Black Opal (2 page)

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The man exhaled in my face, and the foul odor shot up my nose. Rotted teeth and some kind of alcohol. Fuck being polite. I shoved him away from me. He went willingly enough but only a few feet.

“You see ‘em, don’t you? The dead, I mean.” He swayed like someone who just got off a train or a boat.

My mouth went dry. The madness in this man’s eyes could well be from seeing the other side. My life’s fear was going mad, maybe losing myself to drugs or drink, and becoming like this trembling, incoherent creature in front of me.

“Trey?” The voice came from shadows created by a small copse of trees next to the parking area. I squinted into the gloom, heart pounding, praying this weird little man hadn’t brought the wrath of some crazy ghost down on me.

Trey backed away from me, glancing furtively in the direction of the voice. Its owner’s footsteps crunched in the litter of branches, leaves, and uprooted vegetation, the shadows playing over his face until he was upon us. I had to crane my neck to look up at him, and almost gasped at his beauty.

There are good-looking men, and there are beautiful men. This guy was one of the latter. Tall, lean, and tawny skinned, his square jaw framed high cheekbones. Dirty blond hair set off bright aqua eyes. He walked at a languid pace, as though daring anything or anybody to ask him to hurry. When he reached Trey, he gripped the shorter man’s arm and yanked him away from me.

“Why are you bothering visitors?” His accent played like music, educated but full of drawn out syllables and soft consonants. Like the gas station attendant’s, only more toe curling. “You get on back to the barn where you belong now.”

Trey lowered his head and scurried away. Gorgeous and I stared at each other. My heart belonged to Dean, but I’d have to be blind…hell, dead not to appreciate this guy.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said. It was all I could do not to curtsy.

“I hate to admit it, but he scared me.” Just those few words had a coquettish lilt to them. Ugh. I liked ‘em pretty, but this was ridiculous. Even for me.

“Don’t mind him. He’s not right in the head,” Gorgeous said. “You here to see someone?”

“Dean Turgeau?” I heard the question mark after Dean’s name and winced. I sounded like a flirty southern belle out for a hot afternoon with a gentlemanly stranger.

“Just go right on up to the house, ma’am. They’ll help you find him.” Gorgeous half-waved and disappeared back into shadowy trees.

I bet his family owned this place, and he supervised the workers. He had that air about him, the gentleman son of old money. Had he stayed to chat, I suspect I’d have made a fool of myself. One more gander at the imposing house, and I shook off my thoughts and marched up to the front door. I couldn’t tell where my huff over the receipt ended and my dread of encountering the mansion’s inhabitants began.

I punched the doorbell and heard a loud gong in the house. Quickly—so quickly I assumed the woman who answered must have been standing on the other side—the door swung open. The middle-aged woman wore an old-fashioned black and white maid’s uniform. I gaped, never having seen one outside television. She stood in the doorway, a mildly inquiring expression on her face.

“Help you?” She didn’t bother to smile.
Goody. This was going just as I thought.
I wondered how to address her. She looked young to be Dean’s mother, but I couldn’t think fast enough to figure out who else she might be.

“Mrs. Turgeau?”

The woman tried to hold in her laugher. That just made it escape in snickers and snorts. Heat burned my cheeks, and I didn’t need a mirror to know my head looked like an extra large cherry with black hair. The woman took in my embarrassment and clapped her hands over her mouth. I considered making a run for it.

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Glancing over my shoulder at the blacktopped parking lot and my car, I calculated the number of seconds it would take to reach it and how many steps I’d have to take before I could no longer see the woman’s amusement. That held highest priority. It reminded me too much of my school years.

A voice came from within the house, “Nadine, who’s at the door? If it’s Father Reilly, send him back.”

Nadine took her hand off her mouth to speak. “No, ma’am. I think it’s for you.”

“Fine,” the voice said, “I’ll be out in a moment. Show them into the foyer and close the door before the house fills with bugs.”

Throughout this exchange, my mortification intensified. I knew whatever was about to happen would end with me looking like the biggest idiot in the world.

Nadine looked me up and down. For the first time since I chose my traveling clothes, I became aware of the faded t-shirt with the crusty rock band emblem still clinging to it and the cut-off blue jean shorts I wore. She muttered under her breath, but loud enough for me to hear, “Unbelievable. Come on in.”

