Dead Man Series Collection 1: Dead Man Mysteries Books 1, 2 and 3

By T. M. Simmons

Join Author and Paranormal Investigator Alice Carpenter, Along With Her Cohorts, Twila, Granny, Trucker, and Miss Molly, on Their First Three Ghostly Murder Adventures, Plus a Bonus Novella

Novella: Dead Man Love (Series Prequel - Bonus Content)
It's Mardi Gras in party city where fate unites author and paranormal investigator Alice Carpenter and the gorgeous Cajun detective Jack Roucheau over a newly dead body. There are a couple of other murders to solve, too; Billy Ray, a mystery writer who is the latest victim of a voodoo curse, and Elvira, once a voodoo queen in Storyville.

Book 1: Dead Man Talking
Author and paranormal investigator Alice Carpenter is well-practiced at disciplining the ten resident ghosts in her lakeside log cabin near Six Gun, Texas. When her cousin Katy calls looking for help with Sir Gary Gavin, the resident ghost at Esprit d'Chene Plantation, the family mansion near Jefferson, Texas, Alice agrees to come to her rescue.

Book 2: Dead Man Haunt
When Patrick, a gorgeous naked ghost, reaches out to author and paranormal investigator Alice Carpenter and her cohorts for help, the small town of Mineral Springs, Texas, will never be the same. In exchange for helping him journey to the hereafter, Patrick leads Alice into a crumbling historical hotel, where she discovers a new murder—a woman severed in half at the bottom of an elevator shaft.

Book 3: Dead Man Hand
Alice, Twila, Granny, Jack, Trucker, and Miss Molly are smack dab in the middle of another murder investigation, this time in a haunted hotel in Red Dollar, New Mexico. The villain is armed with Black Magic, and there's no escape for anyone during the ice storm.

From the Publisher: Cozy mystery fans and readers who enjoy amateur sleuths, ghosts and a supernatural twist will enjoy this fun series of mysteries with its cast of colorful characters.

"Dead Man Talking is grisly fun! T. M. Simmons is the finest, funniest writer about Texas I've ever read."~Alice Borchardt, author of Raven Warrior

"With ghosts practically outnumbering live characters, this entertaining romp…is certainly worth a gander." ~Library Journal

"All this supernatural phenomena resides inside a delightful who-done-it." ~Harriet Klausner, Reviewer

A Dead Man Mystery Series:
Dead Man Talking
Dead Man Haunt
Dead Man Hand
Dead Man Ohio
Dead Man Love (Novella)

About the Author:
T. M. Simmons lives in a haunted house on the edge of the East Texas Piney Woods, which she and her husband share with a variety of pets and paranormal residents. In between writing cozy mysteries and other stories, she delights in scaring herself silly during otherworldly encounters and visits haunted buildings and graveyards during both dark and full moons. Her husband goes along sometimes to protect her from the bumps in the night, although he's been known to spy a ghost and retreat rather than confront. She also pursues paranormal entities with her own real-life Twila, Aunt Belle Brown, and they are Lead Investigators of the Supernatural Researchers of Texas paranormal investigative team. SRT's motto is, "Leave Peace Behind," and the team seeks to leave peace for the people who are dealing with troubled hauntings, as well as for the ghosts. Simmons is extremely willing to discuss her experiences with anyone she can corner.

• Language: English
• Publisher: ePublishing Works
• Release date: Aug 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9781644573471

T. M. Simmons

T. M. Simmons lives in a haunted house on the edge of the East Texas Piney Woods, which she and her husband share with a variety of pets and paranormal residents. In between writing cozy mysteries and other stories, she delights in scaring herself silly during otherworldly encounters and visits haunted buildings and graveyards during both dark and full moons. Her husband goes along sometimes to protect her from the bumps in the night, although he's been known to spy a ghost and retreat rather than confront. She also pursues paranormal entities with her own real-life Twila, Aunt Belle Brown, and they are Lead Investigators of the Supernatural Researchers of Texas paranormal investigative team. SRT's motto is, "Leave Peace Behind," and the team seeks to leave peace for the people who are dealing with troubled hauntings, as well as for the ghosts. Simmons is extremely willing to discuss her experiences with anyone she can corner.

Book preview

Dead Man Series Collection 1

Dead Man Series Collection 1

DEAD MAN MYSTERIES BOOKS 1, 2 AND 3

T. M. SIMMONS

ePublishing Works!

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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 actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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T. M. Simmons, 2011, 2012, 2022. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

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Contents

Dead Man Love: A Dead Man Series Novella

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Dead Man Talking

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Epilogue

Afterword

Acknowledgments

Dead Man Haunt

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Epilogue

Afterword

Acknowledgments

Dead Man Hand

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Afterword

Acknowledgments

Before You Go…

Dead Man Ohio

Also by T. M. Simmons

About the Author

Dead Man Love: A Dead Man Series Novella

ALICE AND JACK’S STORY

To my loyal readers,

Love and appreciate y'all so much!

Chapter 1

C ome on, Twila! I urged my aunt as I hurried to the apartment door and tugged it open. We're gonna miss the parade.

Oh, for pity sakes, Twila grumped. If you'd rented one of those cool apartments with a balcony, we wouldn't have to fight all those drunks on the street to catch a few beads.

I told you, I would have been too distracted to write in a balcony apartment. Besides, they're happy drunks.

Happy, shmappy. They're still drunks.

Like you've never had one or two too many.

Twila blushed faintly. I never said I hadn't. But you know how it is if you're sober in a crowd of drunks.

Frustrated, since I'm one of those on-time people, I stomped over to the bar cabinet nestled in a corner of my small, two-bedroom apartment. Reaching into the tiny refrigerator I'd found at a garage sale, I took out two full hurricane glasses and handed one to Twila.

I forgot I'd pre-mixed these this morning. I tilted my glass in a salute to my aunt. Happy Mardi Gras!

Twila slid a glance at the mantle clock, which read 9 a.m. Then she shrugged her shoulders and repeated, Happy Mardi Gras! before she took a long drink.

Ahhh, I breathed after my first swallow, then shrieked when the glass jerked out of my hand.

