Mischief in Mudbug (4 page)

Sabine stared at the books. “I can’t believe it. All those years and I never knew she kept a diary. But why would she hide them like this? Why not tell me before she died?”

Maryse shook her head. “I don’t know. But I think we ought to take them all downstairs and find out.” She picked up one of the journals and flipped through the hundreds of pages of handwritten text. “It may be, Sabine, that your aunt knew more about your family than she admitted.”

Sabine nodded and started to gather up the journals. She’d already had the same thought. It was the next thought that worried her. If her aunt knew something about Sabine’s family, why had she hidden it from her all these years?

Late that night, Sabine grabbed a bottled water and two more aspirin from the kitchen, then crawled into bed with the book she’d been trying to finish for two weeks. It had been a long and exhausting day, what with the break-in, the absolutely useless time spent with the
local police, and then the trip to the hospital that Maryse had insisted on to check out her head. She’d tried to nap that afternoon with limited success and had instead spent a good portion of the time scanning through some of her aunt’s journals. Unfortunately, she hadn’t found anything of relevance, but the logical, systematic way her aunt had documented such a volatile time in history made Sabine think that had her aunt been born in a different era, she would have made a great scientist, or maybe even a detective.

She propped herself up with a stack of fluffy pillows and snuggled into the pale pink sheets and comforter, figuring she had twenty minutes tops before sleep caught up with her. She opened the book and started at the marked spot. The hero had just saved the heroine from a killer and his arms were still wrapped around her. A fleeting image of Beau Villeneuve clutching Sabine and moving in for a kiss flashed through her mind. Where the hell had that come from? She lifted her water and took a sip. Like she needed a roadmap to answer that question. Beau Villeneuve was quite frankly the best-looking man she’d come into contact with in…well…forever.

And she couldn’t have met him at a worse time.

Sabine was pretty sure he didn’t buy into the psychic connection, but she might have still made a run at him had her situation been less complicated. She set her book on the nightstand and sighed.
Who are you kidding? You’ve never made a slow stroll at a man, much less a run.
Twenty-eight years in Mudbug, Louisiana, and she’d spent most of her time trying to talk to dead people instead of the living. And then when she finally got the opportunity to talk to the dead, she was saddled
with Helena Henry. Not exactly what she’d had in mind.

Beau Villeneuve was just another piece to the puzzle that wasn’t going to ever form a clear picture. Sitting across from him in the café, she’d felt a tug that she’d never felt before…a desire to know this man, inside and out. But with her life hanging in the balance, the last thing Sabine was going to do was complicate an already impossible situation by developing feelings for a man she might not be around to see grow old. It wasn’t fair…not to her and especially not to him. She turned off the lamp and lay down, hoping she dreamed about anything besides death, ghosts, family, and the good-looking man who would never know she was interested.

It felt like she’d barely fallen asleep when Sabine bolted upright in her bed, her pulse racing. There was noise downstairs in her shop. She glanced at the alarm clock and saw it was just after midnight. Much, much too late for anyone to need anything legitimate. And with the attempted break-in that morning, she wasn’t about to take any chances. She eased out of bed and pulled open her nightstand drawer. Within easy reach and already loaded rested the nine millimeter she’d purchased years before.

Mudbug might be a small town, but Sabine was a single woman living alone. Residents of Mudbug may call her crazy, but no one was going to call her stupid. She lifted the pistol from the drawer and crept out of the bedroom. The stairwell door creaked just a bit as she eased it open, and she froze. The only sound she could hear was the ticking of the old clock in her living room.

Then she heard rustling downstairs and knew whoever it was hadn’t fled. Which wasn’t good. When faced with the possibility of a homeowner in a small town in Louisiana, most thieves would flee—unless they were on drugs. But then, most thieves didn’t try to break into buildings in broad daylight, either, even if it was the back door.

Unless theft wasn’t their primary objective.

