Rose and Helena Save Christmas: a novella (8 page)

“That’s true,” Neely Kate said through a mouthful of pastry. “I hope she’s okay.”

“You don’t see Helena around, do you?”

Neely Kate glanced around. “No. I hope she’s okay, too.”

“She’s a ghost, Neely Kate. I’m sure she’s fine.” Rose picked up a beignet. “And speakin’ of phone calls, maybe it’s time for you to call Ronnie and tell him what’s goin’ on.”

She shook her head, then mumbled through a mouthful, “No. He’ll only be worried. Let’s wait and see if Taylor finds something out, then we can both decide whether to call Ronnie and Mason.”

Rose pursed her lips. She wasn’t sure waiting was such a good idea. As it was, Mason was probably gonna be miffed that she hadn’t already told him what was going on, but he’d insist on coming down and he probably wouldn’t sit on the sidelines, waiting for the law enforcement officers to work this out. He never did in Henryetta. But Taylor said his involvement might do more harm than good. Still. Ronnie was a different story. He was a mechanic and he truly loved Neely Kate. Rose’s friend was putting on a brave face, but Rose knew she had to be scared facing a possible arrest. Especially here in New Orleans. At least in Fenton County they had Mason and Joe.
 

“How are you handling this, Neely Kate? Really?”

Tears filled her eyes. “I was excited to come to New Orleans, but now I just want to go home.”

Rose covered her hand with her own. “You will, I promise.” She sat straighter, forcing a smile. “In the meantime, let’s go back to the hotel and get that ball rollin’ and then we can go out to dinner before we go to the play.”

“I almost forgot about the play in all the confusion.”

“Yeah, me too. But Mason paid a fortune for the tickets, and while he’d understand if we didn’t feel up to it, I really want to go—partially because this was his early Christmas gift to me and I really want to see the play.”

Neely Kate stood, picking up her bag of beignets. “Then let’s get goin’. We’ve got a full afternoon and evening ahead.”

Chapter Ten

Taylor pulled out her cell phone when she stepped out the side door of the hotel. As she made her way to the sidewalk, she saw Rose and Neely Kate cross the street and head for one of the dress shops. She found the number she was looking for in her contacts and dialed.
 

“Yo, Taylor,” he answered.

“Yo, Jimmy,” she said, smiling. Jimmy was a twenty-year-old computer geek disguised as a surfer. He was what artsy people called eclectic and what regular people called slightly off. Taylor figured both were probably true.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked. “I swear I haven’t gotten into any more trouble.”

“If memory serves me correctly, it wasn’t really you who caused the trouble before. You were just caught up in the tidal wave.”

“True that. But you’re the only person who believed me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m calling in a return of that favor.”

“You in a bind?” All joking fled his voice and his tone switched to concerned.

“Me and a couple other ladies. We had the misfortune of being the last people to see a murder victim alive.”

“No shit? Wow!”

“And Savoy drew the case.”

“Oh man, that is not good. He was always looking for the short answer, not the right one.”

“And he hasn’t changed a bit. Anyway, the ladies I’m in a bind with are staying at your place of employment and someone tossed their room this morning. I told them not to report it and let housekeeping call it in. I won’t get into why, but I have my reasons.”

“Sure. What do you need from me?”

“I need the security footage for this morning to disappear. I don’t want Savoy to get any indication that they knew about the break-in. I want it all to funnel through housekeeping and hotel management to them.”

“No problem. In fact, your timing is perfect. I’m changing out the server today. I’ll tell them the entire system has been off-line since six a.m. Will that work?”

“Perfectly. Before you do it, can you check and see who entered room 234 this morning?
 

“Sure. Hold on a sec.”

Taylor heard fast typing and the occasional click of a mouse.
 

“I assume the two girls are the occupants, right?”

“You got it.”

“The only other person who entered was wearing a server’s uniform, but he didn’t have a tray. Medium height, thin, but he kept his face turned away from the cameras.”

“Probably a pro.”

“Looks like it.”

“Thanks, Jimmy. I owe you one.”

“Nah. Heck, this doesn’t even make us even. But dinner and a movie might.”

She laughed. “Let me think on that one, and thanks. You’re a lifesaver.”

Helena stared at her, eyebrows raised, as she slipped the phone back into her pocket. “Jimmy, huh? How come you haven’t told me about him?”

“Because he’s just an acquaintance.”

“Acquaintances don’t usually erase security footage for people.”

“They do if you provided the evidence that got them off a murder rap.”

“Okay, maybe then. Hey, do you think it’s smart to go after the diamond thief?”

Taylor shrugged. “Probably not, but it’s a better option than turning those diamonds over to Savoy. Do you think he’d believe we came by them accidentally?”

“But the clerk had to have seen Madame Serafine give Neely Kate one of the bags.”

“What if more than one bag had diamonds in it?”

“Oh, right. I’m just worried is all. They seem like nice girls.”

Taylor nodded. “Which is why you and I are going to make sure this is all cleared up and they’re home for Christmas.”

“Good. What do you want me to do?”

Taylor pointed to the corner she’d mentioned earlier. “I want you to wait on that side of the street on the far end of the café near the trees. We don’t know which direction the purse snatcher will come from or escape to. I’ll wait across the street at Jackson Square. If he goes your direction, do your best to keep up with him and I’ll catch up as quickly as I can. If he runs my direction, then back me up.”

“I hope he comes my direction. That’s a lot less running.”