The tap-tap of high heels rang on the pinkish marble floor. From the sound of it, more than one person was on the way to greet me.

A woman who could have been on the cover of a magazine entered first. She wore her shining dark hair long and in a style that must have taken hours and required complex tools to create. Her makeup was one of those complicated jobs designed to make her look younger, with very light colors surrounding her eyes. She took one look at me, wrinkled her nose and quickly covered it with a ‘possum grin.

An older woman sauntered into the foyer behind her, and I suddenly understood what amused Nadine the maid so much. It only took one glance to know this was Dean’s mother or a very close relative.
What next, universe?
The oval face, the straight bridge of her nose, the full lips, and dimpled chin resembled Dean so strongly, it was eerie. This woman walked at a pace saying she didn’t have to hurry for anybody. Diamonds and rubies twinkled at both ears and at her throat. She glanced at Nadine, who still giggled with her hand over her mouth, and cocked her head to one side. Even her demeanor was Dean at his haughtiest.

Oh lordy, Peri. Just what have you gotten yourself into this time?

“This must be Dean’s girlfriend we’ve all been waiting on. She thought I was you. ” Nadine chuckled again but, when she saw Mrs. Turgeau did not share her amusement, she cut it off.

Dean’s girlfriend? Were they expecting me?
The lady of the manor continued to stare at Nadine, her face still and impassive, until Nadine scurried out of the room. Then she walked toward me, a smile curving her lips and crinkling her eyes. Also like Dean, she seemed to switch emotions on a dime. She held out her hand. My heart thudded so hard, I worried it might jump out of my mouth if I spoke. I kept my lips firmly sealed just in case.

“You must be Peri. Your grandmother called Dean and told him to expect you. I’m Julienne Turgeau, Dean’s mother.” We shook. I could do no more than gulp and nod.

A college-aged woman wearing a sweat-ringed tank top and running shorts sped into the room, her eyes comically wide. Her workout shoes squeaked as she came to a sudden stop on the marble floor. She studied me from my canvas lace-up shoes to my short pixie cut. Her lips, a feminine version of Dean’s, curved into a smile, and she stuck out her hand.

“I’m Maddy—Madeleine, that is—Dean’s baby sister.”

“Peri. Dean’s girlfriend.” I couldn’t help but return her smile as I gripped her sweaty hand in a brief handshake.

The other woman, who I guessed was another of Dean’s sisters by her age, stepped forward and held out her hand. “I am Lisette David-Turgeau-Carter. I was Dean’s wife for about fifteen years.”

Every cigarette I smoked on the trip picked that moment to make me gag and cough. The receipt from Five Sixty in Dallas flashed in my memory, and things clicked into place. Taking a bath in buffalo doo doo would have had more appeal than living through the next few minutes.

2

Ten minutes later, we entered what Dean’s mother called the parlor. The air smelled like polished wood and antiques and money. The little details, like the faux columns set into the walls adorned with elaborate carvings, highlighted the differences between this world and mine back in Gaslight City, Texas.

I couldn’t help but stare at the fancy trim running around the edges of the high ceiling. It reminded me of tiers on a high-dollar wedding cake. Nadine, who gave me a sideways glance, set a silver tea set on a Queen Anne style tea table.
Screw style.
I bet that table is the real deal and worth thousands of dollars.

The more I took in all the details, the more hurt and scared I felt.
Did Dean just forget to tell me about all this? My ass he did.
As usual, my hurt and fear defaulted to satisfying, blistering anger. I’d only thought myself angry about the receipt. Dean’s omission of this place and the people in it infuriated me.

Movement outside the open door caught my eye, and I stared at the area, halfway expecting yet another relative to join us. The stained glass window from which the hallway got most of its light cast the area in a surreal, funhouse glow. About the time I decided I’d seen nothing, something flashed through the area again. I opened my second sight in time to glimpse the girl I’d seen on the road. The one who had been in a scuffle.

This close, she gave off a feeling I knew well. The hair on my arms raised, and I suppressed a shiver. It hadn’t taken long at all for the dead to find me.
Great. Just great.
If my luck held, these people would find out I see ghosts and ostracize me just like people have all my life.
Realizing my worries had taken on a fever pitch, I forced them to a stop, focused on the living occupants of the room, and took deep breaths.

