The Book of Eleanor (12 page)

My thoughts raced as frantically as my heart. Mary’s hair had been shorter, her face not as narrow. I tried to picture the woman again. Her eyes, milky white in the centers, had been outlined in black. A shudder raced through me as I saw those eyes once more in my mind. Pushing the image away, I allowed my gaze to roam the room while my heart slowed and I could breathe again. I remained standing in my protected stance, however.

Obviously, this building was haunted. I still believed it was Mary, wanted it to be her. But what if it wasn’t? I wondered suddenly if there was a history of haunting here. I mean with a cemetery so close…suppose Ruetta knew about the ghost? If so, why hadn’t Maddy warned me? And the most important question: would this unknown spirit really hurt me or Oscar Marie?

“Wow, that’s weird,” I said, tucking my order pad back into my apron pocket.

“We don’t usually have storms this early in the year,” Cosgrove said.

I turned my gaze from the television mounted high on the wall above the bar and examined him. He looked good today, dressed uncharacteristically in a suit and tie with his balding pate hatless and what remained of his hair combed neatly. I hadn’t had a chance to say hello to him this morning because Gail was working the bar.

“Look at you, all dressed up! What’s going on?” I asked.

“Oh, gotta speak to the gang today.” His already ruddy skin darkened a bit. “They require it. Trying to better themselves, I guess.”

I smiled. Cosgrove was on the board of the Port Isabel Fisherman’s Collective, a group dedicated to improving the plight of the local shrimpers and commercial fishermen. They also did a lot of solid charitable work. An idea popped into my head.

“So what projects do you guys have going on over there right now?” I took his discarded breakfast plate and moved to the back of the bar to place it in one of the bus bins.

He shrugged and took another swig of his coffee. “Nothing right now. We finished everything from last year and our new projects start next month with our fiscal year. Why?”

I took a quick glance at the three tables of diners I was caring for today. Seeing that they seemed content, I briefly explained the SPICEY dilemma to him.

“Man, Ange, that’s just harsh,” he said sympathetically with a grimace on his weathered, but newly shaven face. He paused to think. “You know, we probably can’t save the building, but we might be able to do some fundraising to get you guys settled someplace else. I’ll see what I can do. Maybe someone today will know of an empty place. I’ll ask around.”

“Oh, man, you are too cool. Thank you,” I told him. I wanted to sweep around the bar and give him a big hug, but for some reason I was feeling a bit raw today so I held back.

“No problem, kiddo.” He motioned toward the television with his cup. “What’s the deal with the weather?”

I glanced up and saw that the national weather of the morning talk show had been replaced by news commentary. “Looks like it’s coming from the west. They’re not sure how low it will dip down though.” I grabbed the coffee carafe and refilled his cup, wondering what had happened to Gail.

“You remember that one about four years ago? Took down trees, that one did, and that was nigh onto the end of March.”

I laughed, remembering the scary time. “Do I ever. I thought we were going to have a restaurant full of spring breakers sleeping on the floor here.”

“And me too,” Sanchez piped up, lifting her face from the Tamaulipas newspaper she had been reading. “There was no way I was driving home in that mess.”

“Oh, right, flooding on the island. I remember that.” Cosgrove added sugar to his cup. “I sure hope we don’t have that craziness again.”

“What craziness?” asked Ernie Henson as he took a barstool next to Cosgrove.

The two men shook hands. Ernie waved politely to Sanchez.

“Storm coming,” Cosgrove explained. “Early.”

“Coffee, Ernie?” I held up a mug. At his nod, I placed the mug in front of him and filled it. I pushed the bowl of individual creamers and the sugar toward him, and then leaned over to freshen Anna’s cup.

“Wheat toast and two scrambled,” he said.

I jotted it down on the back of my pad as I went into the kitchen to find Gail.

I found Gail and Mama huddled around the toaster-sized kitchen television.

“What in the world are ya’ll doing?” I asked.

“Storm’s coming,” Gail said.

