Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 08 - Death in the French Quarter by Kent Conwell Page B

quiver. I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth, willing
my trembling muscles to remain motionless. And then I
imagined horrifying spiders the size of saucers crawling up my arm.
    Finally, Ziggy snorted. “There ain’t nothing here,
Hummer. Not even no ghosts. Now come on. We got
work to do”
    “No. I heard something. You heard it too, like a brick
falling.”
    “Just a couple ghosts throwing bricks at each other,”
Ziggy snickered. “Come on, Hummer, bricks fall in
this rundown old place all the time. Nothing spooky
about that. Now let’s go.”
    Reluctantly, Hummer followed.
    I waited a few seconds, then shifted my feet under
me, jerked my arm out, and rose, peering over the top
of the tomb. At that moment, a loud flutter of wings
broke the silence above my head. I gasped inadvertently and looked up at a raven perched on top of the
adjoining tomb. I could have sworn he was staring
down at me, and if at that very moment I’d heard “Nev ermore,” I would have certainly died of a heart attack
right there.

    Taking several deep breaths, I tried to calm my shaking hands. Easy, Tony, easy. After a few moments, I followed Hummer and Ziggy, who were darker phantoms
among the shadows in the aisles between the tombs.
    Suddenly they appeared in a cone of light from a
streetlight beyond the south wall. I paused, sliding into
the shadows as they turned to their right around an angel. Quickly, I followed, peering under the angel’s arm
in time to see Ziggy disappear into a tomb and close a
metal door behind him.
    I closed my eyes and leaned back against the angel.
A tomb! I wished then I had brought my .32. I’d barely
mustered the courage to creep into the cemetery at midnight. I wasn’t sure if I possessed enough to follow
them down into that tomb.
    Somehow, I screwed up enough backbone to approach the crumbling brick edifice.
    And when I read the name on it, I started to back out.
    Marie LeVeau, the voodoo queen of New Orleans.
    I hesitated. What if they heard the door open? What
if they were just inside? I studied the crumbling tomb,
which appeared to be around eight-feet high, four wide,
and ten deep. A tiny flash of humor cut through the
trepidation threatening to freeze my muscles. If the
three were in there, they had to be awfully cramped.
    Suddenly, voices behind me erased the tiny grin on
my face.

    Gently, I pushed on the door. It didn’t budge. I
pushed harder. This time, to my horror, it opened with a
shrill squeak. I started to bolt, but the voices were too
close. I didn’t know if I had time to hide or not, so I
slipped inside and closed the door behind me.
    The tomb was pitch-black. I felt with my toe, and
discovered a flight of steps leading down. With one
hand on the wall, I eased down until I spotted a glow of
light coming from around a corner.
    A single light bulb illuminated a narrow damp corridor of brick with an arched ceiling from which several
bricks had fallen. As I hurried along the clammy tunnel
to the next corner, I noticed secondary tunnels leading
off the main one. What had I stumbled into, some kind
of ancient catacombs?
    Behind me, the door squeaked open at the same time
I heard voices ahead. I slipped into one of the side tunnels, feeling my way with my hands. A few feet inside,
I discovered a large opening in the wall. Feeling further, I found a shelf, long enough to hold a coffin. I extended my hand and touched the cold surface of a
wooden casket.
    I jerked my hand back and dropped into a crouch,
peering at the light in the opening of the tunnel in
which I was hiding.
    Moments later, Bones, Gramps, Julie, and Pig passed.
    Wasting no time, I crept forward, ready to leave the
tunnel to them, but then I heard Punky ask, “You come
in together? I would have sworn I heard the door open
before you came in.”

    Bones snarled, “Are you sure?”
    “Yeah. Well, I think so. It could have been my imagination. I’ve never liked coming down here