Patricia Rosemoor: Saving Grace

Grace looked, too, but whoever had been following her had melted into the night.

“Sorry, I got turned around and didn’t know where I was,” she lied. “The hour is so late.” Nearly midnight. “The street’s empty … I just got scared.”

The young man grinned. “Would you like us to walk you home?” He indicated a woman who’d followed him out of the building.

Relief washed through her. “I would be so appreciative. I’m in the Marigny, just the other side of Esplanade.”

“No problem. Anything for a lady.”

Feeling infinitely better, Grace gave the empty street behind her one last searching look.

SO NOW WHAT WAS Grace Broussard up to, going to a private investigator? Did she really think she was going to get out of this? Of course she did.

Privileged people never thought bad things could happen to them. They assumed that while they wreaked havoc on other people, they could go through life unscathed. That they could do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted, and that they would never have to pay.

Grace Broussard was about to learn different.

The stakes just went up.

“Minny, what are you doing here?” Grace asked when she arrived early for her shoot the next morning and found her cousin wandering around Gotcha!

The photography studio wasn’t open this early. There was no one currently on hand to stop anyone from coming through. The last receptionist had been let go the week before—Max said Eva just wasn’t working out, but Grace had overheard an argument between Max and a supplier about cost, making Grace wonder if finances were the real reason.

Minny had made herself at home.

“I was looking for you, of course, Grace. So what do you think?”

Minny was posed in front of the scrim, lit with a pale lavender—the only soft thing about the scene. Minny’s hair glowed red. Not auburn, not mahogany, but a stoplight red that made her freckles pop. Her floaty blouse was a pattern of red and gold, and she wore gold capris.

Nothing subtle about Cousin Minny.

Wondering where Max had gotten to—since the lights were on, the photographer was obviously in the middle of setting up for the shoot—Grace echoed, “What do I think? It all depends on what you want to advertise.”

“My business, of course.” Minny waved red-tipped fingers heavy with rings of garnets and topaz. “I was thinking of running a big ad in the Times-Picayune.”

For the past several years, Minny had run a shop in the French Quarter where she read palms and auras and tarot. Of course she used her gift to get the goods on the customers, so her predictions always rang true.

Grace thought to tell Minny about the spooky notes—about someone following her the night before and about her hiring a private investigator—then thought again. She trusted Minny implicitly—perhaps the only person she could say that about. While normally her cousin would keep her confidence, Grace wasn’t sure she would when it came to her being threatened. The last thing she wanted was for Mama or Corbett to know that someone was stalking her and that she’d hired a professional to resolve the situation.

Scrubbing the situation from her mind so Minny couldn’t use her psychic abilities to catch on, Grace said, “If you’re serious about needing a professional photo, I’ll talk to Max—”

“Nah, I’m just thinking about it. Don’t know if I’ll ever do it. I’m the shy type, not like you, Grace.”

“Yeah, sure,” Grace said with a laugh.

Minny had always put herself right out there, ever since Grace could remember. Her cousin had never had the trouble using the family gift.

“Why don’t you come back to the dressing room with me? I have a shoot scheduled in an hour—a new line of Raphael’s lingerie.”

“Ooh, let’s see. I just know it’ll be the real me.”

One of the few people who knew the real Minny Broussard—her cousin acted her way through life—Grace laughed and led the way back to the dressing room. Even though the woman used to babysit her, they’d gotten along as contemporaries for years.

“So what do you need from me?” Grace asked, as she shed her clothing for a filmy robe.

“Need?” Minny echoed. “Can’t I simply stop by to see my favorite little cousin?” Minny touched the side of Grace’s face and looked deep into her eyes.

Grace ducked and started on her makeup. “Don’t be coy,” Grace said, using the mirror to watch Minny check out the skimpy lingerie hanging on the clothing rack. “You’re up to something. What happened?” Wanting to distract her cousin if she’d somehow sensed the stalker issue, Grace asked, “You somehow got the S-O-S on my psychic slip?”

“You slipped? Well, isn’t this an interesting development.”

Grace stopped what she was doing and turned to face Minny, who was studying the first thing Grace would model—a delicate black bustier laced with magenta ribbons.

“Declan McKenna isn’t my type, Minny,” Grace said, believing it even as she saw him in her mind’s eye and her pulse picked up a beat. “So don’t make this into a thing.”

Minny pulled the hanger holding the corset from the rack. Seeming extra-intent, she gazed at the garment, then used her free hand to touch it. For a moment, Minny’s expression deepened into a frown that made the flesh along Grace’s spine crawl.

“What?” Grace demanded, her voice strained, knowing her talented cousin could get psychic readings from objects, as well as from people.

Minny shook her head, but her expression didn’t lighten. “Something strange … bad vibes… can’t quite get it. Maybe you shouldn’t wear this.”

As if she didn’t want to touch the bad vibe bustier any more than necessary, Minny set the hanger back on the garment rack and separated it from the other designs.

“A fancy bustier is giving you bad vibes?” The tension drained out of Grace. “Oh, come on, Minny, you have to do better than that if you want to scare me.”

Something her cousin used to take delight in when she’d been a teenager and in charge of Grace and Corbett.

“I’m not trying to scare you.”

A chill ran through Grace, but she chased it away. Minny had always used her psychic abilities to make herself seem more mysterious and all-knowing.

“I really do need to get ready for my shoot,” Grace said, all business now.

Tension made it impossible to get her lipstick on just right—Minny wasn’t taking the hint and leaving!

“Uh-uh, Grace. You haven’t told me about the psychic incident yet. Did you touch this Declan?”

“What does it matter?” Grace asked, even as what she’d seen flitted through her mind. “I don’t have the ability anymore. I don’t want to be psychic.”

“You don’t have any say in the matter. The sooner you come to terms with that, the better. So what was it? A real live look into the future? Or were you simply reading what was on his mind?”

She hadn’t really thought about it before. Maybe Declan had been the one on the hormonal overload and she’d merely been picking that up. Not that the possibility made her feel any better. Psychic was psychic and she didn’t want any part of the supposed gift. Or maybe her imagination had simply been engaged. Declan was someone she’d hired to work for her, and that was that.

“You encouraged me to use my touch before, Minny, and look where it got me,” Grace reminded her. “Humiliated in front of my classmates.”

The last time she’d read anyone’s thoughts, she’d been fifteen. Years of predictions had made her a pariah amongst her peers because kids didn’t like anyone who was different. That last time, she’d made such a muddle interpreting what she’d seen that she’d sworn never to succumb to that particular temptation again. Her decision to abstain from mind-reading had relieved her family—all but Cousin Minny, of course. Minny understood Grace’s gift because she’d been the only other person in the family who’d had the touch since their grandmama had passed.