Give that damn glass back to me! I yelled, hot on my drink's tail as it sailed through the air toward the far corner of the room. I nearly caught it before it rose to the ceiling, out of reach. Trucker, my hundred-fifty-pound Rottweiler, and Miss Molly, my Siamese, appeared in the bedroom doorway. But Trucker only woofed faintly, then turned around and leaped onto the bed. Miss Molly looked up at the ceiling once, then followed her friend.

Thanks for the help, I muttered sarcastically, then turned toward Twila with hands on my hips and demanded, Make that stupid ghost give me back my drink!

Not until you promise to listen, a vaguely-familiar male voice said into my mind.

I whirled and stared up at the ceiling. We're on vacation, you darn piece of protoplasm. Twila and I are celebrating Mardi Gras this weekend, all the way 'til Fat Tuesday. I’m not writing and I'm darned sure not fooling around with a prankster ghost.

My problem isn't a prank, the ghost repeated. He feathered into faint visibility, and I squinted to see if I possibly recognized him. However, he wore a Mardi Gras mask, one of those that covered his face fully.

It's serious, he went on, and you and your aunt should feel obligated to help me. One of your friends might—

Twila! I interrupted the ghost's tirade. I glanced over at her in time to see her finish off the pretty red liquid in her hurricane glass and head towards the corner bar. Did you hear me, Twila?

I heard, Twila replied. And just as soon as I make us both another drink, we'll show that interfering meddler what happens to ghosts that intrude in one of our vacations.

My drink glass gently glided down on top of the bar. A faint whoosh sounded as the ghost left, and Twila slid a nod of satisfaction over her shoulder. I guess that ghost knows who's boss around here.

He wouldn't have given in to me, I agreed as I walked over and picked up my glass. Just to a big gun, like you.

No guns, Twila said, tipping her glass at me again before she took another long swallow. Just experience. And we'll go see Cat Dancer tomorrow and get some more lessons.

Cat Dancer and Cat Dancer, I said with a giggle. Mother and daughter with the same name. I wonder how much confusion that's caused in their lives.

Not too much, Twila denied. With the culture in New Orleans being what it is, how many people do you think would joke around with either of the Cats?

I was too busy fixing another drink to more than nod at what I considered a hypothetical remark. I quickly stirred the mixture and drank a couple inches or so, realizing I'd lost any iota of of a desire to hurry.

Shoot, I said, even though Twila hadn't asked that particular question. We don't have to go to the parade. We can buy beads and trinkets in any of the shops a block from here.

Twila laughed. And we won't have to show our boobs.

The swallow of drink caught in my throat, and I barely had time to grab a bar napkin and cover my mouth before it spewed onto my t-shirt. As it was, it dribbled down over the neck to the top of the words, Suck dem der heads, before I gained control of my hysterical laughter.

T-Twila, I finally managed. We don't do that bare boob stuff.

I know, Twila said with a smirk. But I got the reaction I wanted out of you. Now, let's throw these drinks into disposable cups and take them with us. Otherwise, we'll end up sitting around here all day, reminiscing and getting drunk ourselves.

Well, poop, Twila muttered. Here we are just itching to go celebrate, and some darn fool had to go and get himself killed in the middle of our route.

I knew Twila didn't mean to sound unsympathetic to the poor dead person lying under the white blanket in the center of the street. It was just the downer it threw into our mood. Sometimes we both mimicked a cop's black humor in gloomy situations like that.

Speaking of cops, I said with a nod at one of the men who knelt beside the covered body. At least, I assumed he was with the New Orleans PD. He wore jeans and a black t-shirt, but he had to be some sort of law enforcement to be allowed into a crime scene. And despite the fact he knelt beside a dead person, his butt sure filled out those jeans in a nice way.

I didn't hear you say anything about cops, Twila murmured. At least, not out loud. But I see what you mean.

Just then, the cute rear end guy pulled back the blanket over the body's face. Given the crowd around him, he dropped it back in place after only a split second, but it was exposed long enough.

Both Twila and I gasped, and before I could stop myself, I said, It's that darn man in my apartment! He's wearing that same blasted mask!

Oh, crap, Twila said. He heard you.

The cop stood and stared over at us. If his butt had caught my attention first, his face ensnared it completely. Tall, dark and handsome, Cajun to the core. I glanced at the gold badge pinned to his black leather belt as he strolled towards us, then focused back on his face. He had chocolate brown eyes, a five o'clock shadow even this early in the day.

Twila nudged me, and I realized the cop had said something. He was right in front of us, so close I could have reached out and touched him, but I curled my fingers into fists.

Uh...what? I asked, tearing my gaze away from the cop to turn to my aunt.

He introduced himself, Twila said, and wants to know our names.

You know my name, Twila, I said inanely.

She muffled a giggle. His is Jack Roucheau, she said. Detective Roucheau. I already told him that I'm Twila Brown, from Ohio.

Oh, I replied, then said to the detective, Roucheau. You must be from here. N'awlins?

Yankees, he whispered scornfully, but I heard him clearly.

Bristling, I said, There's probably more Yankees in this crowd than locals. And besides, I live here now.

So now I know at least that about you, the detective said. But still not your name.

Why do you need to know that? I questioned. Do you want my phone number, too?

Probably, he said. Depends on how you answer my questions.

I'd felt a warm glow when he said probably, which dissipated immediately at his comment about questioning us.

Why would you want to question us? I demanded. We didn't witness this crime.

You appear to know the victim, he replied. Soon as you give me your name, I'll ask you to come over here and identify him. He doesn't seem to have a wallet or ID on him.

You're wrong, I denied. We don't know him.

Then what was he doing in your apartment? he asked.

Uh.... I stared at Twila, and she shrugged.... In one of those rare instances when we communicate mind-to-mind, she said, You're the one who opened your mouth and said he was the man in your apartment.

He couldn't have heard that all the way over where he was kneeling.

Evidently, he did. You got us into this. Get us out, so we can head on over to the parade instead of getting involved in a murder.

I gasped, unfortunately out loud. Involved? In a murder? I don't think so.

How do you know the guy was murdered? the detective demanded.

Uh... um... well... uh... I kept staring at Twila.

Look, Jack, she finally said. It's o.k. if I call you Jack, isn't it?

