The Curse of a Single Red Rose (Haunted Hearts Series Book 7) (8 page)

“Now why would I do that?” The twinkle in her eye suggested she was teasing him.

He hit her with what he hoped was his best dazzling smile. “You won’t be able to resist my charms.”

She could have pelted him with a sassy comeback. She was good at those. But she didn’t. Instead, she offered him a warm smile. “We’ll see.”

Was that a tentative promise to consider future interaction of a personal nature? Was Elsa willing to consider what road their relationship might travel? Anticipation rumbled inside him. He would surely enjoy every bit of the journey.

She stuck her key into the ignition and turned over the motor. He stepped back and closed her door for her. Their eyes met once more before she put the gearshift into drive. As he watched her pull away from the curb, he got the eerie feeling they were not alone.

****

Collin pulled onto Royal, turned onto Canal, and then hung a right onto Magazine. He and Elsa had almost shut O’Grady’s down, being the next to the last customers to head out the door. He was headed back the way he had come, doubling back on his route from earlier that evening. Nearing midnight, the street wasn’t exactly deserted, but the traffic was much thinner than during the day. There were still quite a few people walking along Magazine, perhaps searching out a local watering hole or strolling back to their car from a late night meal.

His house was a good ways down Magazine, on a side street smack in the middle of the Irish Channel. When he had bought the place a couple of years ago, his dear mother thought the proximity to her house presented her an open invitation to visit him any time she liked. He’d tried to establish a few ground rules, but so far, she’d bent them whenever it pleased her to do so. His father Thomas,
God rest his soul
, would have told Collin’s mother to mind her own business. His mother had never heeded that strong advice.

With any luck at all, the lights in her front room would be out, and he’d have a clear shot at ending his day without her insisting on a report of his daily activities. He loved Mary Patrice McVey, but sometimes he needed more space from her overwhelming presence than she was willing to give him. Gentle suggestions were lost on Mary Pat.

A sports car shot past him in the other lane and roared up Magazine until it came to the intersection up ahead where Magazine became a two-way street. The hot car ran the red light, did a hard turn onto the street going the other direction, and disappeared out of sight. Collin shook his head at the idiot. The street was too tight to drive like a maniac, especially with so many pedestrians still out and about. He started across an intersection that had no streetlight. Before he cleared the cross street, a hard slam smacked the rear fender of his truck, spinning him in a circle until the front end smashed into a power line pole.

When he finally stopped moving, he released the breath he had held and allowed his stomach muscles to slowly relax. But his relief was short-lived. He caught a glimpse of the sports car that had shot past him just as it backed up and then barreled toward him again, T-boning his truck. He slid one way in the seat and then another, his head finally crashing into the driver’s side window, jerking away, and then bouncing onto the glass once again. A sharp pain nearly split his head in two. He closed his eyes, and everything went dark.

He blinked his eyes open again, and it seemed like he’d been out an eternity, but surely, it had only been a few minutes. Sirens, flashing lights, and muted voices swirled around him. When his gaze finally refocused on his surroundings, the rose on the passenger seat of his truck captured his undivided attention.

Chapter Seven

The soft patter of rain outside her window soothed Elsa’s fractured nerves. She loved gentle rain showers. They always reminded her of her mother. She wasn’t sure why. Obviously, some forgotten memory lodged in the back of her psyche that she linked to sentimental feelings. She remembered very little of her childhood before the day her mother died. That day had been indelibly etched on her heart and had left a wound that had never quite healed.

With her duvet pulled up to her chest, she slid further under the covers and pulled the book she’d checked out of the New Orleans public library closer to her eyes. Soft light glowed onto the pages from her table lamp. She glanced at the single red rose she’d belligerently placed in a clear vase on her nightstand. No way was she going to let Les Wakefield intimidate her. She snorted and returned her attention to the book. Her finger traced lines of words, and her eyes blurred as sleep approached her tired mind.

She didn’t expect to learn much from the book. It had been published in the 1950s by a southern press and was probably edited by a person biased in their presentation of pre-Civil War history. Everything written on the subject during that time period had been filtered through the lens of post-reconstruction and pre-civil rights attitudes.

So far, she’d managed to check out every book she could from the library that referenced the history of the French Quarter at the time the hotel had been built. This particular book had been shelved in the wrong spot, and the librarian had surprised her the day before by calling her to tell her that the book had been found. Since the woman had gone out of her way to help Elsa with her research, she felt it was the least she could do to get the book and attempt to read it.

Her eyelids drooped, as the narrative was nothing she hadn’t read before. She flipped a clump of pages and roused out of her boredom when she discovered the glossy center section of the book that featured old pictures from the late 1800s. She recognized the façade of the Royale Chateau and smiled. In all the years that had passed, the front edifice hadn’t changed much. That pleased her.

