Книга - The Secret of Cypriere Bayou

The Secret of Cypriere Bayou
Jana DeLeon


A MANSION OF HORRORS DEEP IN THE LOUISIANA BAYOUS…For Olivia Markham, laMalediction is the ideal setting in which to complete her work. But something is sending a chill up the usually fearless author's spine. There are the unearthly noises, the sliding panels, the hidden passagewaysand John Landry, the sexy caretaker who seems less than welcoming.John has work of his own to do and he doesn't need the distraction of a mysterious beauty claiming the old mansion is cursed. But he can't ignore the fact that someone is doing everything to scare Olivia away - permanently.Working together to uncover laMalediction's alarming secrets and root out the evil stalking them, John finds Olivia impossible to resist, and he knows it's only a matter of time before something unexpected - and undeniable - happens between them.












“You’re safe now,” John said. “I’m so sorry.”


“The light went out. I heard someone in the tunnel above me. He was there, John.”

John shook his head. “You are one tough cookie.”

Olivia dropped her gaze to John’s chest. “I was on the verge of a heart attack. I’m not tough.”

John put one finger under her chin and lifted her face, looking her straight in the eye. “You were confronted with your worst fear in a house that’s been in your nightmares for as long as you can remember, and you were still collected enough to find your way down the tunnel to the exit. You’re incredible, Olivia.”

He stared at her for a moment, the indecision on his face clear as day, and that’s when Olivia realized he was going to kiss her. Her heart leaped into her throat as he lowered his lips to hers, kissing her softly, his lips barely brushing her own. The kiss deepened, and her skin, previously cold from fear, began to tingle and warm with desire.

Suddenly, he broke away and took a step back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

If she was a betting woman, she’d bet anything that John was more afraid of that one little kiss than she’d been locked in that tunnel.




Jana DeLeon

The Secret of Cypriere Bayou








To my critique partners, Cari Manderscheid and Cindy Taylor, for your constant cheerleading and support on every new venture I take with my writing career. To my friend Colleen Gleason, who always pushes me to action when I’m on the fence.

To my friend Tracey Stanley, who tells everyone who will listen about my books. To my daily chat buddy, Leslie Langtry, for always reminding me that we can’t take ourselves too seriously. To my parents, Jimmie and Bobbie Morris, for never doubting I could accomplish anything I set my mind to. To Jimmie, Donna and Katianne Morris, for your continued support in an unpredictable career path. To my agent, Kristin Nelson, for venturing into unknown territory and creating my relationship with Harlequin.

To my editor, Allison Lyons, for your patience with me in learning the ropes and your enthusiasm for the work itself. It’s always a pleasure to work with people who truly love their product. And to my cousin, Cathy Jane, who no longer has an excuse for not reading one of my books, as this one is short.




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Jana DeLeon grew up among the bayous and small towns of southwest Louisiana. She’s never actually found a dead body or seen a ghost, but she’s still hoping. Jana started writing in 2001 and focuses on murderous plots set deep in the Louisiana bayous. By day, she writes very boring technical manuals for a software company in Dallas. Visit Jana at her website: www.janadeleon.com.




CAST OF CHARACTERS


Olivia Markham—She makes her living by renting haunted houses and writing about them, but when she rents laMalediction, she realizes it’s the house from her dreams. She’s determined to figure out her connection, but someone is just as determined to ensure she doesn’t.

John Landry—The New Orleans cop is on the hunt for his missing stepsister, and is desperate to find her before she becomes another statistic. He’s posing as a caretaker at laMalediction, his stepsister’s last known destination, but he can’t conduct an investigation with Olivia Markham looking over his shoulder.

Russ Wheeler—The attorney for the Borque estate should have informed Olivia that he’d hired a new caretaker, but failed to mention it. Given the deterioration of the house and grounds, it looks like one was needed long before now.

Sheriff Blanchard—It was clear to Olivia that the small-town sheriff didn’t appreciate her appearance in his town, and especially at laMalediction, but was he a superstitious fool or was he hiding something far more earthly?

Tom Breaux—The café owner gave Olivia directions to laMalediction despite the obvious disapproval of the sheriff, but didn’t seem happy to learn that not only had she located the house, she intended to stay.

Aubrey Murphy—The old caretaker supposedly took leave due to a family emergency, but none of his family seems to know what the emergency is or where Aubrey is now.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen




Chapter One


The sky rolled with a mass of gray clouds, and the air became thick with humidity. Olivia Markham glanced anxiously at the swirling sky as she pulled into Cypriere, Louisiana, all five weather-beaten buildings of it. Peering down each side of the street, she searched for signs of life. It would be the first she’d seen in well over two hours of driving deep into the bayous.

A wooden sign swung under the awning of an old brick building to her left. The painted lettering on the sign had long since faded, but Olivia could barely make out the word “café.” Surely someone inside would be able to give her directions. She pulled into an open parking space right in front of the café and hurried inside. Bells on the door jangled as she crossed the threshold and the eight or so patrons stopped what they were doing to stare at her.

She paused for a moment, but when any form of greeting wasn’t forthcoming she launched into her own. “Hello,” she said. “Apparently, I’m a little lost. Can anyone give me directions to laMalediction?”

The patrons dropped their gazes back to their tables without saying a word. A middle-aged waitress sloshed coffee on her hand and although the hot liquid must have burned, the waitress froze, looking over at a man sitting at the counter.

A man with salt-and-pepper hair and a gold bar pinned on his shirt identifying him as Sheriff Blanchard turned to face her. “Ain’t no one lived at laMalediction for over thirty years. What business you have out there?”

No business of yours. Olivia felt her back tighten with aggravation, in no mood to deal with another round of small-town mentality. “I’ve leased the house for the winter.”

“What in the world would you do that for? Winter’s wet and the road’s cut off from town half the time. Nothing out there for a young lady to do.”

“I’m a writer,” Olivia said. “Horror novels, actually, and haunted houses are my specialty.”

The sheriff inclined his head toward the plate glass storefront. “You’ll be wanting to stay in town until the rain stops. Bayou roads are no place for somebody unfamiliar with Cypriere, especially during a thunderstorm.”

Olivia shook her head, the overwhelming urge to race away from these people overpowering any good sense she might have otherwise had. “I need to get settled before dark. I’ll take my chances with the rain.”

The sheriff narrowed his eyes at her, but before he could say another word the cook pulled a tablet out from under the counter and began to draw a crude map.

“You take the main road east,” the cook said and pointed at a line on the map. “There ain’t no street signs to follow, ain’t no street either when it comes right down to it. It’s more like a dirt path, and you’re gonna have to find your way by landmarks. I’ve drawn them on the map and labeled them.”

Olivia gave the cook a grateful smile. “Thank you. I’m sure I’ll see you again. I’m not much of a cook, and I eventually tire of sandwiches.”

The cook gave her a single nod and turned back to the grill, ignoring the sheriff’s disapproving stare. Olivia took one step backward toward the door, feeling that she’d already overstayed her welcome even though she hadn’t unpacked a single bag. She gave the frowning sheriff a wave, then turned around and left the café.

She glanced at the map, then backed her car up and headed east. What the heck was going on here? She figured laMalediction’s bloody history would prevent the more easily spooked from speaking of it at all, but these people lived within miles of the structure. Surely they knew that it was only a house?

She glanced in her rearview mirror for a final look behind her. The sheriff was standing just outside the café, watching her intently as she drove out of town, but when she took a good look at his expression the annoyance she’d expected to see was nowhere in sight. Even though it was easily eighty degrees outside, she felt a shiver run through her.

The sheriff looked frightened.