Clutching the pistol, she crept down the stairs, hoping they didn’t creak under her weight. She reached the bottom without incident and peered around the corner into the shop. A silhouette stood silently by the cash register. She squinted in the dark, trying to make out the figure, and as her vision shifted just a bit, she realized the person wasn’t trying to break into the register, as she’d originally thought, but was instead writing something on the pad of paper she usually kept under the counter.

Now or never. Please God, don’t let him have a gun, too.

She took a deep breath and tightened her grip on the pistol. Her heart pounded in her chest, making the silence seem ever more sinister, more empty. With a silent prayer, she flipped on the shop lights and stepped around the corner, her gun aimed directly at the figure. It took a moment for her to focus and realize that the man standing at her counter was someone she knew.

“Jesus, Hank! You scared the shit out of me. What in the world are you doing in my shop in the middle of the night? For that matter, what are you doing in Mudbug at all?”

Hank Henry, disappearing husband extraordinaire, remained frozen in surprise and fright, his hands in
the air. Finally, he found his voice. “You’re not going to shoot me, are you?”

“No…well, probably not.” Sabine looked closely at him, trying to figure out what he was up to, but all she saw was the good-looking guy Maryse had been unfortunate enough to fall for and marry.

He stared a moment more, then apparently deciding she probably wouldn’t shoot him, he lowered his hands and sucked in a breath. “Jesus yourself, Sabine. I already got shot once in the last month. I’d really like to avoid it again if I could.”

Sabine tried to hold in a smile but only partially managed to. Hank, in an unusual fit of heroism, had taken a bullet that wasn’t meant for him. It had definitely improved his rating with Maryse and Sabine, but Hank was far from out of the woods. There was still that two-year disappearance, and Sabine wasn’t yet ready to forgive Hank completely for all the trouble he’d brought to her friend…bullet or no.

“Well, if you stop putting yourself in situations to get shot, you might have a better chance at keeping your innards intact,” Sabine said. “You darn near bought it.”

Hank swallowed. “Yeah, I can see that. Damn, Sabine, what are you doing with a nine? That’s a helluva gun for a chick.”

“I’m a helluva chick, Hank. You still haven’t answered my question—what are you doing in my shop and how did you get in?”

“I still have a key from back when I was with Maryse.” He pulled it from his pocket and slid it across the table to Sabine, a sheepish look on his face. “I need to talk to you, but couldn’t risk being caught by
the Mudbug cops. I haven’t exactly got all my past transgressions worked out. Although, the way things look now, I would probably have been safer with ole Leroy.”

Sabine had to laugh. Deputy Leroy Theriot was more likely to shoot himself in the foot than actually apprehend a criminal. “You ever thought of using a phone?”

“Yeah, but this was sorta important and I felt kinda funny doing it over the phone. Please, Sabine, I need to use your restroom first, but then I really need to talk to you.”

Sabine sighed. “Restroom’s on the far right wall. The break room is through the door behind the counter. Meet me in there when you’re done. I’ll make some tea.”

Hank relaxed a little and headed off. Sabine stepped into the break room and pulled a box of decaffeinated tea from the cabinet. It was far too early for coffee and if she could hear whatever Hank had to say and get rid of him soon, there was still a chance of sleeping again. She nuked two cups of water in the microwave and dipped the tea bags in them until the water turned a deep, rich brown. Sabine took in the sweet smell of cinnamon and spice and smiled.

She had just set the cups and sugar on a tiny table when Hank entered the room. She motioned to the other chair and he took a seat, reaching for the cup of tea and the sugar spoon almost immediately.

“Thanks for the tea, Sabine. And I’m really sorry I scared you. That’s not what I was trying to do. I thought I’d make it here before you went to bed, but I got held up. So then I thought I’d just leave you a note and hide
out somewhere around town until you woke up and could meet me.”

“And what is so important that you risked the Mudbug police department and a nine millimeter bullet?”

Hank looked down at his cup. “I heard about the cancer.”

Sabine froze. “How? No one is supposed to know.”

“I was in that attorney’s office, Wheeler, when Maryse called trying to hunt me down.”

Sabine stared at Hank. “Maryse told you about my cancer?”

