A Club An Imposter And A Competition (Deanna Oscar Paranormal Mystery Book 2) Read online

  A Club, An Imposter, and A Competition

  By CC Dragon

  A Deanna Oscar Paranormal Mystery

  Contents

  DISCLAIMER:

  Note from the Author:

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  About the Author

  DISCLAIMER:

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  A Club, An Imposter, and a Competition

  Deanna Oscar Paranormal Mystery Book 2

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  A Club, An Imposter, and A Competition Copyright© 2015 CC Dragon

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Editor: M. Witvliet

  Cover Design: Coverkicks.com

  This work has been updated and retitled.

  It was previously published as:

  I’m Okay, You’re a Fake

  By Cheryl Dragon

  Note from the Author:

  This book was originally published in 2007 as I’m Okay, You’re A Fake. It has been edited/revised. The book takes place post Hurricane Katrina in 2007

  This is book 2 in this series and Katrina impacts the storyline. Since I think it’s an important part of the character’s journey and the city is a critical part of the series…I’m sticking to it.

  Thank you for understanding and reading!

  Dedication

  For the people of New Orleans who survived so much!

  Chapter One

  Mothers were a force to be reckoned with and that included Mother Nature!

  That thought echoed in my brain as I stood in the middle of the lavish party at my neighbors’, the Weathers’, mansion in the Garden District of New Orleans. Less than a year ago Katrina had demonstrated that Mother Nature could defeat what mankind made anytime she wanted. But the old homes near Tulane University still stood. Old money had repaired and refurnished them.

  My house ghosts had saved all of my late Grandmother Oscar’s prized possessions in the mansion that was now my home. When I had the water damage in the house repaired, it was a good chance to add internet and cable connections.

  It seemed silly but the fact was that TV and computer time seemed to help my mind relax and give my brain a break. I couldn’t turn off my psychic powers but I could make the signal fuzzy. The relief was awesome.

  Right now I wished I were surfing through my tons of channels for something to grab my interest. Nope, I had to be social. Everyone was trying to get back to normal. And in the historic old homes of New Orleans rich society, that meant parties. Technically they were called balls, but I was a middle-class girl from Chi-town.

  “You look just lovely, Deanna! Happy Birthday!” gushed Mary Lou Weathers. Second hostess in command under her mother-in-law, Mary Lou had orchestrated the affair. She’d been the Southern belle to welcome me when this Yankee took over my grandmother’s mansion and psychic detective lifestyle. That was me, Deanna Oscar—psychologist and psychic.

  Of course, it was my birthday so avoiding this party was impossible. Speaking of mothers, for the first time in my life, mine hadn’t called me. I was an adult but something felt off. I didn’t fit into my family but we were still close. There was something very wrong with my whole mom situation.

  Mothers. Some didn’t even realize their power. Sort of like a category-five hurricane.

  “Thanks. The dress is great,” I said. A soft blue A-line, by a designer so famous I’d actually heard of him, had been picked out by Mary Lou and would be auctioned off for charity. Inheriting a fortune hadn’t exactly changed my style or perspective. People in the know had to force me into the right outfit for my new income bracket. I felt just like I was at my senior prom. My best friend had picked out the dress for that too so I didn’t make a fool of myself. Some things never changed.

  “It is your birthday. And what a sweet idea you had to make it all for charity. After all you did during Katrina, it’s only fair you get something. You wouldn’t even take any recognition from the press.”

  I didn’t like where this was going. “Mary Lou, this isn’t about me or my birthday. You promised. This is about getting people out of FEMA trailers.” I knew she had a cake somewhere and I could live with that. Mary Lou had to do parties her way but I wasn’t going to be made a celebrity when I was trying to do something charitable.

  “Hell yes!” Ivy Delacroix, the Latina drag queen and former caretaker of my late Gran, jumped in the conversation wearing a floor-length gown that glittered in purple and gold. She held up a T-shirt. “Check it out! We’re selling these for the next disaster when they still haven’t fixed the levies.”

  “Forget FEMA. Send Oprah!” Mary Lou read from the cotton fabric.

  “I want one!” I grabbed it and admired the picture of Oprah in the Superdome on the back.

  Mary Lou shook her perfectly made-up head at me. The woman looked like a mature Barbie without the weird proportional issues. “You didn’t even need FEMA, De. Your house ghosts had it all cleaned up before you got back.”

  “Lucky me. Oprah’s still the goddess of Chicago no matter where she moved. She came down here to help people who needed it. Show some respect.” I remained largely loyal to my hometown and blue-collar roots despite my elevation to the rich and blue-blooded ranks of New Orleans. “Two things ruled Chicago—Oprah and sports. Plus, never ever speak badly about Capone.”

  Ivy curtsied to the shirt and earned a laugh from both me and Mary Lou. A born performer, she’d had a regular gig at the Long and Big Easy drag club until Katrina flooded the French Quarter. The club’s reopening was scheduled for late next week. I was more looking forward to that more than this stuffy affair.

