A Masquerade of Saints (Saints Mystery Series Book 3) Read online

  She pointed to the shed and motioned for me to follow her. Once we were behind the shed we were in the company of an elderly man in blue jean overalls stained with grass. He was moving squares of grass from the back of a rickety utility cart into a neat pile by the shed. When he saw us he removed his green and yellow cap and ran a rag over his sweat soaked head, then walked over to us. He held out his hand to me and introduced himself as Remy. Massey asked him if he would give me a ride to the gate, and he obliged saying it would be no trouble as soon as he was done with his work.

  Massey left us, and I offered to help him with the grass. He said he did not need help, but I insisted. My help was minor. Remy was an old man but he was unloading faster than me at a rate of three to one. With the two of us working together we made short work of the job, and Remy told me to hop in the back of the cart.

  “Can I ask you a question Remy?”

  “Sho’ can,” he replied.

  “Did you know the Baxters? They used to live down the road a spell.”

  “Yup,” he said. “I was their gardener for somethin’ like ten years while they were at Belle Bleu. And my family done worked for them for three generations now.”

  “Do you know where they are?”

  “Well nah, I’m sure I shouldn’t be giving you information like that. But it doesn’t hurt to say that they used to have a place in New Orleans back when my auntie worked for them. It’s always been tended to by my brother Curly’s yard service. Can’t recall a particular address on dat now.”

  “What’s the name of your brother’s yard service?” I asked.

  “I just said it’s called Curly’s Yard Service.”

  “Oh,” I said sheepishly. “Whereabouts do you think they live in New Orleans?”

  “Dat’s a lot of information, cher,” Remy said. “It don’t hurt me none to tell you dat some rich folks moved to the city, but to give you specific information about where you could find rich folk with old money in New Orleans dat would just be too much,” he said, emphasizing the right words so I would know exactly where he meant.

  “Garden District?” I said.

  “Shh. You didn’t hear that from me.”

  We rode up the pathway in silence. Just before we reached the gate he slowed the cart and started chewing on his lip.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  We came to a full stop, and Remy turned around in his seat, his face to me. He looked serious and said, “Now, it sounds like you settin’ out to see those Baxters. I wouldn’t feel right if I let you leave here without a warning on dat. They are not good people, cher.”

  “Why’d you say that?” I asked.

  He took a deep breath and sucked his teeth. “When that baby girl died I never saw a one of them shed a tear. And on the day of her funeral I walked into the house with a shock of lilies from me and the other gardeners, and I overheard some of them talking. They were saying things… well it was like they were glad that girl was gone.”

  “What’d they say?” I begged.

  “The man of the house said more or less he was glad that girl died. He said drowning was a merciful death compared to what she had coming.”

  I felt a pain creep into my side, wondering what Mr. Baxter thought I might have had coming. Remy turned back around and started up the engine. It drowned out all noise until we were at the end of the lane. He shut off the vehicle and offered his hand to help me out of the cart. He had strong hands; deeply imbedded with calluses from years of hard labor.

  “You take care, miss,” he said and touched his hand to his head in a show of respect.

  “Thank you for the warning, Remy, but I have no choice. I have to meet them.”

  “Don’t worry, miss. Only little Helene had to worry about that family, and she is gone home to the Lord where they cannot find her or hurt her ever again.”

  Shotgun

  I left the Hadley House uneasy. I had spent a good amount of energy finding the Baxter family. Now I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea.

  The sun was setting as I drove into the city. I passed by Jackson Square and thought of Madame Du’Ponde. She set up her psychic table in the square during the week. I was planning to visit her as soon as I could. She had always been a great help to me. She had correctly predicted that Josephine’s remains were in the belly of an alligator while the police were still baffled. She also interpreted my dreams correctly when I was dreaming about the real Fanchon Deveroux. Most importantly she had given me life saving warnings. I was determined to talk to her again before I resumed the search for my family.