“DAMN IT!” Olivia jammed her foot onto the brake as the road she’d been driving on disappeared into a wall of cypress trees. She must have missed a turn somewhere. Glancing up at the rolling black clouds, she bit her lip. That creepy sheriff was going to be right. Chances of her beating the storm to laMalediction were growing slimmer by the minute.

If it was the right way to begin with.

The thought ripped through her mind like one of those bolts of lightning that was surely on its way. What if the cook had meant to get her stranded in the storm?

Stop it!

Imagining monsters when there were none was great for her stories, but she couldn’t afford that kind of fantasizing in real life. She looked at the map once more and decided that she must have missed the twisted cypress trees that marked the last turnoff. Backing up slowly, she scanned the brush and finally located the trees almost hidden by a drape of moss and marsh grass. Mentally chastising herself for her earlier fear, she eased her car into the narrow opening. Only a thin strip of illumination from the fading sunlight passed through to the path.

Ten minutes later the light vanished completely and rain began to pour in giant, blinding sheets. Her visibility reduced to almost nothing; she eased her foot off the accelerator, slowing to a crawl. Seconds later her car dipped into a low spot on the path and came to a stop, the tires spinning in place. She grabbed her cell phone from the passenger seat. No signal.

Hitching a ride wasn’t likely given the location, and she wasn’t going to drive her car out of the hole it was stuck in. Walking was the only option. So did she brave a monsoon and try to locate a house hidden away in the bayou, or did she follow the path back to town, which would probably take hours?

Suddenly, lightning struck in front of her car, shaking the entire vehicle with its impact. The aftershocks of the blast echoed around her like flashes from a camera, illuminating an iron gate twenty yards in front of her. She felt her pulse quicken. Surely, the house was close. She kept a change of clothes, toiletries, and her pistol in her backpack. That would do for the night. She grabbed the backpack and a flashlight and stepped out into the storm.

The rain pelted her, stinging her face with its force. She lowered her head and rushed along the path as fast as her vision and the thick bayou mud allowed.

Would this house be the one?

She was holding one hand over her eyes to block the rain, straining to make out the jutting edges of the almost invisible structure in front of her when a burst of lightning struck right over the top of the house, lighting up the structure and the grounds surrounding it. She sucked in a breath so hard it made her chest hurt. Her heart pounded in her throat, blocking out the noise of the storm around her. She felt her fingernails dig into the palm of her hand as she clenched it.

She’d looked for it for eighteen years. And now, she’d found it.



OLIVIA RAN the remainder of the way to the house, sliding to a stop on a covered porch. Her heart raced as she unlocked the massive front door. She felt inside the door for the light switch, but nothing changed when she pushed it up. Shining her flashlight into the pitch-black house, she saw a huge circular staircase in the center of a two-story entry with marble floors.

She pulled off her mud-caked boots and left them on the porch, then closed and locked the front door behind her. Without electricity, the smartest thing to do was find a bedroom and secure it for the night. In houses of this era the bedrooms were usually upstairs, so she grabbed her backpack and started up the spiral staircase to a long hallway.

The first two rooms were being used for storage, but she hit pay dirt on the third. A huge bedroom, complete with king-size bed and adjoining bath. The bedding was dusty but would do for a night. She closed the bedroom door and turned the giant iron key in the lock on the inside, wishing she had the dead bolts from her luggage. Not that it mattered. A house this old would have secret passageways for servants, and she needed to locate them. Securing her sleeping quarters was her first task when entering old homes, and her need for security at laMalediction was stronger than any she’d ever had.

She started tapping the walls in the far corner of the room, working her way around and listening for a hollow sound or trying to detect flex in the paneling. After an hour of looking she gave up and slumped into a chair in front of an antique desk. When she got her luggage she’d have the tools necessary to do a thorough job. Right now she needed a hot bath and a good night’s sleep.

She grabbed a T-shirt and shorts from her backpack, turned on the water in a huge, claw-foot tub and sighed with relief when it came out hot. She shrugged off her damp clothes and slipped into the steamy bathwater. This is heaven. Leaning forward, she placed her head under the faucet and began to rinse her short tresses.

And that’s when she heard a creaking sound.

She bolted upright and banged her head on the faucet. “Who’s there?” she called out.

Only silence greeted her.

She waited a couple of seconds and was ready to decide it was just the house settling when she felt a gentle current of cold air blow across her bare skin. Shivering, she rose quietly from the tub and reached for a thick towel that hung on the wall. She stepped silently onto the floor, cursing herself for leaving her weapon in her backpack, and crept to the bathroom entry.

Her flashlight was propped on a shelf above the sink and it cast a dim glow around her. Without so much as a breath indicating her presence, she leaned into the doorway and peered into the bedroom.

Empty.

She grabbed the flashlight and shined it into the bedroom for a better look. Still nothing. But as soon as she stepped through the doorway, she felt the remnants of cool air pass across her bare arms and knew it hadn’t been her imagination. That draft had come from somewhere in the bedroom, and since both the windows and the door were locked tight only one explanation worked. There was another way into the master suite, and someone had used it.

She turned the flashlight on her backpack to see if anything looked disturbed, and that’s when she heard a noise downstairs. Standing stock-still, she listened, hoping to hear the sound again, but there was only silence. Frustrated, she blew out the breath she’d been holding.

It’s an old house. It makes noise.

But what she’d heard wasn’t the normal creaking and settling of an old house. It was a whooshing sound. Like someone was moving something big—maybe the exit panel to the hidden passageway attached to her room.

Damned if someone was going to get away with spying on her. She hurried into the bathroom and pulled on her shorts and T-shirt, not even bothering to dry off, then grabbed her nine millimeter out of her backpack and slipped out of the bedroom and into the pitch-black hall. She paused a couple of seconds until her eyes adjusted somewhat to the dark, and then lifting her gun next to her shoulder in a ready position she crept down the padded center of the hallway.

At the end of the hallway, she crouched down and peered between the wrought iron banisters of the staircase. The entry was empty and she squinted into the black, trying to make out movement in the sitting room. Nothing.

Holding her breath, she strained to hear, hoping the sound she’d heard earlier would repeat. One second. Two seconds. Three. There it was again.

Now or never.

She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, then, staying low, she eased down the stairs and slipped behind a life-size gladiator statue in the entry. She peered into the sitting room, and for a moment it looked as if a piece of the back wall shifted. And that’s when she heard it—the shuffle of footsteps on ceramic tile.

An entryway that opened to the kitchen stood on the opposite end of the sitting area. She tightened her grip on her pistol and slipped around the corner and into the sitting room. Staying as close as possible to the wall, she made her way around the room and stopped at the edge of the kitchen entrance to listen again.

For a moment there was nothing, then she heard the footsteps, the sound so faint it barely registered. Her pulse was already racing and she felt her heart beating in her chest when she realized the footsteps were getting closer. She flattened herself against the wall and took aim at the entrance. Then the footsteps stopped.

Her heart beat so loudly she was certain it would give her away. She’d stopped breathing altogether. Did she stay put or confront the intruder? Surely, whoever was sneaking around wasn’t expecting a woman with a gun. The element of surprise should be on her side. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer. Then before she could change her mind she slipped around the corner and into the kitchen.

And that’s when he grabbed her.



HE WAS FAST—faster than she would have believed someone could be and still not make any noise. Before she could even zero in on him, he’d disarmed her and had one hand over her mouth, holding in the scream she tried to let out. She felt her heart in her throat and for the first time in her life wondered if this was how it was all going to end, just like a scene out of one of her books.

