A Mansion, A Drag Queen, And A New Job (Deanna Oscar Paranormal Mystery, #1) Read online

  “The doll.” I rubbed my forehead.

  “What happened?” Greg watched me like a hawk.

  I pressed my fingers against my eyes. They felt ready to explode. “I’m not sure. The doll should be there. I don’t know why it isn’t. I don’t feel like I fainted exactly.”

  “Have you ever fainted before?” he asked.

  “No.” I shrugged.

  “The how would you know what it feels like?” Greg put a hand on my shoulder, more to keep me from getting up than to comfort me.

  “But it wasn’t like being lightheaded. It was more like an overload.” Like grabbing live wires.

  “Overload? Of?”

  “Information maybe. Or the girl’s pain. I can’t see her ghost, yet. I thought she might be here.” I sipped the water and let my brain recover.

  “I think you’ve had enough for now. I’ll drive you back.”

  “I know I can get more. I’ll leave when I’m ready. I have the Jeep.” I didn’t want to give up.

  “Not now,” Greg countered.

  “So get it then.” Matt called over his shoulder. “Get me a body and the killer to go with it. Or go read palms.”

  “Nice meeting you too.” Sarcasm was another skill of mine. I slowly stood very ready to leave. “I guess it takes time. I’m going home.”

  “You’ll get it. Things just have to settle down for you.” Greg didn’t sound the least bit annoyed.

  “I hope so. The cops seem to expect more. I’m sure Gran was far better at this. I’ve never tried tracking a murderer before.” I fished in my pocket for the keys. Having Greg there was oddly comforting. He’d been through this with Gran. It was a relief not to feel pressured by the entire room for answers.

  “Can you tell if this is a one-time murderer?” Greg asked.

  “He’s not done.” I couldn’t see another victim yet. However, I knew the killer’s work wasn’t complete.

  He followed me out to the Jeep. “You did great in there.”

  “Except for the overload.” I climbed behind the wheel. I hadn’t exactly done a fabulous job of helping. No name. No address.

  “No, you did good. Elinor hated crime scenes. It shook her up to go. These last few years, she really didn’t much. They got used to operating without her or I’d be a sort of proxy. Go and she’d read me. You just need to build up a rapport with local law enforcement. But you shouldn’t be driving.”

  I started the car. “I’m fine. I don’t understand the killer though. Why is he driving around? He had the cover of night to get somewhere safe. Hell, to dump the body in the water. Feed it to gators. But he’s just driving it around.”

  “Heading for state line?” Greg asked.

  “No, he doesn’t know where he’s going. He’s almost driving in circles like in a panic. He wants to get caught but isn’t brave enough to turn himself in. It doesn’t make any sense because he’s going to repeat the crime. He’s obsessed with death.”

  “Serial killers are. Don’t wear yourself out because you can’t save that girl. He’ll stop eventually. He can’t keep a body in a truck for long. Not in the summer heat of New Orleans. The smell will get attention from someone.”

  “Think they believed me?” I hated feeling insecure but this wasn’t a lecture on Freud—this was psychic stuff.

  Greg looked over at me. “You gave them info you couldn’t possibly have known otherwise—like the name of the girl, the fact that she was alone. You found the crime scene. Plus you gave them stuff they can verify when they find her—like cause of death and vehicle description. If they find a pickup matching that description and can find some trace of her you’ll be proven. They’ll know they’re on the right track. You’ll win them over just like Elinor.”

  “At least I didn’t see any press there today.” That was all I needed! All my job prospects would go down the drain if they could Google me and find references to playing psychic detective. That’d be the nicest thing they’d call me.

  “You’re not big news yet. Elinor had a pretty good success rate. Once they get wind of the connection and something they can test you on to get proof, you’ll hear from them.”

  “Great. Thanks.” I rolled my eyes and put the car in gear. This wasn’t exactly a regular job or one I was looking for. “See ya around.”

