Laura Hamby

Originally published in By Grace Publications' *Out of the Shadows* as *Haunted*, 2005
(c) 2005 by Laura Hamby
   

Eighteen years ago...

“That’s the haunted place.”  The girl spoke in a hushed, we’re in church voice.  She wrapped her arms around herself and enveloped her thin upper arms with tiny hands.

“There ain’t no such things as haunted houses.”

“Sure there are.  Ain’t you never seen the Misty Lady?”

The boy snorted and dug his dirty bare toe into the soft dirt.  “That ain’t nothin’ but weather, Alisanne.”

She persisted.  “Ain’t ya heard the sad music playin’ when she’s out and about?”

“No.  An’ neither have you.  You’re just repeatin’ things that don’t bear repeatin’.”

“Ain’t so, Remy Beauvais.  You take that back.”  Alisanne gave him a hard shove. 

He only laughed, amused by her puny efforts to knock him over.  Small-but-mighty Alisanne Sommers.  Remy didn’t really know why he tolerated her tagging along after him, other than his mama had admonished him to be nice to Alisanne.  After all, Alisanne’s own
mama died not six months ago, and Remy seemed to be the only person she’d actually speak to ever since the funeral. 

She annoyed him. 

At ten years old, she looked eight.  Her delicate features made her look more elfin than human, or so he fancied.  Ever since his grandparents had given him the Tolkien books for Christmas three years ago, elves, dwarves and magic dominated his thoughts.

But believing in ghosts?  Nope.  Lunacy.  One of Grandmama Beauvais’ favorite words.  He kinda liked it himself.  Rolled off the tongue with ease.  Lunacy.

The wind pushed at the gate which hung at a drunken angle off its post.  The squeak made Alisanne jump.

Remy laughed until his sides hurt. 

Alisanne kicked him hard on the shins.  That stopped his hilarity right quick.  “Ain’t no call for you to do that, Alisanne.”

“There are ghosts.  There have to be ghosts.”

Remy shook his head, feeling as superior as a twelve year old boy could in the face of nonsense streaming out of the mouth of a baby.  Alisanne’s chin jutted out and she pursed her lips together so hard they disappeared. 

“What you want there to be ghosts for?  Everybody knows when you die, if you’ve been a good Christian, you get to go to heaven.”

“Not if you have unfinished business you don’t,” Alisanne explained.  Her thin face lit up as she stared up at him. 

Remy shifted from one foot to the other.  No one had seen Alisanne smile ever since her mama took sick last year.  With insight rare for an almost teenaged boy, Remy knew somewhere deep inside himself that this was very important to Alisanne.

“Unfinished business?  Like what?  You forgot to pay your phone bill?”

“No.”  Alisanne paused.  She peered through the rusted iron bars at the forlorn Rousseau mansion on the rise towards the back end of the property.

“Then what?”  Impatient now that dark thunder head clouds rolled across the sky, Remy didn’t want to get drenched while waiting for Alisanne to explain.

“Like somebody forgot to say goodbye,” she whispered this.  The breeze whisked the murmur away, echoing back at them.  The hair on the back of Remy’s neck stood on end when Alisanne added, “Mama forgot to say goodbye to me before she died.  That’s what unfinished business means, Remy.”



The present...

Alisanne Sommers stood on the dusty drive.  The whisper of the wind through the cypress trees blended with the hum of insects on the humid air.  Summer in New Orleans stifled, and she hadn’t missed it one bit. Not for one second during the ten years she’d been away.

In that time, not even a country’s width of distance could keep her inner demons at bay.  A decade had passed like no time had elapsed at all. She’d come home.  She’d always known she would.  After all, her ghost would never be able to find her in the cold north of Milwaukee, Wisconsin. 

The dreams followed her.  Everywhere she went. No escape for her.  Not then, not now.  Ghosts filled her life always, and she saw no immediate end to that.

The Rousseau Mansion hadn’t changed since she’d come to tell it goodbye, the day after she’d graduated from high school.  She couldn’t leave New Orleans without letting the old familiar landmark know, as it figured in her life as prominently as her ghosts.

The stately old mansion sat back on its lot, well away from the crumbling sidewalk.  Despite the wonderful Old French Quarter location, this enormous home had been empty for almost one hundred years. 

Sure, there was a caretaker.  Had to be.  What else would explain the neatly trimmed grass?  Or the fact that the mansion hadn’t fallen to the ground?

Alisanne sighed.  Growing up with the tales of the Rousseau Misty Lady had only fed her staunch belief that ghosts had to exist.  Why, the story behind the Misty Lady was steeped in local lore, with hints of a soured romance.  Just the sort of thing to catch the fancy of a sorrowful young girl, who happened to be an incurable romantic.

Or so her dearly departed Papa used to tell her. 

With both her parents now gone, no good reason remained for her to stay in New Orleans, but the thought of returning to Milwaukee, so far away from their graves, chilled her more than a Wisconsin winter.  Up there, she’d be alone.  At least here in Louisiana, she could visit the cemetery any time she slipped into a maudlin frame of mind.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

“Remy.”  Dare she turn around to see if it really was Remy Beauvais?  In this part of the city, it could very well be a specter.  Heaven above knew he haunted her dreams. 

“Still looking for ghosts, are you?”

“I suppose I am.  Ghosts kept me away, and now they hold me here.”  She angled herself so she could see both Remy and the house.  Her heart dipped to her toes.  Remy looked even more delicious than she remembered.  Sooty black hair tousled around his lean, angular face, and provided the perfect contrast to his bright blue eyes.   Life was so unfair.

“Still haven’t given that up?  So you chasing two ghosts now?”

She savored the sound of his voice.  With the flat vowels and hard consonants of Wisconsin abusing her delicate Southern ears, she’d almost forgotten how a melodious Louisiana voice could soothe.  Remy’s voice deepened as he’d matured, and now, it sounded like it started somewhere below his knees.

“No, Remy.  There’s no unfinished business between my father and I.  We talked the night before he...” Her voice broke.  Tears pricked at her eyelids.  “He said goodbye.  Like he knew.”

“He couldn’t have known, Alisanne.  None of us know that.” 

There.  The usual disgusted Remy voice.  That hadn’t changed much.  The ache in her heart deepened into a dull pain with her realization that nothing would ever change between them. Alisanne drew in a shaky breath before she replied.

“He sounded so robust.  Not like a man who would get up the next day, shower, shave, dress, eat breakfast, and then die of a massive coronary as he did up his breakfast dishes.”

“Your father couldn’t help it any more than your mother could.”  Remy’s fisted hands rested on his hips.  He stared at her through hooded eyes. 
“Your comforting manner makes me feel oh-so-much better, Remy.  Have you been practicing your compassion skills while I was away?”  She glared right back, stung that he couldn’t try to make an attempt to understand how she felt about this.

“Ma’s been calling your hotel all day.  She’s worried about you.”  His exasperation resonated through his words, in his body language, and sparkled in his devastatingly blue eyes.

Smooth change of subject there.  His mother and hers had been best friends.  Marie Beauvais hadn’t thought twice about stepping in to fill the gap left in motherless Alisanne’s life.  Rather than resent the woman’s attempt to replace her mother, Alisanne was grateful to have someone who cared enough about her to offer her the unconditional love she’d needed.

“You knew right where to find me, huh?”

Remy relaxed his stance.  The setting sun glanced off his dark hair to illuminate his face.  “You’re predictable.”

“Thanks a heck of a lot.”  Alisanne huffed.  She directed an angry frown at Remy.

“Look, she’s worried about you.”  Strong tanned fingers drummed against a denim-clad leg.

“Please tell her I thank her for her concern.  I just need some time to myself.  To adjust to being alone in the world.”   Alisanne wrapped her arms around her waist in a protective gesture.

“She wants you to move in with her, since you refuse to stay at your family home.” 

 Then she’d have to see Remy on a regular basis.   She couldn’t bear that.  In the deepest recesses of her heart, she harbored a secret tender for him.  One she knew he’d never return.  Not while he still could make an ordinary comment sound like an accusation, as he just had.

“I’ll call her in a few days.”  Alisanne turned to walk away.  She rounded the corner and walked half a block before Remy roared past her on his motorcycle.  When he was out of sight, she did an about face to retrace her footsteps back to the Rousseau mansion.  Conditions were perfect for a ghostly sighting.  Twilight descended while a light breeze cooled the air around her.  The drone of insects tapered off as the evening grew darker.

The tall iron fence that surrounded the old house jutted into the air with their leering gargoyle faces gazing out around the neighborhood.  Fear clenched her heart.  While she’d been fascinated by the eerie tales surrounding the Rousseau family for nearly twenty years, she’d never actually seen the Misty Lady.


Folklore held that the identity of the famous ghost was Madame Adelie Rousseau, second wife of Monsieur Bayard Rousseau. By all accounts, this wasn’t a happy marriage, as Monsieur made no effort to hide his numerous indiscretions.  After a late night confrontation on the stairs, Madame went into early labor due to a fall down to the landing.  A fall precipitated by Monsieur’s shove to move her out of his way.  Injured in the accident, Madame didn’t survive childbirth. 

 Madame Adelie Rousseau didn’t pass quietly.  With her final breaths, she cursed her murderer, leveling a malediction against the entire male line of Rousseaus.  As long as the Rousseau name continued, she vowed, she would have unfinished business, and would not rest until she’d wreaked her revenge.

Not too long after Adelie’s funeral in 1838, Jean-Baptiste, aged twelve and Bayard’s only legitimate son, succumbed to yellow fever.  The following year, Monsieur himself died of an unknown ailment.  Both times, many people vowed they’d seen Adelie strolling through the mist that surrounded the city in the early hours of the mornings of these deaths.

 Adelie continued to appear once or twice a year after that, and each sighting coincided with the death of a man or boy bearing the name Rousseau.  Monsieur apparently had sired many children over the years in his indiscretions.  Many of them were sons.  Her so-called appearances tapered off in the late nineteenth century to about one every other year.  By the early twentieth century, it was thought Madame finally had found her rest.

With the death of Adelie’s daughter in 1912, the Rousseau mansion passed out of Bayard’s legitimate lineage.  None of the daughter’s offspring could be located, and after the specified amount of time passed, a young man by the name of Henri Rousseau had the misfortune of inheriting the mansion.  As soon as he moved into the house, sightings of the Misty Lady came back into vogue.  Nine months after he moved into the Rousseau mansion, Henri closed it up and left the country.

No one knew why.  Rumors circulated, but with no way to substantiate the wild claims, they died down without causing much more than a mild sensation.

After Henri Rousseau left, no one lived in the mansion.  Not even the owner who came after him.   Each successive owner provided basic upkeep for the vacant home.  And people, tourists mostly, continued to insist that they’d encountered Madame’s vengeful spirit walking in the mist.

It was all about unfinished business.  Madame Adelie Rousseau had been earthbound because of her curse.  Would the next logical assumption be that Alisanne’s mother must be earthbound too, because she forgot to tell her daughter goodbye? 

Oh, how that theory had made so much sense to a grieving girl.  How silly it seemed now.  Still, if there was a chance...

Mist rolled in, shrouding the vegetation and buildings.  It muffled the sounds of traffic, and left damp droplets on Alisanne’s bare arms.  The Rousseau home, once so proud, rose up against the creeping white tendrils of fog. 

No rest.
Alisanne stared at the house hard.  Nothing unusual emerged, despite the words she’d heard. 

“You convinced yet?”

She jumped.  “Remy!”

“It’s not safe for you to be alone out here.”

“Afraid I’ll actually see the Misty Lady?” she taunted.  She kept her back to him on purpose, annoyed he’d somehow doubled back to spy on her, and without her hearing that bike of his to boot.

“No.”  Laughter colored his voice.  “Worse.  I’ll see you back to your hotel.”

“I can manage very well on my own, thank you very much.”  She tossed her head.  Her short hair ruffled in the light breeze the movement made.
“Oh, come on now.  You know you want a ride on my Harley.”  He pulled her away from the fence. 

“No, I can’t say as I do.”  Hoo boy, what a liar.  Alisanne couldn’t think of anything she’d like to do more at this moment, other than seeing the Misty Lady and proving her theory correct.

“Helmet.  Get on the bike, Alisanne.”

She batted her eyes at him, even though she knew he couldn’t see the affectation in the foggy night.  It just made her feel better.  “Why, Mr. Beauvais, I think I will, seein’ as you asked me so sweetly.”

“Layin’ that Southern fem-I-nine charm a bit thick, aren’t you?”  Remy climbed onto the Harley.  She grasped his gloved hand as he pulled her to sit behind him.

With her hotel only a few blocks away, Alisanne knew she didn’t have that much time to relish their enforced closeness.  Too bad Remy sat so rigidly, so obvious in his attempt to minimize their close, physical contact.  She controlled the gusty sigh that threatened.  No, it wouldn’t do for Remy to even think he affected her in any way.