Suddenly the lights blinked on and he spun her around to face him, one hand still gripping her shoulder.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked, his amber eyes blazing.

The man was probably mid-thirties, tall and despite the hooded jacket he wore, Olivia could tell he was built for action. Olivia yanked her shoulder out from under his hand and took a step back, glancing at his hand that held her gun. “I’m the person with a key. Who the hell are you?” Olivia shot back, hoping her voice didn’t sound as shaky as she felt.

“The caretaker. You’re trespassing on private property.”

“I’m not trespassing. I leased this house, and if you were really the caretaker, you would know that. Who hired you? Wheeler?”

The man’s eyes narrowed at her. “You know Wheeler?”

“Look, I’ve already told you I have a lease. What I don’t have is an answer from you. Now, do I have to call the police?”

He let out a single laugh. “Go ahead and try. The landline in the house hasn’t been hooked up in years and cell phone service went out as soon as the storm hit.”

“Rest assured, as soon as I can, I’ll be calling someone about you.” She held out her hand, forcing herself to keep it steady. “I’d like my gun, and I’d like for you to leave.” She couldn’t even breathe, waiting for him to react. This was it. If he wanted to harm her, he had every advantage.

He studied her for a moment, then placed the gun in her hand. At first it surprised her that he’d returned her weapon without an argument, but then she remembered how he’d disarmed her with complete ease and in a pitch-black room. Her stomach clenched, and she realized that even with the gun in her hand she wasn’t the least bit safe. She waited for him to leave, but he just stared at her as if he was sizing her up.

“You always walk around in the dark, half-dressed and carrying a gun?” he asked.

Damn it. Olivia suddenly realized she was standing in the bright light of the kitchen, soaking wet and wearing only a thin white T-shirt and cotton shorts. She crossed her arms and he smirked. “When I’m supposed to be alone,” she said, “and I hear someone downstairs, then yeah, I walk around in the dark, half-dressed and carrying a gun.”

“Well, you’ll be all alone in about five seconds. I suggest you find someplace to park yourself until morning before you shoot someone.” He whirled around and left through a back door, slamming it shut behind him.

Olivia stared after him, her heart still racing. What in the world? The only caretaker the attorney had mentioned was supposed to be eighty years old. There was no way the angry hulk of a man who’d just left was the person the attorney had described. She crossed the kitchen and locked the door behind him, then hurried upstairs.

She locked the bedroom door, pulled the antique desk over in front of it, and set the chair on top of it for good measure. Stepping back to study her handiwork she bit her lip, then glanced around the room. Ugly green vase in corner. Perfect. She grabbed the tall, hideous vase from the corner and stuck it on top of the chair. Granted, with its weight, it didn’t exactly add anything to securing the door but at least if someone tried to enter the bedroom that way, she’d hear them coming.

There was no way to easily dry her clothes so she toweled off the worst of the bathwater from her hair and body and slipped into bed, propped upright, gun in hand and every single light in the room blazing.




Chapter Two


John Landry let the kitchen door swing shut with a bang as he stepped out into the storm. What the hell was going on? The attorney had never mentioned someone leasing the house, and even if he’d known someone was taking up residence in the little mansion of horrors, the last person he could have imagined was the petite, mouthy, gun-toting spitfire he’d accosted. What kind of woman leased a derelict of a house, hidden away in a bayou, whose locally given name quite literally translated to “the Curse”?

The last thing he needed right now were complications, and women were always a complication. This woman could ruin everything.

The rain poured down and he pulled the hood of his jacket up over his head. He walked the length of the house, shining a flashlight behind the bushes that lined the exterior wall. Nothing. Finally, at the edge of the house, he saw them—a set of footprints in the mud just below a window in an empty downstairs room. He scanned the window and saw the wood chips at the bottom of the frame and the broken lock inside. Someone had pried it open, but there was no way to tell how recently.

He turned his attention back to the ground and followed the footsteps to the edge of the woods that surrounded the estate, where they disappeared in the brush. Damn it! From his window in the caretaker’s cottage he’d seen a light downstairs in the main house maybe fifteen minutes ago. It was small and erratic in movement like a flashlight would be, and since the house was supposed to be empty he’d gone to investigate. Then he’d gotten sidetracked with that crazy woman playing detective. Since she hadn’t been carrying a flashlight when he disarmed her, John knew he’d missed his chance to catch the real trespasser.

Assuming the woman was telling the truth about the lease and the key, she had no reason to sneak through the woods and break into the house but someone had a reason. A reason good enough to come out in this storm. The question was, did it have anything to do with his case?

He stepped out of the woods and headed across the courtyard to the caretaker’s cottage. The last thing he needed was that woman hovering around, watching his every move, especially when most of them had nothing to do with repairs. That day he’d searched all the downstairs rooms of the main house and had stopped only because the power went out. He’d planned on starting up again as soon as power was restored, but with that woman lurking inside with a firearm it looked like he’d have to wait. John had no earthly idea why the woman would want to lease a house like laMalediction, but first thing in the morning he was going to find out.

Then he was going to figure out the fastest way to get rid of her.

He gave one final glance at the main house as he entered the cottage. The only light was upstairs, probably in one of the bedrooms. He gave the grounds a final glance, but apparently the trespasser was not interested in trying his luck again tonight. Or he’d gotten what he came for and escaped without a scratch.

John pulled off his dirty boots and left them next to the front door, then grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and slid into a chair at the tiny breakfast table that was serving as his workspace. He picked up a plastic bag and studied the bright pink button inside. The button was new, and had no business being on the floor in the library of the main house. A room that by the amount of dust collecting on the shelves and tables hadn’t been cleaned in a long time, quite possibly years. Unless the old caretaker was a fan of bright pink, someone else, most likely female, had recently been in that room.

Unfortunately, John had no way of knowing if the button belonged to his missing half sister. He’d already questioned his mother, who’d indicated that his sister owned quite a few garments in pink, but then, he guessed a lot of women did.

He slammed the bag back down on the table and took a gulp of beer. He was running out of time. John knew better than most that the longer people remained missing, the less likely they were to be found alive. And that was assuming you found them at all.

Finding Rachel dead wasn’t an option. If he didn’t bring his younger sister home alive and well, he knew with complete certainty that their mother, who was fighting a seemingly losing battle with cancer, would just give up.

He ran one hand through his wet hair and silently cursed the women in his life. Why couldn’t Rachel have focused her master’s thesis on something other than ancient southern architecture? At the very least, she could have limited her research trips to only those houses that had been conveniently converted to bed and breakfasts instead of traipsing off to abandoned mansions in the middle of a swamp. There was far less chance of disappearing in a public place, but this forgotten estate, hidden away from the rest of the world, was just the sort of place to come face to face with trouble.

Of course, now that he’d seen laMalediction he could understand Rachel’s fascination with the structure. The few press clippings she’d assembled in a folder marked “Research” had created more questions about the house than answers, and John knew his adventurous and highly inquisitive sister would not have been able to have left the “haunted” house out of her thesis work despite its remote location.

His mother was already in a panic, her health rapidly declining, and it had only been three days since Rachel had disappeared. She’d let him know in no uncertain terms that the only thing she would live for was the safe return of her baby. Like the additional pressure would magically give him answers he didn’t have.

And now there was another woman in the mix, and from their brief encounter he’d guess she was just as obstinate and determined as his mother. The caretaker job had been an unexpected miracle, giving him legitimate access to the estate. Now, that access would be under scrutiny that he couldn’t afford.

