That Awful Sound: Psychic Detectives - The Joliet Sisters (6 page)

Charmaine forgot to be annoyed as she sat
down hard on the bench. “Fits with the family history I found. One
ancestor made his money in the slave trade. Another tortured a
series of mistresses. There were rumors he killed a few. But I’ve
never heard of evil turning into an entity.”

“Maybe it’s like static electricity. With
the right conditions friction creates energy, static electricity
that can cause pain. Could be the ‘thing’ has had enough time to
move on its own,” Jessie said with a frown.

“And become deadly. Damn, you’re starting to
make sense,” Charmaine murmured.

“Lucas is glad they sent the kids away.
Lucas hates these folks after the life he had, so if he’s
relieved…” Jessi’s voice trailed off as she looked toward the
Forstall mansion.

“Then it’s bad,” Charmaine said.

“Exactly.” Jessi stopped talking suddenly.
“Hold up. I see two people looks like. Come on.”

Jessi yanked Charmaine to her feet. She ran
at a crouch across the back lawn, with Charmaine being dragged
along. She jerked free from Jessi’s grasp as they got close to the
house. Silhouettes against the expensive draperies did indeed show
one taller and a shorter figure. Charmaine and Jessi looked at each
other and then at the window again.

“Who?” Charmaine mouthed.

“Let’s find out,” Jessi whispered back.

Before Charmaine could stop her, Jessi
disappeared around the corner of the house. Charmaine cringed at
the faint crunch of her sister’s footsteps on the gravel drive way.
She fought to control her breathing from their sprint across the
wide lawn. Then she followed Jessi’s presumed path down the side of
the house. She kept low and close to the outer wall. Then Charmaine
froze at the muted sound of voices. A thick arm wrapped around her
body pinning both arms to her side. Her feet flew off the ground.
Wet lips pressed against Charmaine’s left ear lope.

“Come join the party, bitch,” a familiar
voice said. “Don’t disturb the good neighbors if you care about
your little sis.”

Triple Cross

Charmaine tried and failed not to tremble
when Darrius dragged her inside. They retraced their steps from the
fateful night Zed met his end. She would have screamed or at least
whimpered, but Charmaine had trouble breathing. The big man’s tight
grip didn’t help. He shoved her hard into the library, which caused
her to fall. Quick reflexes saved Charmaine from landing face down.
Instead she remembered her gym days at school and caught herself,
both palms flat on the Persian wool carpet. She looked up to find
Mrs. Forstall holding a gun on Jessi.

“Much as I like a woman on her knees…”
Darrius licked his bottom lip. “Get up and stand over there next to
your sister.”

Mrs. Forstall stepped away from Jessi. “Do
as you’re told.”

“I just thought of something. The psychics
didn’t see this one comin’.” Darrius snickered at his own joke.

Loretta smiled. “Good one.”

Jessi beat Charmaine to the burning
question. “Your triflin’ ass supposed to be in jail.”

Darrius took an automatic pistol from the
back waistband of his jeans. He struck a relaxed pose against Mr.
Forstall’s massive desk. “The police didn’t have enough to charge
me with murder. I got bonded out on them other little charges.”

“Who…?” Charmaine glanced at Mrs.
Forstall.

“We have mutual interests,” Mrs. Forstall
replied mildly.

“Yeah, we sure as hell do. Loretta figured
out helping me was in her best interest.” Darrius winked at the
sisters.

Charmaine twitched at the powerful desire to
punch the smug grin from his face. “Dude, you can’t trust her.”

“I can’t trust anybody in this world. But I
got insurance.” Darrius held the gun loosely without pointing it at
them.

“I’ve got them under control. Go up and get
your share of the gold coins from the safe. It’s open.” Mrs.
Forstall smiled as she gave him a quick sideways glance.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Darrius
replied.

“Aren’t you worried about meeting that
people eater? Think what happened to your friend,” Charmaine darted
a fearful glance at the ceiling.

Darrius and Mrs. Forstall laughed, but he
spoke. “C’mon, you fell for that bullshit? Ain’t no monster up
there.”

“Damn, you killed your friend. You’re right.
The monster is down here,” Jessi said. Her expression hardened.

“Zed and me did business a few times, but he
wasn’t my friend. I told him about this job, and he jumped at the
chance.” Darrius laughed.

“You set up the poor fool,” Charmaine spat
at him.

