Harrison Investigations 2 Ghost Walk (28 page)

Nikki almost ran, but by the time she reached the dark walkway, the man had disappeared.

"Damn," she swore.

She jogged about twenty feet down the shadowed trail.

"Sir? Mr. Garfield? Oh, please. Where are you? Help me now, please. I can help you, too. Please, I know you're here, I saw you. Please, don't take off on me."

Where to go?

There was a brick wall to her left, the backside of someone's courtyard. There were garbage cans, a gravel parking area and the sounds of jazz coming from her right. A few steps farther and she reached a low red brick property divider. There was the slight scent of restaurant refuse from the opposite side.

"Mr. Garfield?"

She felt the rush of wind before she heard the footsteps pounding up behind her. She spun around in a split second, in time to see the figure rushing at her, but not much more.

He was wearing a ski mask and gloves. In the heat of New Orleans.

She screamed, loud and shrill. In an instant she realized that he intended to silence her with a black sheet or sack of some kind.

Before he could reach her, she kicked out for all she was worth. Her purse tended to be heavy, and she swung it at the same time.

The man swore. A grunt of pain escaped him, and he doubled over.

Her heart racing, she turned to run down the alley.

He caught her ankle, and she went down.

But she did so screaming. Screaming, shrieking, her heart pounding like thunder.

The man started to crawl over to her.

"Nikki!"

She wasn't sure if she heard her name at first or not. But then she heard it again, along with pounding footsteps.

Her attacker froze, then began to scramble up. A sense of fury swept through her, and she found herself furiously fighting to hold on to him.

Help was coming.
Brent
.

But her assailant was powerful. He disentangled himself, trying all the while to wrench her purse from her arm.

It was just a purse. Filled with material things, not even that much money. She'd always thought it was idiotic to hang on to anything material when under attack.
Let it go
, she told herself.

But she didn't.

She didn't know why she held on to it, but she did, still fighting, kicking and lashing out from the ground, even as the gravel and grit in the alley bit into her back.

The figure wasn't going to fight for it, she realized. He, too, had heard her name shouted, heard Brent pounding down the alley, closer and closer…

The figure released her purse and ran, a black form disappearing into the shadowed alley.

Brent reached her side, fell to his knees next to her, eyes sharp and anxious, features taut. "Nikki, are you all right? What the hell happened? Nikki, dammit, talk. Are you all right?"

She nodded, swallowed. "Fine. I'm fine."

"What the hell—oh, we'll talk about it later."

Apparently assured that she really was all right, he was instantly back on his feet, racing in pursuit of her attacker.

She heard his footfalls as he disappeared down the alley.

Then the blaze of a police siren blasted away any other sound. She elbowed herself up to a sitting position. By then Mitch had reached her, falling down on a knee by her side. "Nikki, my God, Nikki! Are you all right?"

She went through telling him that she was fine, then reassuring the several dozen tourists who crowded around, and then she had to tell the same thing to the first police officer on the scene.

Suddenly it seemed that officers were everywhere, crawling through the alleyway. One was begging the crowd to disperse.

People had come out from the rear doors of the jazz club and the restaurant, too.

It seemed forever before she could get her well-wishers to move back far enough that she could get to her feet, even with the help of one of the policemen.

She answered questions. The officer who had helped her gave sharp orders to the other men to get busy searching high and low.

Mitch kept worrying.

At last he spoke to their tour group, offering refunds.

Though they were still far from the tour's end, no one would take a refund. They all hovered, though.

In the middle of the bedlam, Brent returned, looking haggard and disgusted. He hadn't been able to catch her attacker.

The next thing she knew, she and Brent and Mitch were down at the station, and the first officer, a man named O'Malley, was telling her that there had been a number of purse snatchings, and the offender had matched the same description.

She was left alone in one of the conference rooms with Brent. He stared at her with impatience, and she saw that he was barely controlling his anger. A vein ticked hard in the side of his neck.

"Brent, I heard you coming. That's why I fought with the guy."

"All right, that was idiotic, too," he said, rising, pacing.

She was startled. "He attacked me! I had to fight back."

"He could have had a knife… he could have… " He threw up his hands, ending with an oath. He spun on her. "Why were you in the alley to begin with?" he demanded.

Startled, she opened her mouth. She knew the explanation was going to make him even angrier.

He set his hands on the table between them and leaned toward her, eyes sharp. "You followed someone into the alley, right?"

She hesitated, wondering how he knew it for a fact, how he could read her so easily.

"Andy?" he demanded.

She shook her head, glancing toward the door, hoping that the officers weren't about to walk back in. She hadn't entirely convinced herself that she wasn't crazy yet.