“Yeah, I saw,” I said. “Listen, you have four at the bar now. Ernie just came in.” I turned to Mama. “Wheat and two scrambled,” I told her before heading out to take care of my tables.

I was checking out the last of the morning rush when Grey stepped into the restaurant. I was so happy to see her! I rushed forward and hugged her close, and that was when I realized how terrified she was. I pulled back and examined her. She looked as though she hadn’t slept in days. Dark circles had taken up residence right below those beautiful green eyes.

“What in the world?” I asked. I pulled her into a side alcove before she could answer and placed her carefully in one of the chairs. “Stay here.” I ordered.

I moved behind the bar and stuck my head into the kitchen. “I’m on break, Mama,” I said. “No tables and Gail’s got the bar.”

I asked Gail to watch for new customers as I poured out two cups of coffee and dropped a handful of creamers into my apron pocket.

Grey was where I had left her, her chin in her palm, looking waiflike in her misery.

“Here,” I said setting the coffee before her. “Basics first.”

I slid into the chair opposite her and slammed the handful of creamer on the table. The little plastic canisters rolled. Grey caught one before it rolled off the table.

“I always get the best service when I come here,” she joked.

I made a face at her and sipped my coffee black, enjoying the mellowness after Mama’s penchant for harsh chicory coffee when I was growing up. “So what’s going on?”

“I need you to come stay with me.”

I lifted my eyebrows in surprise and swallowed a mouthful of coffee.

She sighed and closed her eyes. “Wait. Let me do that again. I was just talking to Maddy and she says you’re like a…a psychic for hire, right?”

I nodded slowly, totally bemused by the conversation.

“Well, I want to hire you.” She poured a trio of creamers into her coffee. Unwrapping a setup, she stirred diligently with a spoon and placed the paper napkin daintily in her lap.

“Hire me?” This wasn’t exactly what I had envisioned.

“Yes, and I don’t care what it costs.”

A flare went off in my mind. I thought of what it would cost to pay for the security deposit on a new facility for the SPICEY. Maybe this was the answer come knocking.

“Well, why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

I saw dawn creep into my bedroom with jaundiced eyes. I had tried to sleep, tried hard, but every time I closed my eyes and drifted off, I would hear the voice talking to me. Sometimes the female voice whispered endearments which warmed me. Other times, she wept as if her heart were breaking. I answered back, but it seemed like Mary—or whoever the ghost was—just ignored me.

I’d left my bedroom lamp on to allay my fear. Poor Oscar Marie huddled next to me, her eyes wide as activity whirled around us. Once I nodded off, but was jerked to full awareness when
Abandoned
, that ever prevalent book of poems, dropped on my blanketed feet. I waited a few cautious minutes before quickly retrieving it. I opened the book, hoping for answers. A sudden thought occurred to me.

“Annalise? Is that you?” I whispered to the empty room. A sudden wind swept through the room, bearing a faint wail, and then I felt the entity leave me alone. Now, if it
was
Mary, had I made her jealous? I couldn’t win in this situation, it seemed. I lifted the book.

Buddha belly

would accept you in

and keep you safe

As I rage against injustice

Lulling there like

A horse dream

Mellow and warm

And by born

You rip me anew

And my feet are wet

Blood or tears

Friend of fears

Buddha wept

I turned the book over and read the brief blurb about the life of poet Eleanor Copeland. She was called a Beat poet and could be seen performing live at The Gotham in Midtown as well as The Nip in Bryant Park. Sort of cryptic.

I opened the front cover and noted that the publishing company was called the Independent Press of Columbia University. I flipped to the dedication page.
To my darling Annalise, love and righteousness forever.
To say I was confused would be an understatement. What did a Beat poet from New York City have to do with a South Texas fishing village?

He promised us

The world

The California

Coastline boastline

Will you go?

Farewell

the last sigh

from your lips

cherry dark

fruited

Abandoned

Love chain broken

Battered

Pain numbed

Ingrained into texture

Never abandoned

I placed the book carefully on the small table next to the bed and caressed Oscar Marie as I waited for the promised protection of daylight. I thought about leaving. There was a hotel further inland. It just seemed like running yet again. And suppose it was Mary trapped here somehow? Leaving her when she might be trying to talk to me would be the ultimate betrayal.