Detective Roucheau will do, he said sternly.

"Jack, she repeated, we don't know the man. We're on our way to a parade, and we need to get going."

Which parade? Jack asked.

Twila frowned along with me. Why does it matter which parade? she answered with her own question. It's something with a Krewe in its name.

They're almost all Krewe of something parades, Jack said, hands now on hips and a muscle in his jaw jumping. Which one?

She asked why you wanted to know that, I said.... Because if you don't know the name of the parade, you could be lyin' to me.

What? I half-shrieked, my own hands grabbing my hips. Why would we lie to a cop?

Clearly out of patience, Jack called over to the crowd of investigators around the body. Evans, bring me a couple pair of handcuffs.

My mouth dropped open and when I turned to her, Twila's was hanging even lower than mine. That Evans cop must have been quick, because suddenly he was there behind Twila, pulling her hands back, handcuffs ready to click on. Before I could turn my angry gaze on that damned detective, he had disappeared from where he stood. Then I felt callused palms grab my bare arms and force them backwards. The cold steel circle encased both my wrists before I could even think to jerk them free.

Evans hadn't chained my ankles, though, and I whirled on him. How dare you?

Detective? Evans called as he held up his hands as though to shield himself.... The Cajun detective strode back from where he had been talking to another officer beside the body.

What now, Sir? Evans asked.

Y'all aren't under arrest, Detective Asshole said to us in too mild a tone for my liking. Not yet, anyway. So I won't Mirandize y'all. I'll just hold you for material witnesses until I find time to talk to you more. Might be a while, since I've got a crowd of potential witnesses here to go through first.

Twila and I both froze, staring at each other, while the detective told Evans, Go ahead and put them in the back of your patrol car. Head on to the station, and I'll be there whenever I get around to it.

Twila gave me a scant nod, and I said, We're so sorry, Jack...uh...Detective Roucheau. Let me explain. With a quick look at Evans, I whispered, You might want to hear me out in private.

Jack studied us both for a long moment, then said to Evans, Wait over there by your car. I'll bring them along in a second.

Evans shrugged and strolled off. When he got out of hearing distance, I said to Jack, It was only the victim's ghost in my apartment this morning.

Jack grimaced. So you're both a couple of those psychic crazies. Well, that's not gonna get you out of being questioned.

Twila cocked her head. You don't believe in ghosts, do you, Detective?

A bunch of hooey, he said. Now let's get over to the patrol car.

As you wish, Twila said. I'm sure you'll be the laughing stock of the station when they find out you brought in a couple of crazy psychics to question. Women who saw the victim's ghost.

And don't think we won't tell everyone within hearing distance, I warned.

Are you tryin' to blackmail me? he spat.

Blackmail? Look, I'm a mystery writer and I've never heard of blackmail being used in a situation like this. We sure aren't going to profit from it.

Of course not, he said grimly. You'll just avoid bein' hauled to the police station and held there while your stupid parade is goin' on.

There's nothing stupid about Mardi Gras! I denied. It puts zillions of dollars into the N'awlins economy. And you're keeping us from adding our money to it.

He shook his head. You know what? I don't think either one of you have anything to add to this investigation.

He turned me around again and unlocked my handcuffs, then did the same for Twila. I guessed those keys must fit all the various cuffs the cops carried, because in a second, she was rubbing her wrists along with me.

Go, Jack ordered as he turned away.

Twila grabbed his sleeve. Detective, how can we contact you if we do run across anything to help? Can I have one of your cards?

He barked a laugh. It'd be a waste of a card on you two.

Then he stalked off without even a glance over his shoulder.

Darn, I tried, Twila said... .Tried what? I asked.

Tried to get his phone number so you could ask him out.

"Me? Ask him out? What would we talk about? How stupid it was to believe in ghosts?"

Oh, you could probably bring him around, she said with a wink. Didn't you notice how closely he watched you? Like he could eat you up?

Yeah, like he couldn't wait to see me behind bars! That was his only interest in me.

Alice, Alice, Alice. I'm never going to get you married off if you don't cooperate.

I'm perfectly happy being single, Twila. I know how happy you are, but I don't have time to date. I've got books to write and research to do.

Now why would you turn down the chance to have your own crime research assistant at your beck and call? she asked.

I turned to stare at Jack again, now standing with his circle of other investigators. As if he'd sensed my eyes on him, he turned and gazed back. I swear it took me at least ten seconds to jerk my gaze away from him and hastily make my way through the crowd to the nearest street-side bar.

I grabbed a plastic hurricane glass from the stack on the bar and held it out. Fill her up. Hurry.

Chapter 2

Y ou know, Alice, that's sort of cool, Twila mused. She was on her fourth hurricane that morning, and I know I'd matched her drink for drink. Or maybe I'd had an extra one.

Alice? she repeated.

I slurped the dregs from my glass, then tipped it toward Twila. Another? My turn to buy.

She laughed in that silly, amused tone that told me I wasn't the only one enjoying the alcohol buzz. Not right now, but you go ahead. We can always get a cab back to the apartment.

A cab? Back to the a-apartment? Why? I'm having mudbugz for lunch.

Never mind, she told me. You and those darn crawdads. But before we go, I was going to point out something you might enjoy.

I whisked my head around, then grabbed a nearby trash barrel to steady myself. As soon as the dizziness subsided, I muttered, Maybe I better have those bugz before I drink anymore.

Maybe you should, Twila said with another easy laugh. "We passed a restaurant with one of those huge Boiled Crawfish Inside signs a few doors back. And this parade's about over."

Yeah, and we didn't even catch one set of beads or a plastic medallion.

Twila replied, Maybe we can ask that woman up there to share.

