around the road work, but the boulevard was choked with cars and pedestrians. Delivery trucks pulled onto the curb to disgorge supplies for the restaurants.
Daylight and the workaday bustle below brought with it a welcome relief from the troubling images of the night before. She still felt the murky hangover of nightmare, but she also felt oddly refreshed, confident. And it wasn't just the caffeine. Part of it was talking to Edgar: He really did give her strength and reassurance, more than he knew – his steadiness, the reliability of his concern and affection. And some of it was the residual high that close encounters brought, even bad ones: Mystery and danger had energizing powers, and she was a little addicted to them.
Whatever, she felt okay, and there was a lot to be done. After stoking down a diner breakfast of eggs and grits with a side of biscuits and gravy, she'd returned to the hotel and made phone calls. She'd scheduled the impending meeting with Mrs. Beauforte, then made appointments for later in the day with Dr. Fitzpatrick and with Detective Bobby Guidry, the lead investigator for the Temp Chase shooting. She'd tried to reach Lila Warren, too, but no one had picked up and she'd had to leave a message. That made her a little nervous, and she resolved to try again from Charmian's house.
A housemaid let her in and wordlessly led her to the kitchen at the back of the house. Cree found Mrs. Beauforte standing at the central island, arranging flowers in a crystal vase. Next to her on the counter was a bundle of untrimmed blooms, mostly roses. The kitchen was bright and immaculate, with a wall of windows opening to a backyard garden that was the obvious source of the flowers.
'Miz Black to see you, ma'am,' the maid announced. She disappeared into another room.
'Ms. Black. How nice to meet you,' Mrs. Beauforte said. She barely glanced at Cree before she selected a large rose, inspected it critically, and began trimming bits from it. 'My son tells me you're already stirring up trouble.' Each syllable was stretched and softened, the accent of Southern aristocracy, and spoken in a cool, dry voice; either her sense of humor was equally cool and dry, or she wasn't trying to be amusing.
'Doing my best to, anyway,' Cree said. 'That's a lovely rose!'
'You aren't what I expected. I had the impression you'd be pale and delicate – one of those ethereal wisps with the devastated eyes, that otherworldly yearning. I can see why Ro-Ro's attracted to you.'
The old woman liked to keep people off balance, Cree decided, throwing two or three provocations at you at once. 'Actually, I do have the otherworldly yearning pretty well covered. But I got my father's big bones, and you're right, they disguise it pretty well.'
'Mmm.' Mrs. Beauforte pruned the rose stem at a sharp angle and inserted it quickly among the others in the vase. She picked up another and began inspecting it closely. Her apparent disinterest in her guest was deliberate, Cree decided, intended to show this out-of-town charlatan ghost buster her place in the order of things: a mere hireling, a member of the laboring classes. She felt a flash of pity for the housemaid.
Mrs. Beauforte's straight back and square shoulders gave the impression of a bigger woman, but she was actually almost a head shorter than Cree. Lila had gotten her mother's nose and chin, no mistake, but while Lila had plumped and softened with age, Charmian had gone dry and sinewy. With her crisp white blouse and pants covered by a spotless raw linen apron, her yellow Smith amp; Hawken gardening clogs, her helmet of sculpted gray hair, the acute focus she gave to her flowers, she projected competence and vitality. Again Cree wondered just how the stroke had impaired her.
'As I explained over the phone,' Cree began, 'part of my process is to interview anyone close to a witness or who has spent time at the site of the haunting? You're both, so you were first on my list?' She caught the questioning tone of her statements and berated herself for feeling so intimidated. 'I've got a lot of questions for you about your family, particularly Lila, and about Beauforte House – '
'Have you been to Decatur Street or Bourbon Street yet?'
'I spent some time in the Quarter my first night here. It's fascinating.'
'Then you know that ghosts and hauntings are a New Orleans tradition. Did you see the cemetery tours they advertise? The voodoo tours? For ten dollars, you can ride in a van with a bunch of other tourists to five haunted houses and listen to the driver recite terrible tales. You can visit Marie Laveau's tomb at midnight. You can even pay to witness a voodoo ceremony complete with snakes and chickens and half-naked trance dancers.'