It hadn’t slipped his notice that the trespasser had appeared at the same time as the woman. That gun she carried was no toy, and despite the fact that he’d easily disarmed her, he could tell she’d had some training on how to properly use a weapon. He was fairly certain she wasn’t the one who’d jimmied that window, but he had no way of knowing if she’d brought trouble with her.

No matter really.

Her presence in the house was trouble enough. Trouble he didn’t need.



OLIVIA AWAKENED THE NEXT MORNING with the sunlight shining directly in her face. Startled, she sat straight up in bed and realized she’d fallen asleep clutching her flashlight and Mace. Her pistol was still within easy reach on the nightstand. Squinting, she covered her eyes with one hand and blinked to adjust to the glare. The rain had stopped sometime in the middle of the night and she must have drifted off to sleep. Apparently her subconscious had decided the likelihood of a second intrusion was slim, or her mind was simply too exhausted to care any longer.

She looked over at the bedroom door. The key, desk, table, chair, and ugly vase were all in place, but that didn’t make her feel much better. Someone had come into the room last night when she was in the bath, and she’d bet everything she had that they hadn’t used the bedroom door. Blocking the door last night had been a necessary thing to “fool” her frantic mind into some semblance of safety, but here in the stark light of day she knew that safety had been as fictional as the books she wrote.

Outside, an engine fired up and she climbed out of bed to have a look. That “caretaker” was on the front lawn, using a chain saw on a couple of large limbs that had fallen in the driveway. His straight dark hair was just a little too long to be considered tidy and his skin had a beautiful tanned glow, either from the sun or perhaps a Creole heritage. She tried not to admire the way he handled the piece of equipment on a limb the size of a horse, but it was impossible not to when he tackled the tree limb as if he had a personal vendetta against the hunk of wood. If he’s not legitimate, he’s pretending awfully well.

She glanced at her watch and groaned. It wasn’t even eight o’clock. She grabbed her cell phone from the nightstand and was pleased to see that service was restored. Scrolling through her contacts, she located the estate attorney and dialed. It was his personal cell and Olivia hoped she woke the man. It would serve him right after her being scared half-to-death the night before, and being left to dodge a potential chain saw murderer this morning.

“Hello,” the attorney mumbled.

“Mr. Wheeler, this is Olivia Markham.”

“Yes.” The attorney sounded a bit more focused than before. “Ms. Markham, what can I do for you?”

“I’m sorry to call you so early,” Olivia lied, “but I’ve run into a problem here at laMalediction.”

“What sort of problem? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, but I got a bit of a scare last night from a man who says you hired him as a caretaker. He obviously wasn’t expecting me, either, and it’s lucky I didn’t put a bullet in him.”

Okay, so there wasn’t a chance for her to put a bullet in him or she would have taken it, but Wheeler didn’t need to know that.

“I am so sorry, Ms. Markham.” The attorney sounded completely flustered. “The old caretaker had a family emergency and had to leave unexpectedly. I’ve been trying to hire a younger, more capable man for quite a while, and Mr. Landry is the first suitable applicant I’ve had. The house needs extensive repairs before it can be sold.”

“You never mentioned hiring a new caretaker and you should have. And since Mr. Landry appeared as shocked as me, I can only assume you didn’t bother to speak to him, either. Someone could have been seriously injured, Mr. Wheeler.”

“I apologize. I meant to call both of you yesterday morning but got so busy I forgot. I tried in the evening and last night, but couldn’t reach either of you. I assure you Mr. Landry’s credentials are fine.”

Olivia looked out the window, watching “Mr. Landry” stack the cut branches to the side of the driveway. “Good. Then you won’t mind sending me a copy of his paperwork.”

“I’m sorry, but Mr. Landry’s paperwork is confidential. Without his consent, I can’t really send you his information.”

“Fine. Then I’ll be by your office tomorrow to cancel the lease.”

“Wait! Surely something can be worked out. I don’t want you to cancel.”

“And I don’t want to cancel, but as you know, the house is very remote. I have every right to know exactly who I’m sharing space with. If you’re not willing to provide that information, then I won’t feel comfortable staying.”

“I understand,” the attorney said, but Olivia could tell by his tone that he wasn’t the least bit happy with the situation. “I will contact Mr. Landry today and explain the situation. I’m sure he’ll give me approval to forward his paperwork to you for your review. If not, then I’ll relieve him of his responsibilities and find another person for the position. Will that suffice?”

“For now, but I want that paperwork before the day is over. Email all the documents to me. Does Mr. Landry have a first name?”

“John. As soon as I get to my office, I’ll contact Mr. Landry and get his permission to forward the documents. Give me a couple of hours.”

“Thank you. I’ll be looking for it.” She flipped the phone shut and tossed it back on the nightstand. The attorney had annoyed her with his forgetfulness and seeming unwillingness to understand the situation he’d placed her in. Did he really think it was acceptable for her to be shut away in the middle of nowhere with a stranger? If so, he’d obviously lost all common sense.

She stretched, touching the floor with her hands, then rose back up, thinking about her agenda for the morning. First, she was going to brush her teeth, then she was going to put on her mud-caked boots, stroll outside in her makeshift pajamas, and ask John Landry to show her some ID. Then she was going to convince him to help get her car out of the mud.

Piece of cake.

Ten minutes later she stepped outside and walked to the middle of the huge circular drive. She slowly turned to get a good look at it in the daylight. The bizarre angles of the roof, the two round attic windows positioned on each side of the chimney, the stained glass window that created prisms of light in the entry—all of them exactly as she remembered. She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, her heart pounding in her chest.

She hadn’t been mistaken last night. Her view of the house hadn’t lasted more than a second before the flash from the lightning had faded, but that one second had been enough. This was definitely the house. She crossed her arms over her chest as a chill swept over her, despite the heat and humidity of the early morning. For as long as she could remember, she’d dreamed of this house. Frightening dreams that she awakened from in a cold sweat, but the only thing she ever remembered was the house.

The house she was certain she had never, ever set foot in before last night.




Chapter Three


John heard the front door of the main house close and looked up from his work as the woman walked to the middle of the drive then turned and faced the house. She was wearing the same clothes as last night, but then once he’d realized there was no car in the drive and saw her mud-covered boots next to the front door, he’d gotten a clear picture of what must have happened. She’d probably grabbed the minimum amount of necessities and hiked from wherever her car had gotten stuck. He could only hope that the lack of reliable roadways, utilities, and phone service would send her running straight back to whatever big city she’d matriculated from.

Though he knew less than nothing about ladies’ shoes, he recognized her boots as an expensive designer brand that his half sister was drooling over the last time he’d met her in the French Quarter for lunch. Fancy, soft leather. Not even a steel toe. Women who spent eight hundred dollars on a pair of shoes couldn’t possibly find much of interest in a dusty old house in a town with only a café and a gas station serving as the local commerce. At least that’s what he was banking on.

He picked up several pieces of the branch he’d been working on and carried them to the pile he’d started at the far end of the circular drive. With every step he took, a curse came to mind. He needed to be in that house, looking for something, anything to help him find his sister. That rotten branch could have waited another fifty years by the looks of the rest of the estate, but here he was slaving over debris blocking a drive that no one had used in years and it was all that woman’s fault. He flung the wood onto the pile and spun around. It was time for action. He didn’t have time to lose.

She stood at the edge of the circular drive nearest the house, with her back to him. He paused for a moment wondering what in the world she was doing, staring up at the roof of the house, following the lines from one end to another, but then he set his jaw and strode up behind her.

“Not much to look at in the daylight, is it?” he asked, wondering why she still hadn’t turned around when she should have heard his footsteps.

