Accession of the Stone Born: The Vigiles Urbani Chronicles (27 page)

Grabbing my phone, computer, and keys, I headed out the door. Sticking my head through Heather’s door, I gave her a half smile. “Stopped in to say hi and bye.”

Heather glowered at me while trying not to giggle. “So that’s all I get is a quick hello?”

Opening the door, a little wider, I nodded. “Yeah, I’ve got to head to Destrehan to track down some information. I’ll try to stop in later if it’s not too late.”

She pursed her lips and folded her arms in defiance. “We’re back to that?”

With a quick wink and a nonchalant roll of my shoulders, I stepped back into the hallway. “What can I say? I did stop in and I did say hi. Now get some rest.”

She cut her eyes at me with a big grin on her face, quickly giving me a very unlady like middle finger salute. “Smart ass. Go and do something productive.”

Waving, I closed the door and nearly bumped into Kimberly, who smiled. “How’s she doing?”

“Considering she was stabbed in the gut only a few days ago, she’s doing fantastic.”

Kimberly gave me a wink as she leaned in. “Shh. Don’t tell anyone, but magic is a wonderful thing!”

That made me grin. I could only guess that Kimberly was doing something to speed up Heather’s recovery process, but I didn’t have time to find out what. “That’s what I hear.” Stepping around her, I waved. “I’ve got to head out…I’ll catch up with you later.”

She nodded. “Be safe.”

“Thanks,” I replied as I gave her a thumbs up.

Fighting the urge to pick up junk food on the way, I stopped in the kitchen to find Andrew at the stove. He looked back and nodded. “Burger?”

Food…real food at that! “Sounds good.”

Andrew chuckled. “Heading out?”

“As soon as I finish my lunch I’ve got a few errands to run.”

Andrew buttered the buns before placing them on the skillet, toasting them to perfection and then placing a healthy sized medium rare burger with provolone cheese atop the buns. All the condiments were sitting on the counter. “Help yourself.”

I added a small bit of mayo, mustard, and ketchup before grabbing a thick slice of onion, a leaf of lettuce, and four pickles. Walking over to the table, I looked up at Andrew. “Mind if I go ahead?”

Andrew waved me onward. “Go ahead…I’ve still got to make a few more for Isidore and our guests.”

Perking up before I took my first bite, I looked at Andrew. “Guests?”

Andrew bobbed. “Kimberly has asked to stay so she can tend to Heather.”

That, of course, made perfect sense, and was something I should’ve thought of myself. I felt the blood run into my cheeks and the warmth emanate from my body. “Sorry about this. I should’ve given it some thought before agreeing on your behalf.”

Andrew shook his head dismissively, placing two more burgers in the pan. “Hardly a bother. I’m glad to do it.”

Taking my first bite, I felt my eyes roll back in my head a little as the sensation of the first real hamburger in nearly ten years rolled over me. God, this was good!

Andrew hooted, forcing me to open my eyes.

“What?” I asked.

Andrew shook his head. “It’s really good, isn’t it?”

I couldn’t help but give him one of those fuck-yeah-are-you-stupid looks, before I said, “Yeah, it’s good!”

Then I took another big bite, chewing slowly, savoring everything about it. The simplicity of the salt and pepper didn’t overpower the fresh ground beef. “Isidore made this?”

Andrew nodded as he chuckled. “Ground it himself this morning.”

God bless! I’d had hamburgers before, but nothing like this. “You’ll have to tell him thank you for me.”

Two more bites and it was gone. I wanted to stay and have a dozen more, but duty called. Picking up my plate, I washed it off in the sink and placed it in the dishwasher. “Thanks for lunch.”

Andrew casually waved off the appreciation. “Anytime.” He looked back as I turned to leave. “Where ya headed?”

“Destrehan; got a lead I need to track down.”

“Call if you need anything,” Andrew said as I headed through the door.

Two minutes later I was pulling out onto 4th Street, heading for the interstate.

Chapter 20

The scattered cotton ball clouds offered little relief from the glaring rays of the early afternoon sun in the bright blue sky. That being said, I was forced to flip the visor down. This was the first time I’d had the Tucker out on the interstate, and it drove like a dream. The steering was highly responsive and took the bumps in the road in stride, giving me the feeling of floating down I-310 at seventy miles per hour.

It struck me when I was about ten miles outside of Destrehan how very quiet it was inside the car. There wasn’t any sort of road noise or sounds from the semi-truck that just passed me. Nothing really bled through, and it made me wonder if this was a design feature or another one of my uncle’s enchantments.

Swinging off the interstate, I turned onto River Road, passing what looked to be some sort of massive apartment complex in the early stages of construction. Perhaps it was an office building, but whatever was going up had caused a good half mile of woodlands to be cut down and turned to a dirt pit. I was sure that the people who lived there didn’t appreciate the fact that whatever was coming would surely lower the surrounding property values.

The library could be seen from the road, but my destination was just a little further down. I’d looked the place up after I saw it on Google Maps. It was an antebellum mansion of a pre-Civil War sugar baron. It had traded hands over the years until Mary Percy bought it back in the early ‘70s. The old photos taken back in the ‘40s showed the place in all its splendor…a massive white two story construction with eight large columns holding up the second story balcony and roof, sitting on about thirteen acres of land.