She could be just as impervious to him as he was to her.

Sure. 

Absolutely.

Why not?

Because, as an incurable romantic, she wore her heart for all to see, complete with the footprints of uncaring loves who didn’t return her affections.  Remy’s size twelve footprint had been the first.

Remy braked hard, causing Alisanne to slide into his back.  Overhead, the gleaming white lights of the hotel brightened the night almost into daylight.  She jumped off the bike.  Shaky fingers unfastened the helmet’s straps which cut into the skin under her chin. 

“Good night, Remy.”  She set the helmet on the seat she’d just vacated.  Time to beat a hasty retreat, much like the British had during the War of 1812.

One fluid movement brought Remy off the bike.  “I’ll see you to your room.”

“There’s no need,” she refused.  The carousel door spun with a force she hadn’t applied.  The small space filled with the scent of new leather and musky aftershave.  “Your listening skills haven’t improved much.”

Remy chuckled.  “I listen to you when it suits me.”

Alisanne paused, now in the lobby of the hotel.  “Must never suit you, Remy, ‘cause I can’t remember a single time you’ve listened to me.  Ever.”  She strode away without a second look back.

The stairs.  Less confining than an elevator, and she didn’t try to kid herself by thinking Remy wasn’t hot on her heels.  His boots echoed in the stairwell behind her. 

Thank heavens her room was located on the second floor.  Her lungs burned in protest to her heart-pounding pace.  Naturally, her room was as far away from the stairs as it could be.  Breath came in gasps now, and she hoped she’d make it to the room in time to find her inhaler before she fell over from lack of oxygen.

She stopped at the soda machine to catch her breath.  Coins jangled in her pocket, so she pulled out a fistful and fed the machine.  A bottle of tea rolled out at the bottom. 

Remy reached around her to grab the drink.  He turned her to face him and offered her the tea, after he opened it for her.  “Drink slowly so you don’t choke.  Where’s your inhaler?”

Choke?  How could she not when he surprised her with his question?  She couldn’t begin to imagine how he knew she needed one, as by the time she’d gotten the thing, he’d immersed himself in his too-cool-for-you stage.  He’d almost made her hate him back then.

Remy’s eyes glowed at her in the artificial light of the concession alcove.  Alisanne cleared her throat.  Too darned hard to think with him looking at her like that.  Remy was one Cajun who could curl her toes with one smoldering glance.

“It’s in my room.  I haven’t needed it for a long time.”

“Doesn’t do you any good in there,” Remy scolded. 

“I wouldn’t have needed it if you weren’t chasing me.  I’m fine now.  I’ve caught my breath.”  Alisanne strove to keep her tone even.  Hard to do with Remy leaning towards her, his gaze intent on her face. 

Oh, how she didn’t like his scrutiny any more now than she had as a teenager, when he’d been on her case for one thing or another.  Seemed he’d spent much of his time either ignoring her or reining her in . The sculpted planes of his face shone with his healthy tan, even under the thick overgrowth of his whiskers.     “You need to shave.”  Best redirect her thoughts away from how age had perfected him.  “I’ll survive.  I always do.”

He leaned in closer.  His hot breath stirred her bangs.  Alisanne’s knees buckled.  Impervious.  He doesn’t affect you that way anymore.  Those eyes of his saw through to her very soul, or at least so she fancied.  His mouth firmed into knowing smile, causing her to wonder if he could read her thoughts.

“How can I not, when they’re written all over your face?  Your face still shows every one of your thoughts.”



Remy rode by the Rousseau mansion after he left Alisanne safely in her hotel room.  He parked at the curb and cut off the engine.  The signs of renovation remained hidden behind the empty house.  Like most of the residents of the French Quarter, Remy had wondered why the owners let it sit there, rotting on its foundation.  The mansion called to him, like he knew it called Alisanne.

“Boss, you’re out late.”

“Checkin’ in on the site, Fred?”

The burly construction worker jerked his head towards the house behind him.  “Security alarm went off.”

“It’s been doing that a lot.”  Remy didn’t like these increasing episodes.  Something was wrong with the whole system, as the alarm went off for no apparent reason.  “Guess I’ll have Huey look at it in the morning.  Did you see anything?”

“Nope.  Don’t recall the system actin’ up before you inherited this place,” Fred rumbled.  He scratched his chin with thick fingers. 

“I inherited when I was twenty-one.  It’s been mine for nine years.”  The mansion had been held in trust for him until he reached the age specified by the great-uncle who’d bequeathed it, as well as a minor fortune.  Most of that fortune went to refurbishing the mansion to its former glory, as the condition of the old house had deteriorated to the point where it was almost a wonder it stood at all.

“Yeah, we’ve been working on it for, what, six or seven months?  The trouble started with the first delivery of lumber.  Could be the ghost don’t like us messing with her territory.”  Fred crossed his arms over his barrel chest.  He didn’t look too happy.  Remy knew Fred to be a superstitious man.  So much so, in fact, that he carried a piece of wood in his back pocket to rap on whenever he felt the need to knock on wood.

“Sure, Adelie Rousseau died in childbirth, soon followed by her stepson and husband, but a curse?  Lunacy.”  Remy discounted the tales surrounding the place as sheer superstition.  After all, he technically was a Rousseau, though he didn’t bear the name.  His mother was the last Rousseau of that lineage. 

“Maybe you should forget you’re a descendant of the Rousseaus, boss, and sell the place off,” Fred suggested.  Not for the first time, either.
“That’s what Ma says.  The terms of the will are quite specific.  I only get rid of this place when I die.  I don’t have to live in the place, but I can’t sell it either.”

“Ain’t there a loophole?  Oh well, I left Lulu watching that crime drama she likes so much.  I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, Fred.  Thanks for keepin’ an eye on the place.” Remy restarted his Harley and sped away from the house.  Alisanne remained heavily on his mind.

She hadn’t changed much.  Still tiny, and her short dark hair made her look like an elf. Her narrow face showed the strain of recent events, while her amber colored eyes reflected an inner sadness he didn’t remember being there before. 

Alisanne had deserved so much better from him, and he’d been a jerk.  He didn’t really blame her for treating him like poisonous snake curled up on her doorstep.  She tried to give him wide berth, and he’d forced her to accept a ride on his motorcycle. 

It had been hard to sit so stiffly in his efforts to give her the space he should, when all he wanted to do was feel her curved against his back.  Have her hands resting on his hips as they’d raced towards the hotel, and imagining he could feel the tingle of her hot breath on the back of his neck.  Being a true gentleman really stank at times.

This was one of those times. 

Food would go a long way towards helping him get a grip.  A long day at work, seeing Alisanne again for the first time in ten years, the house, not to mention other things he’d just as soon forget about.

“Hey, man, long time no see.”

At least his favorite    hole-in-the-wall eatery remained the same.  “Jay, you live here, huh?”

“Not always.  Just during operating hours.  Hazards of being the Big Boss.  What brings you ‘round here?”  Jay Weller rubbed a bright white towel in circles over the highly polished surface of the bar. “It’s been a while.”

“Food brings me here.  A grilled seafood sandwich with a side of red beans and rice.”  Yeah, Remy’d stopped coming around so frequently when Jay’s wife, Hilary, started coming on to him.  She’d been too interested in the renovations on the Rousseau place for Remy’s comfort.
 
“You hear that, Hilary?”  Jay hollered.  He continued to polish the bar. “Bring me something too, please.”

“Yeah, yeah.  Grilled sea sammich with beans and rice.  Must be Remy.”

“Whatcha doin’, Hilary?”  Remy called.  The manners drummed into him over the years by his diligent mother couldn’t be ignored.  He ignored the college kids in the corner who glared at him for interrupting their quiet conversation.  A few others that he recognized as regulars paid no attention to the loud exchange.  In the darkest corner of Jay’s Digs, a group of individuals heavily into the vampire scene attempted to appear mysterious and threatening.  Remy found them to be neither.

“Cookin’!  That’s all I ever do around here.”

Remy shook his head.  “Why did you hire her?  She’s ornery as all get out, Jay.”  Just one year behind them in school, Hilary had a straightforward manner that some might consider abrasive.

His friend shrugged.  “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“He’s a guy.  Why do you think he hired me?”

Jay rolled his eyes.  He tossed his towel into a bin Remy knew was located behind the long, dark wood fixture.  “And look where that got me.  Shackled to the woman.  Heard Alisanne Sommers’ father died.  Poor kid, she’s had a heck of a hard time.  She back in town?”

 Remy seated himself on a high-backed stool.  “She is.  Drivin’ Ma insane, since she insists on staying at a hotel.”

The kitchen doors eased open and Remy got an eyeful of Hilary’s back.  Her long dark blonde braid swung as she pivoted around to walk forwards.  She balanced two large plates on either hand. 

“She still strange?”  Hilary lowered the plates to place them before Remy and Jay.  She took two sets of silverware wrapped in white paper napkins from the front pocket of her blue apron. 

To Remy’s intense amusement, she unfurled one set of utensils and snatched the knife.  With one quick, deft movement, she sliced Jay’s sandwich in half.  Hilary grabbed the bigger half, biting into the soft roll with a big chomp.

“Strange?  No more than you are,” Remy retorted. 

Hilary swallowed.  “There’s a big difference, bud.  I’m quirky strange.  Alisanne is weird strange.”

“She’s had a hard time, Hil.  You might want to cut her some slack.”  Remy applied himself to eating his dinner rather than watching his friends’ reactions to his suggestion. 

“I just knew it,” Hilary declared. 

Remy shoveled some rice into his mouth, but Hilary’s heated words sent chills down his spine.  She didn’t sound pleased at the prospect that he might actually like Alisanne.  But then again, she wouldn’t be. 

Hilary chased him back in high school with a scary single-minded intensity.  When he’d been busy trying not to notice how Alisanne blossomed. 
For a while, the situation had caused problems between Remy and Jay, at least until Jay’d noticed who kept Remy preoccupied.  Remy recalled his astonishment over Jay’s announcement that Hilary harbored serious interest in him.  Like a true friend, Jay offered to run interference, stop Hilary from vying for Remy’s attention.  Never seemed to bother Jay that his girl preferred Remy.  After all, Remy had no interest in Hilary at all.

“You have a problem with how I choose to run my personal life, Hilary?”  Remy pushed the beans on his plate around with the crust from his bread. 

She poured tea into three tall glasses.  “I object when I know you can do so much better, Remy.  Alisanne Sommers is a nut job, and you deserve better.”

“And I deserve better myself,” Jay added. 

Remy glanced between Jay and Hilary.  Whatever seemed to be happening between these two leaked into their perceptions of the world around them.  No sense in talking about serious things with them when their own troubles put blinders over their eyes and wouldn’t allow them to see beyond their issues.

“I have an early morning tomorrow,” Remy said.  He tossed a twenty onto the counter, next to his half-eaten meal.  The poisonous atmosphere killed his appetite before the food satisfied him.


Morning came with a glorious clear blue sky.  By mid-morning, even the shade looked for shade.  An unexplainable yearning drew Alisanne to the cemetery.  The granite crypt radiated the heat of the day outwards.  Alisanne braced herself against the hot rolling waves and studied the words carved on her parents’ final resting place.  
   
Jeannette Louisa Sommers.  January 11, 1955–March 30, 1985.  Beloved wife and mother.  Resting with Our Lord in Heaven.

Gerard Joseph Sommers.  April 2, 1951–

The rest of her father’s line remained blank.  He’d only been gone for two and a half weeks.  It still seemed so surreal to her.  He’d been such a young man.  Too young to die.  Just like her mother.

Mama.  Mostly what Alisanne remembered of her was the scent of Mama’s favorite perfume that always followed her, and her soft voice.  The unconditional love.  Papa had loved them both unconditionally as well.  Alisanne regretted that era had come to a too-early end.  Regretted she’d spent the last ten years living so far away from home, driven away by more than just unrequited love.  The memories of the family so abruptly torn apart overwhelmed her.

She moved away from the crypt, stepping carefully among the crowded tombstones.  Chills ran up her spine–not unusual.  That always happened when she visited the cemetery.  The peaceful air held just a hint of something that couldn’t quite qualify as menace.  No doubt her active imagination was overworking here.

The tombs grew older the further she walked.  No flowers decorated these weather-beaten stones, indeed, names and dates faded to the point of being unreadable. 

A mausoleum rose ahead of her.  It bore the legend Rousseau.  The air cooled here in the shade cast by the building.  Alisanne ventured around it, her eyes trained on the pitted marble. 

Adelie, 1814-1838. The breeze picked up, dried weeds and leaves blew across the hard-packed ground.  The mausoleum entry stood recessed in the small building and the wind moaned as it passed.  No rest.

