It was New Orleans, and she loved it.
Tom Garfield fought to retain his senses, fought because that was what a man did. It was simple instinct. And so many times before, it had served him well. But this time?
The girl. Had he gotten to the girl? He didn't know. No matter how he struggled, his mind was deeply fogged.
There had been a chance.
But he hadn't been able to talk.
And then…
Then it had been too late. He had been followed.
Well, it had been a good fight. And he had done as much good as he could. Maybe someone would come after him, someone who knew the truth. He had tried so damn hard to talk…
He felt a jostling, and he knew. He was being "taken care of." It no longer mattered, even to him. Dreams were taking over reality. And he could see…
The woman. Like a fairy-tale princess. Long blond hair, eyes both blue and green… And that face, porcelain, and the look of pity…
The… money.
More money than anyone ever gave a bum.
Not a bum. Once…
In his mind's eye, in dreams, all that remained, he could see himself in a suit. No, in a tux. Clean. Walking across a room. And there, the woman…
He was jostled again, the dream broken. It was her kindness, he thought, that had most moved him.
He felt the needle.
Dreams…
Dreams were good.
He was dying. And as he died, one regret tore at him.
They would never know the truth.
Unless she realized just what she had, what she had received, what he had slipped to her in that instant when they touched…
It was over. Had he lost? No, he had to die for a reason ! God help him, he had to have counted. She had to realize…
Fading. Fading, fading, and then…
Death.
Chapter 2
The afternoon French Quarter tour wound up being a long one. They always allowed for questions after the tour, and it turned out they had a lot of people with questions. When they finished, Julian decided to head home, but Nikki wanted to do some shopping, so she and Andy headed off.
In addition to suggesting the party, Max had given Nikki a bonus. There was a corset shop on Royal Street and a certain piece of clothing she had been coveting for quite a while. On the way they stopped by Andy's place to check on an old woman, Mrs. Montobello, Andy seemed to have adopted. The woman was full of tales about her younger years in New Orleans. She was an Italian immigrant who'd come to marry a fellow Italian, sight unseen, but now her husband was long gone, her one son had also passed away, and her grandchildren were sweet but living their own lives in New York City.
That day, she was on a kick about the many voodoo queens, and tarot and palm readers in the French Quarter.
"All shysters," she said, shaking her old gray head with animation. "Once upon a time voodoo was a way for the slaves to have something of their own—and to get back at their masters, eh? But I can tell you this—there were women once who really had a special gift."
"Mrs. Montobello," Nikki said, "Marie Laveau supported her 'powers' by eavesdropping."
"Dear child," Mrs. Montobello protested. "Don't you go doubting things just because they can't be seen. I hear that you give the best ghost tour out there. That people believe they've seen ghosts when they get back from a walk with you. That's because you see them, don't you?"
Nikki shook her head. "I think it's just a matter of seeing history, feeling the emotions that must have played out. But I'm a girl who sees the real picture. We lead tours, we make money. I don't fall for the shyster palm readers. Oh, I believe there are people who give 'good' readings, but I think that's because they would have made fabulous psychologists. They know how to read people."
"Nikki's good. No matter what she says, I've stood next to her and felt chills," Andy said.
"So you really do talk to ghosts, huh?" Mrs. Montobello said, rheumy blue eyes studying Nikki in far too serious a manner.
"No. I have a feel for history, and I think I'm a good storyteller," Nikki said. "I do not talk to ghosts."
"So you don't talk to them, but do they talk to you?" Mrs. Montobello asked.
"Good heavens, no!" Nikki said. "I'd have a heart attack on the spot if that happened. And if they're out there," Nikki said mischievously, "they apparently know that."
"Maybe they will talk to you one day," Mrs. Montobello murmured. "I suppose, just like plain folk, ghosts need to have something to say. But you believe they're out there—I can tell."
Nikki felt a sudden chill. Yes, she believed in ghosts, or if not ghosts, per se, in a memory that lingered in certain places.
It sure as hell wasn't something she was going to share with anyone.
Not even Mrs. Montobello.
"At my age," the old woman said, "you come to know a difference in this world, perhaps because you're so close to the next."
She was still studying Nikki closely. Nikki found herself staring back for a long moment.
For a moment she found herself thinking, I can see a fog. And I can feel the cold, an essence, a feeling… when someone is lost, when they're frustrated. Looking for something. They're benign, meaning no harm, and they are no more than mist, something in my heart, or imagination.