  On instinct, I drove home and parked the car. Greg was behind me but I was too tired to care. I trudged up the steps, and into the house. I felt drained and thus far of no real use. I couldn’t do this. Wander around New Orleans just seeing what I could see. Then trying to convince others to listen. It’d be too frustrating.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I walked into the shrine room and sunk onto the couch. The candles and Gran’s picture were soothing. “I guess. Just tired.” I glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. “It’s almost noon already?”

  “And you haven’t eaten. That’s what’s wrong.” Greg grabbed me by the arm. Stronger than I thought, he pulled me off the couch.

  “What are you doing? Stop it.” I was too tired to really fight.

  “You need to eat.” Once in the kitchen, Greg pulled out some of the biscuits from this morning. I sat down too drained to argue.

  “You put gravy near my food and I’ll puke.” That wasn’t a joke.

  “Don’t worry. You can have them the Yankee way.” He put three biscuits in the microwave, pulled out a container of margarine from the fridge, and set it and a knife on the table near me. Seconds later, there were warm biscuits in front of me. “Bland as bland can be. It’ll help.”

  “Fancy lunch.” I sliced open a biscuit, smothered it with margarine then started to eat. I did feel better but wasn’t about to admit it.

  “Tonight you can try crawdads. Come Monday you’ll get your first red beans and rice. We’ll make you a Cajun girl yet.” He pulled a Diet Coke out of the fridge. “I assume this is okay by Chicago standards.”

  “Yes, thank you.” I didn’t bother with a glass, popping the top and drinking from the can. Caffeine and the cool liquid both helped. My brain started to catch up. “Why Monday for beans and rice?”

  “Everyone has red beans and rice on Monday. That’s just the way it is.” He looked confused at the question but seemed to shake it off. “Don’t worry. Tonight, I’ll take you out for some excellent seafood. Very low-key, don’t worry. I’ll invite Ivy so it isn’t weird or a date or anything. You just need to get some real food in you. Not to mention, your mind on something else for a bit.”

  I wanted to argue but it sounded good. “It’s never been like this before.”

  “Like what?” He sat down across from me.

  “Exhausting. I overloaded! What’s wrong with me? Then again I’ve never deliberately tried anything like that before. It’s always just showed up. Then I did the best I could with what it was. I never went looking for more.”

  “Never?” Greg seemed surprised.

  I went to work on the second biscuit. “Once you’ve had a death premonition come true, you don’t go looking for more. It’s like a nightmare. You know something—but you can’t do anything about it. You try to tell people, but no one listens or they think you’re crazy. You don’t know what or how these things will happen. Or, if you do, you don’t know exactly when. Never enough information to make anyone really believe.”

  “You knew about this girl before this morning, didn’t you?” he asked.

  “Actually, yes.” Guilt hit me hard. I should’ve done more.

  “You saw it?” he asked.

  “Yesterday. But I didn’t know how or who.”

  “When?”

  “On the cab ride here. Her grandmother was the driver. I really couldn’t see how she’d die. Could’ve been a fall, or a car accident, or a disease they didn’t know she had. What do you say when you know but you don’t know?” I dropped the biscuit and put my face in my hands, forcing myself not to cry. “I warned her to keep an eye on the girl. They shouldn’t have left her alone. She was so young.
”

  “You did all you could. Elinor wasn’t always right either. She couldn’t see everything. Things don’t always come in time.” His voice sounded soothing as I fought self-doubt and guilt.

  “Did she faint a lot?” I asked.

  “She learned to pace herself better. Especially not to touch things she wasn’t sure of. She didn’t do this as often once she hit her eighties. Only the hard cases. You’ll get there. If you stay,” he added.

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I’m good at teaching. The students liked me. It was comfortable.” The academic world was calmer, relatively speaking.

  “Well, there’s nothing stopping you. You can go back to ignoring the gift. Being normal. Tulane is very close by. I actually work there.”

  “Not until I stop this guy.” I bit into the last biscuit. “I’ve got to help.”