She saluted her empty drink glass at a balcony covered in wisteria vines and flowers across the street. Now that the last float, which carried a fantastic brass jazz band, had made it to the corner, most of the balconies were clearing off. Not this one. There had to be at least a dozen people standing on it. Although the overhangs appeared rickety, I'd once asked about them and been assured they were inspected every year prior to Mardi Gras. None of the city officials wanted a lawsuit if a balcony collapsed, especially if it was full of male college kids in town to stare at what they hoped was a plethora of bare boobs. There would surely be a few lawyers among the parents, lawyers who would be out for revenge for injuries to their precious darling sons, as well as full pocketbooks to defer some of the school costs.... My mouth gaped at the scene. No college kids on that balcony; they were all hooting and hollering below it. A tiny woman stood in the center of the group behind the decorative railing, covered neck to waist with dozens of bead strings. I squinted my eyes to stare at her, then rubbed them and looked again. Yep, that's all she wore, at least on her upper body. Below, she had on a cotton, flower-sprigged skirt. And yes, those were the arms from the blouse hanging down the sides of the skirt.

She's ... I stared briefly at Twila, then back across the street. She's been showing her boobs for beads! She must be at least eighty-plus!

Looks like it. Twila giggled and shook her head. Good for her. I hope you and me have that much moxie when we hit her age.

We don't even have that much moxie now!

I'm married, so those days are behind me, she told me. But I'd be willing to bet that if I got a couple more hurricanes in you—and we found another parade—you'd have as many beads as her.

Twila! I would not!

I was still watching the tiny woman, and she turned now to go back inside the apartment. Sure enough, her back was bare. She didn't walk inside. Instead, she shimmied, her arms out to the sides as though she were belly dancing.

My laughter choked me, and I gave in to it. Beside me, Twila whooped and bent over as she held her stomach. A second after that, we grabbed each other, trying to stay on our feet amidst our hilarity. I dropped my glass, but being plastic, it didn't shatter when it landed in the trash barrel in front of us.

A second later, we both started to collapse. I didn't know about my aunt, but my legs were as wobbly as strands of cooked spaghetti. A half-cognizant recall of that debris-littered street beneath us had me thrusting Twila towards the barrel, and we grabbed the rim. It took another thirty seconds or more before the smell from the barrel cut through our hysteria.

Ugh. I wrenched my hands away and started shaking them violently. Someone puked in there!

Always the braver one, Twila removed her hands, but peeked into the yellow steel receptacle. Nope, it's just a mess of mudbug shells. Those ugly things you seem to think are so delicious.

They're only delicious fresh out of the pot, I said distractedly as I searched my blue jean pockets. Ah, there it was, my stash of antiseptic wipes. I pulled out two and stuck one behind Twila's belt when she responded too slowly for me. I tore open my towelette and scrubbed methodically at my palms and between my fingers. Not happy with the results, I retrieved another wipe and scrubbed some more.

I think your hands are clean, Twila told me as she dropped her towelette into the trash. You can't scrub away the smell. We need to move on to get rid of that.

Oh, I agreed, tossing away my second wipe and walking off. Sure enough, the smell dissipated as we distanced ourselves.

Twila caught my arm and said, Whoa. I thought you wanted some of those ugly mudbugz. You almost passed that sign I saw.

Where? I asked.

She took my head between her hands and moved it in the direction of the window we stood beside. Sure enough, there was the sign. And it must have been a little early for the main body of Mardi Gras revelers to put down their drinks in favor of satisfying their hunger. There was only one couple in front of us, two men holding hands. Both had on skin-tight sleeveless t-shirts, but one wore a pair of cutoff blue jean shorts. The other boasted only a skimpy thong, which consisted of a rhinestone inlaid ribbon stretched just above his hips. I'd seen the Mardi Gras attire for some gay couples the previous year and knew a material-lined net on the front of the thong encased his genitals.... Just then, he turned sideways to study the large billboard menu on the wall, giving Twila a good view of his prized package.

I glanced over to see what she made of the sight. This being my second Mardi Gras in N'awlins, I knew some gay men totally enjoyed strolling around like that during Carnival Season without fear of arrest. Of course, in a restaurant, they had to wear a shirt and shoes. No sign mentioned pants, though.

The menu-studying man turned and caught Twila staring down at his bottom. She grinned at him and said, Happy Mardi Gras.

Happy Mardi Gras, he said back with a wink.

They placed their order and moved on down the line to the cash register. While we waited for the server to fill their order of huge trays of mudbugz, corn and potatoes, Twila whispered, You didn't by any chance happen to film that with your phone, did you?

I shook my head. They probably would have enjoyed posing for us, but I didn't think of it. I've got some DVD's at home that I took last year, if you want to see them.

"Can you make me a copy? I have got to show some of the girls back home a few of these Mardi Gras marvels."

I agreed to her request as the server finished the men's orders and looked up questioningly at us.

Bugs, I said. Just one corn, but three potatoes.

Not for me, Twila said. I'll have catfish.

He nodded without speaking and we strolled toward the cash register to pay for our meals. We made it about halfway there before the restaurant door opened and a crowd spilled in. A crowd led by that feisty little lady from the balcony, the one who had been wearing all those beads. Thank goodness, now she wore an old-fashioned house dress, which suited her age and tiny frame. What stopped me in my tracks—and Twila, also—was the ugly woman floating above them, the one they didn't seem to know was with them.

Well, none except the tiny lady were aware of the angry ghost woman. The elderly lady halted, then motioned the young men and women around her to go ahead. Not one of them argued with her, although I wasn't sure whether it was obeying her indirect order or their hunger that moved them to line up...The elderly lady propped her hands on her hips and whispered, Quit followin' me! I ain't 'bout to let your ugly mug ruin my mudbug lunch.

You need to do what I tell you, the ghost woman, who wore a turban and flowing multi-colored dress, mentally telegraphed.... I glanced at Twila to see her frowning at the ghost, her attentive stance indicating she, too, had caught the ghost's comment.

I ain't got to do nothin' you say, the elderly woman replied. She tossed her hands at the ghost. Shoo! Get your butt outta here a'fore I find me some of them there ghost-busters and get them to send you on your way.

Ha. My voodoo protects me from any of you high and mighty still-living people.... Ma'am? the cashier said from where he stood. Y'all's orders are ready.

Twila walked around me, nodding for me to take care of picking up the food. Well, it was my turn to buy. She strode towards the confrontation at the doorway, shoulders straight and head high. The ghost immediately saw Twila—or more probably, from what I knew of my aunt, the ghost had caught a mental command Twila shot at her.