  The sounds of the French Quarter drew me in, and I decided to drive through it. The route was not necessarily the best way to get home, but I liked the idea that I could go there anytime I wanted. I heard street jazz from a trumpet. The pacing of the song was off, but the artist was playing with such excitement and vigor that the music was beautiful nonetheless. I rolled all of my windows down to take in the sounds and the smells. Jazz, spice and a hint of beer filled the air.

  I could feel the energy of the people walking on the street admiring the eighteenth century architecture. The owners of the boutique hotels were stringing lights up on their elaborately scrolled balconies and on the street level shop owners had decorated their front windows with gold, purple and green keepsakes. Each shop had masks, beads and dolls on display. I saw a shipping truck parked on the side of the street unloading a box, marked, “assorted beads.”

  Mardi Gras was a few days away, and I could feel the build up of excitement in the air. I was looking forward to it. I loved Mardi Gras. I realized in that moment that New Orleans was exactly where I wanted to be.

  After I passed through the French Quarter I headed to my new house. I turned south on Orleans Avenue to the Jefferson Davis Parkway.

  I had seen the house once before in the light of day. It faced a narrow channel and was set in a row of other refurbished shotgun houses and shotgun apartments. I had not seen the inside or met my new roommates yet, but Claudia told me they were nice young men.

  I found the narrow white house easily. It was a well-maintained building, no more than 12 feet wide. In true shotgun fashion each room opened into the next, and the name shotgun meant you could stand in one spot in the house, shoot a gun and never hit a wall. How somebody found that out was beyond me. The back room in a shotgun was always the best room because it was the most private. Nobody had to walk through the last room to get into another room. I planned to campaign for the back bedroom because I didn’t want some boys walking through my room at night to go to bed.

  I pulled my car up next to the dirty Ford F-150 that was parked adjacent to the stairs. I got out and grabbed the box that had been sitting in my passenger seat. I walked up the steps and saw through the frosted glass on either side of the oak door that the lights were on. After a few moment of shuffling I saw the shadow of a man looking out the panels. When he opened the door I saw that he was a young man, with a cute face, but a disheveled appearance. He had at least a day worth of stubble on his chin and a worn out pair of blue jeans on. He wiped his hands, which were covered in paint, on his pants and held his hand out to me.

  “You must be Fanchon. I’m Grant,” he said, holding out his hand to shake mine before he realized I was holding a box. “I’ll take that for you.”

  “I got this,” I told him. “But, you can get my boxes out of the trunk if you don’t mind.”

  Without hesitation he ran past me to the car and grabbed the two boxes and balanced them easily, one on top of the other. He bounded up the stairs and stood beside me.

  “Go on in, cher.”

  I walked through the door into the dining room. There was a chandelier with beautiful box lights in the center of the room lighting up a pool table. Past the pool table on the far end of the room was a dartboard. There was bright white wainscoting that ran the length of the walls. Above the railing there were mirrored bar signs with scantily clad women on them.

  There were two
white pillars on either side of the room that gave way to the next room, a living room with a futon on one wall and an ungodly large television set in a glass entertainment center on the other. It was surrounded by wall mounted DVD cases, filled with movies and video games. There was cheap wooden coffee table in front of the futon with snack wrappers and game controllers on it.

  From behind me Grant said, “I’ll pick that up. I’m clean. Don’t worry.”

  “Where’s the other guy?” I asked.

  Grant whistled loud enough to make me wince. Another young man, who looked eerily similar to Grant walked out of the door by the kitchen, ran over to me and without asking grabbed the bag out of my hand.

  “I’m Wyatt,” he said and turned back to the room he had just exited. He gave me no opportunity to shake his hand or introduce myself.

  After seeing the boy’s reaction to me I had to laugh at Clem’s assumptions about them. They were treating me more like a substitute teacher than a love interest. I was probably only five years older than them but in their world it was clear I was an old lady.

