky she was to have employees who were also friends. She had known Vinnie practically forever; they had gone to grade school together. Mason had appeared the first day she opened the shop. He’d been working in a place closer to Jackson Square, and he’d admitted he had come to check her out. She had been fumbling around awkwardly the next day, trying to figure out how to watch the front while doing a private reading, when he had returned. With a wink, he told her that he had seen it in the cards—she was going to need help. He’d worked for her ever since, and with some part-time help from Vinnie, they ran the place themselves and did very nicely. Katrina might have done them in—not that they had lost much merchandise, but because the city had all but gone into a coma—except for the fact that they had so many loyal customers, so they had been able to re-open quickly and maintain enough business to support themselves until the tourists started coming back.

Amelia had even let them do readings at the plantation for the brief period before they could reopen the store itself.

She felt another pang for the woman who had done so much for her and closed her eyes tightly for a moment. Amelia had lived a long life. She had seen so much, war and peace, people both good and bad. Given her age, her death had been sad, but not tragic; it had been inevitable.

Kendall suddenly realized Mason was staring at her again. “I gather it didn’t go well with the princes come to take over the castle.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

He pointed a finger at her. “You resent them.”

“I don’t. Really.”

“Liar.”

“I’m just sad that Amelia never got to meet them and be surrounded by love at the end.”

“Kendall, she never knew them. She
did
know you. And she
was
loved. Heck, we all loved her. You, though…you were special to her. It was as if you lost a grandmother. Then, to have these usurpers come in, well, it has to be a bit traumatic.”

“I had to go and hire a psychology major.” She sighed.

He laughed. “I imagine they’ll sell immediately.”

“No.”

“No?”

“They say—at least the two younger brothers say—they want to fix the place up.”

“And live in it?”

“I guess.” It occurred to her then that they’d never actually mentioned anything about that part of it.

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “That won’t work.”

“What do you mean?”

“The princes have arrived—but there can only be one king of the castle. Everybody knows that.”

“Well, who knows, maybe they won’t live there after all. They said they want to preserve the house, use it for some kind of benefit and then make it into a place where they can do community events.”

“You’re kidding,” Mason said skeptically.

“I’m just telling you what they said. How should I know what they’ll
really
do?”

“You’re growling,” he warned her.

“I am
not
growling. My tenure at Flynn Plantation is over. Done.
Finis
. I have to move on. I have a life.”

Mason started to laugh. It was truly irritating.

“I have a life,” she repeated more firmly.

“Let’s see…you work. You have a few drinks with Vinnie and me occasionally. You occasionally see a few friends. Female friends. You have a cat. A
cat,
Kendall.”

“A great cat, if you don’t mind,” she told him. “Hey, it’s not easy, keeping this place open. And I like my life. I don’t need to go out all the time or have a million friends.”

He shook his head. “The problem is, you spent too much time caring for Amelia. It was your whole purpose for being for far too long.”

“Mason, stop being so negative. I owed her and I loved her.”

“And what you did was good. But now you have to shake all that off and start over again.”

She lifted her hands in surrender. “I know. That’s what I plan on doing.”

“You should go out on a date.”

“Really? And where am I meeting this date? Want me to pick up a drunk college kid on Bourbon Street?”

He gave her a stern look. Then a smile crept over his lips. “You could start that way. I mean, how long do you intend to live without sex?”

“How do you know how much sex I have?”

“I don’t. I just know how much sex you
don’t
have.”

“You’re really aggravating, you know that?” she said.