Heather Graham - Ghost Walk

“Billy Banks,” Andy reminded him. “Yeah, and he’s a cutie. Have you seen him, Nikki? Vibrant guy, lots of charisma. Poor old Harold probably doesn’t have a chance against him.”

“Some people don’t vote for a candidate because he’s cute,” Nikki said.

Julian shrugged. “They’re both swearing they’re the one who can clean up crime in the parish,” he said. “Politicians. Who do you believe?”

“None of them,” Andy said.

“Hey…lots of people out tonight,” Julian said, forgetting politics as they neared their destination.

Despite the popularity of the place—an absolute must for tourists—they were able to garner a table. It was almost as if Max could see them in his mind’s eye from wherever he was, because they had just started on their first round of Hurricanes when Nikki’s cell rang.

“Drunk yet?” Max asked her.

“Funny,” she told him.

A soft chuckle came over the phone. “Come on, kid. Celebrate. Let yourself go. Drop down among the mortals and do a little sinning, huh?”

“Who is it?” Mitch asked, over the din.

“Is it Max?” Julian demanded.

She nodded, pressing the phone closer to her ear and mouthing, “He wants to know if we’re drunk yet. He’s telling us to celebrate.”

“Tell him I’m on my way to happily inebriated—since he’s picking up the tab,” Nathan yelled, slipping an arm around Patricia’s shoulder. “And Tricia’s doing fine, too.”

“Hot time tonight, huh?” Julian asked.

Patricia laughed. “Like he needs to get me drunk at this point.”

“Just…perky,” Nathan teased, hugging her.

“Would you guys quit with the sex thing? At least until you see the rest of us coupled up for the night, huh?” Mitch said. “By the way, Nikki, make sure you’re hearing Max correctly. He’s telling you to celebrate, not to be celibate.”

“Funny, Mitch,” she mouthed.

“What was that Mitch said?” Max asked. He said something else, but the music was playing and there were voices all around.

Nikki waved a hand at them, frowning. “I can’t hear you, Max,” she said.

The others ignored her.

“You won’t see me coupled up—not in the near future,” Andy said. “A voodoo queen warned me to watch out for strangers,” she assured them

“Max?” Nikki said, narrowing her eyes fiercely at the others.

“I’m here, Nick,” he said. “I just called to say that you’re doing a great job—one of the travel magazines just rated us as the top tour bargain in the Big Easy. So tell Nathan to drink himself silly. And you do the same.”

She realized that the idea actually appealed to her. What had it been? The weird junkie at Madame’s yesterday? That sense of foreboding this morning? The back-to-back tours she had done that day? She needed to take it a little easier. Once Max got back, she was going to tell him that they needed to hire more people.

The Hurricane she had assumed she would nurse all night was already empty. A waitress replaced it without being asked.

She smiled her thanks and spoke to her boss.

“Max, thanks, that’s great. I’ll tell the others.”

“Tell us what?” Patricia demanded.

She waved an impatient hand again, trying to get them to shut up while she was still talking.

“When are you coming back?” she asked Max. “I need to ask you—”

“Do what you need to do. I’m not sure yet when I’m coming back. You’ve got my cell—call me with any problems. And for tonight, let loose. Eat, drink and be merry. We’ll talk soon.”

“Max—”

He’d hung up.

“What did he say?” Julian demanded.

She told them about their ranking in the tourist mag. A cheer went up, and then a toast. “Did we order food?” Nikki demanded.

“Our little China doll is getting tipsy!” Patricia teased.

Nikki groaned. “Hey, for real.”

“Hey, for real,” Julian assured her. “We’ve got a shrimp and crawfish appetizer coming, gumbo and a special thing, pork, red beans and rice…succotash, darlin’!” he teased, managing to sound just like Max.

“Thank God,” she murmured.

“Indeed. Another toast,” Nathan said, raising his glass. “We’re the best. And congrats to Nikki, our blond beauty.”

“Hey, don’t look now, but that guy over there is looking to be a couple tonight,” Patricia said, nodding toward the other side of the room.

“He’s looking at Nikki, not me,” Andy said.

Nikki twisted around. The guy in question was nice looking, sandy-haired, either a businessman letting down his hair, or maybe a college student.

“No, I think he’s looking at you, Andy,” she said.

“Ladies, ladies, I hate to disappoint you, but I think he’s looking at me,” Mitch said.

Another round of drinks came to the table. Nikki’s head was beginning to buzz, but it was a celebration, and she did need to let loose now and then.

So she ate crawfish and had another Hurricane, and laughed at the banter around the table.

The plane rose, angling into the air.

Below, there was light.

And darkness.

Along the coast, the highly populated sections were ablaze with artificial light. Housing and commercial development were pushing the boundaries, eating up great chunks of the Everglades.

And yet the great area of no-man’s-land remained, thick with grass and slow-moving water—and darkness.

South Florida. From the air, it was easy to see just how much of the landscape was still taken up by the “river of grass,” since, technically, the Glades weren’t swampland at all.

Brent loved it, loved the festivals held by the Seminole and Miccosukee Indians. He loved playing guitar with his friends. Loved the seemingly endless expanse of the Glades, even with the mosquitoes, snakes and alligators.

The Everglades made a great place to dump bodies, too. When someone went missing…well, the police knew where to look.

This was his home now, the place he’d chosen to live. But there was also the home of his childhood.

After the deaths of his parents, his grandfather had been his legal guardian, so he’d spent a great deal of time, school vacations, holidays, summers, in South Dakota. But his mom’s family had been among many Irish immigrants to the Deep South, and until recently, they’d lived in the parish of his birth. Most of the time when he’d been growing up had been spent with that side of his family, in Louisiana.

New Orleans. The French Quarter. Where he’d been born.

He knew the area far too well.

New Orleans. And beyond the Vieux Carré, the bayous. Endless canals. Alligators, shrimp and shrimpers, crawfish, Cajun food…

There were bodies there, too. And strange events that went beyond the accepted norm…

It was what he did, he reminded himself.

But not always by choice.

New Orleans.

Damn, but he hated to go home.

“Help me! Nikki, wake up and help me!”

Nikki woke groggily from a deep sleep. She forced her eyes open.

“Nikki, please, for the love of God…there’s nothing. I have nothing. Tell them—you’ve got to tell them!”

She blinked. There was a soft glow of green light emanating from her clock, and a thin gleam coming from the bathroom, from the night-light she kept on. She had failed to fully close the draperies across the sliding doors in her bedroom. Though she faced the small garden area at the rear of the house, enough light made it into the back that a gentle glow came in through the window. Though the light seemed pale and misty, she could see the basic shapes of the furniture in her room.

And the woman at the foot of the bed.

Andrea was standing there, clad in a long T-shirt advertising the New Orleans Saints. Her long dark hair was tousled, as if she’d just gotten out of bed.