  “We got John’s room cleaned up for you. He was a pig. His parents picked up all the furniture a week ago so it’s good to go.”

  “I’m going shopping for furniture tomorrow. I don’t have anything other than these boxes right now.”

  Wyatt walked past the kitchen, which was white with a black and white checkered floor. In the center of the room was a narrow white farm table with two long benches on either side that looked like they had never been used. We walked past the kitchen and Wyatt pointed to a door next to the kitchen.

  “That there is the bathroom,” he said. We walked past it to the first bedroom. It was completely empty with light, hardwood floors and white walls, the high ceilings made it look grand. Wyatt sat my bag down in the middle of the room and Grant asked where I wanted my boxes. I stood looking at them for a moment deciding how I was going to bring up the rooming arrangements.

  “What?” Grant said. “Can you still smell the piss?”

  “No,” I said scrunching my nose. “Why? Was there piss in here?”

  They looked at each other and did not respond.

  “I just don’t like the idea of you guys walking through my room to get to bed at night.”

  “I didn’t think about that,” Wyatt said. “I’ll move my stuff up here after work tomorrow. You can take my room in the back.”

  That went easier than expected.

  “You guys mind if I sleep on the futon tonight?”

  They shook their heads and both walked back out to the main room. I grabbed my toiletry kit and sweat pants from the bag and went to the bathroom. I was pleasantly surprised to find a spotless bathroom. Claudia had the home remodeled after hurricane Katrina, and I found her taste suited me completely. The room had a claw foot tub and shining white and black glass tiles all the way up the wall. I could not find so much as a smudge in the room.

  I showered, brushed my teeth and dressed before going to the empty room with my boxes. I grabbed my phone from my purse and dialed Banyan, number three on my speed dial. I waited for six rings before getting his voicemail.

  I recorded, “I hope you are having a good night. I learned a few new things about my family today. Not sure I liked the news. I made it to my new house; the boys seem pretty nice. I’ll call again later.”

  I walked out of the bedroom and found the boys had pulled out the futon and dressed it with a flimsy brown pillow and my quilt. They were sitting on the edge of the futon closest to the television with game controllers in hand. Wyatt waved to me and said, “You can sleep on that side, and we will stay on this side.”

  “Uh, sure,” I said. I crawled over the side of the futon and faced the back wall, covering myself with the quilt. I couldn’t get to sleep with the non-stop clicking of game controllers and frequent runs to the fridge for beer. I started to wonder what I was thinking, moving in with two boys I had never met. The last roommate I had was Josephine and we were as close as sisters. These boys took about as much notice of me as a piece of furniture.

  Grant turned around after a while and asked, “You asleep?”

  “No.”

  “Hey, is that girl in that picture in your room the one who died?” Wyatt asked.

  “Yes.”

  “She was pretty hot,” he said not turning around.

  “She was very pretty,” I said.

  I felt a tear streak down my cheek and considered getting up right then and there to leave. Then the boys stood up. Wyatt turned off the television and walked toward his bedroom. Grant followed but turned around at the door and said, “Sleep tight and don’t let the bed bugs bite, cher.” It was the same sentence uttered by Josephine every night before bed. Suddenly, I felt at ease and drifted easily off to sleep.

  When I awoke the next morning the house was quiet. The light from the oversized windows that ran the length of the wall I had been facing was bright. The curtains in the house were light and tied back with black sashes. The windows were open, and I was already starting to feel a warm breeze. I heard there was going to be a heat wave during Mardi Gras this year, and it felt like it was starting early.

  I saw, from the Miller Light girl clock opposite me, that is was already past nine. I went to the kitchen to look for breakfast. I opened the cabinet next to the fridge and found it completely empty. I went from cabinet to cabinet and found only one item of food, a half-full box of Puffin Puffs.

