The Curse of a Single Red Rose (Haunted Hearts Series Book 7) (7 page)

Collin grunted, snatched his napkin from the table, and wiped a dab of sauce from his upper lip. He uttered something that sounded like it might have been English.

“I wanted to bid on jobs in other parts of the country, mostly the south. At first, no one would even talk to me. Then, this woman in Richmond, Virginia, let me work up my first bid. I was so excited, but then, of course she gave the contract to some guy that had been running projects in Richmond for forty years. Old fart had one of those thick, gray mustaches on his upper lip. You know the kind. He looked like somebody’s cranky old grandpa.” She demonstrated by placing her finger lengthwise under her nose. “I had to work, so I took a job as the project manager’s assistant, which meant I did everything he didn’t want to do, which turned out to be most everything he was supposed to do.”

A rib hovered in the air mid-way between Collin’s plate and his mouth. “Uh-huh.”

His mouth covered a good portion of the rib bone, and she suddenly wondered if his lips tasted like Cajun spice. Her eyes focused on his mouth, probably for a moment too long. He smiled as if he knew exactly where her mind had gone.

She forced her concentration back to her story, lifted a piece of crab salad on her fork, and waved it in the air in front of her. “The builder in Richmond recommended me for a project in Columbia, South Carolina. It’s a small house, but it’s on the historical landmark registry, so the owner wanted it renovated authentically. I had my first management job that my father didn’t get for me, and I discovered that I really loved antebellum restorations.” She plunged the crab into her mouth.

He said something that sounded like it might have been, “Good for you.”

“I was researching the history of the house—because you know I wanted the renovations to be true to the period it was built—when I came across the name Les Wakefield.”

Collin dropped a half-eaten rib onto his plate. “Les Wakefield?” He said the man’s name as if he’d never heard it uttered before, as if nothing else in her narrative had grabbed his attention.

His rack of ribs had turned into a pile of gnawed-on bones. How had he chewed the meat off so quickly? She glanced at her salad. She’d only taken a few bites. It was delicious, and she refused to let it go to waste, so she scooped up a large amount on her fork.

Collin finally gave her some feedback that was more than unintelligible words and indistinct grunting noises. “Well, sure. He’s from South Carolina. Isn’t that how you met him?”

She shook her head with her mouth full of crab salad. “No.” She managed to splutter the singular word.

Forcing herself to finish chewing the bite before she spoke again, she swallowed and licked the corners of her mouth. The last thing she wanted to do was spit half-chewed crab salad all over the handsomest man in the restaurant.

Her mind drifted to the moment she’d reached across the table and grabbed his hand without even thinking twice about it. What was that all about? Sure, she was attracted to him, but that didn’t mean she was going to do anything about it. Did it?

Elsa couldn’t help it. Her gaze seemed to gravitate to his, no matter how hard she tried to look elsewhere. His eyes were magnetic, pulling her into their depths. She suddenly wanted to know what made the man who he was. What lurked in the further reaches of his soul? Would she like what she found there? At the moment, it didn’t seem that he would mind her doing some exploration.

She memorized his face, so she could pull the details up from her memory at a later time. Without thinking, she reached across the table and wiped a smudge of sauce from his cheek next to his right ear. His fingers wrapped around hers until she pulled her hand free.

She cleared her throat and continued her explanation of her interest in Les Wakefield. “I’d already moved to New Orleans when I heard he was taking bids on this project. I put my name in, but I didn’t meet him until I toured the hotel the first time.”

A glint of sharp understanding flashed in Collin’s eyes. “But you’d heard his name
before
you started your research on the house in South Carolina. Am I right?”

Collin caught on to things quickly. Elsa would have to remember that. She’d never be able to pass anything by him and then hope he didn’t fully catch what she’d meant. What would happen if she allowed her attraction to him to show? Maybe she already had. Panic rose up from deep inside her. Was she ready for more than being co-workers?

She gulped down her anxiety and forced herself to answer his question. “Daddy’s Aunt Celia ran away when she was eighteen. It broke Papa’s heart that she’d left without saying goodbye. He filed a missing person’s report with the Davidson County Sheriff’s Office in Nashville. They found out she’d married a man from Wakefield, Louisiana, named Les Wakefield, and they tracked her down here to St. Denis Parish. But you know what the funny thing is?”

Collin had leaned forward and appeared to listen intently to her. “No. What?” His voice floated across the table, barely above a whisper.

Was he into her story or into her? She wanted both.

“One of the deputies from Davidson County came all the way down here to look for her. Back then, you know, they did things differently because they didn’t have the internet. When there was a lead out of town, they had to go see for themselves.”

Collin nodded his understanding.

“So the deputy from Nashville talked to the sheriff in St. Denis Parish… I think the sheriff’s name was Perot… The sheriff said no one had seen anyone hanging around with Celia’s description. He wouldn’t even help the deputy look for her. It was almost as if Perot knew where she was and didn’t want her found. The deputy went out to Wakefield Manor on his own, but no one was living there.”

“Why do you think Perot wouldn’t help him find her?”

She folded her napkin on the table next to her empty wine glass. Her food would have to travel home with her in a go-box. “That is a mystery our family has never solved. My grandfather hired a private investigator, but he was never able to locate anyone named Les Wakefield. There hadn’t been any Wakefields in St. Denis Parish for years. Nobody could figure out where her husband came from or where he went.”

“Until now.”

She smiled and nodded. “Yes. Until now.”

“I think you need to talk the sheriff of St. Denis Parish.”

He couldn’t have said anything that surprised her more. “Perot? He’s probably dead.”

“He is. I mean the current sheriff.”

“Why?”