She’d seen the picture before. The image was a reproduction of the oldest existing daguerreotype of the hotel. If she remembered correctly, the original was housed in the state museum in Baton Rouge. Construction of the hotel had been completed a year before the outbreak of the Civil War, and no images remained from its antebellum days. She noted the page reference under the picture and flipped until she found the section titled
Royale Chateau Hotel
.

She snapped out of her semi-sleepy state, and her eyes flew wide open as she stared at the incredible paragraph tucked into the middle of the narrative.
The hotel closed its doors in April 1862, shortly before New Orleans surrendered to the Union Army in the War Between the States, and it did not reopen again for guests until September 10, 1865.
Elsa mumbled the words as she reread the paragraph aloud.

Odd. That date was very specific. Historical narratives were notoriously vague about exact dates. Something toggled in the back of her mind. She pulled her laptop from the carry bag on the floor next to her bed and did a quick internet search. A chill ran up her spine as she verified her suspicion. Hurricane Betsy had roared through New Orleans one hundred years later on September 10, 1965.

She continued reading.

The residents of the French Quarter were shocked to learn that the body of a young woman had been discovered in the unused former servants’ quarters on the third floor of the establishment on the very day of its grand reopening. The owner of the hotel, Mr. Simon Wakefield, denied any knowledge of how the woman had gained entry into his hotel. The newspaper at that time reported that the body had not yet suffered significant decomposition, so it was concluded the woman had not been dead but a few hours when she was found. According to numerous anecdotal accounts of the story, a single red rose was clutched in her hand, and the curse of the red rose was born.

The narrative stopped there, as if any reader would already be aware of the curse.

So a dead woman had been found in the hotel one hundred years to the day before Delia DeCuir had died during Hurricane Betsy. Like she had told Collin, Elsa didn’t believe in coincidence.

She pushed the laptop off her chest and jumped from the bed. Her heart pounded as her eyes strayed to the single red rose in the vase on her nightstand. She snatched the flower from the glass and a thorn scratched her palm. The flower fell to the floor while she pressed her thumb on the fresh wound. How dare Les Wakefield attempt to play with her mind?

How long did she stand over the rose, staring down at it as if it were a venomous snake?

She plucked the flower from the floor, careful to avoid the prick of the thorns, rushed to the kitchen, and ground the rose in her garbage disposal. The water glugged down the drain until the pipes burped pieces of red petals back up before churning them back down again.

Fury surged through her, followed quickly by panic. Elsa leaned on the counter, sucking in huge gasps of breath. It was just a flower. Why was it freaking her out so badly? Maybe the fact that she’d just read about the curse imbued the flower with a sinister aura. Finding a reference in such an old volume added to the creepiness. The story had not only stayed alive through the years, but it had grown and thrived.

She’d scoffed when she’d first heard of the legend, choosing to ignore it as the ghost story of a creepy old woman, but the gifter in the restaurant had forced her to recall the incident.

The scene revived fresh in her memory. She’d been closing up the hotel when the old woman had appeared as if out of the shadows of the building next door. The woman’s first words had sent a shimmer of dread through her.

“If you stay here, the curse is gonna get you.” The old woman’s eyes glowed with mischief in the dark night.

Elsa jumped back and slapped her hand on her chest. “Oh. You startled me.”

She squinted at the woman in the moonlight. She seemed harmless enough, so Elsa attempted to move past her, but the old woman shot a thin-skinned, blue-veined hand out and grabbed her wrist.

“You should pay attention when you’re warned.”

Elsa tried to shake her hand off, but the woman’s grip grew strangely stronger the longer she held on.

The urge to get away shot through her nervous system with a jolt of adrenaline, yet curiosity glued her to the cement in front of the hotel.

She tried to shake off the fear. How dangerous could an old woman be? Maybe the woman just needed directions. Maybe she was senile and didn’t know where she was. “Can I help you? Are you lost?”

The woman cackled, and the sound of her derisive laughter chilled Elsa to the bone.

“You know I ain’t lost. Why are you pretending to be so dumb? You understand me. I’m telling you… You’re the one who’s lost.”

Elsa allowed a soft giggle to escape her. “I’m not lost, lady. I know right where I am.” She pointed toward the building. “I’ve been here all day.” She had spent the whole day in the hotel absorbing the atmosphere and evaluating the scope of the work. Les Wakefield would expect a bid within a couple of days. She already had the outline of her proposal in her head.

“You’ve been in there all day? Have you seen her?”

Elsa tilted her head and stared at the woman. “Seen who? There’s been no one inside the hotel but me.”

The woman clutched her wrist tighter, so tight Elsa thought she heard her bones creak like they were about to break.

“Maybe you haven’t seen her, but you’ve felt her, haven’t you? That woman…the one they found dead. He gave her a rose, and it ended up in her mouth. That hotel should stay closed. It’s cursed.”

