Spooked on the Gulf Coast (Gulf Coast Paranormal Trilogy Book 3) Page 4

  “None,” Midas answered her. “We really just want to help.”

  She reached into her desk drawer, pulled out a key and put it on her desk in front of her. “My stepfather is not one for flights of fancy, and quite frankly, he’s frightened out of his wits. So frightened he didn’t come in to work today, or the day before. I asked him to come down today to share his personal account, but he isn’t willing to do that. Not yet. I need your help. He belongs here. He loves this place. There has to be some kind of logical explanation for what he saw.”

  “I think you should know, we never take a case to prove a haunting. In fact, we often start by attempting to debunk whatever phenomenon has been reported. But having said that, I can’t promise you that we’ll be able to do that. Sometimes, events occur that we can’t explain. We do our best to reconstruct the event, we try out theories, but I can’t guarantee that we’ll have any more answers than you do right now. I hope you understand.”

  She tapped the desk were her fingernails. “But no matter what, you won’t publish your findings. I mean, even if it turns out that you can’t explain what happened, it won’t end up in a book?”

  “Not as long as I’m the boss. We don’t do that sort of thing; that’s not how we operate at Gulf Coast Paranormal. I’m sure my grandfather explained that to you.”

  At the mention of Papa Angelos, she smiled. “I do love that man. Nobody makes gyros like Papa. If it weren’t for him, I’d starve to death. I’m there at least three times a week.” She stood up, and we did too. “You must think I’m being ridiculous with all these questions. I’m just trying to look out for my stepdad. He’s so fragile, especially after the loss of Deter.”

  “Oh, I understand that, and I don’t mind your questions at all.”

  Man, I forget how charming he can be. He really does care about people.

  Patricia handed Midas the key. “All right. I’m placing us in your hands. Here’s the security code for the alarm.” She handed him a slip of paper and opened the door for us. As we piled into the hallway, she said, “Carl got locked in the building two nights ago. Tina found him the next morning when she came in to unlock the place. He was lying on the floor, near the front door. He whacked himself in the head, but it wasn’t anything serious. I’d arrived by the time he came to, and he told me that the power went off and the alarm system wasn’t functioning at all. Carl can assess a rare collection of coins in just a few minutes, but he’s not a genius when it comes to ordinary things like working an alarm or unstopping a drain. He’s not good in a crisis. I probably should have stayed with him that night, but he wanted to be alone with his display and I didn’t want to intrude. He’s been depressed since Deter died.”

  I scribbled the name down as I walked behind them. “Didn’t your mother wonder where he was?” I didn’t mean to sound rude, but it seemed a legit question.

  “My mother goes to bed at eight o’clock every night without fail. She’s been known to sleep through a hurricane. And since Deter’s death, Carl has spent more time here than at home. All he thinks about is this exhibit, that and making sure Deter’s legacy is firmly established.” Patricia’s cheeks flushed slightly, and she continued with our tour. “This was where Tina found Carl.”

  “Sounds like Carl took his friend’s death pretty hard.”

  “Yes, it’s true. Carl always considered Deter a mentor even though they are, I mean, were fairly close in age. I called Deter my German uncle. He got a kick out of that.”

  “Sounds as though you all were close,” I said.

  She nodded, and we paused in the foyer as she locked the door. “Yes, we were. To be honest, Carl’s the only father I’ve ever had, and I’m very worried about him. I hope you can shed some light on what happened to him.”

  “I hope so too. Why don’t you start at the beginning? Tell us what happened,” Midas said. He glanced back at me, and I scribbled in the notebook. “Have others reported any sightings here at the museum? Anything unusual?”

