A Louisiana Mystery

By J. N. Sadler

Celeste Marchand, unhappy daughter of a clown in a small traveling circus, runs away with the fire eater’s son, Billy. They each find temporary destinies on the streets of Massapequa, Long Island, New York. At seventeen, she earns money as an exotic dancer, turning tricks for extra money. Retired Pastor Dunham takes her into his home to protect and educate her. His friend Dr. Bea Collins, a psychiatrist, counsels Celeste each week until Dunham dies, leaving his fortune to Celeste. She relocates in New Orleans, wanting to start an independent existence, hoping to find a forever love to share her life with. She is stalked by a handsome stranger who has her mesmerized yet keeps his distance. Two other men fancy her. One is a successful entrepreneur, and the other is a divorced police officer. Her shrink comes to visit her and reveals her own shocking past. People aren’t who they present themselves to be, and Celeste struggles to see the truth and becomes stronger. Grim events at a voodoo ritual send her back to her home, still searching for her forever love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543435887

J. N. Sadler

Janet Sadler is a resident of Havertown, Pennsylvania. She has published two volumes of poetry with her illustrations: Headwinds and Full Sail and has been published in many small literary magazines. Once member of the Mad Poets Society in Media, PA, and also the Overbrook Poets in Philadelphia, she reads her poetry at local venues. She was the former poetry director at Tyme Gallery in Havertown, PA and at Baldwin’s Book Barn in West Chester, PA. She has authored thirty flash fictions novels. Twenty-seven titles have been published through Xlibris and can be found at Xlibris.com, under J. N. Sadler Author’s email address: [e-mail]

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Copyright © 2017 by J. N. Sadler.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 10/21/2021

Xlibris

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CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Published books by J. N. Sadler

Dedicated to my dear granddaughter, Sheri Rose, who is beautiful, resourceful, and an avid reader of my books. Our trip to NOLA inspired The Louisiana Mystery.

CHAPTER ONE

The man was a son of the Big Easy, about thirty or so with dark hair, large piercing, dark eyes and long, dark lashes. Soft shiny hair fell over his forehead. He had a distinguished, high-bridged nose that exhibited characteristics from historic French and Indian cultures. His full lips were surrounded by a two-day growth of beard and mustache. Sideburns completed this romantic look. His white shirt, opened two or three buttons, exposed black hair that covered a well-muscled chest. His profile was classic.

She noticed him, immediately. The book that she carried to the counter of the dark, musty book store was about Jean Lafitte, pirate who helped the citizens of New Orleans hundreds of years before, then was murdered. Who was this man, she wondered. Was he married, without a ring, living alone? What was his occupation? Maybe he was there on business.

He turned away from the window and stared at her. His eyes were like lasers, forming a beam of invisible light that connected them. She couldn’t turn away. He had burned an image in her mind, and possibly on her heart.

He lay the book that he had chosen down on the counter. She couldn’t see the title, but there was a woman in a long, white dress on the front, sitting in front of a gilded mirror. She caught a glimpse of the title, The Woman in White. The clerk snatched it up quickly before she could see any more of the cover art. He left the book with the clerk, turned around, and walked toward the door. He didn’t want to purchase it, after all.

For a moment, they were the only two souls in the room. Celeste’s head was spinning from the humidity, the anxiety, and the sudden encounter with an extraordinary man.

She turned to watch him walk away from her. Her breathing had accelerated. Did he notice? He brushed by her. His skin was warm underneath his shirt, which smelled fresh and alluring, like magnolia blossoms. She smiled at him. He shot her another hot stare, nostrils flaring, as he kept walking. He didn’t return the smile. She felt foolish. He exited the shop and disappeared into the crowd of shuffling tourists. The sun was bright. Mid-morning was hot. Her hair was curling uncontrollably in the humidity.

Deciding that she didn’t really want the book that she had chosen, she put it back and exited the shop, in hopes to catch another glimpse of the mysterious, beautiful man.

The clerk, a dark-skinned Creole girl with braided locks, stared after her. Her big, brown eyes were dressed in glitter with a smear of gold eye shadow over each thick lid. She wore many Mardi-Gras beads around her neck and an off-the-shoulder blouse. There were gold bangle bracelets on each wrist. She grinned to herself, like she knew something, as she placed the mystery man’s choice of reading under the counter.