  “That’s the cops’ job. If you get more information that’s great. If not you just stay here. Get to know Ivy and Mary Lou. Get to know Elinor. Enjoy New Orleans. Take some time to decide what you really want to do. A murder isn’t the best first case to test yourself, psychic detective-wise.” The warning in his voice was clear.

  “I can’t think of a better reason to test myself.” I wiped my hand on my jeans. “When’s dinner?”

  He laughed. “I’ll pick you up about seven. Take it easy. You’re putting out a lot of energy doing this. I’ve got to run but I’ll be back.”

  “Thanks.” I didn’t get up from the table when he left. I felt like I had a double dose of gravity still working on me. I took a deep breath and finally stood. I needed to connect with people who knew what it was like inside my head. Gran hadn’t reappeared. I needed more coffee and to check out this Third Eye place.

  * * * * *

  My excellent sense of direction led me to the closest Internet café. I ordered an iced coffee with a double shot. Then I settled in at a corner table with my laptop and logged into my web-based email account. A few friends had sent messages wondering if I had fallen off the face of the earth.

  I sent quick replies to them that I was in fact alive in the Big Easy. My old life felt unbelievably distant at the moment. The scary part was I didn’t miss it.

  As I sucked down my icy flavored caffeine, I searched the web for The Third Eye. I found what looked to be the right home page and read on the basics. It wasn’t just a store but had meetings for different groups. There was an email address and pictures of a friendly staff. Tempting...very tempting.

  Chapter Five

  I returned home at five p.m. and did the shower and makeup thing. Missy had laid out a dress from my luggage. She must’ve overheard my dinner plans.

  I vetoed the dress. Instead I went with a white and gray pinstriped blouse and gray pants to match.

  Missy walked in and frowned. “I thought the dress was for going out?”

  “It’s not a date,” I informed her. Then I began to wonder, now that my energy was back. Why wasn’t it? Not that Greg was the most charming or fun guy I’d ever met. He was nice to look at. That much I’d admit. “What’s wrong with me?”

  “Nothing.” Missy hung up the dress reluctantly.

  “Then why did he tell me so specifically that this isn’t a date?” I stepped into a pair of gray flats and buttoned the cuffs on my blouse.

  “It’s probably for the best.” Missy handed me some dainty cubic zirconium earrings from my jewelry bag.

  Before I asked her why, I stopped myself. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. I put the earrings in but decided against bracelets or necklaces. It wasn’t a date after all.

  Maybe he was gay? Not all gay men were, well, Ivy. Plenty were extremely masculine. It made sense. Actually, it was quite polite of him to make it clear it wasn’t a date. Possibly he didn’t want to out himself so early.

  He’d been completely professional at the crime scene and even when I fainted. His touch had been almost doctor-like.

  Honesty time, I’d been attracted to him but he probably wasn’t playing for my team. I didn’t get a gay vibe from him. Of course, I’d been pretty overloaded lately, so something that ordinary could get overlooked.

  Actually it could make tonight fun. See how much flirting he’ll take until he caved and confessed. Why not? Ivy was out and it wasn’t like Greg could claim I’d have a problem with it.

  “Are you going to keep Ivy on?” Missy asked out of the blue.

  The abrupt subject change left me at a loss. I wasn’t sure I was staying here. “I don’t know. I don’t need a caretaker, medically speaking. Why?”

  “She did this too.” Missy handed me a list of grocery and other items.

  Duh! Ghosts couldn’t shop. Well, maybe in New Orleans there might be places like that. Missy didn’t seem the type to leave the house though. I needed to do that sort of stuff or I needed someone to do it.

  “I’ll talk to Ivy. I think we should keep her on for errands. She knows the house already.” I stuck the list in my pocket.

  Missy looked relieved. She left as I did the finishing touches. Makeup, but only clear lip gloss this time. A watch and at the last second a spray of the citrusy perfume I’d been wearing in the interview. The good stuff was for actual dates and was at home anyway.

  The clock now read six-thirty and I sat on the blue bench at the end of the bed trying to find the killer. Nothing. He was eating dinner but hadn’t yet buried the body. I could see him in a very generic diner. I couldn’t see his face. Maybe the book Gran left me would help.