Hank looked stricken. “Oh, crap, you didn’t know. She probably didn’t want to get your hopes up in case she couldn’t find me or something. Shit. I can’t seem to do anything without causing trouble.” He sighed. “Maryse didn’t tell me. She told Wheeler to explain why she needed to find me. I guess he thought I wouldn’t do the right thing if I didn’t have all the facts.”

Sabine rolled this over in her mind, trying to bunch all the facts together into something that made sense, and all at an hour she should have been curled up in her bed not thinking at all. “So Wheeler told you everything, and then you came here. Why, exactly?”

Hank grinned. “Well,
cousin
, I thought if we were a match, I would give you some bone marrow.”

Sabine sat back in her chair, stunned. She stared at Hank Henry, the most selfish, most irresponsible person in the world, and tried to come up with any reason whatsoever for this charade. Hank just stared back, the grin still in place, his expression completely sincere. Well, that tore it all.

She felt the tears well up in her eyes and reached
for a napkin. “I can’t believe you’d do that for me, Hank.”

Hank looked a bit embarrassed. “Oh, hell, it’s nothing but a test for now. We don’t even know if I’m a match or if you’ll ever need me. You’re a really good person, Sabine. You’ve always looked after Maryse, and I know neither of you believe me, but I
do
care about her.”

Sabine sniffed. “Just not enough to be her husband.”

Hank sighed. “I’m not in any shape to be anyone’s husband. I’ve got too many issues, Sabine. All I could do is bring her down. And the reality is, I care about Maryse a lot, but I don’t love her like that DEQ agent does.”

“How do you know about Luc?”

“I’ve seen them together out on the bayou, but they didn’t see me.” Hank smiled. “They look good together, Sabine. Right. Like two pieces that fit perfectly together. And after everything I put her through, I’m really glad she’s happy.”

Sabine sniffed again. “Me, too.”

“So…I wanted to let you know that I saw a doctor in New Orleans this morning to do the tests. Wheeler called in a favor, so it’s all sorta anonymous…you know, given my situation. The doctor will send Wheeler the results and he will contact you. If that’s all right, that is.”

Sabine smiled. “That’s fine, Hank.”

Hank rose from his chair. “Then I guess I best be clearing out of here before anyone sees me.”

Sabine rose and followed him to the shop entrance. Hank opened the door just a crack, but before he could
slip through, Sabine grabbed his arm. “Thank you, Hank.”

Hank stared at her for a moment, then leaned over to kiss her forehead. “You’re going to be fine, cousin. I can feel it.” He smiled and slipped out the door and into the night.

“Thirty damn years,” Helena’s voice boomed, and Sabine spun around. “Thirty years for him to grow a conscience, and technically, I’m not even around to see it.”

Sabine sighed. “Where are you, Helena?”

“At the counter.”

Sabine saw her stapler hovering a foot above the counter. Great. “Exactly how much did you hear?”

“Well, since I saw Hank sneaking into your shop and followed him in, everything. Nice pistol, by the way.”

Sabine groaned and leaned against the shop wall. “I could have shot him, Helena! Why didn’t you yell or something?”

“If you’d have gotten to the actual shooting part, I would have said something. Maybe. Probably.”

“He’s your son, Helena, and he did take a bullet that wasn’t intended for him. Can’t you cut him a little slack?”

“I’m not ready to move on yet. Seem to be having that problem everywhere.” Helena began to laugh.

“If you’re done enjoying the show, I’m going back to bed.”

“So,” Helena said, “I guess now I know why you dragged me to New Orleans and had that nutbag draw your parents. You’re looking for a match, right?”

Damn it.
The very conversation she’d been hoping to avoid. Sabine sighed. “Yes.”

“Well, why the hell didn’t you say so? I’m sure I can help.”

Sabine rubbed her temples with her fingers, trying to stop the rush of blood into her head. “That’s sorta what I was afraid of.”