Not seeing the man on the street, Celeste walked to Café Du Monde. She wore shorts and a halter top and was getting sunburned as she walked. There was a long line, waiting to be seated at the café. She crossed the street and became the last customer in that line, checking her purse for money. She had enough, and much more money would be forwarded to her by her lawyer. It should be received at the hotel that day or the next. She loved getting away. It was the only way for her to have a new start, now that her treatments were finished. Her independence had to commence someday. That was the plan.

A cool breeze blew through the open restaurant. She saw him again, having coffee. There was an empty chair at his table. He didn’t offer it to her or signal to her, just stared, straight-faced with those piercing eyes. She decided to ignore him. Her imagination was making a fool of her. She had to live a life of facts, not fiction. Isn’t that what got her in big trouble before? She was running from her shadow life. This was her big chance to establish herself as a whole human being, one not tempted to embellish what was to her, mud-brown reality.

She averted his gaze. He touched her hair as he passed by to leave and disappeared into the crowd again. Until she had seen him, she had been in control. One glance, and she was hooked, line and sinker. There was no cure for her, but she would do the best she could and collect the money allotted to her to stay away from Massapequa, her adopted permanent home. Her romance with the congressman, who was married, was a red hot mistake. She said she loved him, madly. When his wife became suspicious, her psychiatrist told her to take Congressman Emeril Wrightman’s pay-off and leave town. She was lucky. He said to her, Get out now, without any press and dangerous threats. Doreen doesn’t know about us, but she is bound to find out. There was a change in his touch, a worried look in his eye, and no kiss to finalize their parting. The hush money was carefully counted out in cash, which she deposited in the bank. It was an abrupt ending to their affair and should have been expected, but Celeste didn’t plan for the future. She lived day by day.

She shuddered. It was a curse, being abandoned with a recurring desire to find love that would last forever. After two major romances, that lasted a year each, she decided to try something different, but she just knew that the right man was out there, waiting. Possibly he was this man in New Orleans. Why was he staring at her, but not approaching?

She needed to be alone to sort things out. NOLA was a place for lovers. So what if they were drunk most of the time. She would have to learn to hold her liquor. From now on, I vow to take life less seriously. There is no forever love…just one-night stands and passing fancies. Can I live by those rules? Maybe.

She watched him walk out into the sunlight. He stood on the corner, crossing the street and turning left, walking by the long-legged Molly mules and their white carriages. He walked straight ahead, never looking back. The St. Louis Cathedral and the golden statue of Andrew Jackson in the middle of the square were elegant. She had taken a hotel room on Royal Street in the historic Andrew Jackson Hotel.

She finished her third beignet and drank the last of her famous Café du Monde coffee. Maybe she would walk to the Natchez light house to watch passengers boarding the steamboat. Maybe she would read the local paper and try to catch up with news. As she headed in the direction of the light house, she saw pigeons fighting over pastry crumbs. A female ran from a male’s, bull-throated advance. She laughed to herself as he sped up, bobbing his head, ready to pounce on her. She coquettishly fluttered away a few feet, avoiding his advances. They had their own rituals having to do with procreation, not recreation. She was sure that they didn’t know of love.

Pale gray pebbles crunched under her feet as she continued on to the cobblestone street and up the ramp to the river-side promenade. Brass horns glinted in the sun. Young girls, old black men, saggy-breasted old women, dressed in second-hand clothing played, sang, and called out to those walking. They wished a good day to their listeners before blowing their jam into the air. Celeste tossed a dollar into an old man’s hat that was lying on the ground, designated for tips. He smiled, showing gums with missing teeth. There was one big, shiny gold tooth in front. He nodded, lost in his feel-good world of playing and praying out loud, arms stretched up to the heavens. The saints owned this town through the spirit of musicians, artists, and the ever-present homeless.

She crossed over to the pavilion where a few people sat at metal tables and chairs, in the shade. Perspiration ran into her eyes. She wiped them and got a bottle of iced water from a vending machine. There was a seat at the table that was closest to the muddy water of the Mississippi, where sat the Natchez steamboat. The loud calliope on deck, reminded her of bitter days when she was young. Her father was a clown in a traveling circus. Her mother had been an aerial acrobat on the flying trapeze where she fell to her death. Celeste was only three years old at the time. She became a miniature clown in her father’s act, named Peewee. She enjoyed the frolicking, the animals, and the freaks. They were all family to her. When her father took up with one of the elephant riders, Celeste felt very alone and afraid that she would lose him, too. Although his girlfriend was nice to her, she was overly-solicitous just to get closer to Boffo, her dad.

Celeste was born in a small town in Ohio, one night when a lightning storm tore their tent, and torrential rain turned the fair grounds