  I retrieved it from the top drawer of the nightstand. The book had no index or chapter listing so I started flipping slowly, scanning for any hint on how to focus or manipulate the input. But the book seemed mostly to be about dealing with the dead. Finally, toward the very end, I came across a section on the living.

  The living are much more trouble than the dead, as a group. Their expectations and demands can be less than reasonable. However, they are a part of the world and will likely require some of your time.

  Death premonitions are just that. You can rarely change the outcome. The clearer the vision, the nearer in the future it will occur so if it’s hazy, you have a better chance to stopping the death. However, premonitions of danger or injury can serve as warnings.

  When dealing with a criminal mind, you must be careful not to become too involved. Keep your distance and objectivity.

  I flipped a page or two about self-control and so on. It was a rehash of professional distance really. Then I hit the jackpot.

  Improving your skills.

  This is always a major concern. How to improve so you can do more? The only truth I can give is practice. You can never force your way to a deeper level of skill. It takes variety of encounters, time and concentration. Manipulating your gift is dangerous. It is a gift, not a tool. You may not get all the information you need but you get all you are supposed to.

  Do not censor your gift. Just because it’s confusing doesn’t mean it’s wrong.

  There are notes and diaries in the library that Noah can show you when you’re ready. Only recently did I start spending time at The Third Eye. They helped boost my strength as I slowed down with age. Many there share the hidden gifts. There will be a time to share what you know but you can always learn as well.

  That wasn’t particularly helpful in the short term but probably good advice. There were no answers, so I put the book away. When the doorbell rang, the clock radio on the nightstand read seven on the nose.

  I went down the stairs not sure what to expect. Behind the door was Greg in the same jeans and polo shirt he had been this morning. Definitely not a date. “Hi. You know, I’m feeling a thousand percent better. If you had other plans, I don’t want to drag you away from anything.”

  “No way. You need to get a real taste of New Orleans and then I’ll show you where Ivy performs. She can’t make dinner but she’ll probably be at the club.” He looked at my outfit. “It can get chilly
at night.”

  Missy was way ahead of Greg on that one and produced a gray long cable knit sweater from the hall closet. “Thanks. Don’t wait up.”

  We headed out the door. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that.”

  “To what? Ghosts?” He opened the car door for me. A semi-date move that I wrote off as Southern manners or gay boyfriend training.

  “No, not ghosts, I’m used to that. Servants.” I shuddered.

  Greg laughed and started the mini-tour of the area. He pointed out houses of interests in the Garden District. Drove by Tulane. Then we were off to the French Quarter. He pulled to the valet stand near the noisy restaurant. The Cajun music could be heard with the car windows up.

  “A friend’s parents own this place. It’s impossible to get in since the tourists found out about it.”

  “We can go somewhere else.” I didn’t especially like being crowded.

  “No, it’s the best food. They keep the locals in the backroom.” Greg took the lead through the front door that had a line of people waiting. He had me by the wrist as we weaved past the hostess and the bar.

  At the band, Greg paused to nod at someone. “That’s Big Bud on the drums. Best friend since high school,” he yelled in my ear. I could still barely hear him but I was tuning into his mind.

  I waved at Big Bud who lived up to his name. A very large man with a scruffy beard and sunglasses in a dimly lit restaurant. Not quite Jabba the Hutt but the resemblance was eerie. His too tight t-shirt read It’s All Good in the Big Easy.

  “We’ll talk to him later.” Greg pulled me to the back room where the music still made the floor thump but the overall noise level was more subdued. “Better?” Greg asked.

  “Much.” I tried not to yell but my ears were still ringing.

  “Long time no see, Greggy.” A waitress with hourglass curves strolled up and gave Greg a hug. “Got a table for you right here.” She pointed to a small wooden table painted a vibrant purple in the corner.

  “Thanks. Deanna, this is Big Bud’s mother. Mrs. Frolen.”

  “Everyone calls me Mama Bud.” She smiled.