The Curse of a Single Red Rose (Haunted Hearts Series Book 7) (6 page)

Dylan broke the tense silence. “So how is your investigation into Les Wakefield going?”

Nick was thankful that Dylan was ready to move on to another topic, but he wasn’t so sure the topic of Les was any better than the discussion of Audrey and her motives had been. “He’s been staying at the Sherwood for the last few weeks. Collin McVey overheard Elsa Madsen make an appointment to meet him in the lobby there, so Collin got to their meeting spot before they did and spied on them.”

“Spied on them?” Sophia didn’t sound like she approved.

Nick dropped into an armchair across the coffee table from her. “Maybe he shouldn’t have spied on them, but it was a good thing he did. Les’s behavior… He acted toward Elsa the same way Brandon Wakefield acted toward you. Collin was there to interrupt Les before he forced Elsa to go with him.”

Months ago, Nick had told them about the unbelievable genetic match between dead Les from 1937 and living Les from South Carolina, the same Les that owned the hotel. Maybe he should tell Sophia and Dylan about the new weirdness the sheriff in St. Denis Parish had told him. This new thing was even weirder. He hesitated, but Dylan obviously picked up on his reluctance.

“There’s a new development, isn’t there?”

Nick shook his head, more to sling off his apprehension than to reply in the negative. He’d come to rely on the uncontested evidence of DNA matching. It had been one of the few absolutes in his world that he could fall back on. His foundation was shaking.

The seconds ticked by. Sophia shifted on the sofa, and Dylan moved across the room to sit down in a chair on the other side of a low table from Nick.

“Just tell us what it is, Nick.” Sophia’s soft entreaty fell hard on his conscience. It seemed she sensed the depth of his dilemma.

Once he’d put the weird truth out into the air, he wouldn’t be able to pull the words back into his mouth. Yet somehow, he felt Dylan and Sophia should know about the Wakefield blood. After all, Sophia carried some of it in her veins.

“Sheriff Soileau wanted to confirm Brandon Wakefield’s identity, so I sent her the sample we collected from him here in New Orleans. I had one of our people follow Brandon when we found out he’d stolen Les’s identity. My forensic guy snagged his coffee cup out of the trash. We collected a saliva sample and then we dusted the cup for prints. The prints matched Brandon’s police record, and that’s how we confirmed he wasn’t the real Les. But we hung onto the saliva sample…just in case.”

Dylan nodded, but it was Sophia that responded. “That was smart.”

“I sent the saliva sample to the state lab for DNA testing.”

The pause in his delivery of the news weighed heavy in the room.

Dylan leaned forward. “And?”

He’d strung the moment out long enough, no longer able to avoid divulging what he didn’t want to acknowledge. “Sheriff Soileau had her people take a sample from Brandon for DNA testing after he died, and she had the lab compare the two samples. They didn’t match.”

“Wait a minute.” Sophia jerked into an upright position. “So you’re saying that his before death and after death samples didn’t match?”

Nick licked his lips and nodded.

Sophia shifted her gaze toward Dylan. “But he was the same man. We know he was the same man. There’s no question about his identity.”

He sat still, barely moving. There was no counter argument to her statements. She was right. The man had been positively identified. Brandon’s case was so convoluted that clarity had been proven difficult to obtain. There seemed to be no absolutes. Soileau had simply been doing her due diligence and closing any possible holes in the already closed case, but she’d only created a much broader problem that had implications that reached far beyond Louisiana.

“How is that even possible? Is there some sort of thing that happens to someone when they die?”

“Well, if that were the case, law enforcement couldn’t rely on the test as evidence in a murder.” There, that was the big, ugly problem.

Fear erupted on Sophia’s face. Dylan’s expression matched hers. Why that frightened them, Nick couldn’t be sure. He had good reason to be anxious. Thinking too much about the ramifications of such an inconceivable mismatch staggered his mind. He preferred not to dwell on all the cases that could be overturned if that kind of news was made public.