Elsa had felt uncomfortable on a few occasions, particularly on the third floor, but all abandoned buildings gave off a creepy vibe. Why was this building different? New Orleans was supposedly the most actively paranormal city in the world. Hadn’t Elsa seen plenty of for sale signs that proclaimed whether a French Quarter property was haunted or not? If the woman was suggesting the place was haunted, well… She’d heard the hotel was home to several lost spirits, but she didn’t believe in ghosts.

No one had ever said the hotel was cursed. Until now.

She finally managed to free herself of the woman’s claw-like grip and dared to laugh large, hoping to give the woman the impression that she didn’t buy into her crap. The woman leaned forward, and Elsa stepped back.

“Don’t go in there when it’s storming.”

“Why not?” Okay, she would placate the woman and let her have her fun.

“That’s when the gifter gives the rose.”

Something about the woman’s voice hypnotized her. She couldn’t break free from the discussion. At that point, she had to stay until the whole conversation unraveled.

“What are you talking about?”

The woman’s eyes reflected foreboding as if she believed her warning to be falling on deaf ears. “The curse of the single red rose.” She licked her lips over crooked teeth. “If the gifter gives you a single red rose on a stormy night, beware. Get out of the hotel as fast as you can. If you don’t, you won’t be alive in the morning.”

Elsa smiled. What could she say to that? The woman obviously believed she was doing Elsa a favor by warning her about the curse.

“Thank you for telling me about this. I’ll keep it in mind.”

The woman backed up a few steps. “You’ve been warned.” She disappeared into the same darkness from which she had appeared.

The next morning, Elsa had asked a few people who worked in shops along Royal about the woman’s story. Nobody seemed to want to talk about it until she spoke to Ingrid, the owner of an incense shop in the next block. Her store smelled like Ingrid sold more than just incense. The distinctive ropey aroma of burning cannabis floated in the air.

“Oh her. That’s Sephronia. Her and her old man have been trying to buy that property, but I heard the man that owns it won’t even consider selling. She’s probably just trying to cause trouble by freaking you out. Don’t pay attention to her. She’s a nut job. Have you met the new owner?”

“I have.”

Ingrid’s eyes had brightened with an almost manic light. Was the whole Quarter a bit demented? “So he really exists?”

Elsa nodded. Of course, he did.

“Well, that’s a relief because a lot of people on this street think the man is not real. He’s only come around here once. Sonja tried to speak to him, but he acted like he didn’t even hear her. She said that she left without talking to him.”

She’d just met Sonja, the girl who ran the specialty boutique across the street. Sonja hadn’t acted like she had heard anything about the hotel or its history. In fact, she acted as if she’d been inhaling a bit too much of Ingrid’s incense.

Ingrid had broken off to wait on a customer, and Elsa hadn’t been able to finish asking the abundance of questions that had crowded her mind.

Her cell phone rang loudly, drawing her attention back to where she’d left it in the bedroom.
That’s odd.
She was certain she’d put the phone on vibrate. She trudged across the floor and lifted the phone just as it quit ringing. Sure enough, the ringer had been set to silent.
Very odd.
The call went to voicemail. When it finished recording, she pressed
play
and listened.

“This message is for Elsa Madsen. I’m at the ER nurses’ station at Tulane Medical Center. Collin McVey has been in an accident. We’ve tried to get him to give us the name of someone in his family, but he insisted that we call you instead. He has a message he wants me to give you personally… I don’t usually do this… Can you please call me back?” The nurse left his name and a number on the message. Elsa wasted no time returning the call.

Within minutes, she had changed her clothes and raced out of her apartment heading toward Tulane. The nurse had thought Collin’s message for her was nonsense, but Elsa knew exactly what he meant.

Collin had told the nurse to tell her that the gifter had given him a rose. But Collin hadn’t been in the hotel, and it wasn’t a stormy night. Was the gifter trying to alter the rules of the curse? Or was this an elaborate ruse designed to scare both Elsa and Collin? For what reason? If it was an attempt to frighten them, then the ruse was working. Elsa was scared.

****

When Elsa arrived at the ER, she finally found Collin in an exam room at the back of the unit. Standing near his bed was a man she’d never seen before.

She ignored the stranger and rushed to the other side of Collin’s bed. “Are you all right? What happened? Are they letting you out of here tonight…today, I mean?”

Collin glanced toward the stranger and then offered her a weary, pain-soaked smile. “Slow down, Elsa. I’m going to be all right. I blacked out for a little while, but I should be fine in a few days. They’re going to keep me here overnight, and then I’ll need someone to stay with me for a few days when I go home.”

Anxiety fueled the furious beating of her heart. “Do you have a concussion?”

“Yes.”

“Headache?”

“Yes.”

“Memory loss?”

“Who did you say you were?”

The twinkle in his eyes betrayed him. The spark came and went in a flash, but it had been there.