No rest?  Alisanne tugged at her ears.  No, the wind couldn’t talk.  She hadn’t really heard a woman’s voice.  It sounded again.  Remy Beauvais.
 
No rest.

Heart pounding, she raced out of the cemetery, and stopped only when she leaned against her car.  She pulled her inhaler out of her pocket.  Two puffs of the nasty tasting stuff, and Alisanne felt the constriction of her lungs loosen.

Remy.  Without a doubt, Alisanne decided he was in some sort of trouble.  She needed to warn him, but dismissed the idea.  He’d call her a lunatic.  And she didn’t think she could bear his disdain again.  Still, she couldn’t fight the urge to help him.  She’d just have to be sneaky about it, so as not to give him a reason to tell her how deluded he thought her.

The time had come to pay a visit to Marie Beauvais.  Remy’s mother and best friend of Alisanne’s late mother.  Right after she did some research at the library.

Back when Alisanne had been a girl visiting the library, the head librarian, Mrs. Vassar, seemed very old.  Now the woman surpassed old and went straight to ancient. 

“The Rousseau collection has expanded by several books since you were here last, dear. They’re in the back.”

“Wow, she wasn’t kidding,” Alisanne muttered to herself.  The Rousseau Room now held three bookshelves–two new ones.  A narrow table angled away from a small window, and one metal folding chair sat tucked underneath.

She picked a likely-looking book off one shelf.  The dust covering the leather binding made her sneeze several times.  A furtive glance out the open door reassured her that no librarian hovered nearby. 

Alisanne pulled a warm bottle of water out of her bag and made herself as comfortable on the cold metal chair as she could.  The book she’d chosen discussed the Rousseau marriage and their deaths.  It read like a scandal rag.  After reading only a few pages, she set it aside and reached for another.  The slender volume she chose presented the verifiable facts in a dry, yet effective manner. 

It seemed that Monsieur Bayard Rousseau cheated not only on his second wife, but on his first as well.  Not to mention the mysterious circumstances shrouding the first Madame Rousseau’s demise.  Alisanne fingered the pile of books she’d set on the table as she scanned the titles on the spines.  There.  A book entitled The First Madame Rousseau: Solange Tibault Rousseau.


Alisanne forgot to breathe while she read the letters translated from French.  As she read the final letter, tears sprang to her eyes.  Madame Solange had tried to love her husband, but found she could not when she discovered he couldn’t be faithful.

She blinked to clear her eyes so she could read the genealogy chart at the back of the thin book.  She arched out of the chair in surprise.  Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to investigate Bayard Rousseau’s progeny, legitimate and illegitimate. 

Remy. 

Agitated, she left the tiny room long enough to go to the ladies room and splash water on her face.  She intended to go back and study that book again from cover to cover.  The room remained just as she’d left it only minutes before.  However, the small Madame Solange volume had disappeared.  Alisanne spent twenty minutes searching for it before she admitted defeat.

Mystified, she returned the other books to the shelves and left.


       
“I wondered when you’d come by.  It’s a blessing to see you again.”  Marie Beauvais flew down her porch steps, arms stretched wide.  Alisanne slid out of her rental car in time to close the door with her hip before Marie crushed her in a hug.

Alisanne’s heart lodged in her throat.  Marie’s genuine love engulfed her to bridge the years like she’d never left.

“Come inside.  The bugs are out in full force,” Marie chatted as she pulled Alisanne into the house.

The temperature in the old brick house felt a good twenty degrees cooler than the hot, humid air outside.  An old-fashioned fan whirred in the corner of the front room.  Not only did it circulate cool air, it perfumed the air with the scent of the homemade potpourri which sat on the table set several inches in front of the fan.

“You’ve lost weight.  No surprise there.  I imagine the food in Wisconsin is just dreadful.  Bland.  Sit! Sit!  I’ll bring out refreshments.”

Alisanne glanced around the familiar room.  This home harbored the same comforting familiarity as her childhood home.  Nothing here had changed, just like nothing ever had in her father’s house.  This gave her a greater sense of security.  A feeling that had gone missing when Papa died and left her alone in the world.

“There.  I just made a fresh pitcher of sweetened tea.  Lucky for you, Remy hasn’t been by in a couple of days, or I’d be out of chocolate chip cookies.”  Marie set a tray on the low coffee table.  “Well, sit down, sweetie.  You look like you have much on your mind.”

Alisanne sank into her favorite chair.  Small, it fit her perfectly, and it swivelled.  An added bonus.  “How come you never told me you’re a Rousseau?”

“No beating around the bush for you, huh?”  Marie’s comfortable laugh trilled, pricking more buried memories.  “Remy said he saw you last night.  Did he tell you he inherited that old mansion in the Quarter?”

Alisanne sat up very straight, the cookie she’d just taken now forgotten.  “No.  He didn’t say a word.”

Marie’s expression turned guilty.  “Oh boy.  I’m in trouble now.”

“I won’t tell on you.”

They grinned at each other.  They’d had many such conversations over the years.  “He’s renovating it.  Thinks he should live in it,” Marie confided.  “Dumb idea if you ask me, but he didn’t.”

Alisanne bit her lip.  “Why does he want to live there?”

Marie gazed steadily at her.  “To prove that all the rumors surrounding the family are wrong.  You know him.  If he can’t see it or touch it, it’s not real.”

“No wonder he’s still single.”  Alisanne snorted.  Remy’d had his fair share of girlfriends.  She’d bet the house on that one.  With his good looks and the charm that ooze from him?  Oh yeah.  Loads of women.  Very depressing thought.

Marie winked.  “Honey, I think he’s just waiting for the right woman to get her act together.  Lord knows he’s been out with all the available wrong women.”

Alisanne coughed, trying not to gag on the thick tea she’d just swallowed as Marie confirmed what she’d been thinking only a few short moments before.  That couldn’t mean what she thought it did.  Could it?  No.  Remy didn’t like her at all.  He’d said so, many years ago.  Broke her heart badly enough that several years passed before she offered it to another man.  He’d stomped on her too.  So had the guy after that.  And the guy after that. 

Thank heavens none of those so-called relationships had turned more serious than a few kisses.  They just served to make her wary of the entire male species.  Her heart couldn’t take another pounding.

As much as she’d like to believe Marie, experience pointed to the contrary.  “Remy has little patience for me, Marie.”

Marie’s smile widened.  “He rarely shows patience at all.”

Alisanne rolled her eyes.  No way would she ever tell his mother what Remy’d said to her.  Marie didn’t need to know that Remy was the reason Alisanne had left New Orleans in the first place.  “I found a book at the library that detailed the Rousseau genealogy.  All of it.”

“Really?  I’m amazed anyone could put a comprehensive one together, given ol’ Bayard’s spreading the love around, so to speak.”  Marie blushed.

“Well, it’s how I discovered your connection.”

Marie nibbled on a cookie.  “Imagine that.  Not to change the subject, honey, but I want you to know that when you’re ready to deal with your Papa’s house, I’m here to help you.”

“Thanks, Marie.  I’m having a hard time working up the courage to go into the house.  Being there, where he died.”

“Your father had a very happy life, honey.  Trust me.  He’s gone on.  He’s with your mother.”

“How about this weekend?  It will be better if I just plan to do it.”  She’d put it off long enough.  There were no fairies that would come in and do it for her, no matter how hard she wished.

“I’ll meet you there,” Marie agreed.  “Nine o’clock?”

“Perfect.”  Alisanne stood.  “It’s been great seeing you again.  Your cookies are as sinful as ever.”

“You stop by any time.  I’ve missed you.” 

Alisanne drove away several minutes and quite a few hugs later.

Heat radiated off the blacktop of the streets, and before she pulled into the hotel parking lot, she decided to valet park.  Last thing she wanted to do was clean asphalt off her shoes.  Besides, her cell phone rang just as she turned into the hotel parking lot.  A glance at the screen told her the caller’s number was restricted.  Rather than answer, she let it go to her voice mail.

The valet held the car door open for her.  Moments later, the cooled air of the hotel washed over her hot, sticky skin.  The dark interior of the hotel lobby bustled with activity.  She dodged groups of people while trying to make her way to the elevators.  Another woman stood before the elevator bay.  Alisanne tried to ignore her, except that the woman studied her with an assessing gaze one usually reserved for inspecting livestock.
Alisanne stared back and contemplated the wisdom of asking the brunette to open her mouth for a tooth inspection.  She had the feeling that this rude woman knew her. 

“So, you’re the preferred daughter-in-law.  That alone will assure that even if Remy does leave me, it won’t be for you.”

“I’m sorry?”  Who was this woman, and why did she feel compelled to talk to Alisanne?  Perhaps this woman had escaped from the local mental hospital. 

“Yes, you are.  Remy Beauvais is mine.  Keep your grubby paws off!”  The woman crossed her arms over her chest and tapped a pointy-toe shod foot.

“And you would be...?”

“A disgruntled ex-girlfriend, who doesn’t seem to understand we’re over.”

Both women turned to the new addition to the conversation.  Remy, wearing grimy torn jeans, heavy work boots and a bright yellow t-shirt that stretched across his chest and left little to the imagination, strode up to them.

“If you’re going to ambush someone, Francine, you should at least introduce yourself.”

Francine gaped at him, her face a sickly shade of red.  To Alisanne’s relief, the woman fled without another word.  A ding announced the arrival of an elevator.  Remy nudged Alisanne into it with a work-roughened hand.

“Sorry about that.  Should have thought to warn you.  Francine went psycho-stalker on me.  Funny thing is, she did the breaking up.”

“Is she dangerous?”  She licked her dry lips.  Worry for Remy’s well-being overrode all other emotion. 

“No, just regretting her haste.  Ma called.  You made her day.”  His voice filled the elevator. 

“I should have called on her sooner,” Alisanne admitted.  The elevator halted and she stepped out into the corridor.  Remy followed her.  “You just keep getting taller and taller, Remy.  I swear, I’m on eye-to-bellybutton level with you now.”

Remy’s laughter filled the corridor.  “You’ve always been a little bit of a girl.” 

Alisanne fumbled with the key.  Remy took it from her nerveless fingers.  With a quick twist of his wrist, he had the door open.  This didn’t give her nearly enough time to contemplate the implications of his statement.  Perhaps not so much what he said, but how he said it.

He’d noticed she was a girl. 

A good start.  But it still couldn’t make up for his imitating the south end of a north-bound mule for so many years. 

“You came by for a reason, I assume?”  She turned to lean against the doorjamb.  She tilted her head back to see his face.  In such close quarters, she had no choice.  He towered over her. “You don’t have a phone, so you had to see me in person?”

“Ma ‘fessed up.  I thought I’d invite you to the mansion, to see the renovations.”

Alisanne stopped breathing.  She felt her eyes widen.  “A personal invite?  You’re being nice to me.  Why?”

Remy lifted her to his eye level with the comment, “I’m getting a crick in my neck from lookin’ down at you.”

“That has nothing to do with why you’re being nice to me.  You feeling sick or something?”  Thub-dub went her heart.  How could it not when Remy held her so effortlessly...and looked at her like he wanted to...

Mesmerized, she fixated on the curve of his mouth.  Oh, how it knotted her stomach when he did that Elvis smirk of his– one side of his mouth quirked just so, his eyes dancing with mirth. 

These jumbled thoughts whirled through her mind in the half second before he followed through.  His lips covered hers and the resulting zap coursed through her blood at the speed of light.  Convinced she must crackle with electricity, Alisanne wrapped her arms around Remy’s shoulders.

His strong arm came across her back to press her against him so snugly she didn’t know which thundering heartbeat belonged to her.  Alisanne felt herself sliding down until her feet touched the floor, yet Remy kept his arms around her.  When he at last ended the kiss, she rested her forehead against his chest.

Trembling hands caught her hair to cup her head and pull back until they made eye contact again.  Sweat beaded on Remy’s forehead while his fathomless eyes bore into hers. 

He knew her and every little secret she carried. 

A shaky breath in and out, then the world intruded into their brief interlude.  Distant chatty voices pinged into Alisanne’s awareness.  The telltale swoosh of elevator doors whispered down the hall.  Alisanne brought her fingertips to the sensitive skin around her mouth, which still tingled from Remy’s whiskers brushing against her face.   Remy’s husky voice brought her focus back to him.

“The construction crew won’t be at the house until nine tomorrow morning.  Be safer for you if you came before they arrived.”

She glared at him.  “You kiss all sensible thought out of my head, and then start talking shop?”

He leaned over to speak into her ear.  His lips all but brushed her ear lobe.  Goose bumps covered every square inch of her body. 

“Yes, love, I’m talking shop.  You’re going to belong to me legally, in the eyes of the church, before I make love to you.  Understand what I’m saying, Alisanne?  So, eight in the morning, at the mansion.  Alright?”

“Alright.”