She jumped at the sound of his voice, but her gaze remained focused on the house. “No, I guess it isn’t,” she said, although she didn’t sound convinced. Finally, she turned to face him, a pleasant, but determined look on her face.

Uh oh. He’d seen that look before. His mother and sister wore it very well, especially when they wanted something. Well, he didn’t care what Fancy Shoes wanted. He wasn’t agreeing to anything.

“I spoke to Mr. Wheeler this morning,” she began, “and he assured me he hired a new caretaker. He’ll be calling you as soon as he gets into the office to get your permission to forward your employment paperwork to me. If you don’t mind, I’d like to see some identification now.”

“And if I do mind?”

“Then he also assured me that if I was uncomfortable, he would ask you to leave.”

John’s jaw clenched so hard it ached. She held all the cards. He couldn’t afford to lose the job, and he definitely couldn’t afford Ross Wheeler digging deeper into his background to placate some crazy woman. The New Orleans police had already asked the attorney for permission to search the estate, but unless they produced a warrant, Ross Wheeler wasn’t going to allow a bunch of law enforcement officials to “tromp through a house of valuable and delicate antiques.”

The Cypriere locals claimed they’d never set eyes on his sister when questioned by the New Orleans police, and without any proof whatsoever that Rachel had ever been to laMalediction, there was no chance of getting the warrant Wheeler required. If Wheeler found out John had lied about his real purpose for wanting the job, he’d have every right to press charges against John and the New Orleans police department. And since the department hadn’t exactly sanctioned what he was doing, there would be fallout all the way around.

“I assume my license will do,” he said as he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out his wallet. He pulled his license from inside and handed it to her, biting his tongue as she looked at the license, then handed it back to him.

“Thank you, Mr. Landry,” she said and tentatively stuck her hand out. “I’m Olivia Markham. I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot, but a single woman can’t be too careful these days.”

John started to ignore her hand, but her words resonated through his head. A single woman can’t be toocareful these days. If only Rachel had paid attention when he said the exact same thing to her. And here he was angry at a woman for doing just what he would have advised. He shook her hand, momentarily surprised at the firmness of her grip.

“I understand,” he said. “I would apologize for scaring you last night, but since that’s exactly what I was trying to do at the time, I guess it wouldn’t exactly make sense. Wheeler should have contacted both of us. Last night could have been ugly.”

Olivia looked relieved. “Yes, it could have, and I gave him a big piece of my mind this morning. In fact, I got him out of bed in order to do so, and I have to admit that I got a small amount of satisfaction out of it. I know Mr. Wheeler will be calling you later, but I’d be happy to show you a copy of my lease.”

“That won’t be necessary, Ms. Markham. You don’t exactly fit the profile of a swindler or thief. And since the road to the estate is hardly a highway, I can only assume you actually have business here or you would never have found the place.” With any luck, she’d tell him what that business was and he could figure out a way to use it to his advantage.

She waved a hand at the debris on the drive. “I know you’re busy with the mess from the storm, but I really need a favor. My car got stuck last night in the rain, and I’m afraid it’s completely blocking the path to the estate. Can you help me get it out?”

John’s thoughts swirled around, trying to zero in on the decision that might push her into leaving. He couldn’t outright refuse, as then she’d have ammunition for Wheeler to dismiss him but then he also needed to discourage her from staying. “I think there’s a mechanic in town with a tow truck. It would probably be better if you called him in case there’s also something wrong with the car.” Surely Olivia “Fancy Shoes” Markham wouldn’t isolate herself at the estate with no way to leave, gun or no.

Olivia frowned. “I hope nothing is wrong. The rental company isn’t likely to drive all the way out here to give me a replacement. Look, I know towing my car isn’t what you were hired to do, but I couldn’t help but notice a truck parked at that little house across the driveway so I thought maybe you could help. I just want to get my clothes and equipment into the house, and then I promise I’ll be out of your hair.”

John felt himself relenting and silently cursed his mother for training him to assist helpless females. Surely it was meant to be a matter of manners and not a burden, but it didn’t feel that way at the moment. “If that’s what you think is best. I think I saw a chain in the storage shed. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He carried the saw to the storage shed and dug out a chain he’d seen the day before. There was still the glimmer of hope that the car wouldn’t run. He could tell by Olivia’s expression that she hadn’t thought of that possibility until he’d mentioned it. It was also clear she wasn’t happy with the thought. Best case, the car would have to be towed back to New Orleans and she’d stay there a few days waiting on a replacement. Those few days might just buy him the time he needed to finish searching the house.

Worst case, the car might make it to the house but stop working afterwards. That was something he was fairly certain he could arrange.



OLIVIA WATCHED John walk away, completely confused by the man. He was abrupt and she got the impression he wanted to be rude most of the conversation but it seemed like something was holding him back from saying what he really wanted to say. Since Olivia was used to dealing with either New Yorkers, who tended to be very direct, or with B&B owners, who tended to be overly accommodating, John Landry was definitely a departure from the norm.

Her thoughts were interrupted by her cell phone ringing. She reached into her shorts’ pocket and pulled it out. Speaking of New Yorkers, it was her editor. Great. She wasn’t exactly on schedule for this book, and wasn’t looking forward to admitting it. “Hello, Irene,” she said, trying to sound cheerful.

“I never heard from you yesterday and got worried. Is everything all right?”

“Oh, no. I was supposed to call.” Olivia smacked her forehead with her palm. “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“That’s okay. It’s just unlike you to forget to call, so I figured I’d better check in. So I gather you made it?”

“Sort of. There was a huge storm last night as I was driving in. The house is basically buried back in the bayou with only an overgrown dirt path to get to it. The car got stuck a ways from the house, and I had to make a run for it. There was absolutely no cell phone service. There was no electricity either. In fact, without my luggage there was a whole lot of nothing.”

“I don’t know why you insisted on that house. It’s the worst of the lot as far as convenience, location, communication and just about everything else. Are you sure you want to do this? There’s that lovely house in Boston that’s been converted to a very nice B&B. It has a spa….”

Olivia took a second to imagine a hot shower and a mattress less than fifty years old. “Don’t tempt me. I know this wasn’t the location you wanted, Irene, but I think the story is here. My mind is already whirling with possibilities, and I never got that feeling in the other house.”

“I suppose,” Irene said, but Olivia could hear the disapproval in her words. “Well, I hope this problem with your car hasn’t set you behind. Howard’s called twice this morning wanting a status report, and he’s frothing at the mouth like a demon child.”

Damn. Howard was the vice president, and he disdained his company’s recent foray into what he called “mass market trash.” The fact that Olivia and the other authors of that “mass market trash” were the only thing keeping the publisher afloat in a tenuous market seemed to make him even angrier. If Howard had his way, the publisher would only print thick coffee table books with bizarre photos of fruit and dead flowers. Or the obscure literary journal that would sell five or six copies, purchased by the author’s family to see if they were mentioned.

Olivia bit her lip, then finally blurted out what she needed to say. “If I run into problems with the car, I might have to backtrack to New Orleans for a day or two. I know I’m already behind my normal schedule for finishing a rough draft because of the time it took to work out the lease arrangements here, but if there is a delay I don’t see it being more than two days, max.” She clamped her mouth shut, realizing she was rambling.

For a couple of seconds there was dead silence on the other end of the line, and Olivia steeled herself for the disapproval that was surely to come.

“I don’t have to remind you that marketing has already spent a literal ton of money on this book,” Irene said. “The book that you seem to find excuse after excuse to delay.”

“I know this is an important release, and I promise you that I’ll make up the time as soon as I’ve gotten everything under control here.”