“For you.” Taylor had the exact opposite hope. Counting on Helena to keep up with anyone for very long was an expectation she’d be foolish to have. If Taylor couldn’t get across the street quickly, the purse snatcher would be in Canada while Helena was rounding the first corner.

“Oh, the smell of beignets in the air,” Helena said, sniffing the air. “I’m going to head over to my spot.”
 

“No stealing food,” Taylor called as the ghost hurried across the street.

Helena waved a hand in dismissal, as if the warning didn’t need to be repeated. Every five minutes or so.

Taylor headed to Jackson Square and found a streetlamp near one of the starving artists who sold their paintings in the square. She leaned against it and pulled out her phone, then pretended she was reading something on it while scanning the street for anyone who looked as if they were going to steal a purse. Rose and Neely Kate entered the café and took a seat next to the railing. Both of them were doing a good job pretending to do the normal tourist thing, but Taylor could tell they were slightly uncomfortable.

Neely Kate got up to leave the table and Taylor wondered how long they’d have to wait for the purse snatcher to strike. The answer was not long.

Taylor saw the man in the hoodie approaching the café, his gaze locked on the purse. She bolted across the street, dodging cars and praying that all those hours on the treadmill had paid off. The hooded guy hurried past the railing, snatching the purse with the moves of a pro, then he took off down the street. Taylor turned on the afterburners and set off after him.

After two blocks, her thighs and calves burned and the purse snatcher showed no sign of slowing. As they approached the French Market, she caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye. She glanced over and saw Helena on the other side of the French Market. Stunned, she slowed slightly for a harder look. No way the ghost had maintained that speed for two blocks.
 

But something was off. She could only see Helena from the waist up because the stands in the French Market blocked her lower body, but instead of bobbing up and down, the way she should be if she were running, her entire body seemed to be gliding. Seconds later, they reached a spot where the tables were pushed apart, creating a walkway to the other side, and that’s when it all made sense. At least, as much sense as anything involving Helena did. She was wearing roller skates.
 

No way was this going to end well.

“Taylor! Look at me!” Helena yelled and turned into the French Market cruising straight through people and tables as if they weren’t even there. Or more accurately, as if Helena wasn’t even there.
 

Taylor tore her gaze from the potential train wreck and saw that she was only twenty yards from Hooded Guy, who had slowed to a fast walk. She put on the brakes, before he was clued in that she was chasing him, and began weaving through the French Market crowd. She looked back and saw that Helena had made it to the middle of the market and was cruising down the center aisle.

At the end of the market, Taylor came to a halt and watched as Hooded Guy crossed Decatur and headed down Saint Philip. He stopped in front of a house midway down the street and pulled out a cell phone. Taylor scanned the street for options to approach, but the street contained few people and no obstacles to hide behind other than a couple of scattered cars.
 

It figured. The one time she would have welcomed a construction crew, there wasn’t a single one in sight.

“Taylor!” Helena yelled again, but this time the excitement was gone from her voice and had been replaced with fear.

She turned around, anticipating the worst, and that’s exactly what she got. Helena was barreling out of control, her legs shooting one direction, then another, and her arms flapping as if she were trying to take flight. And then the one thing Taylor had dreaded the most happened.
 

Helena went solid.

She crashed into a fresh shrimp vendors’ table and sent buckets of shrimp and ice crashing onto the concrete. The owner flipped backward out of his metal folding chair, his expression one of complete terror and confusion, with good reason since from his vantage point, he’d just been attacked by air. Helena hit the water and her legs were done. They split in different directions and Helena went down smack the middle of the shrimpy mess.
 

The slick shrimp juice sent her sliding right into the Mardi Gras mask vendors’ table, and a flurry of sequins and feathers shot up into the air. The shrimp vendor tried to move, but the mass of Mardi Gras finery fell all around him, feathers and sequins sticking to every wet spot on his body.
 

Taylor tore her gaze away from Helena’s latest debacle just in time to see hooded guy enter the house he’d been standing in front of. She didn’t even hesitate before hurrying across the street. She felt a tiny bit guilty leaving Helena, but what possible help could she be to an invisible person in a very public place?

The buildings had no gaps in between them, so no chance of sneaking down a side and listening in at a window. Taylor inched toward the door she’d seen Hooded Guy enter and took a picture of the building with the address. She was about to cross the street and see if she could find some vantage point to watch as the guy left and get a picture, when she heard the faint sound of arguing coming from the second floor.
 

She stepped onto the street just enough to look over the balcony and saw that one of the second-floor windows was partially open. She crept back under the balcony and strained to make out what they were saying.

“Not there…don’t know…one bag left…have to find…no other option.”

She heard a door slam and she rushed across the street to where a car was parked. She pulled out her phone and put it on camera, then pulled out her car keys, hanging them on her finger. Hopefully, Hooded Guy would think it was her car and she was about to leave.
 

The front door opened and Hooded Guy stepped out. He paused briefly and Taylor got the shot, then dropped her hand holding the phone and lowered her gaze. He didn’t even glance at her before hurrying off up the street and away from the French Market.

As Taylor headed back to the French Market, she did a quick search on the address, and pieces began to fall into place. She just needed to check on a few things and maybe they’d get more answers. But first, she’d better call Rose and Neely Kate. They were probably sitting on top of their phones waiting to hear what happened.

Neely Kate answered on the first ring. “Did you get my purse back?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Taylor said, “but I followed him to the drop site and ran the address.”

“So the case is solved?”

“Not quite yet. There are some things I have to check out. Before we turn this over to Savoy, it’s basically got to be spelled out like in kindergarten, including pictures if we have time to draw them.”