worry about security camsif you want to pretend to be a guest. The Draytons turn the interior ones off during events and only watch the perimeter.”
“Will that work?”
She shrugs, pausing while the waitress returns long enough to set down our drinks. The girl loiters, earning an exasperated sigh from Jenna. “What?”
“Those guys at the bar say your drinks are on them.” The waitress points to a crop of overgrown frat boysgrinning and saluting like morons at the end of the bar.
Jenna raises her glass, gives them a perfunctory smile, and nudges me to do the same. The waitress takes off, the guys look disappointed when we ignore them, and I’m grateful they take the hint and don’t come over.
“I’ve perfected that little move,” Jenna confides. “You don’t want to turn down free drinks, but you also don’t want to getstuck talking to a douche bag who sends over a drink.”
“I like your technique.”
“Anyway, it should be fine, provided you know how to act normal. It’s a big wedding, almost four hundred guests, so nobody will know everyone there. The reception is on the back lawn, near where you want to sneak around. It’s perfect.”
“That sounds great. Thanks.” I ignore her barb about acting normal, which onlymakes her grin.
“Don’t thank me yet.” She eats the olives off the little plastic sword in her martini. “I helped you before and I’m going to help you again, but this time you have to tell me why. I’ll die otherwise”
The hyperbole makes me grin back. If I were Jenna, the curiosity would be enough to kill me, and I’m starting to think that she and I aren’t all that different. The fact that I likeher so much is my reason for holding back, but the bottom line is that I might need her help again.
“Would you reconsider if I told you it’s dangerous to know what I’m doing out there and I don’t want you to get hurt?”
“No,” she says, after the briefest pause ever. “The way I see it, if something that awful is lurking out by the river at the place where I spend about eighty hours a week, maybeit’s better to know about it.”
Smart girl. We engage in another short standoff, which she wins. Again.
“Fine. Do you remember when I asked you about the ghosts people see on the property?”
“Yes.”
“Well, there’s one of them that’s helping me with…something.” I hold up a hand. “I’m not telling you what. That’s personal.”
“Who?” Her dark almond eyes light up, dazzling in their curiosity.
“Mama Lottie.”
Nothing else so far has surprised her, but this does. Her head jerks, fingers tightening on the thin stem of her glass. The last olive slips out of her grasp and hits the table with a squishy thud. “ Mama Lottie ? You’ve seen her?”
“Yes. Talked to her, too, and we’re about due for another discussion.”
“That is crazy, Graciela. And so freaking cool! I’ve worked there for ages andhardly ever see anything weird. You’re there for a couple of weeks, tops, and start a friendship with a ghost!” She’s fidgeting in her seat, as though the excitement is too much to contain. “And Mama Lottie! She’s the Draytons’ most famous ghost.”
“Yeah, she’s a real peach.” The sarcasm feels wrong, maybe because it’s like I’m waiting for Mama Lottie’s ghost to shove my face into another invisiblebarrier. “What do you know about her?”
“Just what I’ve read in the various Drayton journals. She was a powerful herbal healer. Not Gullah, though. Her practices were different, from what I understand. The family loved her, depended on her, treated her better than the others, not that they were particularly harsh slave owners at all.”
My own curiosity snags on her words. It pushes the fear tothe sides, where it belongs, and I sit up straighter. “Is there anything in those diaries about where they got her? Or anything about her not being like the other slaves?”
“Nothing about where she came from. The
“Will that work?”
She shrugs, pausing while the waitress returns long enough to set down our drinks. The girl loiters, earning an exasperated sigh from Jenna. “What?”
“Those guys at the bar say your drinks are on them.” The waitress points to a crop of overgrown frat boysgrinning and saluting like morons at the end of the bar.
Jenna raises her glass, gives them a perfunctory smile, and nudges me to do the same. The waitress takes off, the guys look disappointed when we ignore them, and I’m grateful they take the hint and don’t come over.
“I’ve perfected that little move,” Jenna confides. “You don’t want to turn down free drinks, but you also don’t want to getstuck talking to a douche bag who sends over a drink.”
“I like your technique.”
“Anyway, it should be fine, provided you know how to act normal. It’s a big wedding, almost four hundred guests, so nobody will know everyone there. The reception is on the back lawn, near where you want to sneak around. It’s perfect.”
“That sounds great. Thanks.” I ignore her barb about acting normal, which onlymakes her grin.
“Don’t thank me yet.” She eats the olives off the little plastic sword in her martini. “I helped you before and I’m going to help you again, but this time you have to tell me why. I’ll die otherwise”
The hyperbole makes me grin back. If I were Jenna, the curiosity would be enough to kill me, and I’m starting to think that she and I aren’t all that different. The fact that I likeher so much is my reason for holding back, but the bottom line is that I might need her help again.
“Would you reconsider if I told you it’s dangerous to know what I’m doing out there and I don’t want you to get hurt?”
“No,” she says, after the briefest pause ever. “The way I see it, if something that awful is lurking out by the river at the place where I spend about eighty hours a week, maybeit’s better to know about it.”
Smart girl. We engage in another short standoff, which she wins. Again.
“Fine. Do you remember when I asked you about the ghosts people see on the property?”
“Yes.”
“Well, there’s one of them that’s helping me with…something.” I hold up a hand. “I’m not telling you what. That’s personal.”
“Who?” Her dark almond eyes light up, dazzling in their curiosity.
“Mama Lottie.”
Nothing else so far has surprised her, but this does. Her head jerks, fingers tightening on the thin stem of her glass. The last olive slips out of her grasp and hits the table with a squishy thud. “ Mama Lottie ? You’ve seen her?”
“Yes. Talked to her, too, and we’re about due for another discussion.”
“That is crazy, Graciela. And so freaking cool! I’ve worked there for ages andhardly ever see anything weird. You’re there for a couple of weeks, tops, and start a friendship with a ghost!” She’s fidgeting in her seat, as though the excitement is too much to contain. “And Mama Lottie! She’s the Draytons’ most famous ghost.”
“Yeah, she’s a real peach.” The sarcasm feels wrong, maybe because it’s like I’m waiting for Mama Lottie’s ghost to shove my face into another invisiblebarrier. “What do you know about her?”
“Just what I’ve read in the various Drayton journals. She was a powerful herbal healer. Not Gullah, though. Her practices were different, from what I understand. The family loved her, depended on her, treated her better than the others, not that they were particularly harsh slave owners at all.”
My own curiosity snags on her words. It pushes the fear tothe sides, where it belongs, and I sit up straighter. “Is there anything in those diaries about where they got her? Or anything about her not being like the other slaves?”
“Nothing about where she came from. The
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