“Is there something else wrong? You don’t sound like yourself, Olivia. You sound like you’re on the ragged edge of sanity.”

“Everything will be fine. I think I’m getting a little jumpy and starting to panic. I guess I’m overreacting.”

“Really? That’s interesting considering you’re the most organized, controlled person I know, and that’s saying a lot. What’s got you spooked? The storm? I know it can’t be the house itself. It’s not like you haven’t done this a time or two before.”

Olivia looked up at the house and shook her head. “I don’t know, exactly. I mean, this is definitely the most remote location I’ve ever been to, and the house hasn’t been occupied in over thirty years, so that gives it a much different ‘feel’ than the others. And given that I arrived in the midst of a monsoon, and had no power…then there was a run-in with the caretaker.”

“What run-in?”

Olivia described the scene in the kitchen from the night before. “I called the estate attorney first thing this morning and everything checked out,” she finished, “but it scared the life out of me.”

“I should say so. Well, if you won’t consider a more civilized location for this book, will you at least consider relocating to a hotel in New Orleans until I can arrange you security of some sort? I can’t afford for some angry caretaker to distract you from your work. There’s a firm in New Orleans that I’ve used before. I could probably get someone assigned to you within a week. You could work from photos until then.”

“A week at a hotel in New Orleans. I have to admit, it’s very tempting, but I really think the story is here. I’ll call you back if I change my mind.”

“Okay,” Irene said, but didn’t sound convinced. “Promise me if you run into any problems that will delay this book, you will let me know immediately. Olivia?”

Olivia looked over at the storage shed as John walked out carrying a long length of chain, the grim look on his face clear as day, even from a distance. She was apparently three for three in making people’s day this morning. “I promise. Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll let you know in a couple of hours what I’m going to do.”

She flipped her phone closed and dropped it back in her pocket. If Olivia was a betting woman, she’d bet everything she had that she was the source of John Landry’s discontent. But if she was such a trial, why bother with her at all? He certainly could have made up any sort of excuse for not wanting to tow her car with his truck.

Granted, she could cost him his job if she wanted to be a real bitch about it, but was a handyman job in the middle of nowhere all that great a gig? With all the hurricane reconstruction going on in New Orleans, the last place she’d expect to find a young, able-bodied man would be hidden away in Cypriere.

In fact, the more she thought about it, the more John Landry didn’t add up at all.



THE MAN WATCHED HER from his hiding place behind the overgrown bushes that surrounded one piece of the drive. While he would have recognized Olivia Markham from her photo in the back cover of her books, the picture really didn’t do her justice at all. She had that fine facial bone structure that seemed to grace only a few each generation, and a toned but curvy build. The entire package was reminiscent of the old portraits of upper class women, which was appropriate if one considered the circumstances.

Her conversation with the caretaker concerned him some. It was obvious that the caretaker wished Olivia would leave, but given everything he knew about things to come, that just didn’t make sense. Thirty years he’d been waiting for things to fall into place, for things to align as they were supposed to when the time was near. Surely, the caretaker wouldn’t have come unless he had a part to play.

The person Olivia had talked to on the phone concerned him more. For whatever reason, he’d gathered from their conversation that the person Olivia had been speaking to had suggested she leave the house and go to New Orleans for a week. And it had sounded like Olivia was considering it. No matter what, he had to make sure that didn’t happen. He’d been watching the moon, and was certain—the day and hour for fulfilling the prophecy was fast approaching.

The first woman who’d come to the house hadn’t given him the answers he was looking for. He’d thought she was the one. She had eyes like the photo, but maybe he had been wrong. Olivia didn’t have eyes like the photo, but otherwise, the resemblance was clear. Surely, Olivia was the one. It had been decades since a woman had even set foot at laMalediction. Now, there had been two in one week. One of them had to be the one.

Regardless, neither of them was leaving laMalediction until the prophecy was fulfilled.




Chapter Four


John glanced in his rearview mirror at Olivia’s car. Despite being stuck in a good foot of mud, it had started right up and was managing the drive to laMalediction. It figured. He’d hoped an out-of-commission vehicle would send her running to the city for a replacement, at least for a couple of days, but no such luck. Now he needed a plan to work around Olivia Markham without her alerting the attorney that something was suspicious.

He parked in front of the mansion and waited until Olivia pulled up beside him. She was smiling when she got out of the car. “I’m so relieved it’s running,” she said and reached back into the car to pop the trunk.

John couldn’t have disagreed more, so he just nodded and looked over at the boxes in her trunk. Whatever Olivia Markham was doing at laMalediction, it looked like she’d packed enough for a long stay. “There’s no food or supplies at the main house. I picked up bread and lunch meat for myself, but I wasn’t expecting company.”

Olivia waved one hand at the boxes. “I brought supplies,” she said. “Just some bagels, peanut butter, chips and drinking water. I’ve gotten in the habit of traveling with a minimal amount of food. I figure in another day or two, I should be able to drive back into town, right?”

“Probably.” He held in a sigh. Apparently, it was going to take more than bad weather, a reported haunted house, flaky electricity, no cell phone connection and a lack of groceries to get rid of her.

“Do you need some help moving that stuff inside?” Maybe he could figure out why she was here and that would give him an angle.

“Seriously? That would be great.” Olivia pulled the first box out and shifted it to balance. “The boxes are all electronics, so please be careful.”

Electronics? John grabbed a large box from the trunk and followed her into the house. Seemed a strange hobby at a house that lost power every time it rained.

Olivia stopped in the entryway. “I don’t suppose you know of a library or study in the house? A place with a good desk or table for working?”

John nodded. The library was where he’d found the pink button. “There’s a library straight back past the stairwell, then turn left down the hall.”

“Great.” Olivia headed toward the hallway. “I didn’t know if you’d taken stock of the house yet or were only concentrating on the outside maintenance.”

John followed behind her, his mind forming an idea that just might get him around Olivia until he could get rid of her. “Actually, I’m supposed to be working on the main house, but I didn’t want to disturb you this morning, so I worked in the drive. I’m an early riser.”

Olivia stepped into the library and placed her box on a long, dusty table in the center of a room with floor to ceiling bookcases on every wall. “I love this,” she said, looking around the room. “All it needs is a good cleaning.”

John placed his box on the table. “I’m not going to disturb your work if I go about my business upstairs, am I?”

“I doubt it. What are you doing, exactly?”

“Right now,” he said, as he formulated the lie, “I’m just assessing everything and making a list of necessary repairs so that Wheeler can order the supplies I need. I do a lot of banging wood and moving stuff, though.”

Olivia waved a hand in dismissal. “I’ve trained myself to write in almost any circumstance. I acclimate to the sounds of a new house quickly, so your work shouldn’t bother me at all.”

John stared at her for a moment, not certain what to say. A writer? He would have understood if she was an antique dealer looking to catalogue the furniture or a real estate agent looking to get a contract on the house, but why in the world would someone choose laMalediction as a place to write a book? “You’re writing a book?”

Olivia nodded. “I know. Most people find it strange, but this is my niche. I stay in a reputed haunted house and write a ghost story about it. My next book is due soon and it will be set at laMalediction.”

“Haunted houses? Do you believe in that sort of thing?”

Olivia pursed her lips. “I think a fair statement would be that I don’t limit the universe to what I understand. I’ve seen things I can’t explain, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t an explanation.” She smiled. “The good news is I don’t spook easily, so you won’t have to worry about catering to a damsel in distress.”

John nodded, feeling his options lessening by the second. “I’ll go grab another box,” he said and left the library.

I don’t spook easily.

She said that like it was a good thing.



