Prosecco Pink (31 page)

I told myself not to take the bait because I didn't want to spend the next hour or so listening to history department gossip. But I'd just polished off a huge plate of chicken Tchoupitoulas at Coop's Place and was in serious danger of falling asleep. "So, why'd you lose your TA?"

"He dropped out of school," he muttered. "I guess he finally realized there was no future in a PhD in plantation chic."

The bottom dropped out of my stomach. Even though I knew who he was talking about, I had to ask. "Was his name Troy Wilson, by any chance?"

The geek's jaw dropped. "How'd you know?"

"I met him around once or twice."

"Well, if you see him again," he began, cocking a brow high on his greasy forehead, "tell him Cody Putfark said 'thanks for nothing.'"

"I will," I promised in an appropriately solemn tone. Then I leaned my head against the wall and thought back to all the times Troy—and Delta, for that matter—had mentioned that he was actively pursuing a PhD. Now that I knew he'd been lying, my anxiety level was starting to rise. In the back of my mind I'd been hoping that I was wrong about what was going on at Oleander Place. But it looked like Chandra's colleague, Xavier, was right—the solution had been right in front of me all along.

My "Baby Got Back" ringtone sounded, and a couple of students snickered. I looked at the display and wondered what they would do if they knew my psychic sidekick was calling.

"Hi, Chandra," I answered.

"Hey girl," she replied with an unexpected show of intimacy. "Lou and I were watching the news this morning, and we saw that the Oleander Place murders have been solved."

"Yeah, the police got their man," I said, careful not to emphasize the word
their.

"You must be so relieved," she said, pronouncing
relieved
with an ear-splitting squeal. "Now you won't have to go to that awful plantation anymore or deal with that horrible woman. And you'll have more time to work on your relationship with your honeykins."

I cringed at the reference to Bradley (and at the word
honeykins
). I had no idea why everyone suddenly wanted to talk to me about him, but I wanted it to stop. "Um, we're not together anymore."

"No!" she cried with such emotion that it set her jewelry to jingling. "What happened?"

Chandra was starting to stress me out. I mean, she of all people could use her psychic skills to get the scoop and spare me the painful rehash. "Turns out that Three of Cups card you dealt me was right on the money. There
was
a third person in our relationship—his secretary."

"I'm surprised to hear that," she said in a faraway tone. "I didn't get the impression that the third wheel was a love interest."

Now I was really getting annoyed. I'd paid her for that tarot card reading, and now she was admitting that she'd held out on me? "Well, I don't know what made you think that, but I hope it wasn't your psychic intuition."

She sniffed. "I'll have you know that I'm never wrong about these things."

"Whatever," I said, standing up to relieve my aching behind. I'd originally thought the floor was causing the pain, but I was starting to think it was this conversation. "Listen, did you need to talk to me about anything else? Because if not—"

"Evangeline or Ivanna is back," she interrupted. "With a vengeance."

"You mean, that spirit's getting aggressive with you?"

The geek eyeballed me and then pretended to be absorbed in his notes.

"In the sense that I can't get her out of my head, yes," Chandra whined. "Ever since that Dr. Geyer got arrested, she's been pulling at that French door like crazy. I see her night and day, awake and in my sleep. I wish she'd just open the damn thing already!"

I thought the timing of the spiritual activity was odd given the new developments in the case. "What do you think is going on?"

"That's what I was going to ask you."

"Me? I'm not the medium here."

"Clearly," she scoffed. "But I've never had a spirit harass me like this. So something must be happening with the case."

If there was a spirit harassing her, it was probably because it knew that the killer was still on the loose. But I couldn't say that to Chandra or anyone else until I could prove it. "You'd have to ask the police."

"They're not going to talk to me."

"I don't know what else to tell you," I said, glancing up as two students entered Dr. Miller's office.

She sighed. "Then I guess I'm going to have to go out to the plantation and find out what the spirit wants."

I had to stop her. If my fears were correct, the murder spree hadn't ended at Oleander Place. "I wouldn't go now if I were you. Even though the case is solved, the police are probably still trying to find evidence to connect Adam Geyer to the scene."