“Zed wasn’t was a stone cold killer, a thief
and he liked little girls. I did the world a favor the way I see
it. Sick fuck.”

“Oh sure. You’re a damn hero cleaning up the
streets of New Orleans. Now I see the cape,” Jessi said with a
snort.

“Hey, I kinda like that.” Darrius smiled
nastily. “Call me Street Sweeper.”

“I can think of a few other things to call
you.” Jessi hissed and started to illustrate, but Charmaine held up
a hand. She stopped but glared at Darrius.

“You didn’t have time to go up stairs and
kill him. I was looking at you the whole time,” Charmaine said.

“Loretta set a booby trap with sharp blades.
That noise you heard? That was gears working when Zed opened the
closet door where the safe is. Whoosh, screech, and bye-bye
gangsta.” Darrius waved a hand then snickered.

“Quite an ingenious tool left by one of my
ancestors. We found it when we cleared out the attic for
renovations fifteen years ago. The thing has no practical use
except getting rid of inconvenient people. Apparently the whispers
about my great-great grandfather were true.” Mrs. Forstall
shrugged. “Oh well, everyone has a few crooked branches in their
family tree.”

“Some have more than few,” Jessi
mumbled.

“You kept a killing machine because you
thought it might come in handy?” Charmaine gazed at her in morbid
fascination.

“And it did. Enough talk. Let’s get moving.
I have a plane to catch.” Mrs. Forstall cast a sideways glance at
Darrius and nodded for him to leave.

“Look, I don’t know what she promised you,
but I think you need a new business partner,” Charmaine said.

“I got a lot less to lose. I ain’t no
socialite with a fancy name and reputation to protect,” Darrius
replied.

“He’s right of course, which is why he’ll be
joining you in the great beyond,” Mrs. Forstall said.

A tall man with salt and pepper hair
appeared from a sliding panel in the wall. The revolver he pointed
looked more lethal than the automatic pistol Darrius had. He wore a
cashmere wool blend jacket, pale blue shirt and navy blue slacks.
His leather shoes alone cost more than three of Charmaine’s car
notes. He could have stepped from the pages of St. Charles Ave., a
glossy magazine about the city’s wealthy class.

Darrius stood rigid. His eyes glittered as
he aimed at the newcomer’s head. “What the hell is goin’ on?”

“You may notice the resemblance to this
portrait of his grandfather,” Mrs. Forstall gestured to a painting
over the fireplace. “But I won’t keep you in suspense. Meet my
handsome husband, Hamilton Bienville Forstall.”

“You’re an attractive bunch. I wish we could
have met under better circumstances. As it is, we’ll have to kill
you all,” her husband drawled in a cultured tone. He might have
been expressing regrets that a dinner party had been cancelled.

“I don’t think so, slick. I’ve got a gun,
too,” Darrius growled. “So drop it or I’ll plug the missus and then
you. And then the whole world gonna know you been stealin’ from the
family company, and they’ll get video of our sex games.”

“Think carefully, dear. Who gave you the
gun?” Mrs. Forstall raised a perfectly arched auburn eyebrow.

Hamilton Forstall shook his head, and then
laughed. “You told me, but I didn’t believe he was that dumb.”

Darrius pulled the trigger several times.
“You lyin’ bitch.”

“Watching my wife screw you this way is even
more fun,” Hamilton Forstall said.

He ducked when Darrius threw the gun at him.
Darrius let loose with a stream of profanity. He included ever
generation of both sides of their families. Then he started in on
the rest of the world. Jessi exchanged a glance with Charmaine, a
message in her dark gaze. Maybe they could take advantage of the
distraction. Charmaine lifted her head just enough to signal she
understood.

“I don’t get why you hired us?” Charmaine
gazed at Hamilton Forstall to keep him from paying attention to
Jessi.

“We needed witnesses to verify Shawntelle
tried to blackmail us, and Darrius had a motive to kill her,” he
replied in a cool voice.

“We certainly couldn’t go to our society
friends for help, could we?” his wife added. “Besides, she did in
fact blackmail us. Both of them did. They’re greedy, always
demanding more and more.”

“So there’s no ghost,” Charmaine said.

“Oh, that old thing. It’s been bumping
around for generations, moving a candle stick a few inches and
making the usual noises an old house makes even louder. Nothing
serious. But the stories are legend, so we capitalized on it.” Mrs.
Forstall gave a casual shrug.

“You knew we’d research your family and find
the stories,” Jessi put in.