“Before I tell you any more, you have to promise it goes no further than this room.”

He took their silence for consent. “Living Brandon’s DNA matched dead Les’s DNA.”

Sophia spluttered. “Hold up. You told us dead Les the first’s DNA matched living Les the fourth’s DNA.” There were four generations of Les Wakefields, and it was easy to get them confused. Numbering them was the easiest way to keep them straight.

“All three men match each other.”

Dylan’s low voice rumbled with disbelief. “So Les from 1937 matches Les who is alive now, who matches Brandon from a year ago before he died but not after he died.”

The conclusion roared around them, though no one rushed to speak the words that would seal their possession of their knowledge.

Finally, Sophia dared to address the core of the mystery. “Brandon’s DNA changed…”

It was incredible and impossible. They had become involved with a family whose DNA was mutable and shareable…and dangerous.

“Do you remember when Brandon and Les faced each other right before Brandon died? You remember how they leaned toward each other and then jerked backward away from each other. Do you think… Can Wakefield DNA pass from one person to another?” Dylan had finally voiced the horrifying question that Nick had been avoiding.

The expressions on their faces reflected the desperation Nick felt whenever he thought about Les Wakefield passing his deranged psyche, potentially at will, to another person.

Sophia’s eyes widened. “That’s what Jordan meant when he said he sensed the ghost of Les Wakefield went walking.”

Jordan? Oh yeah, Dylan’s college roommate.

“So dead Les’s spirit left his bones and… That’s not possible, is it?”

“Sophia, you have to stay away from him.” Dylan’s voice cracked a bit. “I want to finish what we started at the manor house. If I do, you can’t go with me.”

Sophia jerked as if Dylan had hit her. “You can’t be serious. You can’t go out there without me.”

Nick couldn’t imagine Sophia being able to stop Dylan when his mind was made up.

“Jordan did that psychic scan of the house…or whatever he calls his gift…and he told us about walk-about Les. He told us there were a lot of ghosts on the place, and hasn’t Sheriff Soileau found four murder victims on the property? That’s a lot of potential spirits floating around disturbing the peace.” Dylan stood up and paced. “Jordan said he’d get his friends from Arkansas to come down and do an investigation, but he never did.”

“That’s not Jordan’s fault. After we refused to work out there any longer, we couldn’t take Jordan out to the house and encourage him and his friend to trespass, could we?”

Nick shifted his gaze from Sophia to Dylan and back to Sophia. They were discussing something they’d never mentioned to him. It was an interesting and enlightening conversation.

Dylan stopped his back and forth travels in front of the coffee table and stood over Sophia. “Don’t you want to find out what’s going on out there?”

Nick expected Sophia to say
no
, but she didn’t. Her slow nodding belied logic. Why would either of them ever want to set foot on the grounds of Wakefield Plantation again? Yet, Nick’s curiosity was heightened. What if asking the spirits of the dead some very precise questions could elicit explanations of the weird phenomena of two too many Wakefields with the same DNA profile?

“Jordan’s friends…” Nick laughed because it seemed silly to buy into the paranormal crap. “Are they ghost hunters?” He always clicked past the channel when those types of shows were on.

Dylan smiled. “Jordan says they prefer to call themselves paranormal investigators.”

“Is Jordan a paranormal investigator then?” He failed to suppress the involuntary sarcasm that crept into his tone.

Dylan and Sophia seemed to be in a stare down.

When Dylan finally answered, an odd tone had entered his voice. “He doesn’t want to call it that, but that’s what he does.”

Jordan’s so-called gift intrigued Nick. Until he had met his girlfriend Jerilyn, he had thought all psychics were con artists. Seeing up close and personal how her abilities worked had changed his mind.

He tossed an idea out to them to see if it would spread its wings and fly. “If I could get permission to get on the property, do you think Jordan could get his friends to come down here to do an investigation?”