Sleep eluded Alisanne that night.  Her usual dreams tangled with new ones of the danger she perceived Remy to be in now.  Whispered moans of no rest and faithless echoed through even the familiar nightmares.  A faceless entity chased her across all the nightmares to connect them into one long, terrifying event.

 At two in the morning, she rolled over and turned on the bedside lamp.  The bedding lay in a twisted heap half on the bed, half on the floor.  Sweat slicked her skin, making Alisanne feel uncomfortable and sticky.  Light chased the cobwebs away, but Remy’s earlier words continued to haunt her.

You’re going to belong to me...

Hoo boy.  Coming from any other man, such possessiveness would have her running in the other direction.  Probably screaming.  No.  Definitely screaming. 

Not so with Remy.  His saying it had the opposite effect.  It required every ounce of her self-control to not chase him down the hall when he’d left her leaning up against the entry to her room.  He’d whistled a tuneless ditty as he’d strode away from her.  Wrong.  He’d swaggered. 

Here her long-held, most cherished desire looked to be coming true, yet she couldn’t believe it.  It was too soon.  Much too fragile a hope.  A niggle of doubt still existed somewhere in the back of her brain, and that had a dampening effect on the gleeful pitter-patter of her soaring heart.

The clock ticked towards dawn.  At last Alisanne fell into a light slumber while she reclined in the large armchair.  The television flickered, the sound turned down to all but inaudible.  Cartoons from the 1970's held no appeal to her, and provided just the snoozing effect she needed to nod off to la-la land.  Worked every other time nightmares kept her awake.

The telephone jangled at seven.  Groggy from lack of sleep, she thanked the front desk clerk for the wake-up call.  She stumbled to the bathroom.  After ten minutes spent under the cold shower spray, Alisanne glared at her reflection in the mirror.  At least the water washed away the last vestiges of her unnerving night, even if it did nothing for her appearance.

The bags under her eyes darkened due to lack of sleep.  She looked haggard.  Time to bring out the big guns.  Alisanne reached for her cosmetics.

“You look like a tart,” she announced to the mirror.  She scrubbed her face, then applied the cosmetics with a lighter hand.  Still not happy with the effect, she decided to let it be while she got dressed. 

One final glance in the mirror reassured her she didn’t look as made-up as she thought.  The denim blue and white striped shirt with its crisp denim collar paired with blue jeans took the focus from the gunk on her face.  She hoped. 

One glance at her watch sent her flying out the door. The phone jangled just as the door latched.  Alisanne fumbled with the lock to get back inside her room.  It could be Remy calling to change plans. 

“Hello?”  Breathless from the mad dash across the room, over a pile of bedding, to reach the phone, Alisanne regulated her breathing. 

“Faithless.  Must fulfill the curse.”  A click followed.

Too bad the hotel phone couldn’t trace the call’s origin.  On a whim, she called the front desk to have all incoming calls routed to her cell phone.
Now running further behind, she didn’t have enough time to race through the continental breakfast room to grab a muffin.  Just as well, as she’d added a few extra pounds since she returned home.

The morning sun worked its way through the branches of the cypress trees lining the driveway up to the mansion.  A thrill of excitement at being inside the fence rather than outside looking in coursed through her.  She parked under a tree, next to Remy’s motorcycle.

Sunlight bathed the driveway pad.  Alisanne slipped her sunglasses on against the brightness bouncing off the cement. Remy’d just climbed off his bike.

“I like seeing the house with the sun on it,” Remy mentioned when she joined him.  “Dispels all those silly tales about the place.”

“I’ve never seen it like this,” Alisanne replied.  She shifted under the weight of his gaze.  When Remy slid his sunglasses to the end of his nose to peer at her over them, she bit her lower lip. 

A frown creased at the bridge of his nose, drawing his dark eyebrows together.  “You wearin’ make-up, love?”

Alisanne nodded once.  She bit down on her lip, drawing blood.  Remy pulled a bandana out of his back pocket and dabbed at her lip.  “Careful, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with Remy Beauvais?”

Instead of answering, he nudged her with his elbow.  “Beat ya to the house.”

His words didn’t sink in right away.  Halfway to the house, he slowed, and jogged backwards so he could speak to her.  “You’re speechless.  If I’d known being nice to you would do the trick, I’d have been nice to you sooner.”

“You rat!”

Remy laughed when she gave chase.  She caught him on the front steps, or rather, he allowed her to catch him.  Alisanne wrapped her arms around his waist in an attempt to knock him over.  He twisted around to dislodge her with one sweeping movement.  Breathless from running and laughing, she gasped.

Remy sat on the top step and seated her next to him.  She leaned against him as she attempted to regulate her breathing back to normal.  He checked her jeans pockets until he found her inhaler.
 
“Yeck.”  She capped the appliance after taking two puffs. 

“Have a mint.”  Remy offered her a roll of candy.  Alisanne took three.  “Sorry.  I forgot your asthma.”

“I’d like to forget it too.  Doesn’t bother me in Wisconsin, for whatever reason.  Papa reminded me to keep my prescription current for the inhaler, though, so I would have one when I visited.  Reminded me of it during our last conversation, as a matter of fact.  I’d told him I was coming home for the summer.”

Alisanne’s voice broke.  Tears choked her, making it impossible for her to continue.  Remy encircled her shaking shoulders with an awkward arm.  Not quite a hug, but still human contact.  She wouldn’t cry.  Nope.  Take a deep breath, let it out, take another.

After several minutes, she controlled her grief. “Oh Remy.  Why did they leave me alone?”

Remy took her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him.  He stroked her cheek bones with his thumbs.  “You’re not alone, love.  You’re never alone.”

A gusty sigh shook Alisanne while more tears threatened to spill.  Her lips quivered, but she wouldn’t allow herself to cry. Tears would betray her for the quivering bundle of mushy gelatin she’d turned into when Papa died.  Papa wouldn’t have wanted her to mourn him.  Her throat ached with effort it took not to bawl her misery aloud.  Fingernails dug into her palm, and the discomfort drew her focus away from her need to give in and have a good, long sob session.

“Until you’ve been alone, Remy, it’s easy to say that.”  She’d heard the “you’re never alone speech” from many people over the years.  People who had no clue about aloneness.  Alisanne’s college roommate had loved to expound at great length on the subject.  Until Alisanne, testy with frustration, pointed out that one who’d grown up with three siblings, and even now lived only twenty minutes from home, had no right to lecture an only child hundreds of miles from home.

Remy’s gaze flickered.  “You’re right.  I’m sorry.”

Guilt for her shortness with Remy caused Alisanne to leave the step they sat on together.  “I...uh, well.  I’ve heard that so many times.”  She heaved a deep sigh.  “It’s gotten old.”

Remy rose to his feet.  “No offense taken.  Now that I think on it, it’s a very presumptuous thing to say.”

“Not when it’s meant in the spirit you intended.”  She twisted her hands together.  “Do I still get the nickle tour?”

Remy grinned at her.  “For you, I’ll give you the dollar tour.”  He offered her his hand.  Without hesitation, she grasped it.  Her little hand disappeared into his when he closed his fingers. 

“I’m still waiting for you to revert to the mean Remy,” she admitted, oh-so-softly. 

They stopped before the great oak doors.  Thick colored glass inlaid in the doors sparkled jewel tones.  Remy’s response matched hers in volume.  “I know you are, love.  I’m sorry I hurt you.  All I can say in my defense is that I was young.  You did nothing to deserve my attitude, other than you bloomed into a very pretty gal.  You went from being a pest I could ignore to being a pest I didn’t want to ignore.  You understand?”

Alisanne gave him a wide-eyed look.  This confession surprised her as she’d thought he didn’t even notice her way back when.
Turns out he noticed her alright. 

The door swung inward without so much as a groan.  “Your tour begins in the entry, Mademoiselle.”

A shadow in the corner of the covered veranda caught Alisanne’s eye.  She stared at the now sunny spot, wondering about what she’d seen.  No.  The Misty Lady came out in the mist, for crying out loud.  Hence the name. 

The scent of lilacs drifted on a light breeze that picked up at that moment.  Alisanne made a mental note to ask Remy where he’d planted the lilacs as she followed him into the house and shut the door.

Remy leaned against the column that framed a wide walkway in the center of the large parlor as he watched Alisanne stroll around the empty, echoing room.

“What do you think?”

“You did this?” Alisanne twisted around.  “I don’t know what to look at first.”

“I had help.”

She stopped a few feet from him, to turn in a slow full circle.  “It looks authentic.”

Remy expelled his breath through his mouth.  “That was the hard part–doing the research.  Did you know, you can send paint chips you’ve scraped off the wall to be analyzed?  They can tell you the original color of the room.  It’s amazing.  The upstairs is almost finished.  Adapting this old place to modern plumbing took imagination.”

“How old is this place?”

“It was built in 1799, so over two hundred years old.”

“Amazing to think this place stood empty for almost one hundred of those years.”

Remy beckoned her to follow him to the stairs.  “Nothing was allowed to fall too far into disrepair.  The previous owners may have been absentee owners, but they did see to minimal upkeep.”

“Wonder why that was?” 

They stood at the railing and peered down to the first floor.  “Condition of inheritance.  I had to sign a legal document to that effect.”

“This effort seems more than minimal,” Alisanne observed.  “More like renovation.”

“The house is two hundred and six years old.  It needed more than basic attention.”

“Are these the stairs Adelie Rousseau fell down?”

“The very same.  Don’t tell me, you felt a cold spot on the landing.  That’s a favorite gag of the construction workers.”

“No, no cold spot.  She didn’t die on the stairs.”    Alisanne traced her finger along the smooth hardwood banister, following the grain of the wood.  A tingle spread through her hand, up her arm.  She shivered when the air around her cooled just long enough to make her wonder if she’d imagined the chill.  “I wonder how many people touched this very spot.  I wonder if she would linger here, this being the site of her fatal injury.”

Remy shook his finger at her. “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he chided.  “There are no such things as ghosts.”

“Why not?”

“You’re incorrigible.  Come see the master bedroom. It overlooks the parterre garden in the back.”  Remy indicated the door to his left.
Alisanne went straight to the turret window.  The view encompassed the entire back part of the property.  The stunning garden below looked surreal, almost too perfect.

“There aren’t any lilacs.”

“No.”  Remy’s voice echoed with a more resounding resonance in this room.  Alisanne wondered why for a brief moment before she answered.
“I smelled lilacs before we came inside the house.” She turned to him.  Consternation wrinkled her forehead.

“Maybe we’re downwind from the Garden District.”  A shrug.  “The lilacs bloomed in the spring.  It’s late summer.  You probably smelled something else.”

“Maybe.  Are you going to live here when it’s complete?”  Alisanne strolled around the room; her eyes scanned every minute detail. 
“Yes, that’s the current plan.  Ma’s not happy about it, though.”  He watched her pace the room.

“Is she going to move in with you?”  She paused to examine the wainscoting. 

“Here?  She’s as nutty about the so-called ghosts here as you are.  No.”  Remy chuckled.

Alisanne ran her hand along the bright yellow wall.  “Is the molding original?  It’s the same throughout the house.”  Alisanne stopped before him.  Her head tilted to the left so she could gaze up at him.  She squinted at him for another moment before she raised her eyebrows at him.

“Most of it.” 

“It’s gorgeous.  Are you going to furnish it with period pieces?”

“Some antiques, some reproductions.  I’ve just about used the money I inherited along with the mansion.”  Remy motioned she should precede him out of the room.  Alisanne hugged the wall, well away from the heavy wooden railing that lined the open side of the hallway.  The side that looked down to the foyer.  They descended the stairs.

“Well, I’m good and jealous.  You know I’ve always loved this house.  You get to live in it.”  Alisanne waved one hand in the air.

“Hey, boss.  Where you want we should start today?  G’morning, ma’am.”  Workers tramped in behind the big man whose voice boomed like a crack of thunder.

“Where we left off yesterday.  Alisanne Sommers, this is my crew boss, Fred Rice.  He’s responsible for all the fine detailing you see.”

“Very nice job, Mr. Rice.”

The man flushed deep red.  He beat a hasty retreat.

“What did I say?”  Alisanne blinked as her mouth quirked off to one side.

“He doesn’t like to call attention to his talent.”  Remy explained.  “Sorry to rush you out, love, but the work day has started.  Why don’t you walk through the parterre garden before you go?”

“I’d like that.”  She looked at her feet while she fought the feeling that Remy was tossing her out.  The time had come for her to go, but its arrival hit abruptly.

Remy grabbed her hand, and pulled her against him with a yank.  She gasped when she bumped into him.  Remy tilted her chin up with his free hand as he held her captive. 

“You have plans this evening?”

“Besides ordering room service and flipping through the channels on the television?  I thought I might tweeze my eyebrows.”  Alisanne almost said clipping her toenails, but that information shouldn’t be disclosed to anyone.