  “If it weren’t for Deanna, Greg and I would’ve stayed here. And we’d be homeless. Our apartments got bulldozed a month ago.” Ivy wrapped a muscled arm around my shoulders.

  “I haven’t seen Greg.” Mary Lou looked around to change the subject.

  “Me either.” I shrugged. Greg was Ivy’s cousin and had been Gran’s backup when she was busting ghosts and criminals. He’s sexy but an ex-priest, and my Catholic schoolgirl sensibilities had, as of yet, prevented my being anything more than friends with him.

  “He’s here somewhere. Probably trying to drum up contributions for Tulane. Half the faculty and students haven’t come back yet.” Ivy’s mood dropped. “He really wants you to take that part-time job teaching in the psychology department. You’ve got the credentials and they’re short-staffed.”

  “Let me recover from the recovery and we’ll talk.” I had two PhDs in psychology and was generally referred to as the psychic shrink. Since I’d come to New Orleans, I hadn’t done much psychology, at least not on the living.

  “Speaking of which…” Mary Lou disappeared.

  I turned to Ivy. “What is she up to?”

  “Relax, sweetie. It’s a party! I’ve got to go sell more shirts for charity. Happy birthday!” Ivy danced away.

  “Thanks.” I didn’t have the heart to tell h
er that this crowd probably wasn’t the best buyers. This was the set that either fled early or stayed with their homes and family heirlooms, defending them with shotguns against looters and cops alike. FEMA didn’t dare approach them.

  Mary Lou returned with a woman who looked like she needed a drink and a dozen doughnuts. She was tall and bone-thin, her gaze pierced me. “De, this is Lara Gordon. She’s a reporter doing some freelance stuff here for local press and a little TV. She’s been dying to interview you. This is Dr. Deanna Oscar. Psychic, psychologist, heiress and hero.”

  I glared at Mary Lou, silently threatening to punish her. “Why me?”

  “I’m looking for the happy stories. The positive and uplifting. The police said you were a great help identifying trapped people who hadn’t broken through their roofs.” Lara produced a tiny tape recorder from her purse. “Did you stay through the hurricane?”

  I looked Miss Priss up and down. She wore a simple black dress that even I could tell was seasons out of style. More likely out to make a name for herself than to tell the story of the average people. I had no desire to be her story but Mary Lou’s pleading gaze was boring into me.

  “I’ll answer a few questions but I’m not interested in being on TV or in any stories. Understand?”

  “Of course. May I tape this?”

  Ms. Gordon was lying to me. I didn’t even need to be psychic to see the shiftiness. At least if she taped it, hopefully she’d get all my quotes right. “Sure. Tape away.”

  Mary Lou snuck off and left me in the clutches of the press. She’d pay.

  “Did you stay through Katrina?”

  “Did you miss the part where I’m psychic? Why would I stay for that?” I grinned slyly.

  “You saw the hurricane in a vision?”

  “We were all warned by the news. It’s hard to explain. I didn’t see a hurricane. I saw the flooding. The water. I saw Katrina before it had a name. My friends and I were safe in a Vegas hotel a week before it hit. I warned the police about the water but everyone swore the levies would hold. They thought I was just seeing water levels rise. I’m not from here.” Remembering all the water made me feel queasy.

  “You didn’t believe them?”

  I moved to the side so we weren’t in dessert-table traffic anymore and found a large chair where I sat. Ms. Gordon could stand for all I cared. “I don’t know a levy from a luau. Lake Michigan doesn’t come out and attack us. Sometimes big waves close Lake Shore Drive but nothing like this. My visions don’t lie.”

  “Right. I read you’re from the Midwest yet you waited out the storm in Vegas and returned shortly after.”

  “About two days after. It took that long to get a flight into Baton Rouge and then I drove down. I had to buy a Hummer because the flooding was too much for a regular car. I packed it full of supplies, a generator and headed home.”

  “You drove a Hummer from Baton Rouge to New Orleans? The police let you in?”

  “Sure. They asked me to come back. Finding people was hard and they couldn’t bust open every roof to check for trapped living—at least not right away. I cut down on time and hours spent.”

  “So you psychically saw that people were alive in the houses?” Ms. Gordon listened intently to every word.

  “That was pretty much it. A lot of people were able to get to their roofs or leave a sign but some people couldn’t. My house wasn’t ruined so I moved back home and had a lot of cops and rescue workers staying with me.”

  “And you felt safe?”

  “I was armed.” I opened my delicate blue purse and showed her a two-shot derringer. “I always am. Legally.”

  “Interesting. Do you feel less safe in New Orleans after the storm with all the looting and crime?”

  “No. Psychologically speaking you couldn’t expect anything else. You take away the structure of civilization and humans revert to our more animal instincts for survival. Saving your life, getting food and water for your family and protecting your life—that’s human nature. When you can’t predict when you’ll be able to resupply—you grab everything you can. The news mistook fear as greed.” There was a huge difference in looting in a riot during a protest and looting a store when your home is underwater and you want to survive.

  “You don’t feel guns add to the fear?” she asked.