Pulling off River Road onto an old gravel drive, I dodged several potholes before finding a suitable parking space about a hundred yards in. The enormous oak trees dotting the yard were overgrown and unkempt, much like the yard. The rickety white picket fence had rotted out completely in several places, while the rest was a crumbling mess, including the rusted wrought iron gate that lay on the ground. Taking a long stride to try and avoid it, I had to duck to escape being throttled by a low hanging branch, and nearly tripped when my foot snagged itself on one of the iron bars.

Keeping my head down, I finally made it through the tree line. Standing upright, I took a good hard look at the rotting corpse of what used to be a home. The once impressive facade of the house was a putrefied ruin. The second story railing running between the first two columns hung precariously off the front by a single bolt…the next was missing entirely. Old plywood boards covered all the windows to keep vagrants, or more likely local kids, from breaking in. From the looks of several gaping holes on the first floor, the effort had failed miserably.

Making my way through the dusty, overgrown yard to the front door, I was sure that no one lived there, but one could never tell with these types of places. I might be lucky and Mary would be sitting there on the chaise with Walter, and I could wrap this whole thing up by dinner!

Yeah, that was never going to happen.

I was about thirty feet from the door when I heard gravel crunching behind me. With a longing look at the door, I considered ducking under the broken railing and giving it a good solid rap, but my gut told me that I needed to wait. Stepping back, I peered through the thicket and saw a white Dodge Charger, stenciled with St. Charles Sheriff’s Office in blue and gold, pull in and park.

Well damn!

Keeping still, I watched a dark haired young man step out of the cruiser. The officer’s movements were slow and methodical as he eyed the Tucker and put on his cap. Reaching through an open window on his cruiser, he pulled out a pad, noting my license plate. He casually tossed it into the car, then studied me through the foliage. Cocking his head to the side with a crooked grin, he waved for me to join him.

I made it back to the drive with only slightly more grace than before. Brushing off a few errant leaves, I had a moment to take in the deputy. He appeared to be older than I’d thought— maybe late twenties or early thirties—with dark brown hair and striking green eyes. It was all put together in such a way that if he’d been taller he could’ve been one of those male models. Unlike a lot of southern cops, he appeared to be fit under the dark blue, almost black uniform. His demeanor, clothes, and movements told me he took pride in his job and himself.

The big gold star on his chest read St. Charles Sheriff in deep black lettering, just underneath a matching nameplate reading J. Matherne. With a quick scan he assessed my threat level.

I was about a dozen feet away when he lifted a hand. His voice was calm, deep, and carried a thick bayou accent. “That’s close enough.” He cut his eyes at the run down plantation and then me. “You lost, or are you one of those movie scouts?” The latter thought brought a frown. “I can tell ya now that the owners have never agreed to let the place be used.”

Shaking my head as I leaned against the Tucker, I smiled, trying to put the man at ease. “Neither. I was looking for someone who used to live here.”

Officer Matherne made a funny face, apparently trying not to snicker. “Old Lady Percy?”

“Would that be Mary Percy?” I asked.

Officer Matherne shrugged and didn’t look particularly interested in the conversation any longer. “Not sure what her full name was, but probably the same gal.” This was obviously a well-known story in these parts and he was tired of repeating it. “Why would anybody be looking for her after all these years?”

Thankfully, I’d already prepared myself for such a conversation. One thing I’d learned over the years was to always have a plausible story ready in case you were stopped by the authorities. Today I was a blogger working on a story about the plantations of Louisiana.

Holding up my Surface Pro for the officer to see, I tried to look excited. “I just had a few questions about the old plantation for my blog.”

That did the trick. His face went blank, then he sneered. The only thing worse than paparazzi were bloggers. Ten years ago I would’ve needed to set up an entire background with a real paper or a magazine, but these days all I had to do was say I blogged.

The contempt on his face told me all I needed to know. His interest in me had ended the moment I held up the computer.  “Old Lady Percy won’t be of much help.” He lost himself to a memory. “According to the stories, she finally lost it about twenty years ago. The sheriff found her half naked, barefoot, and pretty beat up.” He waved a dismissive hand. “From what I hear, it was clear to the folks around town back then that she wasn’t able to take care of herself anymore.” Genuine sadness crept into his face and settled in his tone. “The local church offered to come by and help her, but she refused them.” An old pain crept through his eyes for the briefest of moments. “The story that’s told says she kept repeating, ‘He’s taken the kids!’”

With an effort he shook free the memory. “Sad really. It’s not like she ever had any kids of her own.” He nodded at the house. “You’d be better off stopping at the library down the road for information about the plantation. As for Old Lady Percy, I heard they put her in one of those retirement homes somewhere in the city.”

There went my chance of finding Walter on the chaise and being done by dinner. “I see.” I really wanted to get in there but I doubted that was in the cards. “Any chance I could look around before I go?”

The look he gave me told me he’d rather shoot me than allow me access. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist that you don’t.” He pointed at a sign by the road. “It being private property and all. I wouldn’t feel right about letting some stranger poke around.”