  “Goodness, yes, but I never took those things seriously. Naturally, when you’re surrounded by the past, it puts people in a romantic mood. I always say that being here is like stepping back in time, but as far as I know, we’ve never kept any records of reports. I think the thing we hear the most commonly is that piano music plays when no one is here. One volunteer told me that the Marianne statue watched her.” Patricia shook her head in disbelief. “I guess we should begin upstairs. That’s where I left Carl, in the new exhibit.” We crossed the black and white checkerboard floor and walked up the stairs to the top floor. “This entire level is dedicated to the new exhibit.” She flipped on the lights, and the sight took my breath away. In the center of the room, there was a half a ship. A sign gave some information about the original ship, the Pelican, an eighteenth-century passenger vessel. This was obviously a reproduction.

  Oh my God! That’s Gabrielle’s ship! I smothered a gasp and stood staring at it like it was a ghost. Midas gave me a puzzled look, but I didn’t offer any explanation. It was a thing of beauty. Even Midas paused to check it out. It was like something out of a pirate movie. Yes, this would be a romantic setting if you didn’t know that Gabrielle’s poppa had been thrown over the side, along with a living girl. There were four benches around the ship, and lining the walls were dozens of display cases filled with artifacts from the same time period. I wanted to go check every one of them out, but I had a job to do. I jotted down the ship’s name just for show, since I sure as heck would never forget it. I followed Patricia and Midas around the room and reminded myself to behave like a professional. “My stepfather put all this together; I can’t tell you how many hours of work this represents. Many of the pieces he borrowed from as far away as Canada; there was a very large Arcadian presence there. We have tool replicas, copies of comparable ship logs, reproduction clothing, there’s just so much.” We traveled to the far wall, and Patricia pointed to the half-open case. “This was where Carl was working when I left.”

  Midas studied the contents and asked her, “What can you tell us about these particular artifacts? Are they related to the ship?”

  “We have no idea who they belong to, but they are dated to the right period. These beads and that comb are all from the early 1700s. That’s the French colonial period. This comb, Carl had this with him. He gave it back to me while we were at the hospital.” She picked it up and handed it to Midas, who studied it carefully.

  “Cassidy, let’s get pictures of this, if that’s okay, Patricia?”

  “Yes, that would be fine. These are not on consignment. We…these belong to our museum.”

  I’d forgotten my phone, so Midas handed me his. I began snapping away and forwarding the pictures to Sierra’s mailbox along with a quick message. Sierra was our resident historian and research expert. I wondered why Midas didn’t ask her along today. Not that I wasn’t happy to be here.

  Gosh, this place has a strange, sad vibe to it. Maybe because I know how all too real this is. Gabrielle, are you here?

  “So weird that he would have carried it down to the storage room with him. It’s not like him to remove items from an exhibit and tuck them in his pocket.”

  “That’s where he saw the apparition? In the storage room?”

  “Yes, it is. I’ll show you where exactly.”

  As we walked back downstairs, Patricia paused to turn off the lights. I lingered on the top step. I swear I heard the ship creaking, just like it would if it were on water. Nothing else happened, and I scurried after Midas and Patricia. We traveled to the foyer again and passed through the courtyard. In the center of the space was a huge bronze statue; the nameplate described her as Marianne, the Goddess of Liberty.

  “She’s quite beautiful, isn’t she?” Patricia asked as we walked around her.

  I wanted to say, “Not so much,” but I smiled and nodded. Ugh, I didn’t care for statues. Or mannequins. Or dolls. Strangely enough, I did enjoy sculptures. I glanced over my shoulder as we cleared the courtyard. I
could see why the volunteer didn’t like that thing. I didn’t like it either. Gosh, get a hold of yourself, Cassidy! Think practically. How in the world did they get that monstrosity in here?

  “Through here are three storerooms. Carl went looking for the breaker box. It’s just through there, in that far room.” She flipped on the lights, but I could see she wasn’t excited about heading in there. She didn’t let that stop her, though, walking quickly through the first storeroom and then into the next two connecting rooms. Yes, this was an odd setup.

  We walked to the last room, and I looked around for clues as Midas continued his interview. Accessing my boyfriend’s EMF app, I swept the corner near the breaker box to get a feel for the room. Yep, it was pretty high, but only when you got right on top of it. “What happened next?” I heard Midas ask.