'Yes, I saw a couple of ads – '
'I could go to any of a dozen voodoo queens or Cajun witches and hire supernatural services. To cure or kill someone, cast a love charm, find lost objects, read the future.' For the first time, Mrs. Beauforte lifted her eyes to Cree's, a shrewd gaze. 'Or banish ghosts. For, oh, about fifty dollars.'
Cree wasn't sure where this was leading. Yet another declaration of skepticism from a Beauforte? Or another routine to make sure Cree knew her place?
'Great,' Cree said. 'And I can go visit old people's homes and retirement villages in Seattle, keep them company for a few hours, entirely on a voluntary basis. Some are kind of cranky, but if you just humor them they usually come around.'
Mrs. Beauforte's right cheek tightened, but otherwise her face remained inscrutable. 'Is this how you endear yourself to your clients?'
'Not usually. But I bet this is how you've tyrannized your kids all their lives.'
The seamed cheek tugged again as Mrs. Beauforte put down her clipper and began pulling off her gloves. The twitch grew and Cree realized it was the beginning of a sardonic grin. Mrs. Beauforte took off her apron and brushed unnecessarily at the front of her blouse.
'I think you'll do, Ms. Black,' she said, drily appreciative. 'You may call me Charmian. Would you care for some tea?'
When Charmian moved away from the kitchen counter, carrying the vase of flowers, Cree immediately noticed her limp. Her left leg seemed reluctant, the toe slightly outturned, a well-concealed clumsiness at odds with her otherwise impeccable appearance and movements. So she had lost something from that stroke after all. She limped ahead of Cree through a large living room furnished in a tasteful mix of contemporary pieces and expensive replicas of antiques. There were a few photos on the mantel, showing Ron and Lila and some children Cree assumed to be Lila's, but otherwise the room struck her as somewhat impersonal, with few telling curios or mementos.
Charmian led her to a sunroom in which a silver tea service had already been laid out, a wisp of steam escaping the teapot's spout, as if the resolution of their first clash had been anticipated. Charmian set the vase on a white wrought-iron table, primped the blooms, sat, and beckoned Cree to the chair opposite her.
The housemaid remained invisible. They let the tea steep for a few minutes as Cree presented an overview of her theory of ghosts and her investigative methods. She concluded by explaining why it was crucial for her to understand Lila's state of mind.
Cree's return to the subject of Lila seemed to give Charmian an opening she'd wanted. 'Do you have children, Ms. Black?'
Charmian's non sequiturs were calculated, Cree decided. They surprised and seemed to deflect you, but ultimately wove back in somehow, and it was best just to roll with them. 'No. I often wish I did, but – '
'Then it may be hard for you to understand what I'm about to say.''With a steady, blue-veined hand, Charmian began pouring tea into two cups. 'Whether they admit it or not, all parents harbor a secret hope that their children will be exceptional, will embody all their lineages' virtues and none of their failings. Now, of course I love my children. But I would be lying if I didn't admit they've disappointed me in many ways. Lila has always been prone to emotional frailty. She never had the… starch… I'd hoped to see in a child of mine. I've always believed you need a stiff upper lip and a firm chin to get by in this world, but she gives up too easily. She doesn't demand and therefore doesn't command respect. Her marriage to Jack Warren was just another example of her failure to respect herself or her family name. No doubt you're right, I tyrannized my children, I pushed them. But it was an attempt to get them to do their best. The world does not forgive those who squander what they've been given.'
Cree thought of Deirdre's twins and how secure in themselves the girls were, and had to stifle the urge to argue parenting philosophy with Charmian Beauforte. Instead, she accepted the cup of tea Charmian handed her and took a sip of the richly aromatic brew.
'Why do you think that is? You're a powerful presence, there's a proud family history on both sides, Lila and Ronald were raised with every advantage. Why should Lila have been so… timid?'
'Perhaps it's those very advantages.' Charmian's gray-blue eyes stayed on Cree's, conveying no emotion