“If you do that, you won’t have any left.  No, put on some fancy clothes, maybe a dress?  We’ll tackle the town tonight.”

“You askin’ me out, Mr. Beauvais?”  Could it be?

“Yes I am, Miss Sommers.”

“On one condition.”  Her heart raced.

“Conditions already?  It’s just our first date.  It’s way too early for you to place conditions on me.”  His stern expression faltered into a pleased grin.  “What’s your condition, love?  I’m hoping that even if I mangled the invite to oblivion that you’d still say yes.”

Her eyes blazed.  Remy placed a quieting finger against her lips, smoothing them under his finger tip. After half a second, he allowed her to speak.
“You pick me up in a car, not the motorcycle.”

“Is that a yes then?”

“Yes.”



Alisanne listened to the bees droning in the garden as she walked the beautifully laid path that wound through the enclosed space.  A six-foot wall of ivy climbed all four sides of the walled-in garden, a more than effective enclosure for privacy.  A fountain bubbled in the very center.  All paths wended their way to this place.  Well-sculpted shrubs and symmetrical gardens were dotted with statuary and benches. 

Wind whispered through the trees several feet removed from this haven.  She couldn’t help but admire the entire property.  A large cement pad, new from the unblemished surface, provided ample parking, but was unseen from the front of the oversized lot.  In fact, unless one knew it was there, it was hard to find.

The sun climbed to its zenith before she left.  Reluctance dragged her heels.  She reached her car and opened the door to allow the heat to escape before she climbed inside.

“No rest.  Remy.”

Alisanne knocked her face against the top corner of the car door in surprise as she jerked her head in the direction of the voice.  A gust rustled through the trees. 

“Ouch,” she muttered.  She pressed her left hand to her cheek bone. “Such a klutz.  Hearing things again.  Time to have the old hearing tested.”

“Faithless.”  Alisanne caught a movement out of the corner of her eye.  She twisted around to see who was trying to frighten her.  All she saw was the back of a man turning the corner around the house, out of her line of vision.  Not Remy.  No, he wouldn’t try to scare her. 

Alisanne hustled into the car.  She slammed the door hard.  After three tries, she managed to insert the key into the ignition.  The car roared to life as a great blast of wind shook the car.  Dark clouds rolled across the sky, boiling and bumping into each other way up high in the atmosphere.  Seconds later, a steady sheet of rain fell. 

“It was the storm arriving.  It was the storm arriving.”  She chanted this litany all the way back to the hotel.

The rain continued to cascade as she pulled into the protective overhang of the hotel’s valet parking.  A valet came forward.  Alisanne handed her keys over and accepted the parking stub.  Thunder boomed overhead, lightning flashed–all within quick succession. At least she hadn’t gotten drenched in the downpour.

 Hunger forced her toward the small restaurant located just off the lobby.  The maitre-de seated her by a window, where she watched water roll in beads down the outside pane, blurring the view of the street.

“We meet again.”

Splendid.  Remy’s weirdo ex-girlfriend.  Alisanne wondered if the woman had a life.  The creepy sensation that she’d acquired a stalker shook Alisanne.  She ignored the intruder, gazing, instead, at the menu as she decided what to order for lunch.

“He invited you to the mansion, didn’t he?”  Francine seated herself in the empty chair at the table without so much as a by-your-leave.  “I bet he told you he inherited that haunted hulk.”

Alisanne raised one eyebrow as she reluctantly lowered the menu.  Francine’s bitter laugh resembled a bark of a dog.  “He’s so full of himself.  The real owner hired him to do the renovations.  He’s just a construction contractor, you know.  No one like him would inherit the Rousseau place.  Has he fed you that nonsense about being a Rousseau?”

Something didn’t feel right.  Alisanne tried to rise to her feet, but Francine’s bright red clawed hand grabbed her right arm, just above the wrist, and twisted. 

“Sit.  We’re getting to know each other.”  Francine smiled.  It didn’t quite meet her eyes, but it did make her look less...looney.

“What do you want?”  Alisanne sat back down, grateful when Francine let her arm go.

“You should know what you’re getting into with him.”  Francine nodded.  Alisanne decided the woman thought she conferred a great favor upon her.

“Remy has roving eyes.  He’ll get tired of you and go find his satisfaction somewhere.  That boy hasn’t been innocent in a very long time.  Keep that in mind when you’re the one pining for him.”

Alisanne almost laughed out loud.  Francine had no way of knowing that she’d spent years pining for Remy. 

“Don’t let me keep you from ordering your lunch.”  Francine stood.  “Think about what I’ve said.  Don’t get involved with him.  Rousseau men never are faithful.  Never.”  She knocked the table as she made her point as she left the table.

Think, Alisanne did, but not what Francine wanted her to contemplate upon after her departure.  No, what concerned Alisanne more than whether Remy could remain true to any woman was why Francine sought her company.  What on earth did that strange woman hope to accomplish?

The sandwich she’d ordered tasted like sawdust, the tea could have been ocean water for all she cared.  The urge to get upstairs to her room and get on her computer gripped Alisanne.

“You’re not an easy person to find.” 

Alisanne stopped in her tracks when presented with a barricade in the form of a tall blonde woman.  Her shoulders slumped in defeat.  So much for getting to her room any time soon.  “It must be National Stalk Alisanne Day.”

“Beg pardon?”  Hilary’s eyebrows shot up and drew together as she gazed at Alisanne.

“Never mind.  Hilary St. Martin, right?”

“Was.  Now Weller.  Heard you were back in town.”

“News travels fast.”  Alisanne expelled a gusty breath and waited for the other woman to state her business.  She fidgeted with her room key.  When Hilary continued to stare at her, Alisanne turned to walk away.  She didn’t have the time nor the desire for another battle of the wits.  Especially with someone who appeared to have lost hers.

No rest.  Alisanne shivered.  She resisted the urge to peak over her shoulder at Hilary.

“I’m sorry about your father.”  Hilary said.  A thread of indecision ran through her words.

“Thank you.  Congratulations to you.  I didn’t know you’d married Jay Weller.”  Alisanne came to a reluctant halt and faced the other woman.

“You know Jay?”

“He’s Remy’s best friend.  Of course I know Jay.”

“Look, Remy’s just getting his life back together after dating that nut job Francine Whatshername.”

Alisanne gave one slow nod.  “Uh-huh.  And you don’t think he needs to get involved with another nut job?”

Hilary shifted her balance from one foot to the other, and then back again.  She had the grace to appear somewhat embarrassed. 

“You know, since you’re married, I can’t see what business it is of yours who Remy dates.” 

“I’m his friend.  Just stay away from him, or you’ll be sorry.”

Alisanne blinked, taken aback as Hilary made her threat before she walked in the opposite direction at a fast clip.

The bottom of the door brushed against a pile of paper on the floor as Alisanne let herself into her room.  Goose bumps rose on her arms when she recognized the obstacle as the book that went missing at the library the other day.  The one about the first Madame Rousseau, that included the genealogy at the very end.

The door clicked shut as she reached down for the book.  It fell open to the last page detailing the current generation of Rousseau descendants.
 Francine Lamar.  Lamar?  Alisanne traced the line up to Adelie’s daughter, her mind awhirl with all the possibilities. Aimee Louisa Rousseau Lamar.  The next conclusion Alisanne reached for required quite a stretch.  With no other proof than the same first name, she decided Remy’s ex must be Francine Lamar.  Who needed actual, hard proof?  Proof was for sissies. Francine and Remy were distant cousins, not even cousins in a direct line. 

What game was Francine playing?  Fear gripped Alisanne and squeezed her heart so hard it hurt.  She dug her cell phone out of her purse, then stared at it through unseeing eyes.

She didn’t know if Remy had a cell phone.

One thing was for certain, however.  She needed to get to him.  Warn him.  About Francine.  Francine Lamar, several-times-over great-granddaughter of the vengeful Madame Adelie Rousseau.

She grabbed her raincoat as she headed back out the door.  The little book fit into the interior pocket with some room to spare.
Headlights on, wipers racing at full-blast, Alisanne flew back to the mansion.  Only Remy’s motorcycle sat on the parking pad.  Light shone through the stormy afternoon from the windows of the house.

She pounded on the door while her heart matched her frantic rapping.  Water dripped from Alisanne’s coat onto the veranda.  She tapped her toe against the porch.  Again, the scent of lilac hovered on the porch, stronger, somehow, than the smell of the rain.

 A surge of relief made her knees weak when Remy appeared.  “Oh, good.  You’re still here.”  Without a word, he opened the door wide enough to admit her.

Alisanne heaved a great sigh.  She palmed the book, opened it and showed him.  “Look, see?  Francine, your ex, is a direct descendant of Adelie’s.”

After several moments, Remy replied.  “Francine’s last name isn’t Lamar, Alisanne.  It’s not even French.”

“What?”  Water dripped into her eyes from the hood of her raincoat.  Remy pushed the hood off her head for her.  She blinked up at him, her lips pursed in confusion.  “I don’t recall that you even told me her last name at the hotel.  Why didn’t you?”

“I suppose I didn’t because I was trying to get her away from you fast.  She’s poison.  Anyway, she’s Francine Wilkins.  Not Lamar.  Is there any reason we’re talking about her?”

Alisanne repeated the unsettling lunch conversation.  Remy slid her coat sleeve up her arm to inspect her wrist.  She snatched her arm away when his fingers probed bruised skin.

“You hurt your face.”  Roughened fingers brushed her cheekbone with a delicate touch so sweet Alisanne’s breath hitched in her chest.
She sighed.  Words tripped off her tongue as she recounted the strange voices she’d heard saying no rest and faithless, at the cemetery, in his yard, and again in the hotel lobby when Hilary Weller confronted her. 

“Are you listening to me?”  Alisanne demanded at the end of her spiel.  Remy handed her a manila folder.  She opened it.  The folder contained a deed for the Rousseau mansion and it had his name typed on it in vivid black ink, plain as day.

“I thought she couldn’t be telling the truth.”  She held the folder out to him.

Remy took it and put it away with a sigh.  “I’m sorry she bothered you again, love.”

“Some super-sleuth I am.  I feel so...stupid.”  Alisanne sagged, much like a deflated balloon.  Mortification singed her cheeks. 

“Why?  You braved the storm to come save me.” 

Alisanne shrugged her way out of the coat as Remy tugged on the material.  “You have no idea how embarrassed I am.  I’ve really let my imagination run wild with this.”

“Love, your imagination has always been wild.”  He guided her to the kitchen.  A table surrounded with mismatched chairs sat in the middle of the large room.  “Sorry, this is the only room in the house with chairs.  Sit.  I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

She sat, bemused that his statement didn’t hold its usual rancor with her fascination for ghosties. 

“You shouldn’t stay at the hotel any longer.  Francine knows where to find you.  Short of being together all the time so I can protect you from her, the best thing for you to do is not be there.”

“Your mother and I are cleaning Papa’s house this weekend.”

“Move in.  It’s yours now.  No sense in paying the hotel when the house is free.”

“They died there, Remy.  And I have an active imagination.”

“You’re not a kid anymore, Alisanne Miranda Sommers,” Remy lectured.  “Let go of your ghosts.  I guarantee you, your parents aren’t just sitting there in that house, waiting to haunt you.  They’re in heaven now, love.”

She blinked back the stinging tears.  There.  She knew he’d resort back to Mean Remy.  Alisanne didn’t hear him move to stand beside her chair.  His blue-jeaned hip brushed against her cheek.  A warm hand rested on her head for a moment before his hands slipped down to her upper arms, to lift her to her feet. 

His arms slipped around her in a gesture of comfort.  One hand rubbed a circle on her back while the other rested against her hipbone. 
“Let’s go.  We’re still on for tonight, aren’t we?”  Remy spoke into her ear, his voice whispery.

She expelled her breath in a long, steady stream as she tilted her head back to see his face.  His arms remained encircled around her and she cherished their closeness.  Remy grinned down at her.  His smile faded too soon.

“You’re begging to be kissed,” he announced.

Alisanne shook her head in denial.  Too late, for his lips captured hers.  This kiss differed from the first one.  Whereas that one had been demanding, this one reassured.  The overall effect was the same, however, and who on earth could miss the look of sheer male triumph in those sky blue eyes of his when it ended?

“I’ll see you to your car before I lock up, love.  I’ll pick you up at the hotel in an hour and a half.  Does that give you enough time?”

Enough time for what?  To somehow calm her pulse, keep her heart from leaping out of her chest, resolidify her rubbery knees, breathe normally again?  

“Thank heavens the rain stopped.  Don’t you own any enclosed vehicles?”  Alisanne couldn’t help herself.  The comment flew out of her mouth only seconds after she had the thought.

“You recognize it, yes?”  Remy opened the passenger door. 

