Harrison Investigations 2 Ghost Walk (14 page)

"I'm seeing dead people."

"Do you want to give me a few details?"

She waved a hand in the air. "Ghosts."

"Have you always seen ghosts?" he asked, not blinking.

She smiled, lowering her head. "Only since my friend died. Or maybe right before she died."

"Why don't you tell me the story from the beginning."

She did, and he paid rapt attention, his expression grave. He took notes.

When she had explained it all—starting with the man in the café and ending with her recent shock at the police station—he quit writing and waited.

"That's it," she said.

"Do you really believe in ghosts?" he asked.

"I must—I'm seeing them now."

His smile deepened. "But you didn't—before all this?"

"Um… no."

"Even though you give ghost tours for a living?"

"I've always had a… sense, I guess you'd call it."

"A sense?"

She waved a hand vaguely in the air. "I don't know how to explain it. When… I'm in certain places, I can feel past events… even see something like a mist."

"Aha." He started to write.

"No, it's not an aha!" Nikki protested. "I've never actually seen a ghost before, and sure as hell, one never talked to me before."

"Someone important to you died tragically," he reminded her softly.

"Yes."

"Well, the mind is far more incredible than any computer. You might have imagined your dream, you see. It might have been implanted when you heard what happened, or even when the policeman came up to you. Take déjà vu for instance. We go somewhere, and we know we've never been there, but it's familiar. So… were we there in another lifetime? Or has the brain given us a memory that doesn't exist?"

"You're asking me?" Nikki said.

"I'm giving you suggestions. When someone close to us is killed, mere's often a matter of guilt. Survivor's guilt, it's called. She's dead, I'm not."

"But I don't feel guilty. I don't feel that I should be dead. I'm horrified that Andy died, and I'm angry. I'm furious that someone could do that to her."

At that point, he looked at his watch.

The sigh he gave then was everything she would have imagined, as were his next words.

"I'm afraid we're out of time. You might want to think about the things I've said. And schedule an appointment for next week with my secretary. Do you want something to help you sleep?"

"Pills?"

"Yes."

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive, thank you."

"Then we'll meet again. And we'll get to the bottom of this," he assured her cheerfully.

"So… I'm not exactly… crazy?" she asked pleasantly.

"The mind, as I said, is incredible. You've been through a terrible trauma. You want answers. You want an explanation for how something so terrible happened. There could be many reasons."

"Maybe ghosts really exist," she suggested.

"In our minds, of course they do. When we love someone and lose them, they're always with us, in a way."

"I don't love a stranger I never saw before," Nikki said.

"No… but the memory of having seen him not long before Andy's death might be confusing the picture."

"A logical explanation for everything," Nikki murmured.

"It can take some time to get all the ghosts out of our minds," he said, glancing at his watch again.

Nikki rose. "Thanks," she managed to say.

Julian was pacing the waiting room when she came out. He rushed quickly to her side. "Well? Do you feel better?"

"No, not really."

"Did he say you were having delusions or… well, what the hell did he say?"

"He didn't call me crazy. He talked about the mind playing tricks, and how I might be dealing with survivor's guilt."

"There you go."

"Right—and that explains why I saw a dead
man
? I still don't even know who he is—only that the guy who showed up at the right time showed me a picture of him. I'm hungry. Let's get something to eat."

"Nikki, you
are
going to see the doctor again, right?" He sighed. "You need help."

"Sure. I'll see him again. Can we eat?"

A little later, over po'boys at Madame D'Orso's, Julian said, "Maybe you should take some time off."

"Why?" she demanded, staring at him.

"Well, we actually do ghost tours, no matter what we call them."

"We talk about history, and history includes the superstitions and rumors that have sprung up through the years."

"Yes, but don't you think that may be bad for you right now?"

"No!"

He sighed, sitting back. "Well, you're on for the eight o'clock tour tonight. You sure you're up to it?"

"Of course. Who's on with me?"

"Me. We can rotate, you know. I can lead the tour."

She smiled, shaking her head. "I'm not going to let the monster who did this to Andrea ruin
my
life, as well."

Julian was silent.

"What?" she demanded.

"No, I still think… maybe you should take a vacation."

"I can't take a vacation. We just lost a guide, remember? And everyone else was shaken up, too."

He leaned forward, speaking softly. "The rest of us aren't seeing ghosts, Nikki. And Max could get his ass back from wherever he is to help out."

"I'm fine," she insisted.

They were seated in the courtyard, and Nikki wasn't surprised when Madame came out with more coffee, pausing to fill her cup.

"You doing okay, Nikki?"

"Yes, thanks, Madame."

"No, she's not doing okay at all," Julian said.

Nikki kicked him under the table.

