Number Sixteen Court du Chaud.”
A rumbling voice replied in a mumble that Gabriel couldn’t make out. He thought he heard the words trip, back and home.
“I’m still here. No, no trouble so far. I’m lying low,” Dark Soul said.
Some more garbled sentences in an accent Gabriel couldn’t place before Dark Soul snapped, “Don’t worry about it. I’m handling her. Just get me that information.”
Her? Breanne?
As Gabriel had been cursed to haunt Court du Chaud in the afterlife, he couldn’t follow. And damned he was. All he could do was stare after Dark Soul, who took his conversation into le Vieux Carré, leaving Gabriel to wonder if he meant trouble for Breanne and her new beau.
6
“W E USED TO TAKE CLASS trips here when I was a kid,” Lucas said while driving down the shady, oak-lined alley that led to the old bayou plantation, Félicie Allée.
A sense of unreality claimed him as the plantation loomed in the distance, two-storied and majestic with tall columns surrounding wraparound verandas. Wisteria, azaleas and Spanish moss splashed color against the pristine white structure. The windows sparkled beneath the shafts of sun slicing through a lattice of tree branches. A long-forgotten but familiar sense that he was leaving the real world hit him, and when Lucas looked at the gorgeous woman sitting beside him, he knew he was heading into a fantasy.
“I visited with school, too,” Bree said. “The company that bought the place has done a lot of restoration.”
She sounded casual, but he didn’t miss the way she’d been staring through those windows, looking thoughtful.
He wanted to ask what was so special about Félicie Allée but perceived that privacy about her again, marveled at the way she could effectively close herself off so a simple question felt like an intrusion. She seemed comfortable sharing only certain parts of herself, and he wondered why.
That was a question he intended to answer this week. “Wrong pirate.”
“Hmm?”
“Félicie Allée belonged to Julian Lafever. You’re descended from Captain Dampier. Isn’t that conflict of interest?”
“Naw, it’s cool. Those old pirates used to hang together. Lafitte. Lafever. Dampier. They all stood and fought for New Orleans when it counted.” She gave a wry laugh. “That’s Tally’s obsession—our pirate captain’s lack of recognition.”
“Yeah, Lafitte got a national park, didn’t he?”
“Lafever didn’t fare so well, though. He left Félicie Allée, of course, but, hey, we’ve got Court du Chaud. More centrally located.” She turned to him, and her dark gaze flashed with such amusement that the tight interior of his brother-in-law’s showy sports car suddenly felt intimate, as if catching Bree inside and containing her all to himself was an accomplishment to be proud of.
He was almost sorry when they reached the circular front drive and wound around to the parking lot.
“Keep your fingers crossed that they came up with something good for us tonight,” Bree said as he pulled open her door.
“You don’t know?”
“Worried?”
“I’ve got you all to myself and the keys to your ride home. What’s there to be worried about?”
“Guess you have the upper hand.” Everything about her tone implied she’d soon prove how much of the upper hand he didn’t have.
He looked forward to whatever Bree had in store for him.
“Everything looks the same as it did in the third grade.” He led her down the walkway toward the front entrance.
The doors opened, and a tall man in a black cutaway suit out of a history book appeared to usher them inside.
“Olaf.” Bree flashed a sudden smile. “Working the door?”
“Only for you.”
She rose up on tiptoe to kiss the man’s cheek, treating Lucas to a head-to-toe glimpse of the way her sweater and almost-floor-length narrow skirt hugged her long curves.
“Lucas, this is Olaf, one of the owners of Southern Charm Mysteries. Olaf, Lucas Russell, potential
A rumbling voice replied in a mumble that Gabriel couldn’t make out. He thought he heard the words trip, back and home.
“I’m still here. No, no trouble so far. I’m lying low,” Dark Soul said.
Some more garbled sentences in an accent Gabriel couldn’t place before Dark Soul snapped, “Don’t worry about it. I’m handling her. Just get me that information.”
Her? Breanne?
As Gabriel had been cursed to haunt Court du Chaud in the afterlife, he couldn’t follow. And damned he was. All he could do was stare after Dark Soul, who took his conversation into le Vieux Carré, leaving Gabriel to wonder if he meant trouble for Breanne and her new beau.
6
“W E USED TO TAKE CLASS trips here when I was a kid,” Lucas said while driving down the shady, oak-lined alley that led to the old bayou plantation, Félicie Allée.
A sense of unreality claimed him as the plantation loomed in the distance, two-storied and majestic with tall columns surrounding wraparound verandas. Wisteria, azaleas and Spanish moss splashed color against the pristine white structure. The windows sparkled beneath the shafts of sun slicing through a lattice of tree branches. A long-forgotten but familiar sense that he was leaving the real world hit him, and when Lucas looked at the gorgeous woman sitting beside him, he knew he was heading into a fantasy.
“I visited with school, too,” Bree said. “The company that bought the place has done a lot of restoration.”
She sounded casual, but he didn’t miss the way she’d been staring through those windows, looking thoughtful.
He wanted to ask what was so special about Félicie Allée but perceived that privacy about her again, marveled at the way she could effectively close herself off so a simple question felt like an intrusion. She seemed comfortable sharing only certain parts of herself, and he wondered why.
That was a question he intended to answer this week. “Wrong pirate.”
“Hmm?”
“Félicie Allée belonged to Julian Lafever. You’re descended from Captain Dampier. Isn’t that conflict of interest?”
“Naw, it’s cool. Those old pirates used to hang together. Lafitte. Lafever. Dampier. They all stood and fought for New Orleans when it counted.” She gave a wry laugh. “That’s Tally’s obsession—our pirate captain’s lack of recognition.”
“Yeah, Lafitte got a national park, didn’t he?”
“Lafever didn’t fare so well, though. He left Félicie Allée, of course, but, hey, we’ve got Court du Chaud. More centrally located.” She turned to him, and her dark gaze flashed with such amusement that the tight interior of his brother-in-law’s showy sports car suddenly felt intimate, as if catching Bree inside and containing her all to himself was an accomplishment to be proud of.
He was almost sorry when they reached the circular front drive and wound around to the parking lot.
“Keep your fingers crossed that they came up with something good for us tonight,” Bree said as he pulled open her door.
“You don’t know?”
“Worried?”
“I’ve got you all to myself and the keys to your ride home. What’s there to be worried about?”
“Guess you have the upper hand.” Everything about her tone implied she’d soon prove how much of the upper hand he didn’t have.
He looked forward to whatever Bree had in store for him.
“Everything looks the same as it did in the third grade.” He led her down the walkway toward the front entrance.
The doors opened, and a tall man in a black cutaway suit out of a history book appeared to usher them inside.
“Olaf.” Bree flashed a sudden smile. “Working the door?”
“Only for you.”
She rose up on tiptoe to kiss the man’s cheek, treating Lucas to a head-to-toe glimpse of the way her sweater and almost-floor-length narrow skirt hugged her long curves.
“Lucas, this is Olaf, one of the owners of Southern Charm Mysteries. Olaf, Lucas Russell, potential
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