OLIVIA DROPPED the filthy sponge in a bucket of dirty water. Three hours of scrubbing and the room was finally fit for habitation. She sank down on the floor and leaned back against one of the now-sparkling maple bookcases. It really was a beautiful room. In fact, everything she’d seen of the house so far was gorgeous. It was a shame that no one lived there enjoying it, although she guessed most people wouldn’t enjoy being sequestered out in the bayou with only a small town of strange people and a swamp of all kinds of creatures as company.

A crash above her caused her to jump and she slowly pulled herself up from the floor. John Landry had been making good on his noise-making promise. He’d been banging and knocking upstairs as long as she’d been cleaning downstairs. She sometimes wondered if he was creating more work.

She grabbed the bucket, headed to the kitchen, and dumped the dirty water in the sink. She rinsed the bucket and placed it upside down in the sink to dry, then pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator and rubbed it across her forehead before taking a huge swig of it. The humidity was something she’d expected to encounter but it was worse than what she’d imagined, especially with no air conditioning.

She grabbed a bag of potato chips from the kitchen counter and headed back to the library. Unpacking and setting up her laptop and printer was next on her list, then she’d be ready to work. No more excuses. She smiled when she thought about all the ideas that were already flowing through her mind for the book, and then stopped short when she stepped into the library.

Something is wrong.

She scanned the empty room. Nothing seemed out of place, but yet, she knew it wasn’t like she’d left it. All five of her boxes were still stacked at one end of the long table and at the other end of the table was a lamp. She felt her breath catch in her throat. A lamp that used to sit on a tiny table on the far wall.

Taking a step closer to the table, she checked her boxes more closely. They were still sealed and didn’t appear to have been shuffled around at all. A loud thump upstairs caused her to jump. Her water bottle slipped out of her hands and onto the floor.

Get a grip. It’s just John, you know, the man you told you didn’t spook easily.

Could John have moved the lamp just to mess with her? She thought about her trip to the kitchen, trying to recall if she could still hear him banging around when she’d been cleaning the bucket but she’d grown so used to the noise that she simply didn’t know. Surely, that was it. He was playing a joke on her. Trying to prove she wasn’t as tough as she thought she was. She crossed her arms across her chest, suddenly chilly in the previously stifling room.

Well, it wasn’t a very funny joke, and she wasn’t going to stand for it.

She picked up her water and set it on the table with a thump, then strode down the hall and up the stairwell, ready for battle. She found John in a bedroom at the back of the house, probably positioned over the library downstairs, and he was covered all over with something white.

One glance at the gaping hole in the ceiling and the mess surrounding him on the floor gave her a clear idea of where the white substance came from. “What happened?” she asked.

He was standing on a stepladder with his head poked up in the hole in the ceiling. Leaning down a bit, he looked out at her. “Ceiling fell in is what happened. Didn’t you hear all that noise earlier?”

She remembered the loud crash she’d heard when she’d just finished cleaning. “That was the ceiling? Wow. I guess you were standing under it.”

“Unfortunately. I thought the light fixture was loose but it was the entire ceiling that was sagging. I barely touched it and the whole thing came crashing down on me.” He stepped down the ladder and retrieved a water bottle from the dresser, leaving white tracks everywhere he stepped.

Olivia stared at the white shoe prints then back into the hall. It was dusty and dirty, but not a single white ring in sight.

“Did you need something?” he asked.

“No. I just thought I ought to check and make sure everything was okay…you know, with the noise.”

John narrowed his eyes at her. “So you thought I might be injured but waited a good five minutes to come up and check?”

“Yeah,” Olivia said as she backed out of the room. “Sorry, you’re right. I should have checked sooner, but I was pouring out a bucket of dirty water.” She pointed down at his feet. “You might want to take your shoes off before you walk around much more. Not that the place is clean or anything.”

John glanced down at his feet and frowned. “You’re right. No sense making it worse.” He looked back up at the ceiling and sighed. “This is going to be a real mess to fix.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Olivia said and fled down the hall.

She checked the front door, but the dead bolt was still securely in place. A quick check of the back door in the kitchen revealed the same thing. He could have taken his boots off before coming downstairs. That would make perfectly good sense, especially if he didn’t want her to hear his footsteps on the marble flooring in the entry. But Olivia would swear by his expression that he hadn’t even noticed the state of his boots until she’d pointed it out.

Unless he was a very good actor.

Olivia hurried back to the library, determined to hook up her computer, contact Wheeler and make sure she had all the information she could get on John Landry. She stopped short in the doorway.

The lamp was back in place.



JOHN WATCHED Olivia flee the room and shook his head. For someone who claimed she didn’t spook easily, the woman looked like she’d seen a ghost. She’d obviously come upstairs for a reason, but whatever that reason was, she’d changed her mind about it. He didn’t believe for one minute it was the crash that had brought her scurrying up the stairs. If she had been that worried about it, a bucket of dirty water would have been the last thing to detain her.

He’d thought about pushing the issue, but finally decided that if something was bothering Olivia, that would likely only work in his favor. Staring back up at the ceiling, he sighed. He’d had no intention of creating more work for whoever replaced him, but that’s exactly what he’d managed to do. He dug through the pile of Sheetrock and pulled out the light fixture that had attracted his attention in the first place.

It was coated with Sheetrock dust and any chance of gaining a fingerprint was probably long gone, but he wanted to make sure he hadn’t been imagining things. He wiped the dust off the light fixture’s ceiling plate with the bottom of his shirt. Just as he’d thought—scratches lined the bottom of the ceiling plate close to the screws that held the fixture in the ceiling.

There was no way to tell if the scratches were new, but John would bet everything they were. The ceiling plate had been wiped clean. That’s what had drawn his attention to the fixture in the first place—a shiny plate in a room of otherwise dusty items. He’d brought in the ladder hoping to get a closer look, but when he’d placed a hand on the ceiling to steady himself, the whole thing had come crashing down.

He looked at the light fixture. Maybe the old caretaker had been aware of the ceiling problem and started taking the fixture down to make the repair. He placed the light fixture on the floor and blew out a breath. He was wasting time. It didn’t matter what the old caretaker had intended, or if every upstairs ceiling dropped down on him.

He had to find his sister.

Despite Olivia staying out of his way, this afternoon had been a total waste. He’d found nothing new. No indication that his sister had been on the second floor. And maybe she hadn’t been. If she’d even made it to laMalediction, maybe she’d run into trouble before she’d ever gotten the chance to do much poking around.

He ran one hand through his hair, scattering Sheetrock dust around him. What if he’d made a mistake about her destination? What if she’d scheduled her visit to laMalediction on her calendar and changed her mind? If his sister had never been to this house, he was losing valuable time here. If only he could find evidence, anything that told him for certain that she’d been here. The pink button was a sketchy clue, at best.

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. No messages, but at least it had decent signal strength. He pressed the number for the New Orleans police department and asked for the captain.

“Landry?” Captain Reeves answered the phone. “Where the hell are you? Harrison’s been by your apartment twice and says your phone’s turned off.”

“I went to visit an aunt my mom used to check on. She lives out a ways in the bayou. Cell phone signal’s sketchy.”

“An aunt, huh? So your sister’s missing and your mom’s in the hospital, and you want me to buy that you took vacation time to visit some old lady?”

“Yes, sir,” John replied, keeping his voice steady. If the captain found out he was at laMalediction after Wheeler had forbidden the police to enter the property, he’d have John’s badge. “Is there any news?”

The captain was silent for a moment and John was afraid the man was going to call him on his lie. The captain was no one’s fool and knew John about as well as anyone did. Well enough to know that John wouldn’t bail on the investigation without a really good reason—like a lead that the police didn’t have the authority to pursue.