He cringed as soon as the words left his mouth.
Bad idea, Nick. Really bad.

“I can ask him.” But clearly Dylan had misgivings about stirring up the spirits at Wakefield Manor again even though he’d just stated that he wanted to finish what he’d started.

Chapter Six

The flickering light from the candle in the center of the table cast a soft glow on Elsa’s features. Collin couldn’t help himself. His eyes kept straying to her lips while she talked. A few times, she caught him staring, and her puzzled expression made him want to clear up her confusion. Yes, the way he was acting contradicted the way he had ignored her that morning, which contradicted the way he had behaved the previous night.

He sipped his Irish whiskey, unwilling to gulp it down too quickly, although that was a considerable temptation.

“Are you feeling better?” Why did he have to sound as if he was frightened of her answer? He pressed his lips together to keep from saying something else stupid.

Her facial features softened. Maybe she appreciated his concern.

“The wine is helping. Thank you.”

He’d chosen a pub on Magazine, almost to the Irish Channel. It was his favorite place to unwind before he jumped into the chaos that was his family. Sure, he lived in his own home, but a lot of McVeys and their kin lived within the rectangle of streets that defined the Channel. Dropping by unannounced was a family tradition.

The area had long ago morphed into a neighborhood of mixed ethnicities, and Collin thought the mix contributed to the cosmopolitan feel. He’d lived there most of his life, and he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

A few of the regulars seated at the bar on the other side of a half-wall kept tossing speculative looks their direction. He ignored them, even though he was sure they would share with any McVey they ran across that he’d been seen in the pub with a woman.

His mother would be asking him if he had wedding plans with a rumbly tone of disapproval in her otherwise silky voice. Elsa wasn’t a
good Irish Catholic girl
. His mother’s scrutiny of any woman he dated was why Collin usually kept his love life well away from the Irish Channel. He didn’t owe anyone an explanation for what company he chose to keep. Besides, their relationship was still a long way from being romantic in nature.

He usually came alone and drank at the bar. There were always a few friends or acquaintances already there when he arrived. Elsa had no idea how unusual it was for him to arrive with company at O’Grady’s. Tonight he’d confused the hostess by asking for a table in the dining room.

In Collin’s humble opinion, the pub boasted one of New Orleans most eclectic menus, serving traditional Irish fare as well as Cajun and Creole dishes. Toss in a couple of southwestern entrees, some fancy salads, and a selection of pasta-based dishes, and the menu appealed to a wide variety of palates.

The chef was a distant cousin of his, and he knew for certain Murphy disdained anything fried or battered. That was a good thing. The few times he’d observed her meal choices he’d surmised Elsa was a food snob. Collin hoped she would approve of his favorite hang out. If she did, he might ask her… He stopped that thought before it exploded into ill-conceived action. No sense in getting his hopes up.

After they’d placed their orders, she glanced around the restaurant. “I’ve never been here before.”

She smiled, and the warmth in her expression illuminated the dimly lit room. At least, it did for Collin.

She leaned back in her chair. “If I ask questions are you gonna give me honest answers?”

Her blunt question did nothing to diminish his pleasant mood. “I’ll do my best. If I can’t, then I’ll tell you I can’t.” He grinned at her, hoping his sincerity would come through his guarded response.

She seemed to absorb his grin and internalize it. Her entire person radiated warmth. “Okay, I guess I can deal with that.” She took another sip of wine before continuing. “Why did you come to the hotel tonight after you’d already left for the day?”

He allowed himself a bit of relief. Her first question wasn’t too hard, although she might not like his answer.

He cleared his throat and swirled the last ounce of whiskey in his glass to keep from meeting her eyes. “I was going to remeasure the rooms on the second and third floors just to make sure I wasn’t imagining things.” He paused before committing to the full truth. “I’ve had dreams about the corner room on the third floor. I wanted to make sure I hadn’t measured it in a nightmare.” He glanced at her to get her reaction.

