A Ghost of a Chance, Cherie Claire [a court of thorns and roses ebook free .txt] 📗

I’m waiting for Madman Maddox to show, watching Jesus with his arms outstretched turn colors as the sun descends to my right. I nurse my now familiar martini while trying to get my story straight, something that explains what happened today without me admitting that I have survived Katrina’s watery destruction only to fall off the proverbial deep end of the ocean. My journalist brain screams, “Enough with the clichés!”

After my blood-curling scream at the lake’s edge, Alicia had come running, along with Joe who grabbed my arm and gave me a once-over to see if I was hurt. All I could manage was to point across the water and say something about helping three murdered women. At least that’s what I heard Joe telling the cops when they arrived.

To make matters worse, Merrill or Cassiopeia or whatever the hell her name is showed up with a contingent of protestors, carrying signs about a new development that’s threatening the water supply of Eureka Springs. Stephanie told me just before Alicia whisked our group away to lunch — and leaving me to contend with the cops — that Merrill had planned to meet us at Sweet Spring, but the bus carrying the protestors had broken down on Highway 62, delaying their arrival.

Adding icing to the cake, the mayor arrived, and guess who’s standing there, next to the crime scene and a hoard of protestors, shaking for all she’s worth? Then, as if on cue, the news van pulled up and began taping us all.

After an hour of watching Merrill and her cousin go at it, then the mayor taking turns with me while the cops had a million questions, Henry arrived to rescue me back to the Crescent, where he left me while continuing his tour, and Alicia took my group to the Turpentine Creek Wildlife Refuge, something my editor specifically wanted me to include in the article.

“I think it’s best that you stay here for the afternoon,” Henry had said as he planted me on the steps of the Victorian hotel and I’m picturing him scratching me off the list for good.

The door to the balcony bar opens and my heart races. I still haven’t figured out what to tell the Eureka Springs Police Department as a formal statement, but it’s TB and for once, I’m thrilled to see him.

“What on earth happened?” He plops down next to me. “You didn’t show up for lunch and then I hear you uncovered some body?”

“I don’t know,” I lie. “We were doing a walking tour of the springs and I saw something. Turns out it was a bone. A girl’s forearm sticking out of the mud.”

“Yeah, Alicia said they found what they think are remains.”

I nod, still unsure of what I’m supposed to admit.

“She also said you screamed and yelled something about girls covered in blood.”

I close my eyes trying to blot out that painful memory. Why oh why did I have to open my mouth? When I look up again, the waiter is passing by and I signal for another round.

“Vi, you’ve had enough.”

“You just got here, how do you know?”

“Because I can tell when you’re headed to never-never land.”

I gaze at my husband of eight years and am both horrified and thankful he knows me at least that much. “I saw three girls at the far edge of that pond,” I whisper. “And they weren’t really there, know what I mean? Don’t you think that deserves another martini?”

TB sighs and raises two fingers toward the waiter. “I don’t know why you’re surprised. You’ve seen ghosts before.”

I lean back in my chair and study him. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ve always been a little psychic. Remember that time we took Lillye to the Myrtles Plantation and you kept saying how it was all a scam, them being the most haunted place in America?”

“It is a scam,” I say with a snort. “They said an antique mirror had a ghost image in it. Antique mirrors age that way naturally. And some shadow in a corner of a photo was the slave who killed the plantation wife and children with oleander tea? I looked into this, couldn’t find anything about a murderous slave.”

TB turns and looks me in the eye. “You see? You rationalize everything. But you’re the one who saw the door close on its own and that weird light out back in the yard.”

I wave him away. “Could have been anything.”

“Yeah, but it probably wasn’t.”

The waiter arrives with two martinis and sets them down in front of us. I want to gulp mine down like the previous drink I ordered but I’m too shy to do it while TB’s watching.

“You could always interpret my dreams.” TB sips his drink.

I savor that tangy combination of gin and vermouth, eating the olives immediately. “Not very hard to do. You dream the same thing over and over again.”

TB looks away thoughtfully. “I can never catch that fish.”

The fish probably symbolizes me, but I’m not going there.

TB shakes his head as if forcing it to get back on track. “There was that time in Lafayette too. Remember, on our honeymoon?”

We had little money when we married, TB working for the Orleans Parish School Board as a carpenter and me pregnant, fresh out of college. I wore a store-bought dress for the ceremony at City Hall and our parents hosted the reception at TB’s Catholic church (you know my mother loved that). Our friends chipped in and gave us two nights at a Lafayette bed and breakfast called T-Freres, which means Little Brother in Cajun, so we drove the two hours into Cajun Country for sex, crawfish and zydeco dancing.

And a ghost named Amelie.

“I don’t know TB. Maybe I was influenced by what the proprietor told us; she gave us the whole story the moment we arrived. I know I said I saw the French lady with the bun on her head but who knows what I really saw.”

TB places his drink on the table. “Some days, Vi, you sound just like your mother.”

This is the last thing I want to hear coming from a man who shows up on my first press trip unannounced, not to mention with whom I legally filed a separation that he’s ignoring. Besides, of all people he knows how much that comment smarts. I start to give him my view on things when Madman Maddox strolls through the door, emerging on to the balcony of the Crescent Hotel, hands on his gun belt, chiseled chin in the air like a TV series character.

I smile like a schoolgirl and for a moment I think he doesn’t recognize me again. TB notices my reaction, huffs and rises. “I’ll be in the room when you’re done with Jack Shephard.”

I look up at my husband, always amazed at his occasional right-on perceptions. Regardless, I play dumb. “What do you mean by that?”

“I’m not blind, Vi. I know you’ve had a thing for him.”

I start to protest but TB heads for the door, saying as he passes Maddox, “She’s over there.”

Maddox claims the seat TB occupied while pulling out his notebook. “Viola, right?”

“Yeah.” Damn, he doesn’t remember. “From the New Orleans Post.”

Maddox nods and says nonchalant, “Right, the Bead Burglar.”

“Eight years.”

“What?”

We worked together for years, you insensitive moron. I don’t say that, of course. Now that he’s right in front of me, I’m too shy to be honest but I’m also noticing how he’s not that handsome, after all. “I need another drink. Where is that waiter?”

He leans in close, his elbows on his knees. “Are you going to explain to me how you knew there was a dead body in Lake Eureka?”

“It’s hardly a lake,” I clarify.

“Less than twenty-four hours after you found a body in Sycamore Cave?”

I shrug and offer a sheepish smile. “Coincidence?”

“Seriously?”

The waiter passes and I