  I held the box and searched further for a bowl. When my search turned up empty I opened the dishwasher and found a Frisbee and four of every place setting item: bowls, plates, cups and silverware. I assumed that was all they had, and I hoped that the Frisbee did not double as a plate.

  I pulled a bowl from the dishwasher and found brown gunk caked to the sides of it. I intended to clean it but after an exhaustive search I couldn’t even turn up soap or a sponge. I put the bowl back and ate the Puff’s right out of the box.

  I opened the fridge while I munched. It had three levels of shelves and only one was occupied, by a case of cheap beer. I opened the freezer to find a full ice cube tray and a box of popsicles.

  I added buying food to my to do list for the day, along with getting a bed, piano, dishes, pans and hopefully, I would have time to locate Madam Du’Ponde.

  I pulled on my best-fitting pair of jeans and an off the shoulder t-shirt, grabbed my purse and headed for the door. As I was passing the pool table I saw the outline of a person on the other side of the frosted glass. Because of my recent history with murders and rapists I might have been paranoid, but all the same I reached for a pool cue and pulled it from the wall before I approached the door.

  Something new

  “Help,” came a cry from the other side of the door.

  It sounded like a woman. I started to lay down my pool cue to open the door, but then wondered why she wasn’t knocking.

  “Help,” she screamed again, followed by thumping on the bottom of the door as if she was kicking it. I tightened my grip on the pool cue and pulled open the door, ready to swing.

  When my eyes adjusted to the light I saw Claudia, my landlord and friend, standing before me awkwardly and clawing at a strap on her shoulder. It took me a moment to realize she was trying to keep a hold of the baby carrier on her back. Her baby was sitting in it about to slip out of the side of the contraption.

  I watched her struggle for a moment before she shouted, “Help, I’m about to drop Isobel.”

  I jumped behind her and grabbed Isobel out of the baby carrier, just in time to save her from a fall.

  As soon as Claudia was free of the weight of the baby she let go of the bit of fabric she had been holding and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Heaven’s sake, Fanchon. I’ve been out here for ages holding that damn strap,” she said, wiping sweat from her brow. “Would you be a doll and hold her for a minute so I can give my back a break?”

  “Sure thing, Claudia.” I held Isobel on my hip and watched as a
bit of drool rolled out of her mouth and onto my exposed shoulder.

  Claudia cracked her neck and said, “Well I was coming round to see how you are getting on. Those boys are being gentlemen, right?”

  “Perfect gentlemen,” I answered. “And, Claudia the house is beautiful. The renovations are perfect. I can’t thank you enough for setting me up here.”

  “Tsk, girl. It’s no thing. I hope it works out with you rooming with two boys. Don’t want any love triangles, you know?”

  “Hah. Those boys are treating me more like an aunt than a girlfriend,” I said.

  “All the better. And what are you going to do with yourself today?”

  “Shopping, and I’m going to see if I can get down to Jackson Square to find Madame Du’Ponde.”

  “Well, let me know if you need help with anything,” she said pointing at the house.

  “I really appreciate you coming. I don’t have any girlfriends anymore since Josephine passed.”

  “Oh, never you mind. You got two new girlfriends right here, me and Isobel.”

  She stepped over to me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. Then she took the baby back. My arm was going numb, but I was planning to hold the baby as long as I could.

  “We’ll get out of your hair so you can get on with your day, sugar. We just wanted to make sure you got settled in.”

  She made her way down the steps ahead of me with the baby on her hip and went to her green Dodge sedan, parked behind me. I watched her fiddle with the baby seat trying to get Isobel to be still so she could strap her in. She had to come up for air two times before the job was complete.

  I slid into my car, turned the key in the ignition and got no reply from my engine.

  I tried again and got nothing. I got out of the car to look at it and noticed the trunk lid was ajar. Then I remembered Grant getting my things out of the car the night before and realized he must have forgotten to close it. My suspicions were confirmed when I walked to the back of the car, pushed the trunk and heard it click.