  Patricia tucked her hands in her jacket pockets and shifted in her shoes. She was definitely not comfortable with this line of questioning, but I didn’t detect anything dishonest. “Carl says he opened the breaker box and then felt breathing on his neck. When he turned around, a black figure was hovering behind him. He couldn’t see her clearly, but he got the impression it was female. The thing screamed at him and then vanished. He took off running in the dark and at some point ran into a wall, I think the one that leads into the courtyard. He says he woke up sometime after and crawled to the front door but passed out again. That’s where Tina found him the following morning.”

  “That sounds terrifying. Have you personally had any experiences down here?” I asked as I tucked Midas’ phone back in my pocket.

  “Nothing like Carl described, not at all, but I can tell you I don’t enjoy coming back here. I feel like someone is watching me. I know that makes no sense at all.”

  “That’s a common feeling in some spaces, especially when EMF levels are high,” Midas said as he walked to the box. “Probably pretty high right here.”

  “Yep, up in the twenties,” I confirmed.

  “What does that mean?”

  “High electromagnetic field. It can be found near electrical lines, and it affects some people in strange ways. High EMF can lead to feelings of apprehension, of being watched and lots of other things. Is that all that you know of that happened in here?”

  “Yes. Can we step out now?” Patricia rubbed her sleeves like she was uncomfortably cold.

  “Sure,” Midas said, and we headed back to the courtyard. I didn’t like this area any better than the storerooms, but it didn’t seem to bother Midas or Patricia. “There’s one more thing I should probably tell you. Deter went a little mad before he died. I hate saying that, but it’s the truth. He had Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, a type of dementia that debilitates quickly and, like all such diseases, unmercifully. Deter did odd things in the weeks before he passed. His office closet, you need to take a look at that. I can’t explain the graffiti. And he hid some of the artifacts from the exhibit in his desk. In fact, the comb that Carl had in his pocket had a note with it when we discovered it. I think you should see the note.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled bit of paper. “I wasn’t sure if I wanted to show you this, but I think I should.”

  “Deter wrote this?” I asked as I read it with Midas.

  “Yes, that’s his handwriting,” she said. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  These things cannot be allowed to see the light of day. You’ll thank me one day, Carl. Keep these things in the dark, put them away! Forget you ever saw them!

  I wish that I could. She haunts me now…

  “Patricia, we don’t want to bring you more discomfort, but I think we need to look in that closet. It is possible your late friend was trying to tell you something. Maybe he just didn’t have the right words.”

  She dug her hands in her jacket pockets again and sighed. “I guess that would be all right. I had planned to paint that closet but for some reason couldn’t do it. It might not help you anyway.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because the graffiti is in French.”

  Chapter Six—Gabrielle

  For two days the Pelican slung us up and down on the raging sea. Waiting for the storm to abate set everyone’s nerves on edge except mine. Although I hungered for fresh fruit, the idea of leaving the ship worried me. I would never be as close to Poppa as I was right now on this ship. I still hoped I would die so that I might be permitted to join him, but it was not to be. Unlike others, I had not been sick a day. Poppa was out there somewhere rolling under the waves, alongside little Claudette.

  Oh, Claudette. Forgive me that I could not help you. I know you moved!

  I saw Dead Claudette almost every night now; she came to me while the others slept. She did not walk on tiptoe or twirl about as she so enjoyed doing when she lived. She had no ribbons in her hair, no smile on her face. It was as if she had become something else—death’s creature, perhaps—with her hair plastered to her face and deathly pale neck. She slid across the room without showing her tiny feet; I could no longer see them. Claudette never spoke, but sometimes she opened her mouth and water gushed forth.

  At first, I told myself this was a dream, a nightmare! But then Jean or some other would wake me up and find the floor wet. Naturally, they all blamed me. But how did they think I managed to do such a thing? Dead Claudette watched me with her dead eyes, waiting for her revenge. Waiting for justice. I whispered the prayer that brought me the most comfort. I prayed it many, many times to keep her at bay. She would eventually leave, either through the power of my prayers or to escape the first light of the sun. All I had to do was endure.