Called it.

Pushing myself off the Tucker, I grunted my disappointment. “No problem; guess I’ll be on my way.”

Officer Matherne pivoted in place, eyeing the Tucker suspiciously. “That’s a mighty fine piece of machinery.”

Pride swelled in my chest and I patted the fender, giving the man a wink. “Isn’t it?”

“Where can I find one?” he asked.

I snorted and tossed up my hands. “You got me; I haven’t the foggiest. This one kind of fell in my lap last week.”

He made a derisive huff and his eyes narrowed. “Blogging pays good these days, I take it.”

Taking it for the accusation it was, I popped the door. “It pays all right.” With a grin I held it open for the officer to get a good look. “I’d let you take it for a spin, but I need to get to the library before it closes.”

He snorted at the offer. “I don’t think my bosses would appreciate me joyriding on the city’s dime.” With a quick wave his smile faltered. “See ya soon.”

Well that was creepy. Closing the door, I fired up the Tucker and pulled out on River Road. Having no choice in the matter, I headed for the library. With a little luck someone in there might know more about Old Lady Percy than Officer Matherne had.

The lady at the desk, while old enough to recall the incident concerning Mary, had no idea who currently owned the plantation or where they’d taken her after the “episode.” I wasn’t surprised to find Officer Matherne leaning against his car when I exited the library. He didn’t say a word…only offered me a curt wave when I got into the Tucker and drove off.

Pulling onto I-310, I stepped on the gas and let the purr of the engine keep pace with my thoughts. The one thing I was quickly learning about the Deep South was how cliquish they were. Everyone they considered an outsider was stonewalled with great efficiency, or maybe I just didn’t know the proper questions to ask. At the moment I was finding myself with more questions than answers.

By the time I turned onto St. Charles Avenue the sun was hanging low on the horizon. Pulling up in the drive, Alexander and two of his men were there to greet me. Well, it was more like a quick visual inspection. After it became common knowledge about Chan being a shapeshifter, Alexander had stepped up his security. I found it curious that they made a point to sniff me upon my return. I wasn’t sure if it were a wereperson thing or not.

Getting out of the car, I quickly called out. “Alexander.”

The big man turned with an inquisitive expression. “Yes?”

It felt like a stupid question, but I had to know. “Please don’t be offended, but is it some sort of custom for werepeople to smell others in some sort of greeting or something?”

Alexander’s face tensed. He lowered his voice, glancing from side to side as he stalked over. “Is that some sort of dog joke? Are you suggesting that we go around sniffing each other’s asses?”

My heart skipped a beat. Fuck, I’d just insulted the man. “No…that’s not what I meant. I—”

His big form quivered and his face turned pink before laughter spilled out his mouth. “Oh God, this never gets old!” It took several seconds but he calmed himself. “It’s because of the shifters. They give off a strong floral scent before, during, and a half hour after a change.” He fought off another fit of giggles before continuing. “They can’t mask it.” He pointed at my right hand. “I’ve never heard of one being able to duplicate the
vigiles
scarring either, but that’s within the realm of possibility.”

That explained why I’d smelled jasmine the night of the attack. “Good to know…thanks.”

He clapped me on the shoulder before turning to leave. “If you need anything you’ve got my number.”

I patted my pocket. “I do.”

It was already after 5:00 p.m. and I’d need to hurry if I was going to catch dinner. Walking through the living room, down the hall, and into the kitchen, I found Kimberly, Andrew, and Isidore sitting at the table. Andrew glanced up and thumbed over his shoulder. “There’s a plate and some roast on the counter.”

Thank the gods. Giving them a thumbs up, I grabbed a plate. “Thanks.”

After a quick dinner I made my way to my room, depositing the computer and papers I’d copied from the library before making my way over to see Heather.

We talked about my visit to Destrehan and she giggled. Her tone was haughty when she spoke. “You have to wonder if Brad and your new police buddy are related.”

I sniggered. “Because they’re both assholes?”

She guffawed, grabbed her gut, and winced. “Don’t make me laugh!” She calmed herself and shook her head. “Because they’re both Matherne’s.” Closing her eyes, she shifted a couple of pillows in an effort to get comfortable. “Of course, in this part of the country you can’t throw a rock without hitting a Matherne or a Boudreaux, or even a Broussard for that matter!”

“I suppose.”

Heather pushed herself up with a grunt. “Of course, Brad is from Destrehan, so the odds are pretty good they’re related somehow. Probably distant cousins.” She pursed her lips in thought. “Ya know, I’ve never really heard him speak about his family other than his father.” She glowered at the memory. “That boy has some serious daddy issues. Probably why he’s so attached to mine.”

Not wanting to open that can of worms, I steered her back on topic. “Maybe next time I drive out that way I’ll call him for tips on where to eat.”

She smacked me playfully on the leg. “Don’t be an ass.” She started to titter and her chest heaved. “God, I’d love to see his face though.” She gave me a hopeful glance. “If you ever do call him, make sure to push his buttons by using his full name.”

“Which is?” I asked.