Beau slammed the journal shut and tossed it onto the floor with the rest of the pile. Nothing. Eight hours of reading his own scribbles and he wasn’t any closer to identifying the man in the drawing now than he had been when he started. At this point, he’d welcome a spiritual intervention. Hell, right now it might be the only way to locate the man.

Her father was the key to it all, Beau was certain. There was little information on Sabine’s mother. It seemed she’d never held a job and didn’t drive, but her name was accurate and he’d traced her back to high school photos. No secrets there. Mom was who she said she was, and Sabine’s aunt had been correct in thinking the Sabine’s mother was the last of her family line.

But her father had no past to speak of except a license that wasn’t even a year old. Skinny amount of data for an American, even for that day and age. After hours of searching boxes full of handwritten payroll records, Beau had tracked him to a warehouse job on the docks in New Orleans and had located the ancient building in a seedy part of downtown that used to house the apartments where her parents had lived. It had been condemned for years, so there was no information to be gained on that avenue.

The social security number he’d used for the appli
cation hadn’t matched the name on the license. In fact, the number belonged to a man who had died some ten years before Sabine’s father took that job. Beau had already figured the name on the license wasn’t the man’s birth name, but he had yet to discover why it had been changed. If he could discover anything at all. Even more interesting was the fact that no one had put out a missing person’s report for a man of his description at the time.

True, the father could have been from another state. Communication between police departments wasn’t anything like it was today, but still, surely someone knew that this man, his wife, and his infant child were in New Orleans and set off alarms. But according to Sabine’s research, no one had. Not in Louisiana anyway.

Beau rose from the couch, walked into the kitchen, and pulled a beer from the refrigerator. It was two a.m. and long past reasonable drinking time for most people, but then the great thing about being self-employed and independently wealthy was that you didn’t have to live like most people. Beau was a night owl, pure and simple. Even during his time at the FBI, he’d always requested and always received night surveillance on takedowns. Ten years and not even once had someone tried to slide into the vampire role with him.

And then the thought of vampires led him right back to Sabine LeVeche and her strange way of living. What exactly caused a seemingly normal woman to launch off into believing in tarot cards and ghosts and rubbing rocks together for luck? Beau understood the overwhelming desire to know where you came from, understood it personally, but talking to dead people
was one avenue he’d never even thought for one second to explore. He walked back into the living room.

What was Sabine doing right now, he wondered? Was she eating catfish and throwing back beers? Was she sitting in her apartment pouring over the limited information she had on her parents for the millionth time? He shook his head. More likely she was sleeping. Which sent him off on a whole other line of thought.

The mental picture of Sabine lying on a giant canopy bed draped in white gauze flashed across his mind. Her tanned body in crisp clarity against the bright white background, a giant ruby in the center of a silver headband the only vivid color in the image. The headband was also the only clothing she was wearing. Well, except for all those dangly bracelets like she’d had on at the café.

He shook his head and grabbed the television remote, frustrated he’d allowed his imagination to run away with him. Undressing a client was a line Beau had never crossed, not even in his fantasies. Then a horrible thought crossed his mind. If there was any truth at all to this psychic mumbo jumbo, could Sabine see his thoughts if they were about her? Shit.

He flipped channels, looking for something worth watching. This was the huge downside of being a night owl—there was rarely anything good on TV. He was just about to give it up as a loss and log on to the internet when a History Channel special on war criminals caught his eye. The commentator narrated the background of the people pictured in the photos on screen, going into great detail about their many crimes against the American people. He started to feel a tickle at the back of his neck.

He stood stock still in the middle of the living room, staring at the television, but the picture was no longer clear. The photos on the screen began to blend together in a kaleidoscopic blur. The commentator’s words ran together into a single noise. And then, in a flash, it hit him…exactly where he’d seen the man in the photo.

In the FBI’s most wanted files for war criminals.

He dropped onto the couch and took a huge gulp of his entire beer. Jesus, his memory was a pain in the ass; sometimes it was on, sometimes off. But when it was on, it was usually a hundred percent. He’d known when he took this job that it was probably going to end badly. Innocent people normally didn’t make themselves disappear. But the guilty made a career of it. Granted, there was no way the man in the drawing could be the criminal he remembered. The age was all wrong. But he would bet anything they were blood relatives. He set his beer on the coffee table, the desire for it completely gone.