Mrs. Forstall nodded. “Credibility.”

Hamilton Forstall’s smile twisted into
something terrible. “Darrius enjoyed the feeling of power he had to
destroy us. He and Shawntelle didn’t just want money. They wanted
to own us. They used our vacation home whenever they wanted.
Trashed the place. He even forced me into letting him drive my
father’s vintage 1948 Bentley. Can you imagine? A classic parked at
some crack house in the ninth ward? Intolerable.”

“Killing them had its disadvantages, so we
got creative. Ham thought of using my ancestor’s little contraption
as a prop. Brilliant, dear,” Mrs. Forstall said.

“Thanks, darling.”

“A prop? You used it to murder a man,”
Charmaine shot back, giving them the deadly couple a scowl.

“Actually I killed the thug. Cutting off one
of his legs was an added bit of drama.” Hamilton lifted his
chin.

“They’re going to kill us and leave town,”
Jessi said to Charmaine. Then she looked at the Forstalls. “The
story is going to be Darrius came back here to steal and get
revenge. We confronted him because we were here for the same
reason. He killed us, but we managed to shoot him during the fight.
He dies from his wounds.”

“You truly are psychic darling,” Mrs.
Forstall said with a smile.

“They’re not only pretty, but quite smart.
Too bad we can’t enjoy them before…” Hamilton studied Jessi and
then Charmaine, a sparkle of lust in his hazel eyes.

“No time sweetheart. Your fingerprints and
DNA are all over the house. Our house cleaners will verify we left
town. They’ll find your bodies in the morning. Darrius will be
discovered in an alley some miles away. Evidence will show he bled
to death from his wounds.”

“Neighbors will hear the shots,” Charmaine
said.

“We love our privacy. The house has sound
absorbing wall paper. We even managed to comply with local
historical reservation ordinances.” Mrs. Forstall smiled with
pride.

“So it seems like y’all thought of
everything. Almost,” Jessi said.

Her eyes went glassy. She swayed as if about
the faint. Charmaine put an arm around her shoulder and braced
herself. The lights flickered, but stopped after ten seconds.

“Damn it, we should sue that electrical
contractor, Loretta,” Hamilton growled in irritation.

“You muthafuckas ain’t gonna take me out,”
Darrius blurted when the lights flickered a second time.

The lights inside the house went out. Then
yard lamp bulbs outside shattered. Jessi started to hum low in her
throat. Mr. and Mrs. Forstall cursed when running feet pounded
toward the door. A second set of rapid thumps followed. Charmaine
pulled a limp Jessi down to the floor seconds before a gun went
off. She bumped up against the desk and used it as a shield. She
hoped darkness and panic would throw off Mrs. Forstall.

“You little ghetto rats better stay put.
I’ll kill you now rather than later,” Mrs. Forstall called out, her
voice high-pitched with terror. “Makes no difference to me.”

“Get away. Get away!” Hamilton Forstall
shouted from somewhere in the house.

“He’s upstairs,” Jessi mumbled.

“Ham? Ham, answer me. This is no time to
play ghost games,” Mrs. Forstall shouted. “Hamilton!”

“Get it off me,” Darrius screamed from
another direction deep in the house.

Then it started; the heavy thump, thump of a
dense object dragging across the floor. Grinding noises, a cross
between groaning and wheezing breaths surrounded them. The sound
became palpable, making the darkness thicker. The atmosphere around
them pressed in as if a humid fog filled the room. Crunching. More
screams tore through the air. More shots. The house shuddered.

“We better get out. Out,” Jessi yelled.

She thrashed around in Charmaine’s arms
until she stood. Charmaine jumped to her feet and gripped Jessi’s
hand. Using touch and memory, Charmaine dashed to the French doors.
One kick, then another. Wood and glass gave way. The awful sound of
human wails and grinding chased them into the night. Sirens added
to the pandemonium. And they kept running.

****

Three hours later Charmaine and Jessi sat in
the back seat of Detective Harrison’s unmarked Chevy Malibu. They
both shivered, but not because of the chilly temperatures. Musty
police issue blankets helped anchor them to a more mundane world.
For once the flash of police lights comforted them. NOPD uniforms
moved around securing the crime scene. Techs suited up to enter the
house. Harrison crisply issued orders, fully in control. After
fifteen minutes he walked over to the car. Harrison rubbed a hand
roughly over his close cut hair. He sighed several times then
leaned on the car, one hand on the hood bracing him.