Dean’s ex-wife and his sister settled down on a Victorian courting couch.
Bet it’s original to the house.

Looking at Lisette, I believed more than ever she’d shared an elegant meal with him in the revolving restaurant atop Reunion Tower in Dallas. There was no way I could compete with her creamy, unmarred skin, her shining, expensively styled hair, or her sophisticated outfit. My cuteness was a honky-tonk guitar to her symphony of beauty. She held my eyes with an expression I couldn’t quite decipher.

“You sit right here next to me, Peri,” Mrs. Turgeau patted the spot next to her on an expensively upholstered love seat. I ran my hand over the fabric, feeling the bumps of the raised floral pattern.
Please don’t let me spill anything
.

Mrs. Turgeau and the ex-wife each took a treat and nibbled daintily. The sister waved the treats away with a smile. I resisted the urge to grab huge handfuls and shove them into my mouth just to be obnoxious. I needed to do something to feel in control of the situation, so I started running my mouth.

“Your home is amazing.” I twisted in my seat to peer at a Tiffany lamp on the end table. I stopped when I realized they all watched me, eyebrows raised, with varying degrees of curiosity in their eyes. “Is this the Venetian pattern?”

Dean’s ex-wife leaned forward
.
“Very good. I can never keep all the patterns straight.”

She surprised me. If she was seeing Dean, wouldn’t she act catty and jealous?

“That one dates back to the 1920s,” Julienne said. “My grandmother, Fayette, purchased it. Do you know Tiffany lamps?”

“Only a little. Sometimes I fill in at an antique store. I hear the names of stuff, but I’ve never owned any of it myself.”

Dean’s ex nodded in understanding even though she looked like she had a houseful of Tiffany lamps.

“This home has been in my family since 1825,” Julienne Turgeau said with a smile she probably intended to put me at ease. It only made my guts grind tighter. “I don’t know if I’d own half the items in it had they not been hand-me-downs.”

“Did you see them in concert?” Dean’s sister spoke for the first time since she introduced herself, gesturing at my t-shirt.

“A long time ago.” We exchanged smiles. “They were good.”

“Dean and I went to see them once.” Lisette’s voice sounded soft, cultured. It reminded me of the man I met in the parking lot. I started to ask about him, but once Dean’s ex got talking, it seemed like she couldn’t shut up. “We were living in Florida. Dean was in law school, and I was trying to get pregnant.”

Law school? Pregnant? Holy feral cats.
For the first time, I felt the weight of Dean’s and my ten-year age difference. He’d lived a whole life while I grew up. Suppressing a gulp, I took a deep breath and hoped my shock didn’t show on my face.

Madeleine took one look at me and winced. “I wanted you to join me and Dean in Dallas for dinner on my birthday, but he said you had something else going on.” She gave me a small smile, making me think she’d changed subject on purpose.

“Where’d y’all go?” I tried to keep my voice even, but my whirling thoughts made it difficult.

“Five Sixty. It’s at the top of Reunion Tower. They have Asian food.” She grinned. “Dean bought me champagne.”

Oh no.
My nervousness morphed into relief, then embarrassment, and back into nervousness. I clutched my stomach, trying to keep the stampede inside. I couldn’t even formulate an answer. I’d driven three hundred miles, found out things about Dean I wished I didn’t know, and it was all over me jumping to conclusions.
At least I’ve got a legitimate reason to be here. Sort of.

###

“It’s very nice of you to hand deliver my son’s wallet,” Julienne Turgeau crossed her legs and straightened her light blue pantsuit. The suit and coordinating shoes matched the eye color she shared with her son. She gave me another kind smile and the barest of winks.
Did she somehow know I came here to give Dean the what-for? How mortifying.

I acknowledged her thanks with a nod. “Dean was upset about it.”

Julienne nodded and took a sip of her tea. “My younger son takes life very, very seriously.”

We shared a smile. My mood lightened a bit…until Dean’s ex piped up. “Dean got that way after our divorce. He used to be really fun.”

I ignored Lisette and spoke directly to Julienne. “Where is Dean?”

Lisette narrowed her eyes at me, her nostrils flaring. Now that I knew Dean’s dinner at Five Sixty was a birthday present to his sister, I wondered what the hell his ex-wife was doing here.