At first, the ghost stood her ground, but only until Twila was about two feet from her. My aunt raised her hand and flicked her fingers. The ghost dove to the ground as a faint flash of light feathered the air where she had stood. Without regaining her feet, she slithered out the door like a frantic snake escaping a mongoose.

Thank-ee, the elderly lady told Twila.

No problem at all, Twila said.... I's Granny Chisholm. Would y'all like to join me and my nieces and nephews to eat some of these here mudbugz?

I'm Twila Brown, and I appreciate the invitation, Twila responded. But you go ahead and enjoy your crew of young folks. Maybe we'll meet again during Mardi Gras.

She hugged the tiny lady and joined me where I'd set our trays on a booth table.

Any trouble with that one? I asked, already snapping the heads off those lovely red bugz and peeling out the tail meat. I dipped a large chunk in some melted butter and popped it in my mouth.

That ghost has something on her mind, Twila said as she cut into a huge catfish fillet to allow it to cool so she could eat. She dug her fork into her cole slaw. I don't think we've seen the last of her.

Crap, I said. I've managed to ignore most of the ghosts around here so far. What the heck's going on now?

Mardi Gras, Twila said with a shrug. All those ghost tours going on. Crowds of people listening to their lurid stories with rapt attention. It makes the ghosts feel important, gives them more courage to show themselves. And the more excited and scared the tour groups are, the more energy the ghosts can siphon off to allow themselves to appear as apparitions.

When we see the Cats, let's ask them to help us strengthen our shields, I grumped. Twila didn't answer, and I glanced up at her. I'd sat down with my back to the door, which left her the other bench seat. A tiny smile on her face, she was focused on the front of the restaurant.

Twila? I said. Did you hear me?

I did, she replied.... She eyed the two trays in front of me, one already a quarter empty, the other filling with discarded shells. She pulled the tray of scraps to her side of the booth, then stood.

I'll be right back.

Popping another butter-dripping piece of tail meat into my mouth, I scooted to the edge of my seat so I could see where the heck she was going.

She wouldn't.

Oh, no.

How dare my aunt!

But she did....

Chapter 3

I knew you wouldn't mind, Twila said as she led that Cajun detective over to our booth. Detective Roucheau's here by himself, and I hate to see people eat alone.

She slid into her side of the booth, settling right there on the outside edge. Reaching across the table, she pushed my tray of bugz to the wall and motioned for me to follow it. I started to glare at her and refuse, but for some reason I looked up into a pair of chocolate eyes filled with a hint of hopeful pleasure. He held his own tray of mudbugz in one hand, an ice-cold mug of beer in the other.

I quickly scooted over, grabbed another mudbug and snapped the head off.... Do you suck heads, Detective? I asked, offering him the half with the mudbug head and claws.

Twila snorted and covered her mouth. Quickly, she grabbed her glass of ice water and slugged down a long drink. I, on the other hand, continued to hold the mudbug shell out to Jack.

He ping-ponged his eyes between mine, the mudbug shell, then to my T-shirt. Uh oh. I'd forgotten I wore the Suck dem der Heads shirt today. Plus the second line, which circled beneath my breasts, said Eat dem Tails.

A furious heat scattered over my face, but before I could retrieve the head, Jack caught my wrist. He took the mudbug shell from me, lifted it to his mouth and sucked out the dregs of spicy water the restaurants cooked their crawfish in. All the while, he maintained his hold on my wrist and centered his gaze on mine.... Your turn, he said. He reached for one of the larger bugz on his tray, then seemed to realize he needed both hands to shuck the shell. Releasing my arm in what I considered a reluctant manner—well, it appeared reluctant to me, since he trailed one finger down my palm—he broke the crawfish in half and handed me the front part.

Then he grinned and dropped the head and claws, expertly removed the tail meat, and held it in front of me. I gaped like a baby bird and he put the meat in my mouth.

Somehow, I managed to chew and swallow. Immediately, I turned my attention back to my own tray of food. I grabbed a boiled potato and broke it open to dip a piece into the butter. Totally ignoring Jack, I set about eating my bugz, potatoes and corn.

I felt a shrug beside me and realized he was sitting close enough that his shoulders brushed mine. Like an idiot, I tried to move away, but I was already up against the side wall. There wasn't anywhere to go.

How is the investigation going, Detective? Twila asked, thankfully turning his attention to her.

I can't really discuss an ongoing investigation with you, Jack said around shelling and eating his mudbugz. I can tell you, since we've already taken care of all notifications and it will be in the paper tomorrow, that the man was Billy Ray Tyler, one of our local celebrities.

I gasped. Billy Ray? The mystery writer? Can't be. He was too young behind that mask. Well, his body looked younger, anyway.

Ghosts can take on a younger persona, Alice, Twila informed me. You know that.

Beside me, Jack stiffened. Not that ghost crap again, he nearly whispered, low enough that perhaps he didn't realize he'd spoken. Still, I ignored him.

I did a book signing with Billy Ray a few months ago, I told Twila. He was a believer. That's probably why he came to us this morning and tried to get our attention.

He got that, all right, she said. And now we have no choice.

Oh, yes, we do, I told her sternly. To address my point, I snapped my largest bug in two and expertly shelled the tail. I dipped it into the melted butter and ate it, then totally focused on my tray as I tried to ignore the cone of silence over the three of us.

A surreptitious sideways glance showed me that Jack was engrossed in his own platter. He obviously had even more experience than I did at shelling mudbugz. Already, his food was nearly gone. Twila kicked me under the table, and instead of responding to whatever silent inquiry she wanted, I moved my legs aside. That didn't work, because when my aunt wanted to get something across, she was as stubborn as an avalanche.

Look at me! she projected into my mind.

I disregarded her and grabbed my ear of corn. I should have known better. Corn soaked up the spicy water even more than the bugz did. I chomped a huge bite, then realized my mistake immediately. Mouth on fire, I grabbed at my glass of iced tea...and missed. Instead, my grasping fingers landed on Jack's beer and I took a mighty swig.

I would have bought you your own, Jack said, but I had no idea for a second or so what he meant.

Expecting the soothing taste of tea, and getting draft beer, I gave a start of repugnance. And spit the remainder of what was left in my mouth all over my tray.