  Our Father, who art in heaven…

  When the storm calmed and the seas stilled, everyone rushed to the deck. Even the Sisters of Charity were uneasy at the bleak sight of the primitive harbor. From the soaked deck, the small, white island didn’t impress those who waited to see their new home; many demanded that LeMoyne, our captain and the leader of the new colony, explain what this meant.

  “Where are the buildings?” Etienne Burel, an older man with a son, daughter, wife and two servants aboard demanded. “We’re not carpenters, sir, we’re bakers. What is the meaning of this, LeMoyne?”

  I clutched Jean’s hand as we listened to LeMoyne (who could be charming when he wanted to be, like now) assure everyone that there was indeed a finished fort, as promised, a few miles upriver. We would anchor in the harbor, rest for a day and then slowly make our way up the river to the awaiting settlement. Most everyone seemed satisfied with that answer, except Jean, but my elegant friend discreetly continued her questioning of LeMoyne in private and in English after the crowd dispersed. She didn’t approve of his explanation, that I could clearly see, but I didn’t understand her objections. Whatever they were, she didn’t share them with me. All she would say was, “You stay close to me, Gabrielle. Where I go, you go. Do you understand? You are not to be alone with any man.”

  “Yes, I understand. I will be alone with no one.” Her tone frightened me and I told her so, but she was not any more forthcoming. We went below deck to prepare for disembarking. We tidied one another’s hair and did the best we could to clean our clothing.

  The following day, Jean and I watched from the deck as the ship eased into the harbor of what we learned was called Massacre Island. The name shocked me, and my imagination ran wild. Surely something horrible had happened here. Jean nudged me onward; thanks to her status, we were among the first to go ashore. Dead Claudette hovered behind me, but no one else saw her. Except maybe Huve. He watched me with great interest, but I looked away.

  Jean’s words came back to me: “You are not to be alone with any man.” Waiting for us at the dock of this forlorn place was a ragtag group of men, unshaven, sloppily dressed and clearly not all Frenchmen. The men stared at us as if they had never seen a proper French woman before. Jean’s instruction to me was, “Ignore them,” and we carefully made our way down the gangplank.

  “Jean,” I whispered, “I do not like this place. I do not like the
se men.”

  “Chin up,” she whispered back as she clutched my hand protectively. She did not cower like some of the other Lottery winners but met her challenge bravely. Taking inspiration from her, I did the same but did not meet anyone’s gaze.

  LeMoyne walked in front of us, and various men shook his hand and welcomed his return. I knew many women thought LeMoyne handsome, but he was a married man and quite short. Among the welcome party were men of all colors, one very dark with even darker eyes. He walked with LeMoyne and smoked a colorful pipe. They spoke in a strange language that sounded rough and broken. A woman with long straight hair and a narrow nose spoke to me in the same language, which I did not understand. She touched my dress ever so lightly, and her touch frightened me even though she was not at all threatening. I did not like to be touched. Jean tugged me closer and cast a disapproving eye at the woman. We were hustled across the white sand and led to a long narrow building. There were five such buildings, and we were expected to house ourselves here. I thought we were going to the fort, but we would apparently not do so right away.

  Not another prison! And to think, I would have stayed aboard the Pelican if they had let me. Poppa, do not forget me!

  I glanced behind me and was happy to see not Dead Claudette but the other passengers streaming behind us. The Burels, the other Gabrielle—Gabrielle Savarit—and her cousin, Nicholas. But were they cousins? Jean did not believe that. They are too intimate to be cousins…she had whispered in an officious, knowing voice.

  We were ushered into the building; I did not know where LeMoyne and the men had gone, but the single women were slowly assembling into various houses. There were only makeshift pallets and no beds, but at least there was food and water. At least the ground did not roll under my feet. “Please, rest,” the dark-skinned woman said. “I help you prepare for your journeying tomorrow. Now, you must change.”