He glanced at his watch. One other person would still be up about now. Someone who had access to the FBI database and probably wouldn’t mind giving him a little help on this. He reached for his cell phone and pressed in a number.

“Turner,” the man answered on the first ring.

“Hey, it’s Villeneuve.”

“Villeneuve! How the hell are you?”

“Doing good, man. How ’bout yourself?”

“Can’t complain, and wouldn’t waste the time on it if I could.”

Beau laughed. “I hear ya.”

“So what the hell are you calling me in the middle of
the night for? I know it’s not to discuss football, politics, or religion.”

“I wish. This case I’m on just took a turn that makes politics and religion look like better options for discussion.”

Turner whistled. “Doesn’t sound like much fun. What can I help with?”

“I need access to some files…FBI files. Nothing that will raise any eyebrows. All old shit—back during Vietnam.”

“Sounds okay to me, man. Hey, if you’re coming now, do you think you could pick me up a burger and another six pack?”

“I think I could manage.” He closed his phone, grabbed his keys and the case folder, and headed out of his apartment.
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe my memory is totally off and the guy in the drawing has nothing to do with a wanted criminal from a long since dead war.

Then the vivid recall of the young man in uniform flashed across his mind, imprinted there as if he’d seen it just seconds ago. Everything in perfect clarity, right down to the three freckles on the bridge of his nose.

That perfectly matched the three he’d seen on Sabine.

Sabine clenched the steering wheel of her car, well aware that it was far too early in the day to be up and moving, much less driving around downtown New Orleans with Helena Henry.

“By the hotdog stand is good,” Helena said, directing Sabine to a corner about a block away.

For the life of her, Sabine couldn’t figure out exactly what Helena wanted to do here. “What are you up to,
Helena? You wake me up first thing this morning, even though you know I didn’t get hardly any sleep last night. Then you insist I drive you to New Orleans—”

“First thing! Are you kidding me? It was eight o’clock already.”

“I have a head injury, and I’m not a morning person. Besides, I was busy almost having to shoot intruders last night, remember?”

“No shit. Well, while you were busy playing Cops and getting your beauty rest, I was formulating a plan of action.”

Sabine groaned and pulled up to the curb. “Why does that worry me so much?”

“Jesus, for such an artsy-fartsy liberal sort, you’re just as uptight as Maryse. I’d think a so-called psychic would have a broader mind.”

“Well, it might help if I knew what I was supposed to be broadening my mind to.”

“You’ll see. Just circle the block. If I’m not here when you come back, circle again.”

Sabine stared at the empty but very vocal passenger seat. “And how the heck am I supposed to know if you’re here?”

Helena laughed. “Oh, you’ll know. But just in case I need to give you some getaway instructions, you might want to roll your windows down. Okay, I’m outta here.”

There wasn’t so much as a stir of the air as Helena left the car, but a minute later, a floating hotdog that appeared to be eating itself gave her away. Dead people could eat? Good God. Sabine pulled on her sunglasses and slid down in her seat. What the hell was she thinking? Hooking up with Helena? Letting Helena help?
Helena’s brand of help had almost gotten Maryse killed.

You’re desperate.

Sabine pulled away from the corner and hoped that whatever Helena had gotten her into wasn’t illegal. But she didn’t hold out a whole lot of hope. Helena had never believed the “rules” applied to her when she was alive. Death had given her an entirely new avenue on life…one that could get her living, breathing accomplices in a whole boatload of trouble.

Sabine circled the block and approached the hotdog stand again, keeping an eye out for any stray floating hotdogs. Nothing. She pressed the gas and circled once more, hoping no one had noticed her circling and called the police. She was almost to the end of the block when she saw a group of policemen rush out of a building a block away. “Police Substation,” the sign on the building read. Great. Just what she needed was the police only a block away with Helena breaking God knows how many laws just down the street.