Uh oh, I muttered. Mouth still steaming, I plopped the glass mug down and grabbed my tea. This café served their tea in specially ordered quart glasses without the handles on them. It took both hands for me to tip that jar to my mouth.... Anyone who has eaten mudbugz knows a cold drink doesn't even begin to quench a fire in your mouth from the spicy boil-water. But who on this earth doesn't instinctively reach for something icy to soothe such a burn? In fact, my usual drink of choice was beer when I ate those yummy little critters. Today, I didn't want to risk a roiling stomach by adding beer on top of the hurricanes.

While I was still struggling with my embarrassment and burning lips, Twila kicked me again.

What? I managed, this time meeting her glance across the table. She looked away from me and up at someone standing beside her. No, two someones. And beside me, Jack divided his attention between me and our visitors.

Miz Dancers, Jack said before I could greet the beautiful tall woman and smaller miniature of herself.

Both the Dancers, Cat and Daughter Cat, were gorgeous. They had the smooth café au lait skin that never aged and appeared more like sisters than mother and daughter. The differences were striking, though. Cat always appeared in public in full regalia, especially during Mardi Gras. She wore layers of scarves, draped seductively enough to outline a figure that was probably as perfect as it had been at twenty-one.... Daughter Cat wore blue jeans molded to her own perfect shape, and a cropped top that proved she needed no bra. While her mother's hair was covered in a turban, hers cascaded down her back in about a zillion beaded braids.

As I rubbed at my lips, the smaller Dancer woman smiled at me, hugged her mother, then waved goodbye as she hurried out of the café. I grabbed another swallow of tea as I realized the other three were carrying on a stilted polite conversation—at least, Jack's part of it while he looked back and forth from the door to our visitor. Twila, of course, enthusiastically greeted our dear friend. And I also realized something else. Cat held her hand out to me. At first, I thought she wanted to shake hands, but then knew how stupid that thought was. We always said hello with vigorous hugs.

Still, I held out my right hand, while I kept a strong hold on my tea with the left. Cat smiled and leaned across Jack to grasp my hand and turn it palm up. Then she dropped a small jar into my hand.

I sighed with relief, knowing instantly what she had given me. Still distracted as to the subject of the ongoing conversation, I opened the tiny jar and rubbed the aloe vera salve on my lips. Immediately, the burn soothed, and I set the jar down and grabbed another mudbug.

Alice, you aren't still going to keep eating those things, are you? Twila asked.

I glanced at her in astonishment. Of course. I've still got half a platter left.

They're soaked in beer.

Doesn't hurt them at all, I told her.

Twila shook her head, and this time when the silence filled our little corner of the café, I popped another piece of tail meat into my mouth and looked around as my hands fumbled for another bug. Three sets of eyes were watching me with smirks on their faces. Even Jack grinned. He pushed another full mug of beer over to me, one he must have ordered from the bar.

This time you'll realize it's not tea, he joked. Then he slid out of the booth and nodded at Cat. I need to talk to you later today.

Cat tilted her head. And why would that be? I haven't broken any law that I'm aware of.

Probably not, Jack acknowledged. But someone you know died this morning. Billy Ray Tyler?

Cat blanched and sat down in the booth. What happened?

We're still trying to figure that out.

Might be easier if you'd talk to his ghost with us, I grumped toward him as I broke a bug in half.

Jack sighed. We have an excellent department and a darned good solve rate. None of the resolutions were accomplished with the help of psychics or ghost-busters....Cat waved her hand towards Twila and me. You might be overlooking some truly good help right here....To me, her voice sounded strange; however, before I could reason that out, Jack ran a hand through his hair, and his face froze in displeasure. We don't allow civilians to become involved in our investigations. His gaze roamed over both of us, but settled on me.

But, Cat said, "Alice just insinuated they knew how to contact Billy Ray's ghost. I would think you'd be remiss if you didn't follow up on that path of your investigation. Wouldn't you?"

Jack removed his billfold from the pocket on his tight-jeaned rear and threw some money on the table. Enjoyed the company, he said. That should take care of the tip for everyone.

Without another look at us, he strode toward the café door.

Nothing ever gets me away from a platter of mudbugz. Well, nothing ever had. But when I became aware of the change in the atmosphere at our booth, I realized I'd scooted clear over to the side of the bench to watch that Cajun detective leave. A hot flush stole across my cheeks after the door shut behind Jack and I noticed what I'd done. And realized the others knew my interest in the aggravating man, also.

I slid back to my platter of food and started eating again as Cat said in a serious tone, Should we talk about how we can help put Billy Ray at peace?

"We won't, I said, a crawfish tail dripping butter halfway to my mouth. You heard what Detective Roucheau said. We're not allowed to intrude in his investigation."

Oh, pooh, Twila said. For one thing, he can't order us around.

He can— I began, but she talked right over me.

For another, how do you think you'll get to see him again if we don't make ourselves useful?

I chomped on the mudbug tail, which caught in my throat when I tried to swallow and fire a retort at Twila. By the time I coughed the meat out so I could breathe, I'd forgotten what I wanted to say. Besides, she would know I was lying if I denied wanting to see that irritating man again.

Chapter 4

An hour later, empty tea and beer mugs littered our table, along with another platter of mudbug shells. The beer mugs, except for the one Jack gave me, belonged to my aunt and Cat. I hadn't learned anything new about Billy Ray. He and I had talked ad nauseam during our various book signings, since the book buyers were sometimes few and far between. So I knew about Beau Riviére, the family plantation. Also, that he kept an apartment on the edge of the French Quarter, close to Bourbon Street, where he sometimes stayed. Cat told us Billy Ray partied hard in between book sales, which I knew because it was a typical writer characteristic. Plus, silly me, I'd given him my phone number and he had called me more than once late at night trying to get me to join him at one bar or another.

Still, even through the dregs of alcohol still in my system, I couldn't deny Cat seemed to be hiding something from us, even though her insistence that we should question this ghost rang true. At times her eyes, usually so direct and honest during our conversations, slid this way and that around mine and Twila's gazes. Sheesh, they could have been watching a beach volleyball game.

Look, I said, after I'd dipped the last, lonely piece of mudbug tail meat into the clogging butter and swallowed it, I'm in the middle of researching my next book, and a murder investigation would be a distraction.