"The bum," she said. "Except that he's not a bum anymore. I'd actually seen him earlier in the day, but I hadn't realized it. He's… clean shaven. And in a suit. I saw him walk by earlier, but… "

"When?" Brent demanded.

"On our way to the voodoo shop." Now there was no way in hell she was going to tell him that Contessa had seen a purple aura around her.

She cleared her throat. "Look, I definitely wasn't attacked by the ghost of an FBI agent. The man who attacked me was solid. There's no connection between the two of them. And I should never walk into an alley, no matter what. I've got that. I understand it now."

"You saw Tom Garfield, and you didn't tell me?" he asked quietly.

"I couldn't—"

"I asked you to tell me the minute anything happened."

"Dammit, Brent, you were giving a tour, and he didn't even come up to me. He was ahead of me. I followed him, hoping to… I don't know. Make contact, I
guess. I mean, this whole thing is like I know this ghost, and I'm supposed to introduce you to him. Well, I don't know him. My God, this is the most insane conversation we've had yet," Nikki finished.

The door to the room opened. Brent stepped away, and Nikki straightened in her chair.

Neither of them was going to have this conversation in front of the cops, whether they knew about Brent's connection with the next world or not.

"Detective Massey," Nikki said, surprised mat he was there.

"You like to keep us hopping around here, huh?" Massey said, smiling and trying to be light.

She shrugged. "I'm sorry. Did you just drop in to say hi, or do you think this purse snatcher is in on drugs and murder, too?"

Massey shook his head. He was staring at her strangely, and Nikki noticed that Brent seemed concerned by Massey's attitude.

Massey himself looked a little perplexed.

"Okay… what?" Brent said.

"This is nuts," Massey said.

"What?" Brent pursued.

"There was a young cop named Robinson who was one of the first on the scene," he said.

Nikki frowned, then nodded. "Robinson. Yes, he was with the officer who took the report. They're partners, I take it."

"Tall, slim guy?" Brent said to Massey.

Massey nodded.

"Well?" Nikki said.

Massey sighed and pulled out a chair at the table. "Okay… the guy who tried to take your purse… you didn't see him, right?"

"Oh, I saw him. Do I know what he looked like?" Nikki asked. "No. He was wearing a ski mask. He wasn't small, just medium height, medium build. He was strong, though."

"And… uh… real?" Massey asked. He flushed as they both stared at him. "I mean, you didn't think you were being attacked by a ghost, right?"

Furious, jaw clenched, she sat back. "Detective Massey, I am not ready to be committed. The man was real," she said tightly.

"And very much alive. I saw him running, and I chased him," Brent added, now at her side, tightly under control, but ready to lash out in her defense if need be.

"Is there a reason why you're asking this?" Brent demanded.

Massey sighed, shaking his head. "Please, don't take offense, either of you. It's just that Robinson was on duty when another woman had her bag snatched. She didn't see the man who took her purse, but she was certain she knew who had stolen it. Robinson used to be a sketch artist, then went back on the street. He wants to apply for detective."

"I hope he makes detective, if that's what he wants," she said politely. "But what does all this have to do with anything? I told you, I can't describe the guy."

Massey glanced over his shoulder, at the closed door. "Don't either of you repeat what I'm about to say," he warned them, his tone a growl that couldn't mask his unease.

"What is going on?" Brent demanded, tense and impatient.

"The woman gave Robinson a description of the man she saw hanging around before her purse was stolen. The thing is… she gave him a description of Tom Garfield. An exact description. You… uh, didn't happen to see the man you identified hanging around in the alley, too, did you, Nikki? I mean, hell, I know Tom Garfield is dead. But either he has a double running around this parish, or else… "

"Or else what?" Brent asked sharply.

Massey glanced his way wearily. "Or else his ghost
is
stalking the town, and I'll be damned if I can figure out what that has to do with a purse snatcher."

 

Brent was silent most of the way as they walked back to Nikki's place. He still seemed tense, so she kept silent herself until they were back in her apartment.

She didn't know why, but the minute she opened the door, she felt uneasy. Once again, she had the bizarre feeling someone had been in her home.

"What?" Brent said.

She shook her head, taking her key from the lock. "I don't know."

"Is it Andy?"

"No."

"Then… ?"

"I honestly don't know. I just keep having the feeling that someone has been in here." She hesitated, thinking the questions she was about to ask didn't bode well for her mental health. "Would I get this strange feeling if… if a ghost had been walking around in my place when I wasn't here?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know. Let's check the place out."

They did, but there was nothing missing, nothing moved.

But she still had a sense of something being just slightly out of focus.

She was walking toward the kitchen, telling herself that she was simply on edge, when Brent took her by the shoulders, fiercely turning her around to face him.