Oh my yes, she recognized the beaut parked in the drop-off zone.  Candy apple red, shiny silver bumpers, shined four wall tires.  A 1966 Mustang convertible.  Remy’s pride and joy.

He’d restored it himself during the summer he’d decided to be too cool for a fourteen-year-old girl.
 
“You okay?”  Remy looked at her over the top of the car door.

Alisanne shook her head to clear the cobwebs left by sour memories.  “I’m fine.  I do recognize the Mustang.”

A low whistle escaped through his pursed lips.  “You begged me to take you for a ride in it all summer.”

She offered a small smile which caused Remy’s expression to darken.  Her breath quickened as she didn’t know what caused the change, or if it was even directed at her.

“Where did you want me to take you then?  Lake Pontchartrain?”

“Papa and I liked to watch the sail boats. That was the summer that he broke his ankle, though, so we couldn’t go very far.”  She stared past Remy, lost in the haze of years gone by.

“The lake it is, followed by seafood?  Or are you in the mood for Cajun?” 

Alisanne settled into the car.  Remy closed the door before she answered.  “Cajun.”

“Cajun it is.  Hang on,” he mentioned when he slid into the driver’s seat.  “It’s going to get windy.”

She sat back, content to watch the city go by as Remy drove.  He pulled into the first parkway he found next to the lake.  With the sun dipping into the western horizon, long shadows fell across the serene lake surface. 

Remy helped her from the car.  He leaned against the hood of the car and pulled her to stand directly before him.  He slung his arms over her shoulders.  Alisanne hummed with happiness.  

She wanted to close her eyes and imprint this moment on her memory forever.  Just in case a repeat of this moment never happened again.  Tension eased out of her shoulders in the warmth of Remy’s embrace.

“Sun’s about gone.”

She nodded.  Ah, it had to end at some point.  Better to do it now, before those long-buried feelings for him seized control of her brain and she said or did something stupid. 

“You’ll have to let me go, Remy, so I can get back into the car.”

“Not ready to do that yet, love.  Took me long enough to get you here in the first place.”

That couldn’t mean what it sounded like.  No.  Not from Remy.  Well, maybe the New Improved Remy.  Still uncertain at this remarkable change in his attitude towards her, Alisanne preferred to play it safe.  Not read anything into his actions or words.

Even though her heart sang with joy at this turn-around, a small voice sounded in the back of her mind, urging her to be cautious.




Weeks of being closed up left the air inside the home Alisanne grew up in stale and musty.  Her nose twitched at the dusty closeness that settled over her.  Still, that familiar sense of security that being home stirred up couldn’t be ignored.  Nostalgia overwhelmed her.  Alisanne savored the sensation; it had been absent way too long.

“I’ll open the windows in the bedrooms,” Marie Beauvais announced.

Spurred to action, Alisanne opened every window she could in the main rooms.  A fine layer of dust covered all the wooden surfaces.  It wouldn’t take much to put the house back to rights since Papa kept the house as immaculate as Mama had. 

Alisanne paused at the breeze-way to the kitchen.  Clean dishes from Papa’s last breakfast still sat in the plastic drying rack.  A broken glass littered the floor.  A cupboard door swung off its top hinge, hanging halfway open with a drunken sag. It looked like Papa had grabbed at the handle on the cupboard to steady himself when the heart attack seized him.  She blinked hard to clear the tears that filled her eyes.

“Oh, that’s better already,” Marie called.  She came to stand behind Alisanne.  “Oh, honey, come away from there.  Go clean the bathrooms.  I’ll take care of this.”

Alisanne moved on wooden legs.  While she’d known the circumstances of how Papa had been found, this was the first time she saw how it happened.  Nothing in the world could have prepared her for that.

The hall bathroom smelled moldy from disuse.  She turned the overhead fan on to help clear the air while she squirted liquid bleach cleanser on the sink and toilet, and  sprinkled powdered cleaner in the tub–half a bottle where the bath mat had left mildewed rings.

Remy found her bent over the edge of the tub.  “If you scrub any harder, you’ll scour the porcelain right off.”

“Remy?”

“Last time I looked.” 

The brush clattered against the tub when Alisanne dropped it.  The sound echoed in the small bathroom.  “Why are you here?”

“Ma called.”

“Why?”

“She’s upset she didn’t think to come over and make sure everything was in order before you saw it.”  In three steps, he stood beside her.  He offered a hand to help her to her feet.

“It startled me,” Alisanne admitted.  She held her hands out at an awkward angle, keeping them away from her clothes and his.  “But why call you?  It’s not like you can fix what happened.”

“No, but I can fix the cabinet door for you.  That’s why she called.”

“Oh.”  Alisanne bent around him, to reach the sink.  She rinsed her hands quickly.  

“So I dropped everything to come over.” Remy handed her a bright blue, velvety towel.  

She accepted it with a muted, “Thank you.”

“You okay?”  He nudged her shoulder when she kept her gaze lowered away from his. 

“I’ll survive.  I always do.”  Shaky fingers refolded the small towel.  Alisanne smoothed the folds with the tip of her index finger.  Hoo boy, the temperature seemed to have increased in the small bathroom since Remy arrived. 

“Sure?” 

Alisanne looked up, surprised at the softly spoken question. Concern creased his face, along with compassion. “Sure enough, Remy.  I know you’re busy with your final renovations.”

“Renovations, shmenovations.  I have a good crew.  They’ll work without the big boss watching over them.”

Alisanne transferred her gaze to the wall, looking around Remy.  Warm fingers, rough from hard labor, caught her chin.  “Why won’t you look at me?”  He tilted her chin upwards.

She licked her lips, suddenly parched.  Why, indeed.  After the impromptu trip to the lake, he’d taken her to dine at Arnaud’s.  Creole food rather than Cajun, and all because she’d mentioned as they cruised by the restaurant that it was one place where she’d always wanted to dine but never had.

A glitter of understanding sparked in Remy’s eyes.  “You’re still unsure about my intentions, aren’t you?”

“Can you blame me?”

“Not at all.  Lord knows I deserve it for the way I treated you when we were teenagers.”

Remembered hurt squeezed a heart already weary with pain.  She sagged against the wall.  “You told me I could pester the Pope to oblivion and that you would never be able to think of me as much more than a diseased mosquito.  That I should give up trying to make myself attractive, as that would never happen in two millenniums.  You’d kiss a rabid bat before you’d ever want to kiss me.  Shall I continue?”

Remy pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezed shut as his face contorted with remorse.  “No, there’s no need,” he said after several moments. 

“You’ve done a complete turn around.  You convinced me you could never have any type of romantic feelings for me, and now...well.  You can understand my caution.”

“Teenage boys are awful,” Remy answered.  “It’s amazing enough of us survive our teenage years to grow into men.  If I could change the past for you, Alisanne, I would.  I made your life more miserable by being a jerk to you, and for that I am deeply sorry.”


She stared at him.  Surely the bleach fumes must be affecting her brain.  A woman had to have standards, didn’t she?  Like not being taken in by the same guy twice?  He did look repentant–painfully so.  Alisanne bit her lip in indecision.  This was too much for her to process.  Too fast, and way too soon.  Even though this was everything she’d ever wanted.  True happiness had been absent from her life too long now.  Oh, how she wanted to cling to Remy, to what he appeared to be offering right now.  She wanted to trust this new start, but a tiny niggle of doubt remained. 

He’d gone from genial to surly before.  And that meant he could do it again.

Alisanne’s war of indecision registered on her face.  Like all her thoughts were wont to do.  He wanted to convince her his intentions were good.  He couldn’t undo the past.  All he could do was learn from his mistakes, grow and move on.  It had been the biggest mistake of his life to let her leave ten years ago without a protest.

“Give me a chance, love.  Live in the here and now.  Let go of the rest.”

She folded her arms and dropped her chin until it rested on her chest.  “I’m overloading, Remy.  I want to give you another chance.  I do.”  Her head came up, her eyes blazed sapphire at him.  “The sins of childhood shouldn’t be held against us.  Unless we make the same mistakes over again.”

Man, she was good.  Able to offer a second chance while cautioning what would happen if he disappointed her again so sweetly.  The woman had spirit to spare, an admirable quality.

“What are you two talking about in here?  Remy, if you’ve ever cleaned a bathroom, I’d faint with the shock,” Marie said.  She stood in the hallway, looking into the bathroom.

“Of course I have, Ma.”

“You’re just saying that to see if I’d faint on the spot.”

“You threaten that too much for me to actually think it will happen,” Remy answered.  “I’ll be right out to fix the cabinet.”

Marie nodded, her eyes bright with curiosity.  Remy knew his mother well.  She’d corner him in another room and hound him until he satisfied her maternal whims.

“I’m going to run the vacuum cleaner.”

“Yes, Ma.”

She lingered for another moment, before she melted into the shadows of the hallway.  Alisanne brushed past Remy.  He blocked her exit before she could escape.

“Does that mean I get another chance?”

She poked a finger in his chest.  “Just you remember, Remy Michel Beauvais, if you hurt me, the Misty Lady legend will sound like a sweet bedtime story in comparison to what I’ll do to you.”  She glared up at him to emphasize her point further. 

Remy pursed his lips together to keep from smiling at her.  She still thought she could wallop him.  Heck, if he did get stupid and ruin this last chance, he’d let her. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

Alisanne snorted.  She pushed him aside with her elbow and left him alone in the bathroom. 

His mother turned the vacuum cleaner off when she saw him.  No sign of Alisanne, though.  Remy detoured to the front door to grab his toolbox.
“What do you think you’re doing?”  This demand cracked through the air like the electricity did in a thunderstorm.

“Fixing the cabinet, Ma.”  Be cool, calm.  A lifetime of experience with his mother fueled his efforts.  She wanted to get him on the defensive at this point, her usual tactic.

“With Alisanne.  Don’t think I don’t know what I know.” 

“Could you be more cryptic?”  Remy raised an eyebrow at his mother when she shook her finger at him. 

“She’s always had a tender for you, you big oaf.  She’s been through too much to be able to deal with more heartache.  If you make her leave again, Remy...I’ll...I’ll...”  She trailed off, flushing bright red.

“You’ll what?”  Remy prompted. 

“I’ll stop making chocolate chip cookies for you!  That’s what.”  Arms crossed, lips pursed, shoulders stiff–his mother vibrated with purpose.  She’d made the worst threat she could think of.

“Then I’ll be careful, Ma.  Wouldn’t want you to stop makin’ those cookies.”  Remy drawled.  He winked, then flexed his eyebrows quickly.
If she’d been covered with feathers, they’d have ruffled as she gave Remy what he knew was her final word on the subject.  “See that you are careful.”

Remy clucked under his breath as he passed her on his way into the kitchen.  She smacked him, catching his hip.  Remy chuckled, and quickened his pace.

“You’re terrible, Remy.  Just terrible.”

“Love you too, Ma.”

The vacuum cleaner roared back to life.

Alisanne sat on the edge of her father’s large bed.  The familiarity of the pale blue chenille bedspread comforted her as she rubbed her hand against the knobby material.  Mama bought the bedspread shortly before she got sick, and Papa, despite how worn out it became, couldn’t bear to part with the bedding.

She stared at the heavy chest of drawers, across from the foot of the bed.  Mama’s dresser.  Covered with eighteen years of dust, treasures sat right where Mama had set them.  An antique perfume bottle, still half full with Mama’s favorite cologne, now almost scentless with age.  A jewelry box, with ivory inlaid on the top in the shape of a flower sat in a place of honor.  Alisanne saved her allowance for three months to buy that jewelry box for Mother’s Day.  A ring holder, with Mama’s rings still in it, as well as a locket, a watch and a pair of gold hoop earrings. 

Papa’s chest stood by the closet door.  The open door to the closet looked like a dark yawn against the white wall.  Alisanne knew Mama’s clothes still hung in there.  A treasure trove of late 1970's fashion. 

Alisanne took a deep breath.  She’d always wanted to go through Mama’s dresser, but Papa had never permitted her touch it.  The top drawer slid out under her trembling hands as the sound of vacuuming resumed. 

The scent of long enclosed cedar wafted on the air.  Alisanne sneezed.  An array of decorative boxes nestled in the deep drawer.  She recognized many of the cases.  In one corner, a pile of neatly folded filmy scarves spilled over. 

Alisanne pulled them out in order to refold them before she put them back.  A yellowed envelope fell over.  Her name flowed across the front, written in Mama’s elegant script.  Alisanne’s heart skipped a beat.  The scarves fell into a forgotten heap at her feet. 

“Mama,” she murmured.  She hugged the envelope to her chest.  Cedar mixed with Mama’s perfume.  Alisanne breathed in and out several times to savor the faint aroma of Emeraude. 