Her breath seemed to escape her in one giant swoosh. “You’ve had nightmares about that room?”

The truth was out there in the wide world, and he couldn’t rewind his words. “Actually, I’ve had daymares too. Daymares? Is that a real word?”

Her eyes flashed with understanding, and the air around them sizzled with excitement.

A suspicion dawned. “You’ve had dreams about that room, too, haven’t you?”

She leaned forward and propped her elbows on the tabletop. “No. But I felt a strange electrical sort of vibe coming from that corner the first time I toured the building. I have the same weird feeling every time I pass that room. You asked me if I’d sensed a presence in the hotel. I said I hadn’t seen one, but I was only avoiding telling you the truth. I have felt something. Several times. Usually near that corner.”

Her confession caused the hairs on the back of his neck to bristle. He rubbed the spot to make the irritation go away, but of course, it didn’t. “So we’ve both felt something was off about that particular corner?”

“I don’t know how long I spent tonight staring at those floor plans.” A sheepish look covered her face. “I think I need to tell you… I guess it’s the truth, but I don’t know why it’s the truth.”

Well, that was cryptic.

“I think I knew the plans were off.” The anguished look in her eyes begged him for understanding.

His first angry reaction died on his tongue. Understanding settled into his consciousness. She hadn’t kept her discovery from him on purpose. The thought that she’d known and kept it to herself apparently mystified her as much as it had at first angered him. How he read all that in her distressed attitude, he wasn’t sure. He was quite certain he hadn’t gotten to know the woman that well. Not yet, anyway.

“Why didn’t you say something?” A very simple question, yet he believed there would not be a simple answer.

“I don’t know if this is going to make much sense.” Her hesitancy seemed genuine and not the least bit contrived.

“Try me. I might understand.”

“It was like I knew, but I couldn’t make my mind deal with it. Like the words just wouldn’t come out of my mouth.” Her pause vibrated with her distress. “Like someone or something had put duct tape over my mouth so I couldn’t say anything. Like chains had been wrapped around me so I couldn’t do anything.”

Her answer startled him. And scared him. “Like someone or something was controlling you?”

Collin didn’t think he’d ever seen the woman this close to tears. Except once, and that was earlier that night when she’d almost dove three stories off the balcony of the hotel onto the courtyard below. Even then, she’d managed to keep her composure.

“I’m so sorry. I know this sounds lame.” She blinked back tears. “I promise I’m not making this up. It bothers me that I didn’t seem to have any control over it. I don’t know what changed so that I’m able to talk about it now. It feels like something’s busted loose inside my head. The thought that someone is manipulating me freaks me out, especially since I don’t know who or what is doing it.”

He tightened his hand around his whiskey glass to keep from reaching across the table and grabbing hers. “I believe you.”

“You don’t think I’m trying to cover up my stupidity or my incompetence by dumping a load of bull on you, do you? Really, I could make up a story better than this one.”

He shook his head slowly. No, he didn’t think she was stupid or incompetent.

“I mean…I’m a woman trying to do a job that a man usually does. A lot of people would think failing to notice the plans were off proves a woman shouldn’t be doing the job.”

He loosed a chuckle that rumbled up from deep in his gut.

“Don’t laugh at me, Collin.” Her eyes shot bolts of heat lightning at him.

“I’m not laughing at you. I promise.” He shook his head to remove the last bits of amusement from his attitude. “I was just remembering our conversation. You said I was sexist.”

She sniffed in disgust. “Well, aren’t you? You’re judging me because you think I’m a woman who can’t handle a man’s job.”

“Elsa, you should never decide what someone else is thinking. Most of the time, a person will get it all wrong when they’re putting thoughts in someone else’s head.”

“Oh, really? I’ve read you wrong?”

“As far as being project manager… It doesn’t matter to me if you are a woman or a man as long as you do your job, and I think you’ve been doing a good job. If you asked me to, I’d work for you again. I’ve had better project managers, but I’ve had a whole lot worse, too.” He paused. “That is my opinion, and I will stand by it.”