“Not much. Harrison was just here and said they found a store clerk about twenty miles outside of New Orleans on I-10 who remembers your sister filling up there five days ago.”

John felt his pulse quicken. He’d driven past that filling station on the way to laMalediction. Rachel could have been pursuing another house in the same direction, but there was no mention of another house on her calendar until weeks later. At least it was something. “Is the filling station guy certain it was Rachel?”

“Yeah. I got the impression he liked what he saw. Described her and her car pretty well and seemed certain when Harrison showed him the picture.”

“But no indication of where she was going?”

The captain hesitated. “He says she asked about Cypriere.”

“Damn! I knew it. Now, are you going to get a warrant?”

“I hung up with the district attorney right before you called. It’s thin, probably not enough for a warrant, but he’s going to ask one of the judges for a favor given this is a cop’s family. The judge has a cousin who went missing twenty years ago and was never found. The D.A. thinks he’ll be sympathetic.”

“How soon can we get access?” If he didn’t have to hide, he could flood the house and grounds with men and equipment. No sneaking around and making excuses. No more hiding behind a stepladder or a chain saw.

“The judge he thinks will give the warrant is out of town for two days.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me! Tell him to get another judge.”

“There isn’t another judge who’s willing to put his neck out. The D.A.’s already asked around on this and been told no. There’s entirely too many things that could have happened to Rachel between that filling station and wherever she was headed. Unless someone can put her in Cypriere, then none of the other judges are willing to risk it.”

“I don’t have to tell you how much time has passed.”

“No, you don’t. I don’t like it any more than you do, but I have to tell you John that if you do anything to risk this investigation, it will not be good for your career. Do not go near that property until we have a warrant. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.”

“I mean it, Landry. Do not set foot in Cypriere.”

“No problem.” John closed the phone. He hadn’t really lied. He had no intention of setting foot in Cypriere, the town. If his sister was going to be found, he had a feeling it would be at laMalediction.

He tucked the phone into his pocket and headed downstairs. There had been no sign of Rachel on the second floor, so he’d save the attic until last. The basement was his next destination and he’d seen an access door in the kitchen. He hurried into the kitchen and almost collided with Olivia.

A camera slipped in her hands, and she clutched it to keep from dropping it. He grabbed her shoulders to steady both of them. “Sorry. I keep forgetting there’s someone else here.” He looked down at the camera and blinked. “Nice camera.”

Olivia frowned. “Yeah, it is. I found it in the cabinet when I was putting up my supplies. I thought maybe it was yours. I was coming to ask.”

John’s pulse began to race. He’d bought that exact model for his sister for Christmas. “No, but maybe the old caretaker kept it here to take pictures for Wheeler.”

Olivia shrugged and handed him the camera. “Maybe so. Guess you’ll need it then. I’d start with that ceiling upstairs if I were you. It didn’t come down by itself. If there’s a leak somewhere it can get way worse for you.”

John took the camera and turned it on, pleased that the batteries were good. “You’re absolutely right. I think I’ll do that now.” He left the kitchen, studying the display on the camera. Twenty-two pictures stored.

Maybe one of them would give him a clue to finding Rachel.




Chapter Five


Olivia trudged up the stairs, holding a printout on John Landry that she’d received from Wheeler. She planned to read it again while soaking in a hot bath, but her initial review had shown nothing even remotely questionable. It had taken her an hour to set up her equipment and another hour to finally acquire a decent enough satellite connection to download the documents, but at least that part of the necessary work was done. With any luck, the bath would revive her and she might get a second wind and do a little work that night.

She entered the bedroom and went to retrieve her change of clothes from her suitcase on the bed and that’s when she saw it—a small, framed, black-and-white photo lying on top of her luggage. She whirled around and looked into the bathroom, then checked in the hall but saw nothing. Maybe John had left it there when he was doing his repair inspection. Maybe he’d moved it so it wouldn’t be damaged and forgot to replace it.

Except for the fact that there had not been a single photo in the room the night before, it was a perfectly logical theory. She started to set the photo on the nightstand to deal with it later, but then took a good look at the picture. It was a woman in a fancy dress, and had to have been taken a long, long time ago, sometime well before the turn of the century. But the preserved nature of the photo was not what made her gasp.

The woman looked just like her.

Olivia clutched the photo and sucked in a breath, both frightened and excited at the same time. She’d come here looking for answers. Maybe she was finally going to get them. She felt her stomach roll. Who was helping her? That picture hadn’t appeared out of nowhere, and it was no coincidence that it had been left in her room.

John was the logical choice. He’d been upstairs working all day. Maybe he’d seen the photo and thought she would find the resemblance interesting. That must be it. A completely logical explanation, for a change.

Maybe.

But then, if they were the only people in the house, who had moved the lamp or, for that matter, entered her bedroom the night before while she was bathing.

She stepped into the hallway and called out. “John. Are you still working up here?” No answer was forthcoming, nor could she make out any noise at all. In fact, now that she thought about it she realized she hadn’t heard a peep since he’d accosted her in the kitchen and left with the camera.

She slipped the papers on John into a drawer in the nightstand, grabbed the photo and headed back down to the library. While dusting, she’d noticed several photo albums on the bookcases. If they were labeled, she might be able to identify the woman in the photo. She grabbed several of the heavy albums off the bookcases and laid them on the table.

The first one contained color photos and was clearly far too recent. The second book was close to the right era, but the woman was not in any of the photos. In the third book, she hit pay dirt. An eight by ten photo of a woman and a man standing in front of laMalediction. The woman was wearing a different dress, but there was no mistaking the facial features and the hair. This was the woman from the photo.

Franklin and Marilyn Borque, 1861.

Olivia felt a chill pass over her. No, it couldn’t possibly be.

“Must be interesting.” John’s voice sounded behind her and she jumped.

“Oh my God,” Olivia said, her heart racing. “I didn’t even hear you come in.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I wasn’t exactly sneaking.”

“No, I’m not saying that. I guess it was interesting.” She looked up at the man, standing in the doorway and bit her lip. Did she come out and ask him if he was messing with her or keep her cards hidden? What if he said it wasn’t him? Would she know if he was lying? So far, John Landry seemed a bit of an enigma.

“Look at this,” she said and lifted up the photo album before she could change her mind.

John looked at the photo, then her, then back at the photo. “Wow. No wonder you didn’t hear me. You look just like her.”

Olivia blew out a breath she didn’t even realize she’d been holding. “So you see it, too?”

“Hard to miss. Just a little different in the eyes, but really close. Is she a relative?”

Olivia shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of, but then I don’t know anything about my family.”

John frowned. “But you just happened to lease this house, and just happened to find a picture that looks like you in the library?”

“Actually, that’s something I wanted to ask you about.” She picked the smaller photo up off the table and handed it to John. “That picture was on my bed when I went upstairs earlier.”

John’s head snapped up from the photo and his eyes narrowed on her. “How did it get there?”

“I thought maybe you could tell me.”

John stared at her in surprise. “Me?”

“Well, you were upstairs all day. I thought maybe you saw the resemblance and left the photo for me, but I guess not.”

John shook his head. “I’ve never seen this before now, and I’ve been through every room in this house on the first and second floor.”

Olivia studied his expression as he looked back down at the photo then again at Olivia, but he appeared as confused as she was.

“So how did it get there?” she asked.

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it, and I don’t believe it’s a coincidence that the photo looks like you. It’s easy to fake photos these days, but then the real question would be, who’s trying to scare you?”





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