“She found the remains of a woman who might be your father’s Aunt Celia.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Why do you think that?”

“The woman was found in the cemetery at Wakefield Plantation. The sheriff is pretty sure she was put in the Wakefield family vault sometime in the 1960s.”

Incredible. Had Collin given her a lead on where she could find her great Aunt Celia? “She disappeared in 1967.”

Elsa could almost see the thoughts churning in Collin’s head.

“That was two years after the woman died in the hotel during Hurricane Betsy.”

She leaned forward, pushed the candle aside, and waited until Collin met her almost halfway across the white linen tablecloth. “I know this is going to sound weird…”

Her breath caught in her throat when their hands connected.

She forced herself to breathe again. “I have the really bad feeling that the Les Wakefield that married my great Aunt Celia is the same man that we work for.”

Collin’s uneasy laughter circled around them and then settled between them. His face was so close to hers that she could smell the spice the chef had used to rub his ribs. “You know our Les is too young to have married your father’s aunt in 1967.”

She dared to gaze deep into his eyes to reassure herself that he was with her, that he was really listening. “I never said my bad feeling made sense.”

The waitress interrupted them and broke the intense moment. “Excuse me.” She waited until Elsa turned to look at her. “The man at the bar sent this over to you.” The waitress placed a single red rose on the white tablecloth. When the sight of the flower finally registered in her mind, she released Collin’s hands and jerked back.

“Who?” Elsa glanced toward the bar.

The waitress pointed and then dropped her hand. “He’s gone.”

Collin stood to his feet, poised as if for action. “What did he look like?”

The waitress closed her eyes for a moment. “Tall. Dark hair. Thin. Weird eyes. They seemed to change color.” Her eyelids popped open. “I hope you don’t have a stalker or something.” The thought seemed to thrill the woman rather than horrify her.

Collin whipped out his wallet and produced his credit card. “Can you bring me the check, please?” His curt request produced a pleased look on the waitress’s face.

“Sure, we’re about to close for the night anyway.”

Collin checked the time on his phone and winced. “We’ve been here awhile.” He glanced Elsa’s way. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll be fine as soon as I can get out of here and go home.” That was a very edited version of what she could have said. No, she wasn’t all right. And she’d just held his greasy barbecue sauce covered hands.

Elsa couldn’t find the right mix of words to express her emotions, feelings of uncertainty and fear, but mostly of spitting anger. Was Les Wakefield that angry with her for rejecting him? Did he dare try to scare her with the legend of the curse? She had news for him. Elsa Madsen didn’t scare easily. She lifted her bag from the floor near her feet and felt inside for the comforting presence of her friend, the stun gun.

****

Elsa had found a spot only a couple of blocks from the hotel. Collin had not been so lucky. When he returned her to her car, he’d had to park his truck farther up Royal, almost to Canal. Yeah, he could have let her out right by her car, but the walk had allowed him a few more moments of time with her before he had to tell her goodnight. She never pointed out the fact that parking down the street and walking her back to her car was illogical.

“If I ask you if you’re going to be all right, am I going to sound like a sexist pig?”

She smiled at him and slid into the driver’s seat of her car. “Depends. Condescension or concern?”

He returned her smile with a huge grin. “Concern.”

“Then, you’re good.”

He focused on her mouth, daydreaming of tasting her lips.

She smirked as if she knew where his focus had centered and where his mind had wandered. “So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He nodded. “Are you going to ask Les about that?” He pointed at the long-stemmed rose that lay on the passenger seat next to her.

In the restaurant, she’d snatched it from the table and carried the flower out to his truck, declaring that she wasn’t going to let a rose scare her. The flower wasn’t cursed. That was nonsense. The curse specifically stated that the rose had to be gifted in the hotel. Whoever was pranking her didn’t get the prank right. She’d rattled off her brave stance with staccato bursts of rapid-fire words.

He admired her for not letting the incident get to her. In truth, it had gotten to him. The idea of following her home and watching her place while she slept couldn’t be budged from the back of his mind. He couldn’t do it though. If she found out, he’d never hear the end of it. Besides, what if he was simply being paranoid?

“I don’t want Les to think his silly, juvenile attempt to get revenge worked.” She rubbed sanitizer on her hands while she talked. Who carried a tiny bottle of that stuff with them?

She was still talking, but his half-baked thoughts seemed to pop right out of his head. “You know, that might not have been Les. The person who gave you the rose was probably a stranger, and he was probably just flirting with a pretty girl.” He groaned. Did he really say that out loud?

Whatever she’d been saying, she stopped mid-sentence and glared at him. Her brows drew together over her nose. “Of course it was Les.”

He shrugged. “Guys do things like that sometimes when they’re attracted to someone.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward a bit. “Have you ever done that?”

“Well, no…”

“Good. Because people only do that in movies, Collin, and it’s lame.”

He shook his head. “You have no proof that Les gave it to you.”

“I don’t believe in coincidence. Do you?”

No, he didn’t. At that very moment, he believed the heavens had aligned just right to bring the two of them together. His grandmother had foretold their meeting, and he had dismissed her premonitions as the ramblings of an old, superstitious woman who hadn’t managed to drag herself into the twenty-first century.

Elsa shivered. “He’s following us.”

“I’ve been looking for him. If he’s following us, I can’t spot him.”

She snorted her contempt. “That doesn’t mean he isn’t there.”

“You have my cell phone number?” He knew she did, but he wanted her to acknowledge his offer of assistance.

She tilted her head and studied him. “If I get in trouble, I’ll call the police.”

He placed a hand on his chest. “Fine. Call the police. But one day, Elsa Madsen… One day, you’re going to call Collin McVey.”