His honest assessment didn’t seem to faze her. She continued to stare at him as if she expected more.

“I’m sorry I implied you couldn’t take care of yourself because you are a…person of less than average stature.” He didn’t dare call her short. “I am sure you are fully capable of taking care of yourself. I’m actually a bit frightened of what you might do with your stun gun.”

She smiled. “It stays in my bag.”

He lifted his hands. “Your business.”

“I promise I’ll never use it on you…as long as you act nice.”

“I can be nice… And I’m not worried about the gun stun. I’m more worried about what you will do to my…” Their teasing banter had fooled him into being forthcoming.

Her attitude changed before his eyes as if she discerned he meant he was frightened of the damage she could do to his heart if he opened the door to something more than being business acquaintances. Silence fell between them as he continued to hold her gaze. The moment should have become awkward, but it didn’t.

Time seemed to stand still and wrap around them and move them past the point of being strangers. Gazing into her eyes, he sensed the depths to which their attraction for one another could go. The first flickers had already sparked between them, and he wanted to fan the flames.

For a long moment, she was the only other person in the room. He craved human-to-human contact, to feel the warmth of her skin. Would she allow him to hold her hand? There was only one way to find out. Before his mind could make his hand move, she had reached across the table. Their fingers entwined, and his heart danced to a new rhythm.

The night would get away from them, and he wanted to hear her story. He dared to break the mood. “Now it’s my turn to ask you a question.”

The smiled dropped from her face. “Okay, I guess that’s fair.” She drew back, shifted in her seat, and swallowed the last large gulp of her wine.

You just killed the mood, Collin.

He stared at her hand, willing it to slide back across the table. She planted her folded hands on the white tablecloth in front of her. The flickering candle no longer softened her face with a warm glow. The shifting shadows made her appear somewhat unreal.

“You told me that you took this job so you could investigate a fifty-year-old murder.”

She flinched. “When did I tell you that?”

“Last night.”

“Oh, yeah. I guess I did. What about it?” She obviously didn’t like being reminded, or maybe she didn’t like that Collin had remembered.

“Why is that particular murder important to you?”

“It’s not.”

“Then, I don’t get why you’re interested in it. Are you a ghost hunter?”

The waitress interrupted their discussion. When both of them had been served, he stared at her until she answered his question. His non-verbal urging must have motivated her because she dumped her entire story on him, only stopping to take a breath or a quick bite of her salad between bursts of words.

****

A ghost hunter? Collin had to be joking. Where had that question come from? Oh, of course. They’d just been talking about the weird vibes the hotel put off.

Collin wanted to hear her story, so she’d tell it. Elsa held back the barrage of words she was about to fire at him while the waitress deposited her Crab Louie in front of her. Once he had lifted the first section of his half rack of Cajun Spiced Ribs to his mouth, she let it fly. Everything.

He ate and listened, but didn’t have much to say. That was a good thing. She had to get the story out in one long narrative or she couldn’t tell it without getting too worked up.

“Momma died when I was ten, and Daddy didn’t remarry until I was in high school. He owns his own construction company, so I grew up on construction sites because a single parent can’t always find a good babysitter. When I was too old for a sitter, he put me to work. I learned from the best. He knows the business, and he builds quality. He has a solid reputation in Nashville. Which is good, I guess. For him.”

She took her first bite of the salad. The ingredients had enticed her to try something new, and she wasn’t disappointed. “Wow! This is good.” She forked another bite and then set off on her spiel again.

“He gave me my first job as a project manager. That was great, except I wanted to make my own name in the business. The trouble with trying to do that in Nashville is that the whole construction industry in Tennessee knows my father. Either a builder wouldn’t consider me because I was Gunther’s daughter, or he would give me the job because Daddy asked him to. It was the beginning of my career, but I needed to be considered on my own credentials, not his.”