"But I have to do this, Franki. That spirit's trying to tell me something, and it's my duty to figure out what that is."

"What about all those scary ghosts?" I asked.

Angling a wide-eyed glance at me, the geek scooted closer to the student in line in front of him.

"I've been thinking about that," she said. "And you were right. If I'm going to be in this business, I need to overcome my fear of ethereal beings."

This was not the time for personal growth. I had to try another tactic. "But what about Officer Quincy? If he hears you've gone back out there, he'll have you thrown in jail."

"I told Lou all about him," she huffed. "And he said that if that crooked copper lays so much as a finger on me, he'll have his badge."

Damn Lou,
I thought. "Wait. Didn't Lou say that you weren't allowed to go to the plantation?"

"That was before the case was solved. Now, why are you so dead set against me going out there?" she asked, her voice thick with suspicion.

If she only knew that
dead
was the operative word. "Look, I can't go into the details, but right now is a bad time to go to Oleander Place."

"Why?"

"I just said that I couldn't get into that!" I exclaimed.

The geek shielded his mouth as he whispered something to a group of students staring at me.

I lowered my voice. "Can't you just trust me on this?"

She hesitated. "I guess."

Thanks for the vote of confidence
, I thought. "Good. Then just sit tight, and I'll be in touch soon."

I hung up and breathed a sigh of relief. At least Chandra was out of harm's way. Now I just had to get in to see Dr. Miller so that I could be sure about the others.

*  *  *

It was ten after five when the geek emerged from the professor's office. To avoid eye contact with me, he held his head so high that he was basically staring at the ceiling.

I stood up and dusted myself off. When I stepped into the doorway, I was met by a bookshelf filled with what looked like rare and expensive books. There was another shelf to my right, forcing me to turn left to enter the tiny room.

An elderly man behind an old wooden desk looked up from a paper he'd been reading. "Are you a student in one of my courses, young lady?"

"No Sir. I mean, Dr. Miller," I stammered. Something about the professor and his antique books made me feel like I was in the principal's office. But since I was pushing thirty, I was thrilled with the
young lady
line.

"Then how can I help you?" he asked, removing his reading glasses.

"I came to talk to you about Troy Wilson," I replied, handing him my business card. "I'm a private investigator."

The already deep lines on his forehead deepened further. "Is Mr. Wilson in some kind of trouble?"

I nodded. "He is."

"Well, I don't understand why you would come to me," he blustered in a burst of impatience. "Shouldn't you go to the police?"

I held up my hand in an attempt to calm him. "I plan to do that, Dr. Miller, but I need some information first. I was hoping you could tell me whether Troy had any history of mental instability."

He rested his elbows on his desk and clasped his hands in front of his mouth. "I think you can appreciate that I'm not at liberty to discuss my students' personal affairs."

I took that as a
yes.
"Certainly."

"It's odd that you would come to see me today," he said, staring into my eyes.

I squirmed like a schoolgirl in my seat. "Why do you say that?"

"I haven't seen Mr. Wilson for several months," he began, leaning back in his chair, "and then he called me out of the blue about an hour ago."

"Oh?" I was anxious to know where this was going, but I was afraid to prod for fear that he would refuse to answer.

"He wanted to say good-bye," he said, looking into my eyes again.

I swallowed hard. "Good-bye?"

"Yes. He said he was going away."

My anxiety level set off on a steady climb. I didn't like the sound of this. "Did he say where?"

"He was deliberately vague." He looked down at his desk. "Of course, I realized that he wanted me to think he was moving somewhere, but I assumed he meant that he was going to some sort of facility."

From the pointed way Dr. Miller was looking at me, I knew
facility
meant mental hospital.

"But now," he continued, "it appears as though he may be going to jail. May I ask what for?"

At this point, my anxiety had reached its peak. I knew I had to leave, and soon. "Like you, I'm not at liberty to say. But thank you, Dr. Miller," I said, rising from my seat. "You've been a huge help."