They could start with stealing hotdogs.

She stopped at the corner and watched as the cops came to a halt in the middle of the street, looking both directions, confused expressions on their faces. A bad feeling washed over Sabine. Something wasn’t right. What in the world were they all doing standing in the street? What were they looking for?

A horn sounded behind her and she jumped. She lifted one hand to wave at the angry motorist and started to make the turn, and that’s when she saw the hotdog stand hurtling down the sidewalk toward her car. Which might not have been so odd in itself, but the fact that there was minimal slope to the road
and no wind at all made the situation far from normal. Not to mention the small matter of the cart owner running ten yards behind and yelling at the top of his lungs.

The horn behind her sounded again and Sabine panicked, torn between pulling over for the other motorist to pass and hauling ass back to Mudbug as fast as her old Sentra would manage. Abandoning the last semblance of common sense, she jerked the wheel to the right and stopped the car at the curb, waving as the honking motorist drove around her and gave her the finger.

“Prepare to haul ass!” Helena’s voice sounded above the fray.

Sabine whirled around in her seat just as the hotdog stand launched off the sidewalk behind her and landed in the street, sending hotdogs flying in all directions. The police had locked in on the commotion and were running toward the stand, closing in on her parking space by the second.
To heck with this.
Sabine put the car in gear, but before she could stomp on the gas, a mailbag flew through the open passenger’s side window and landed on the floorboard.

“What the hell are you waiting for?” Helena yelled, her voice booming right next to Sabine.

Sabine floored the car and squealed away from the curb. She glanced in her rearview mirror just in time to see the cops chasing the hotdog stand onto the other side of the street. Barely slowing, she rounded the corner and accelerated onto the highway from the service road. She’d driven at least a mile down the road before she took a breath and looked over at the passenger seat.

A hotdog hovered just inches from her face. “Want one?” Helena asked.

Sabine pushed the hotdog away. “No, I don’t want one. What the hell is the matter with you? You stole something from that police station, didn’t you? All those cops were looking for you…but I don’t understand why or how.”

A chunk of the hotdog disappeared and Helena said, “Me eifer.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full. Jesus, I would think someone of your upbringing would have some manners.”

“What’s the point? No one to see them but you and Maryse.”

Sabine lowered her window a bit, grabbed the remainder of the hotdog and tossed it out onto the highway.

“Hey! What did you do that for?” Helena yelled.

“Two can play at the no manners game. And why in the world are you eating? You’re—”

“Don’t say it. I know I’m dead. I’m eating for the normal reason—I’m hungry.”

“How can you be hungry?” Sabine shook her head. “Never mind. I don’t even want to know. You’ve completely negated an entire lifetime of studying ghosts. Cone bras, eating hotdogs. It’s simply too weird for me to process.”

“If it’s too weird for you, then I must be the anomaly of ghosts. Not for nothing, Sabine, but you’re not exactly running with the normal crowd.”

Sabine sighed, not even wanting to think about the irony of that statement at this very moment. “Start answering questions, Helena. Why were all
those cops trying to find you and what’s in that bag?”

“Just a police file that I thought might come in handy.”

“You stole a file from that police station? Oh God. No wonder they were looking for you.”

“I know. I guess maybe that barcode strip thingie set off the alarm.”

“Are you crazy?” Sabine asked. “No. Never mind. You don’t need to answer that.”

“I don’t know why you’re getting all huffy. This would have been a lot harder before when I couldn’t touch things. Remember, Maryse had to break into the hospital for those medical records herself.”

Sabine rubbed her forehead with one hand, not even wanting to recall Maryse’s foray into breaking and entering into the hospital’s medical records room. It was one of those things Sabine still couldn’t quite believe her straitlaced scientist friend had gotten roped into. Until now. She stared at the highway, a flashback of the runaway hotdog cart still vivid in her mind. At the moment, Maryse’s actions didn’t seem near as strange since Sabine was currently making a getaway with stolen police records and pilfered hotdogs.