Then she shook off the feeling, and they continued to chat as Nikki and Andy picked up the tea they had made for Mrs. Montobello, washed and dried and straightened, and then headed out.
At the door, Mrs. Montobello stared at Nikki strangely again. "Go shopping. Listen to the music. But stay away from shysters."
As they walked along the streets, past neon lights, garish come-ons, charming boutiques, and bars and clubs that wailed with blues and pop and everything in between, Andy suddenly stopped. "Isn't it funny? I feel like a little kid. Mrs. Montobello just said we shouldn't stop by a voodoo shop, so now I'm itching for a palm reading."
"Andy, come on, they're just silly."
"Okay, how about a tarot card reading?"
Nikki hesitated, staring at her. "Just let me buy that corset I want and I'll take you to a good place."
"Yeah?"
"We won't tell Mrs. Montobello."
Nikki liked the boutique where she purchased the corset. Everything was unique and handmade. But since Andy seemed restless, she didn't take the time to look around, just made her purchase, and then they headed for Conte Street.
The name of the place was Contessa Moodoo's Hoodoo Voodoo. Not promising, Nikki admitted as Andy stared at her, but she knew the woman who owned the shop fairly well. She was large, of mixed ancestry, African, Native American, white… maybe even some Asian, and whatever her real name might have been, she didn't use it. She just went by Contessa. She had long ago told Nikki that her potions were just what they said on the bottles—vitamins, with maybe a few herbs thrown in. And in her readings… well, she told people what they wanted to hear.
After purchasing a love potion, a bottle of vitamin E and a few sachets, Nikki introduced Andy.
"And," she said, "my friend wants a reading."
Contessa had remarkable eyes, like marbles, so many colors it would be hard to describe them in any customary way. Hazel was the best Nikki could summon, but they sometimes looked almost blue, sometimes gray, and sometimes they seemed very dark and mysterious.
She stared at Andy with a shrug. "Come on, then." Contessa had a little nook, filled with the pleasant scent of incense, and blocked off from the rest of the room by a bead curtain. They walked by voodoo dolls, more potions and curios to reach it.
Contessa took a seat behind a table with a beautiful crystal ball in the middle—she had long ago told Nikki it was just for looks. She indicated that Andy should take the chair opposite her.
She picked up her deck of cards and asked Andy to hold them. Then she took them and dealt them out.
But as she flipped the first over, she paused. Andy touched a card, and this time, Contessa swept up the deck, shaking her head. "The cards aren't talking tonight, I'm sorry," she said.
Nikki stared at her, puzzled. She brought people here because she knew that Contessa would find something uplifting to say to her clients. A decision looms before you, think long and carefully. Or There has been a division of sorts in your life and you must consider the past and remember that forgiveness is something we all must feel, if we are to be happy with ourselves. Or even, The future is bright, go for it.
"Okay, how about a palm reading?" Andy suggested.
Contessa stiffened, lowering her head. Nikki saw Andy smile, as if she were applauding the act. But Nikki knew this was no act.
With a sigh, Contessa held Andy's palm, looking very serious. At last she looked up at her. "You be careful, young woman. Very careful."
"Why?" Andy demanded.
"When you're home, you lock yourself in. Don't go talking to no strangers. And… "
"And?" Andy demanded.
"There's something… " Contessa muttered.
"Oh," Andy said lightly. "I lived a pretty hard life for a while. Drugs," she admitted. "But I'm clean as a whistle now. Honestly."
"You lock your doors," Contessa said. "And you keep away from those no-accounts, you hear?"
"Yes, ma'am. And thank you. What else? Am I going to fall in love?" Andy demanded.
Contessa kept her strange mottled eyes on Andy; she didn't look at her hand again.
"We all fall in love, don't we?" she asked. Then she added, "Okay, shoo, now. Off you go. And keep those doors locked!"
Nikki was surprised when Contessa all but hustled them out the door.
"But I didn't pay you!" Andy protested.
"Honey, you don't owe me a thing. Now git. There's a world out there to be lived. You go live it quick."
The door closed behind them with a soft ringing of bells.
Andy burst into laughter. "Well, you and Mrs. Montobello are right. She sounds more like a mother than a psychologist. Go home, lock your doors. Watch out for strangers. Well, she was fun, anyway. Thanks, Nikki."