For some odd reason, my thoughts flew to Angie. I wondered at the mystery of her life. She worked two jobs, it seemed, delivering pizzas and teaching special needs kids. I wondered about her family and her relationships, wishing I’d had more opportunity to talk with her while we were in Couscous’s busy kitchen.

I finally dozed, feeling as though her serene blue gaze protected me.

I was pondering my chores for the day when a cheery knock sounded on the kitchen door. I nearly jumped out of my skin, of course, but hurried to lift the curtain and peer through the glass top of the door. Maddy stood on the decking outside. Today, her jogging suit was pale pink with white stripes in symmetrical patterns. When I opened the door, the sun shone off her new athletic shoes, blazing up at me.

“Well, good morning, stranger!” Maddy said. “I just thought I’d drop by and see how our newest resident is settling in.” She handed me a plastic wrapped bundle: a fragrant cinnamon coffee cake, still warm from the oven.

“Whoa! Thank you!” I was touched by her thoughtfulness. “Come have some with me?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” she said, stepping into the kitchen.

“I actually have dishes now.”

“Well, I would say that’s progress,” she murmured as she came in and meandered over to the drafting table. “Oh, this must be your cartoon! I can’t believe you sit here and draw this, and it just magically appears in all those magazines and newspapers.”

“Yep. If it gets there. It’s been slow going this week,” I replied with a weary sigh. I poured coffee into two cups and added them to a serving tray along with sugar, milk, and the coffee cake. I included plates and utensils and carried the tray to the table.

“Why is that?” Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Too busy settling in?”

“No, not exactly.” I sat down and served slices of the cake. I hesitated, but made up my mind quickly. “Let me ask you this: did Ruetta ever say anything about weird things happening here?”

Maddy prepared her coffee thoughtfully. “Weird? Weird, how?”

I shrugged, trying to sound more nonchalant than I felt. “Like things moving…weird sounds?”

“Hmm.” Maddy sat back in her chair. “I don’t remember her saying anything like that. Why do you ask?”

I debated how much to tell her. I didn’t want to be labeled a lunatic in my first few weeks in my new home. Yet I felt a deep curiosity that I couldn’t shake and I needed to ask questions. “I’ve been hearing some noises during the night.”

“Oh, that’s probably just being in a new place,” she said, taking a bite of the cake. “Especially here. Tourist towns are notoriously busy, even into the wee hours.”

I shook my head. “Nope. It’s inside. I’ve seen things move as well. I know it sounds a little crazy…”

“Well, not crazy, but I’m sure there’s a logical explanation. What has been happening?”

How could I summarize the events of the past few nights into something she would easily understand without sounding like I was trying to craft a script for a bad horror movie? I sighed and started sharing some of the things I’d experienced. I tried to keep it light, but I know it all sounded unbelievable. I told her so, shaking my head apologetically.

“Well, now, if it’s real to you, then that makes it an issue for sure.” She scratched her chin absently. “Have you tried talking to this...ghost?”

“Well, yeah.” I rose and brought the carafe over to refill our cups. “I’ve tried, but don’t get any sort of answer. It’s all kind of...disconnected, you know?”

“Sounds like you need a medium.”

I resumed my seat. “Like with the turban and the crystal ball? I don’t know. Seems too weird.”

Maddy shrugged. “No weirder than what you are dealing with, I’m thinking.”

We sat in silence for almost a minute, both of us lost in thought.

“How does one go about getting a medium?” I asked finally.

“I was just thinking that myself,” she replied with a short laugh. “I do know of one woman here in The Point, a psychic. The police hire her from time to time.”

“Really?” I leaned toward her eagerly. “Do you think she would help me get to the bottom of the whole thing?”

Maddy stood. “It wouldn’t hurt you to ask. All she can say is no and then you’d just be back at square one.”