The envelope wasn’t sealed shut.  She pulled the flap open and took the letter from its haven.  Mama’s best stationery; the parchment colored paper with edges that looked like they’d been burned.  Mama had written over the faint watercolor spray of flowers centered on the page.
Alisanne looked at the date.  Mama had written this letter one week before she’d died.  To the day.  Alisanne began to read aloud.

She wandered to the wicker chair placed under the window sank down into the homemade cushions.  “Ah, cherie, you have so much ahead of you.  So much I wanted to share with you–your first crush, your first love.  Oh, your prom.  Graduation.  Finding your true love.  Getting married, having babies.  I have so much advice I wanted to give you, but that would take a book, which I regret, I don’t have the time to write.  I’ll share the best advice my own Mama shared with me...”

Alisanne’s head hurt from the unshed tears threatening to spill.  Her throat tightened, the constriction made reading aloud difficult, but she continued.  She needed to hear her mother’s words spoken.  Papa had commented time and again how much she sounded like her Mama.
“She didn’t forget to tell you goodbye, love.  She couldn’t say the words.”

“Why didn’t Papa give me her letter?” 

Remy knelt before Alisanne, so close her knees dug into his abdomen.  “Where did you find it?”  He brushed her bangs to one side.

“In the top drawer.”  She pointed as she sniffed.  Remy smelled like sawdust.  She held her breath for a moment, until the urge to sneeze passed.
“He probably didn’t know it was there.”

Alisanne nodded as numbness overtook her.  Remy shifted so he could lift her out of the chair.  Still holding her, he sat down.  His legs felt hard beneath hers, but with his arms around her, she felt cuddled.  He tucked her head against his shoulder.  Surrounded by his strength, Alisanne let loose with her years of pain.

Remy rubbed a circle on her back, a soft, soothing gesture which calmed her wrenching sobs.  After a while, she noticed he rocked her, oh-so-gently while he hummed under his breath.  She could feel the vibration of his hum beneath her cheek. 

Oh, how wonderful to be held in his arms.  It was just as she imagined it would be.  Sure, he’d held her several times in the past couple of days, but this time felt different.  His solid frame encompassed her.  The contact gave her a sense of peace she hadn’t felt for a very long time. 

That he sat there holding her, allowing her to soak his shirt  with her tears without saying a word, illustrated how much he’d changed from the thoughtless teenaged boy he’d been.  It was possible that their rocky past was her path to true love.  Hoo boy.  She could deny it every time she opened her mouth, but her heart knew the truth.

No matter what Remy did, he’d always hold her heart.  Always had.  Always would.

           

“That’s odd.”  Alisanne stood, hands on her hips, and stared at the clothing she’d just hung up in her closet.  The black dress she’d worn to Papa’s funeral appeared to be missing.

A quick pawing through the empty suitcases proved fruitless.
 
The drive back to the hotel took forever.  Three times she got stopped to wait for a funeral motorcade to pass.  As she waited for the third one, she realized her heart no longer twisted in response.  She could think of her mother without the overwhelming sense of loss that she’d known for most of her life.

Her thoughts turned to Remy.  Remy who’d offered to stay with her for the rest of the day, his reluctance to leave her written plainly on his face.  Both Remy and Marie had left her, with many protests, around noon.  Marie made her promise to call later in the afternoon, and Remy told her he’d take her out for dinner again tonight.  Hard to resist such a charming invitation.

“I’ll only be ten minutes.  Don’t bother to park it,” she told the valet who hopped forward to take her keys.

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Thank you.”

The clerk at the front desk gave her a key to her former room without batting an eyelash.  A crowd of people gathered at the elevators, so Alisanne decided to take the stairs.  Two flights of stairs taken slowly wouldn’t send her into an asthmatic spasm.

The door creaked shut behind her.  She rounded the first half-story landing.  The stairwell echoed around her with a tortured voice. 

“No rest.”

Alisanne continued upwards.  Another echo reverberated.  “Remy.  Die.  No rest.”

Almost to her destination, Alisanne came to an abrupt halt when the missing black dress fell from above, to puddle at her feet.
“No rest until Remy dies.”  

A door closed somewhere above her.  Alisanne scooped up her dress and ran up the next flight of stairs, asthma concerns forgotten.  The dress hadn’t fallen too far, for such an accurate landing, so the perpetrator couldn’t have been too far up.

Her breath came in gasps by the time she reached the third floor exit.  The door knob wouldn’t budge beneath her hand.  Alisanne twisted it the other way.  Still nothing.  She banged her hands on the metal door.

Laughter drifted around her. 

Alisanne leaned against the wall.  She couldn’t catch a decent breath and she couldn’t find her inhaler in her purse.

Ten minutes later, she descended the stairs.  She held onto the railing with one hand.  She moved slower than a little old lady with a walker.  The deserted lobby harbored only a couple of construction workers patching a hole in the wall by the entry.  Alisanne tried not to stare at Fred Rice as she left.  She wondered why he happened to be at the hotel today. 

Outside, under the awning, she waited for her car to be brought over.  

No rest.  Faithless.

Alisanne surreptiously surveyed her surroundings.  She didn’t want to give herself away if the culprit watched.  In the corner, almost hidden by a potted tree, a tall blond woman stood.  Hilary Weller.  The enormous sunglasses the woman wore made identification more difficult, but when the woman strode to a car bearing vanity plates that read Jay’s Digs, Alisanne heaved a troubled sigh.

When she was finally settled back in her car, she started it and turned the a/c on high.  “Steady,” she told herself as she looked at her reflection in her rearview mirror.  Her wide dark eyes stared back her from a face pale with recent exertion. Breath still came in shallow gasps, but she wasn’t hyperventilating anymore. 

A car pulled out in front of her, and in the brief instant when the other driver glanced over to check traffic, Alisanne saw her.  Francine.  Remy’s nutty ex-girlfriend.  Francine Wilkins.  Wilkins–not Lamar. 

Traffic engulfed her car, and she lost sight of Francine’s little sporty two-door.  Alisanne found it odd that Francine, who presumedly had a job and a home, would be at the hotel where she had stayed.

Too overwhelming to be mere coincidence.  A quick detour to the library to check public records would answer the questions forming in Alisanne’s mind.

Late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the Rousseau property.  Remy’s property, legally.  Property that Alisanne now assumed Francine Lamar Wilkins thought belonged to her, as she was the direct descendant of a Rousseau born in legitimacy.

She held the proof in her hands; copies of the legal documents she’d found on file in the library.  Remy would have to listen now.  She had documentation.  Proof.

Alisanne didn’t bother to park neatly.  She slammed the car to a halt and turned it off.  She almost didn’t notice that the construction clutter had been cleaned up either.  The wind churned through the trees and buffeted against her back as she ran to the front door.

Die, Remy.  Die.  No rest.  No rest. 

Alisanne swung around, studying the driveway and drive.  No sign of a silver sports coup.  That didn’t mean a darned thing, however.  If she was right, and Alisanne knew she was, Francine lurked nearby.

The front door gaped open.  Alarmed, Alisanne entered.  Sense returned two seconds after she passed through the entrance.  Just like those silly girls in those stupid horror movies who went in to investigate...

A gunshot.

Alisanne dug into her purse for her cell phone.  A raised voice covered her own soft words, answering questions posed by the dispatcher at the 911 end of the call.

“It’s mine!  Your nasty family robbed mine of our rightful inheritance!”

Alisanne held the phone out, with the hopes the dispatcher could hear the shouting

“The attorneys thought your branch of the family died out, Francine.  All you had to do was go to the law firm with proof of your claim.  The house would, by the terms of your great- grandmother’s will, revert to the legitimately born line of the Rousseau family.  Uncle Robert didn’t know you were still alive, Francine.  Nobody did.”

Ugly laughter ricocheted through the house.  “That was what Mother wanted.  The curse couldn’t be fulfilled if we couldn’t get your kind to crawl out of the woodwork.”

“Should’ve listened to Alisanne when she told me you were a Rousseau.”

Alisanne cringed when another gunshot blasted.  Remy’s shout of pain unrooted her from her spot in the entry hall.

“Who’s that?  Somebody out there?”

 Time to throw even more caution to the wind.  Alisanne closed herself into the closet under the stairs.  She peeked through the sliver of space between the door and the jamb.

Francine strode through the entry hall.  “I know someone’s here.  Alisanne?  Is it you, honey?  Surely you know I’m doing you a favor.  History’s proven time and again that Rousseau men can’t be faithful.  He’ll only break your heart.”

The closet door opened.  A pistol dangled from one of Francine’s fingers.  The deranged gleam in the woman’s eyes spoke volumes.  Alisanne would have to tread with extreme caution or she could very well end up as dead as she feared Remy to be.

“You’re right.  He’s a heartbreaker, that one.  He’s broken my heart before.”  Alisanne injected as much bitterness as she could into each word she uttered.  She’d learned about hostage situations when she’d worked as a bank teller to put herself through college.  Just keep the crazy person happy and talking.

“Why did you go back to him?”  Francine twirled the gun.

Alisanne gulped.  She knew not one thing about weapons, and couldn’t tell if this one had the safety on.  She suspected it did not.  Funny how that part hadn’t been included in the bank’s safety seminar.

 “Well,” she drew the word out for several syllables.  Thank goodness for the drama classes she’d taken in college.  “I came back to New Orleans because my Papa died.  I’m alone now.”

Francine nodded.  “I understand alone.”

Alisanne breathed in and out, trying to keep from passing out due to lack of oxygen.  “I haven’t lived here in ten years, and I got out of touch with my friends.  Remy’s mother and mine were best friends.”

“Natural to turn to family friends,” Francine agreed.  “Too bad it was Remy.  Can’t trust him, you know.  Never trust a Rousseau man.” 

“I’ve heard,” Alisanne soothed.  In her madness, Francine started to repeat herself, and Alisanne meant to keep her calm by all means.  Keep the crazy person happy and talking.  

“Adelie learned that the hard way.  She paid for her mistake with her life, too.  My ever-so-great-grandmother’s diaries are filled with entries about her father’s betrayal.  Aimee taught her children to hate Rousseau men.”

Ah, what a lovely thing to pass down through the generations.  No wonder Francine was insane.  The insanity had been cultivated with each and every generation since Adelie’s death.

The wail of sirens racing toward the mansion drew Francine’s attention away from Alisanne long enough for her to scoot out of the closet.  She headed for the kitchen, with the notion that she might be able to rescue Remy.  Somehow get him out of the house, away from Francine. 

“You called the cops?”  Francine’s outraged screech ricocheted off the bare walls.  Pure fury resonated around Alisanne.  “Stop moving, you ungrateful witch!”

Too late.  Like a deer caught in the headlights, Alisanne froze, only a few steps from the dining room.

“I did you a favor!”  Francine screamed.  She leveled the gun at Alisanne.  In what felt like slow motion, Alisanne swerved just as the gun fired.

“Nnnnnnnnoooooooooo!”

A hulking body flew through the air.  Remy landed on Alisanne and knocked her to the floor with a decisive thud.  The last thing she heard was a commanding “Freeze!” before she lost consciousness.



Jumbled images of events past and present tumbled through Alisanne’s mind.  Her mother and Adelie Rousseau were one and the same as often as not.  Remy called her.  Papa hugged her. 

“She’s lost a lot of blood.”

Who lost a lot of blood and where did they lose it? 

“May you never find peace in this life or the one in the hereafter, Bayard Rousseau!”

“He’ll never be faithful.  I did you a favor.  A favor.  A favor. A favor.”

Someone jerked her.  Hazy pain ate at the edges of her consciousness.  Alisanne decided to ignore the pain and talk to the dead people instead.
“But Mama, you never said goodbye.”

“I couldn’t, ma cherie.  It hurt too much to think I had to leave you so soon.”

“I didn’t curse all the Rousseau men.  Such a notion!  Why would I want to be a ghost, forever linked to a place that holds nothing but sad memories for me?”

“Alisanne?  Alisanne!”

Remy?  Remy got shot.  The crazy woman shot at Alisanne, and Remy knocked her out of the way.  Boy, did it hurt when he landed on her.  He must have shoved his shoulder into her, because the right side of her chest hurt so bad her arm went numb.

“Remy?”

“Hi, love.  How are you feeling?”

“I forgot you played football in high school.”

Remy smoothed the hair off her face.  “Football?”

“You have one heck of a tackle.  I think you broke my shoulder when you knocked me down.”  Speaking took more energy than she had.  How annoying that her inhaler disappeared from her purse.  She would have sworn she’d put it in her bag.  “Hard to catch my breath.”

“The EMT thinks the bullet might have nicked your lung.”

“What bullet?  I didn’t get shot.  You did.  Twice.”

“That first bullet just grazed my leg.  Will probably only need stitches.  I didn’t knock you out of the way fast enough.  I’m sorry, love.  I’d trade places with you in a heartbeat.”

Alisanne coughed.  She covered her mouth with her hand, and when she withdrew her hand, it felt sticky.  Upon closer inspection, Alisanne saw the mess on her hand was blood.