"She's seeing ghosts," Julian said, grimacing and rubbing his shin.

"Ghosts?" Madame said, not appearing shocked, just concerned.

"Andy comes and talks to her at night."

"Julian!" Nikki could have kicked him again.

"Oh, Nikki," Madame said with soft sympathy. "This has been really hard on you, huh?"

She sighed. "I'm not ill, guys. I'll be fine."

"Well, you know I'm here for you, Nikki, if you need me," Madame said. She glared at Julian. "Sometimes… well, grief and trauma can do strange things. Anytime you need to talk, you just come to me."

"You going into palm reading, picking up the tarot, Madame?" Julian asked.

She scowled at him. "What Nikki doesn't need is for her friends to make fun of her."

"Ouch. Sorry," Julian said.

Madame gave him a superior stare and moved on to the next table.

"I'm going to strangle you," Nikki hissed to him.

"Well, sorry, but you
are
seeing ghosts."

"It's not something we need to share. Not till I know what's really going on."

"So you admit you may not really be seeing ghosts?"

She groaned. "Julian, I'm seeing them. Whether that means that ghosts exist or that I'm losing my mind, I'm not sure. The point is, one way or another, I'd rather not share my state of confusion with the world."

"Sorry… sorry," he murmured quickly. "I just thought that if I said it out loud like that, it would make you… well, make you see that it's kind of crazy."

She glanced at her watch. "Meeting here, in ten minutes."

"Ten minutes?"

"It's almost three."

"Wow, the day just kind of went, huh?"

"Time flies when you're talking to the cops, thinking you've seen dead men walking around and explaining it all to a shrink," she assured him.

"Hey, you know what we didn't do?" Julian said.

"What?"

"Get the real lowdown on that guy… Tommyhawk or whatever."

"Blackhawk."

"Yeah, yeah… he came up with that picture, you recognized it, we were told the guy was dead… and you freaked."

"I didn't freak."

"You did."

"All right, all right, so?"

"So we didn't really find out anything about him, either. The dead guy or Blackhawk. We really should find out everything there is to find out about both of them. The entire story about the dead guy." He looked around, as if he was suddenly afraid of being overheard. "Okay, point one. You may suddenly have the ability to see ghosts. Point two—my personal choice—the mind
does
play tricks. Because there's something in your mind that can't quite get to the front burner but should."

"What does that mean?" Nikki demanded.

"Maybe you know something. Something you shouldn't know. And Andy knew it, too. Maybe you and Andy knew something that had to do with the guy at Madame D'Orso's."

"The dead guy?"

"Yes, except maybe he wasn't dead when you saw him the first time." He leaned closer still, a tone in his voice that sent tremors down her spine. "Maybe he said something, maybe there was something about him… and Andy died because of it. And that… well, that wouldn't be good news for you."

Nikki sat back, staring at Julian in horror. "What on earth are you saying?"

Julian apparently realizing mat he'd really frightened her, sat back himself. "Nothing… nothing! I don't know."

"Dammit, Julian… You're scaring me big-time."

"I don't want to scare you. I want you to be careful. Beyond careful. Until the cops get… whoever. What I'm saying is that we need to understand what's going on around here. Oh, what the hell do I know? I'm just a storyteller."

"But still… "

"But still, we have to keep living, breathing—working. Making our lives normal, right? And look, here come the lovebirds, right on time. Right now we've got to get on with the meeting."

He stood. Nikki could see Patricia and Nathan coming their way, both carrying cups of coffee.

She forced a smile, still plagued with goose bumps.

So Julian thought that she knew something.

What?

All she had done was give a guy twenty bucks. A guy who had wound up dead.
And she was really seeing ghosts
.

 

Though he was feeling increasingly curious about Nikki DuMonde, Brent decided his best use of the early afternoon would be a few hours spent in the local library.

He wondered why he hadn't thought to come here before. Maybe he had just considered old Huey to be something of a whiner.

Growing up with a Lakota heritage had taught him a lot about bitterness and chips on the shoulder, but the past was just that—the past—and now people needed to focus on entering the twenty-first century, reaping the benefits of progress and technology, without losing sight of a heritage that was something precious, something to be preserved.

In Huey's case, though, he had lived in the past. His tormentor had a name. He should have looked into Huey's situation before this; he owed it to the old ghost.

Property records had been computerized by some wondrous soul, and once he had homed in on the right records using the family name, Brent had little difficulty finding Huey's sadistic master.

Archibald McManus.

Apparently old Archibald had inherited the plantation from his father, who had worked hard to bring the property along. He'd married three times, and his wives had not fared well, either, each of them dying within a few years of her marriage. Each marriage had produced a single child.