I exited the maze of books and jogged down the hallway. When I reached the main door, I shoved it open and broke into a run. Then I pulled out my phone and dialed 9-1-1.

Because I knew where Troy was going, and it wasn't to a mental hospital or jail. He was going to Oleander Place.

One last time.

When I pulled onto River Road, it was after seven o'clock. Rush hour traffic had turned the easy forty-five minute drive into an hour-and-a-half ordeal. Although the delay had me frantic with worry, I took some comfort in knowing that the police would arrive at Oleander Place before me.

But as I approached the plantation, I didn't hear any sirens or see flashing lights. To be on the safe side, I pulled over just before the house and shut off the engine. There was an eerie silence in the air that caused the hair to stand up on my arms. Something wasn't right.

I tapped the first number on my call list.

"9-1-1," a woman responded. "What's your emergency?"

"My name is Franki Amato. I'm a PI, and I called in a possible code 30 in progress at Oleander Place on River Road an hour and a half ago."

The woman fell silent as she searched for the record of my call. "The St. James Parish police have already been out there, ma'am. The officers on the scene saw no signs of a homicide."

"Listen, this is urgent. Three people have been killed at the plantation in the past two weeks. And I know another murder is about to happen, if it hasn't already."

"We'll send someone out."

"Thanks." I hung up and shoved the phone into my front pants pocket, praying that the officers would hurry. But I knew from experience that even though I'd called in a possible homicide, the police were hard pressed to find time to deal with possibilities.

As I exited the car, I glanced at the full moon and hoped that the lunar eclipse wasn't happening tonight. Based on what I'd learned from Chandra's wannabe werewolf clients, people did some pretty crazy things during an eclipse. And the killer I was hunting was already plenty crazy enough.

With my gun in hand, I ran the hundred yards to the hedge and peered through the branches. What I saw took my breath away. The entire house was aglow in a flickering orange candlelight, like a giant jack-o-lantern. And the Southern live oaks that lined the walkway like camouflage-clad soldiers during the day now resembled a platoon of grim reapers forming a pathway to doom.

Doing my damnedest to repress my fear, I made my way along the hedge to the side of the house. Then I ran across the lawn to the first parlor window and ducked down. My breathing was so ragged that I was afraid it would give me away. When I peeked inside, I saw the shrine to Evangeline. It was alive with lighted candles and fresh oleander flowers and draped with pink netting—exactly like the day Scarlett was hanged.

My heart pounded in my chest as I scaled the rest of the house and tiptoed across the back porch to the door. It was unlocked. Pausing to collect myself, I leaned against the wall and glanced at the parking lot. Troy's white car gleamed in the moonlight.

Police backup or no, I had to go in. I pulled back the hammer of my gun and entered the house.

The hallway looked as though it had been prepared for my arrival. It was lined with white candles and oleander petals, creating a glowing, coral-pink carpet to the shrine. Gripping my gun with both hands, I crept toward the parlor. Just before the door, I stopped. Then I turned into the doorway and took aim.

Troy was right where I expected him to be—standing in the courting area and staring at Evangeline's portrait.

"I'm sorry you came here, Franki," he said in a hollow voice, his eyes fixed on the painting. "Now you have to die too."

The second he said the word
too,
I shifted my gun to the left and stepped into the room to greet my target. "Good evening, Delta."

She curled her lips into a cruel smile and pointed an antique double-barreled Derringer right between my eyes with an aim as sharp as the spikes in her hair. "I knew you were too damn stupid to heed my death threats."

"Apparently not stupid enough to believe Adam or Troy were responsible for the murders," I retorted.

She smirked. "I guess I underestimated you. Because you had to be bailed out of your last murder investigation by that old whore—"

"I told you before, she's a stripper," I said through gritted teeth. "And a far better person than you could ever be."

Delta tightened her grip on her gun, and I noticed that she'd pulled back the hammer. That meant it was too risky for me to try to take a shot at her. I knew from my police training that if I fired off a round when her hammer was drawn, she'd have time to shoot back.