“We need to go.”

“Remy?  I’m scared.”  She tried to lift her hand up towards him, but it hurt too much.

“You’re going to be just fine,” he reassured her. 

Darn her eyes, she couldn’t make them focus on his face.  His words did sound sincere.  She closed her eyelids.  Made it easier to hear the voices that whispered to her.  So nice to speak with her parents again.  She’d been so very lonely for them.

"Rem, you in here?"

Remy stretched. He’d sat in the surgical waiting room since being discharged from the ER three hours ago. His mother rubbed her rosary beads together in the chapel and prayed.

"Jay. What brings you here?"

"Hilary heard on the police scanner that there’d been a shooting at your place."

"I didn’t know she cared." Too exhausted for much chatter, Remy snapped his answer.

"She thought you’d been hurt." Jay held his hands out, palms up, in a conciliatory gesture.

Remy didn’t feel very generous at this point. Hilary’d made her position more than plain since Alisanne had returned to town. He’d hung up on her twice when she’d called to yell at him about his seeing Alisanne. "I can imagine her relief that it’s Alisanne fighting for her life instead of me."

"She’s in the chapel with your mother."

"Good thing I’m wearin’ rubber-soled tennis shoes.  I’ll be safe when the lightning bolt hits the hospital."

Jay gave a low whistle. "I didn’t realize you disliked Hilary that much."

"Jay, Hilary called me several times to read me the riot act for spending time with Alisanne. How she knew that, I don’t know, and I don’t really care. That’s not the point. The point is she doesn’t get a vote or a say about the lady in my life." Remy paused as he made eye contact with his oldest friend. "Just like I didn’t get one about her being in your life. Hilary made you happy. That’s all that mattered. Alisanne makes me happy."

"I’m not the one with a problem with that, man. I’ve always liked her." Jay replied.

"Losing her now isn’t an option as far as I’m concerned, but I figure it’s not up to me to decide."

“So what happened?”  Jay asked.

"Francine went psycho on me. That’s what happened. Don’t know exactly how Alisanne figured it all out in the end, but she did try to warn me that Francine had a hidden agenda. Wish now I’d listened to her."

"Yeah?"

"She told me Francine was a Rousseau, related to me distantly. I didn’t believe her at the time."

"Why would she think that?" Jay sat up, his attention riveted on Remy.

"She did some research and came up with an extensive genealogy. You know she’s always been fascinated with the legends around the Rousseau family.  Saw the name Francine Lamar on the family tree and decided it had to be my ex."

A cell phone trilled, and Jay pulled his out of his pocket with an apologetic shrug.  “Gotta take it.  I left Hilary’s brother in charge of the restaurant.”

A few terse moments later, Jay snapped the phone closed.  “Sorry, but it’s gotten busy, and Bo can’t handle it.  You gonna be okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll survive.  You go take care of your place.  Ma’s around the corner.”

 “Oh yeah.  Almost forgot.”  Jay pulled a small tape recorder from his hip pocket.  “Hilary gave me this on the way over.  There’s a tape inside that replays the words no rest, faithless and die Remy.  All she told me is that she’s not proud of herself.  Any ideas?”

Remy frowned.  “Yeah.  Alisanne kept hearing those words in the oddest places.  Was it Hilary?  How?”


His friend shrugged.  “We’ve been spending a lot of time apart lately, Rem.  So I don’t know how she managed it, only that she did.  I’m sorry.  I did tell her she needs to get help if she wants to come back home to me and our daughter.  She came with me here this afternoon as a show of good faith.  Please don’t judge her too harshly.  She’s disturbed.”

Remy nodded.  “Just keep her away from us.”

“Without a doubt, my friend.”

The entire situation smacked of the bizarre to Remy.  He didn’t know what to say to Jay.  The moment of awkwardness passed unremarked upon.

Jay slugged Remy’s shoulder.  “Call and let me know, would ya?     “You bet.  Thanks for comin’ over.”

“You betcha.  Anytime for an old friend.” 

Alone again, Remy limped over to the window to look outside.  Fully dark now, he glanced over the view he had of the city.  He imagined the tourists on their spook walks pausing to stare at the Rousseau mansion while the guide, a self-professed vampire naturally, retold the legend of the Misty Lady.  After the events of the day, he could almost believe in the famous old ghost.  Almost.

   “Is there anyone here for Alisanne Sommers?”

Remy turned.  A nurse in starched white smiled back at him.  Remy’s heart stopped.  This woman looked exactly like the old oil painting of Adelie Rousseau.  The Misty Lady.

“I’m here for Alisanne.”  Difficult to speak with one’s tongue stuck to the roof of one’s mouth.

“She’s in recovery now, sleeping peacefully.”

“Is she going to be alright?  She has to be.  I need her to be fine.  I can’t lose her again.”  Desperate for reassurance, Remy searched the nurse’s face for anything that would give away the answers he needed.

The nurse’s expression turned speculative.  “I don’t have all the details I’m sure you’d like.”

“Surely you can tell me Alisanne will live.  She lost a lot of blood.”  Remy pressed.  He thought a nurse sent out to speak to family and friends should be able to respond with a certain amount of knowledge to at least the basic questions.

“Her recovery will take some time.”

Remy wanted to scream.  What was wrong with this nurse?  All he wanted was a straight reply.  “As long as she’s going to recover.”

The nurse clasped her hands together.  Light seemed to bounce off her, but Remy attributed that to his own injury, exhaustion and concern for Alisanne.

“It matters to you that she lives?”  A careful question, phrased just so. 

“Of course it matters.  I love her.  She just came back into my life, and I need to tell her that.”  Remy spoke with the conviction of one grasping at any hope offered.  Alisanne couldn’t die before he’d made his declaration.  He’d start believing in ghosts himself if she did.
 
The nurse brightened.  “That’s sweet.  She’ll be out of recovery soon enough.  You can tell her when you see her.”

“When will that be?”

“Oh, an hour or two.  Be patient.  You have all the time in the world.”  She left him with those words. 

Remy resumed his post at the window.  He arranged the chairs so he could prop his stiff leg up and still see out over the city.  The painkiller’s effectiveness waned, but it was too much effort to find the in-hospital pharmacy to have his prescription filled.

“Any word?”

“Didn’t you see the nurse in the hallway, Ma?”

Marie crossed the small waiting area.  “Didn’t see a nurse.  Hilary Weller stopped in.  She said Jay was with you.”

“He was.  You must have just missed the nurse ,” Remy said absently.  “Alisanne’s out of surgery.  Haven’t seen the doctor yet, however.”

“She’ll be fine.”  Marie rubbed his arm.

“You know this, huh?”  Remy slanted a weak grin down at her. 

“Of course I know this, Remy.  I talk to the Lord on a regular basis, and He often answers.”

“So He told you Alisanne would be fine.”  He kept his tone light.  No reason to offend his mother.

“Yes, He did, you heathen.  He also said He’d like to see more of you in church.”  Marie arched her eyebrows.

Remy laughed.  Hi mother spent much of her time urging him to go to church.  “He will, if she does.”

Marie hugged him.  “I’ll remind you.”

“Of that I have no doubt.”  Remy let a long-suffering sigh out, just to tease.  Ma had a way of lifting his tension.  Just as Alisanne did.
“How are you feeling?”  Marie studied him with a critical, motherly eye.

“I’ll survive.  I’m getting hungry, though.”  He’d die of starvation before he’d leave without word on Alisanne’s prognosis.

“Mr. Beauvais?” 

Remy recognized the doctor who’d talked to him before going into surgery.  “Good news?”

“Excellent news.”

“He loves you...”  The sparkling warmth faded with the strange dreams Alisanne’d had, leaving her bereft.  The garden scent of her dreams was replaced by the antiseptic odor unique to hospitals.  Machinery bleeped quietly in the background.

Someone had parked a hippo on her chest.  Her nose itched, and her fingers almost dislodged the tubes running up there.  Tubes everywhere, as a matter of fact.  Alisanne caught sight of a nurse in a crisp white uniform standing at the foot of her bed.

“Warm enough?  You’re in ICU.  There’s someone who wants to see you very much.”

“Remy.”  The sound of her voice, scratchy and thin, startled Alisanne. 

The nurse smiled and gave a serene nod.  “Do you love him as much as he loves you?”

“He told you that?”

The nurse adjusted the blanket.  “Yes.”

Alisanne sighed, happy with the news.

“He’ll be in soon, dear.  Rest for a while.”

Alisanne obediently closed her eyes.  No voices whispered to her this time–a good thing.  It reassured that she wouldn’t die tonight.
“One visitor, ten minutes each hour, sir.”

Remy entered her room.  She watched him out of the corner of her eyes until he came fully into her line of vision.  She couldn’t turn her head far enough to the right to see the door.

“Hey, love.”

Oh, that wonderful Southern voice of his again.  Deep, slow, rolling.  Music to her ears.

“Hey yourself.”

“You had an exciting day.”  Remy came around the bed and halted to her left, a hair-breadth away.  He reached over the side rail to rub her left shoulder.

“You okay?”  After everything that happened, there he stood.  A miracle.  Alisanne heard each intake of breath he took, fancied she would hear his heart beating a strong tattoo.  He looked weary, but at least he was there to be looked upon. 

“Got nine stitches in my leg.  You have more stitches than I do.”  He gave her a very exaggerated wink. 

Alisanne’s weak giggle made her cough. 

“None of that now.  You need to conserve your strength.  Get well.”  Remy reached over the railing to brush a strand of her hair from her forehead.  His fingers lingered against her skin.  So warm.  So alive.

“Any reason for that?”

Remy took her left hand into his.  His blue eyes filled with an emotion she’d waited a very long time to see reflected there.
“Because you have to spend the next seventy-five years or so putting up with me.”

“I do?”

“Save that for the priest, love.”

She squeezed his hand.  He squeezed back. 

“Anything else?”  A whisper.  Hoo boy, this small conversation wore her out more than she’d thought possible.  She wanted to sleep, but her unfinished business with Remy kept her awake.

“Yeah, there’s something else.”  The railing clanked when Remy lowered it. 

“Shhh...We don’t want the nurse to come in yet.”  Alisanne admonished.  Oh, it hurt to talk too much, but she wouldn’t let Remy know that.  He’d leave, and she didn’t want him to do that yet.

He leaned over her, his hand cupped one side of her face as he kissed her forehead.  He  nudged her nose with his, and trailed kisses down the side of her face.

“I love you, Alisanne Miranda Sommers.  I always have, I always will.”

“Mmmmm.”  Eyelids too heavy to keep open any longer fluttered shut.  “I love you too, Remy.”

“It’s a forever deal, Alisanne.”



Remy pushed the wheelchair out of the hospital lobby into the humid late summer air of New Orleans.  Alisanne missed the cool air from inside before Remy had taken three steps towards the curb.

“You brought the Mustang.”

“You can’t ride the motorcycle yet.”

“Do you only have bad boy vehicles?”

Remy set the brake on the wheelchair before coming around to help Alisanne to her feet.  “Love, I am a bad boy.  You told me so yourself just the other day.”

“It was very naughty of you to hide my bathrobe while I showered.”

Remy held her close.  She tilted her head back to see his face.  He didn’t appear repentant at all.  Hoo boy.  He had that look on his face.  The one that said he was besotted with her.  Of course, she’d never tell him so, sure in her belief that the word besotted would offend him with its unmanliness.

“Ma’s at the mansion making those last minute adjustments for your arrival.  You sure you want to stay there?  Francine did shoot you there.”
“Just tonight.  To prove once and for all the place is not haunted.”

“Speaking of haunted, Hilary was responsible for those weird moans of no rest and faithless that you heard.  Tape recording.  Oh, did you see the nurse who looked like Adelie Rousseau?”  He helped her climb into the convertible.  Remy let the orderly take the wheelchair, now that Alisanne had been safely transported to his car. 

Shocked, she stared at him as he got in on the driver’s side. The Hilary-dun-it explanation didn’t matter right now.  Not when Remy all but confessed a belief in the Misty Lady.  “You saw her too?”

“Only on the night of your surgery.”

“I dreamt about them all– my parents.  Adelie.  Right after Francine shot me.  I’m surprised you made the connection, Remy, being the disbeliever that you are.”

“The Misty Lady is a treasured New Orlean’s ghost, love.  Whether you actually believe in her or not, you must admit, there’s something compelling about her story.”

“After the shooting, I dreamed about Adelie and my parents.”

“More unfinished business?”

“Nope.  Not at all.  Through all of this, I’ve finally learned that life’s too short to waste it mooning over unfinished business.”
“Hooray!”

Alisanne laughed as Remy pumped his arms into the air before he leaned over to give her a good long kiss on the lips. 
“It’s about time,” he told her. 

“Yes.  It is about time.”