Alice, you're not exactly lying, Twila informed me with a haughty sniff, but you promised you'd take some time off if I came down to visit you. You know I loathe you getting involved in some plot vein and ignoring me if I've flown a thousand miles to enjoy time with you.

I sighed. You're right. I did promise, and I'll shove that Muse back into my subconscious. It's just that I've got this great idea for my next—

Next, schmext! Twila spouted. If I even once catch you making notes on that darn little paper tablet you carry, I'll be on the next flight back to Ohio.

I hung my head in shame. I was so used to spending long, involved hours alone, researching or writing, I wasn't very good company sometimes. Yes, at times it was a necessity. However, it was also over and above rude when I had company. No wonder I never found a husband.

A pair of dark, chocolate eyes intruded into my thoughts, and I immediately recalled Twila's reasoning for helping that handsome detective find Billy Ray's killer.

We really could help solve this case, I said aloud. Who else can talk to Billy Ray and see what he remembers about getting killed?

Exactly, Cat replied.

Probably none of our business, Twila began. However, I was just thinking how we didn't even get to say goodbye to your daughter. She sort of hurried off awfully fast.

Oh, it's no secret, Cat told her. She had to get going. She's headed up to Alexandria, Louisiana, to a writer's conference. Giving a talk about some of the things I do.

I shrugged when Twila glanced at me. There's writer conferences all year long. I didn't think you'd want to go to something like that, so I threw the invitation away.

Me? Twila giggled. You nagged and nagged me until I came down to see what Mardi Gras was all about. You said last year it was a hoot. And I'll admit, so far it's been a lot of fun.

Happy drunks, right? I asked.

Yep, she said, then her mouth dropped open as she jerked her head to stare past our booth. Oh, shit.

My aunt hardly ever swears. If she does, you know for a fact a significant incident is about to occur. Usually, something to do with a troublemaking ghost.... Sure enough, a second later, one stomped up to our booth. Well, noiselessly stomped, since ghosts have a problem making sound in their state of being. Besides, the noise level in the café had increased with the lunch crowd streaming in.

I hadn't paid that much attention to her when she was aggravating the elderly woman with all her nephews and nieces at the café door, but as she glared at Twila, I examined her. She was a developed ghost; must have been dead decades. I knew that by how easily and fully she had made herself appear. She was what Twila called a full-bodied apparition. A light-skinned African American, she wore a multi-colored dashiki, which appeared to be made of silk. Full sleeves flowed down her arms, but the dress was slit in front, showing off her up-tilted, unfettered breasts. She had a lovely figure, but her face needed a skilled plastic surgeon. I nearly felt sorry for her unattractiveness. Until she spoke.

She crossed her arms and spat at Twila, Just who do you think you are?...Elvira, Cat hissed in a low, warning voice.

The ghost jumped back and stared at the other side of the booth, where Cat and I sat. She evidently hadn't noticed Twila wasn't alone when she first approached. However, to give her credit, she pulled herself together and didn't retreat any further.

Well, what do you know. If it isn't the famous Cat Dancer. Refused to help anyone lately, Cat? Messed up any more lives?

You don't have a life now, Elvira, Cat said with a low snarl. Leave!

I told you what you needed to do, Elvira. Go do it.

Cat's voice had risen enough that a party of people at the table nearest our booth turned to stare at us. I looked at their faces, but none of them appeared to be aware of our visitor. At least, their gazes didn't stray from us to where the ghost named Elvira stood a few feet away from Twila. However, I nudged Cat and nodded toward the interest she had fostered.

Unfortunately, Elvira caught the direction of my gaze.

Look at that. Maybe those folks would like to know the dirty secrets of N'awlins, Cat Dancer! What you gonna do if I decide to talk at a human level, huh?

Beside me, Cat stiffened. Then she reached into what must have been a pocket hidden by her flowing scarves and pulled out a small pouch. Twila and I both watched her open it, so neither of us was aware of the smirk on Elvira's face until Cat tossed a pinch at the ghost.

Nothing happened...except Elvira's unsightly face morphed from the smirk into a hideous glare of satisfaction.... I've grown, Cat. The tone in the telepathic words carried the ghost's gloating enjoyment, and Cat frowned. It will take more than patchouli to harm me.

Cat replaced the pouch of patchouli, and instead of surrendering to the ghost's ability, she drew out another pouch.

What about asafetida, Elvira? she whispered. The people at the other table had gone back to their meals, assuming, I guessed, that Cat was having a difference of opinion with one of us.

Elvira's sniff was her only prelude to what happened next. She covered her face and sobbed wretchedly. Her figure crumbled to the floor, and her sobs escalated into deep, wracking cries of grief. Twila and I both stared at Cat, and surprising me, a slow tear leaked from Cat's eye, down her silky cheek.

Don't, Elvira. Please, she said in a low voice.

The ghost only sobbed and cried louder. Even to me, her agony was heartrending.

Give it up, Elvira, Cat finally growled in a barely audible tone.

Uh... I began, my curious writer brain urging me to find out what was behind the mystery of the ghost's torment. I don't think she's going to leave until she tells us what she wants, Cat.

Cat tossed me a grim look and stood from the booth. Then you and Twila listen to her. I've had it up to my eyebrows with Elvira.

And she swooped out of the café, every eye in the place watching her regal figure depart.

The next thing I knew, Elvira was sitting beside me, no sign of tears on her face. Not that I thought ghosts could actually cry. Of course, my lessons from Twila hadn't touched on that fact or non-fact. The ghost leaned an elbow on the table, as though settling in for a long discussion.

Huh uh, Twila said. I'm here on vacation and I don't want to get involved in some ghost's problems.

She slid to the edge of the bench as I gaped at her. What about helping Jack with Billy Ray? I asked. That's getting involved with a ghost.

That's different. She stood and motioned for me to join her. There's a good reason behind that: helping you get to know that handsome detective better.

I'm not interested...uh...crap, Twila. Maybe I am, but I'm not going to chase after any man.

You're not going to chase anywhere, Elvira said. You're both going to listen to me. Right now!...Twila took a couple steps, then said, Come on, Alice.