  “I carried a weapon before all of this because I was consulting on a murder case with the NOPD and had a killer after me. Good habits die hard.” I stood up. “Thanks for taking the time but I need to get back to the party.”

  How did she know my background? I looked around for someone to save me. No one. What a birthday!

  Ms. Gordon started to object but took the hint. “Of course. Two more quick questions.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Many people feel this was a sign. That human beings need to clean up their lives or we’ll suffer worse natural disasters. Do you agree?”

  I stifled a groan. “Are you from a religious organization?”

  “No. This devastation has a lot of people questioning the world. I’m not afraid to tackle that issue.”

  “The rapture. Armageddon. I’ve heard it all. It was just a storm.” I’ve been inundated with calls about the end of the world and the repenting. I only answered the calls about missing people.

  “You don’t believe it was a sign to change our lives?”

  “It was a big storm. If you want the technical explanation, go interview a meteorologist. If the levies had held we wouldn’t have had nearly as much devastation. The only sign I can see is that the infrastructure needs to be inspected and repaired.” I started to leave.

  “One more please.”

  I paused but didn’t turn back to face her.

  “Do you know a Muriel Jennings?”

  I scanned my brain. “Nope.” Without another word I walked away and found the bartender.

  John Weathers appeared at my side. “How’s it going?”

  “Lousy.” He brightened up my evening a bit with broad shoulders and a charming smile. The youngest of the Weathers boys, he was already a local judge. His oldest brother Matt was the police detective I’d helped on my first case here. His middle brother was a shark attorney married to Mary Lou. John was the closest thing to normal male attention I had since moving south. The best part was he didn’t try to change me or tell me what to do.

  “Need a drink?” John nodded to the bar.

  I turned to the bartender. “Just a diet pop please.” Over the years I’d found alcohol dulled my sixth sense. When I wanted to block it, I could drink my share but generally avoided it.

  “A splash of rum?” the bartender offered.

  I held up my fingers requesting just a pinch. If John and the bartender both were suggesting it, I probably looked like I needed it. The reporter’s last question bugged me. Muriel Jennings? Maybe she was someone I’d located. I didn’t get to meet them all.

  He handed me a rum and diet with a lime. “Thank you.” I sipped slowly.

  “A reporter?” John asked.

  “Mary Lou is a dead woman.”

  “The bad part about that solution is she’d haunt you.” John took a beer from the bartender and deposited a generous tip.

  “Damn. This psychic thing can really be a curse.” I rolled my neck to relax. Back in familiar company, I didn’t have to play defense on every word.

  Lance, Mary Lou’s husband, stalked up. “I’ll take that curse right now. Can’t find that wife of mine. Have you seen her?”

  “Not for the last fifteen minutes or so. She left me with that evil reporter woman so I bet Mary Lou is avoiding me.”

  “An influential judge wants his wife to meet her and she goes missing. Katrina blew this state wide open politically and she disappears.” He turned to the bartender. “Scotch neat.”

  “Did you check upstairs? Maybe something got broken or spilled,” John suggested.

  “I can’t go searching every inch of this house and leave the judge to find someone else.” Lance ha
d a short temper and fewer manners for those without political influence. He could impress when he wanted but it was all an act. Mary Lou had been a poor debutante and former beauty queen who married money and a name. She picked the worst of the three brothers.

  I let my mind wander, feeling the house for Mary Lou. The second floor was right but she wasn’t alone. What I sensed wasn’t an innocent spill. As annoyed as I was with my friend, I didn’t want another storm to blow through the house tonight.

  “You go handle the judge. We’ll go find Mary Lou.” I tugged on John’s arm.

  “Sure.” John led me off. “Need a break from the crowd?”

  “I hope that’s all it is.” We headed up the stairs and my certainty grew. Mary Lou wasn’t the good Southern belle she played. At least not at the moment.

  “Is she okay?” John whispered.

  “Yes. Just not decent.” I stopped outside a guest bedroom door. The Weathers house was similar to the layout of mine. First floor was all for entertaining and public show. Second floor was bedrooms and private sanctuary.

  The sounds coming from the room were unmistakable. “You don’t want Lance to find her in there, do you?”

  “She wouldn’t.” John moved closer, unconvinced.

  “Stranger things have happened.” I wasn’t proud of my friend but I’d seen Lance’s temper and I couldn’t do that to her. She’d married young and made her choices but I couldn’t throw her to the wolves. Even after the reporter. The dead really were so much easier to deal with than the living.

  “You’re kidding?” John’s bewildered expression was sort of sweet.

  “Right, my new career is a stand-up comic.” I leaned with my back to the wall next to the ornate door and waited.

  John gestured to the door. “Are we just going to wait?”

  “The door isn’t locked.” I instigated with the best of them.

  “It’s too late now. They’re already…” John’s face turned red.

  “Chicken.” I knew he wouldn’t do it. A southern gentleman to the end. John wasn’t the type to intrude and I had the feeling he didn’t want to see Mary Lou naked. He always treated her very sisterly.