How? I asked her. This ghost is blocking me in.

Just slide on through her, Twila insisted.

I stared at the ghost, and she crossed her arms over her abundant breasts, a stubborn tilt to her lips. Shivering in anticipation of what I knew from working with Twila over the years would be a bone-chilling cold if I went through that apparition, I gazed up at Twila. I knew she could read my hesitation. My aunt only shrugged and motioned for me to hurry. Then she took two more steps away from the booth.

Twila, I growled. Don't you dare.

Then get moving, Alice. We can't let an apparition boss us around.

I took a deep breath...then scooted right off that bench and beneath the table to the other side. I was fast, but Elvira was faster. By the time I emerged on the other side of the table, she was already sitting there in the same position, a dare in her expression.

I clambered onto the table, vaguely aware that I again had the attention of the party-goers beside me. On hands and knees, I stared at the ghost, who now sat on the table with me.

Suddenly someone reached for me and pulled me right over to the edge of the table. I bit back my scream as I went through Elvira's cold-as-a-grave iciness. Well, I had never been in a grave, but my writer's imagination instinctively gave name to the freeze I experienced. I managed to swivel my rear end around on my own and stand. Then Twila had me by the hand and the two of us strode hurriedly out of the café.

Fully aware of the ghost that followed us, I kept pace with Twila. For a second, I thought maybe she was headed back to my apartment, then I realized where we were. Two short minutes later, we ducked into Cat Dancer's shop.

I turned to see Elvira hovering outside the door. The ghost knew better than to come in here. Childishly, I stuck my tongue out at her, jerking it back into my mouth as the thought passed through my mind that she might somehow toss an icy pitch at it.

Beside me, I heard Twila giggle. Guess that fixed her, huh?

Yeah, I replied. But we still have to get back home.

Not right away, Twila said as she turned to walk on into the shop. Maybe she'll get tired of waiting on us.

Chapter 5

Turning into the freedom of the shop, I froze. How did you know Jack was in here, Twila? I whispered furiously. Let's go somewhere else.

I didn't know, she said with a satisfied smile as she gazed at where Jack stood discussing some obviously important subject with Cat Dancer. Although the checkout counter separated them, their heads were close together as they strove to keep whatever they were talking about from being overheard. My vantage point allowed me to see the anger on Cat's face, but deeper in her flashing eyes, I thought a hint of fear lurked.

Interrupting my concentration on the conversation between the Cajun detective and our dear friend, Twila continued, I'm tired of that darned Elvira already, though. And this is as good a place as any to get away from her.

Elvira? Oh, Jack's presence had totally wiped the ghost from my mind. I really didn't want him to find us lurking here as though stalking him. I looked over my shoulder to see if an escape had opened up that way but, nope, Elvira still paced back and forth in front of the door. Well, she more like floated, since her legs didn't walk; rather, they stayed straight while she moved.

Gazing back at Cat and Jack, I whispered, They look like they're talking about something pretty serious. We don't want to interrupt.

We can browse while we wait, she said, then wandered over to a display of herbs.... I had only been in Cat's shop once before, when Twila visited several months previously, after my aunt talked me into advancing my knowledge of the paranormal with more lessons from someone Twila herself called a master. Our lessons had taken place elsewhere, however, mostly near cemeteries or rumored haunted places. The millennium had fostered renewed interest in the supernatural, although I'd had a hint or two that Cat Dancer was adept at more occult paths than I wanted to learn about. Cat kept my training centered on the new-age interests I shared with my aunt.

Tearing my eyes away from the conversation on the other side of the store, I followed Twila to the bins with name signs on them. She had already pulled a small plastic bag from a dispenser and was picking up a scoop. She dipped it into a bin labeled asafetida, and I immediately became engrossed in her actions.

Is that what I think it is? I asked. The stuff Cat used to threaten Elvira?

Yep, the stuff Grandma Alice carried with her.

I don't think we have to worry about catching a cold this time of year in N'awlins, I told her.

She laughed. You fell for that old wives tale? Grandma Alice didn't carry asafetida to keep from catching a cold.

Well, I never remember her having a cold, I replied with a huff.

If this protected her from the cold virus, she said as she tied a small piece of twine around her baggie, then colds were carried by something evil.

Uh...something? I questioned.

You know what I mean.

A demon, I said as quietly as I could.

Yes. Asafetida is used to keep evil entities away, and also in exorcisms, she explained.

Ever since Twila had taken me under her wing several years ago, teaching me what she could about the paranormal, I'd been fascinated. I hadn't realized that we both came from a long line of psychic mediums, although no one talked about it during our childhoods. Well, at least they didn't talk about it in public. Behind closed doors was another story. I recalled one comment I'd overheard growing up that became clear to me after Twila began her lessons:

If Grandma Alice tells you something, you better pay damned close attention.

It wasn't just Grandma Alice, Twila said, and I realized I'd spoken aloud. You remember all the others I told you dealt with things they never spoke about except among themselves.

Grandmére Alicia, for one, I said. Our ancestor who lived in Louisiana. She's the one I was researching when I fell in love with N'awlins. And probably the one Grandma Alice...well, your Grandma Alice, my great-grandma...was named after.

And on down from there, she reminded me.

Pointing at an herb name I hadn't ran across before, I started to ask her to explain it to me. But loud voices from the rear of the store interrupted us.

I told you, Jack, Cat shouted, and both Twila and I rushed toward her, I'm not getting involved!

You're already involved, Jack retorted as we reached the counter. I could have hauled you downtown, but I was waitin' to question you and your daughter alone. Tryin' to be courteous.

Courteous? I said as I grabbed his arm and pulled him back from Cat. You are being absolutely rude to our friend. Why don't you just leave?

For just an instant, I thought a speck of welcome flared in Jack's eyes when he realized who had his arm. However, his expression quickly turned stern. "Miss Carpenter, Mrs. Brown. I'll thank you not to interrupt here."

I'll thank you not to treat our friend like some common criminal you're questioning, I erupted back.

But when I glanced at Cat, her expression and raised hand warned me off.

I can handle this, Cat said. I'll be with you two in a minute.

More than a minute, Jack said sternly. "You haven't answered even one