“Someone died in the building? What happened?”
“I told you not now. I have to go.”
“Mind if I come along? I’d love to hear what you’re working on.”
“You can’t. We’re meeting at a bar, and there’s always wine involved. If you’d stayed in touch, I’d have arranged it somewhere else so you could come too. You disappeared on me. Don’t do it again. I’ll catch up with you later. Do you need more money?”
“No, I’m good. All I’ve bought for the past three days are some photocopies of records, Lucky Dogs and Dr Pepper.”
Landry ordered him to stay put in his office until he returned.
As he walked, there was a spring in Landry’s step. Lunch with Henri Duchamp was always something to look forward to. Besides being a friend and mentor, the man’s wise counsel helped Landry better understand the supernatural world he worked in. Today he might even find answers to the enigma on Toulouse Street.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Brennan’s Restaurant was busy from breakfast until the last dinner was served. Tourists flocked to the pink building on Royal Street and ate in crowded dining rooms. Waiters scurried about, balancing trays loaded down with Bloody Marys, Brandy Milk Punches, turtle soup and eggs Sardou.
Tucked away in a corner, the restaurant’s Roost Bar was a little hideaway just steps away from the noisy restaurant scene. Locals who knew about the cozy nook could have a quiet chat over a Sazerac or a flute of champagne.
When Landry arrived, Henri was at the bar with his usual — a glass of Châteauneuf-du-Pape wine. Landry ordered the same, and they caught up on events during the months since they last worked on one of Landry’s cases.
Duchamp was the founder and president of the Louisiana Society for the Paranormal, a group dedicated to separating the hoaxes from Louisiana’s actual supernatural mysteries.
Two decades older than Landry, the man was highly educated and well respected. Even colleagues who scoffed at ghosts and hauntings listened to what he had to say. Today Henri was ready to learn what Landry was up to. On his earlier call Landry gave him the address in hopes Henri would research it before their meeting.
Over roasted gulf oysters and seafood gumbo, Landry described the many unusual incidents in the building and Tiffany’s unexplainable attraction to it. When he finished, he asked for Henri’s thoughts.
“Many claim the building is perhaps the most haunted in the French Quarter. More active sightings have occurred there than almost any other in my records. Because of that, I’ve done considerable research on it over the years. It’s one of the area’s oldest structures, and it has weathered the test of time pretty well, all things considered. No one knows the year of construction, but we can narrow the dates somewhat.
“It wouldn’t have survived the Great Fire of 1794 that destroyed most of the French Quarter. We also know from records at the Vieux Carre Commission that in 1805, just two years after the Louisiana Purchase, an individual named Lucas LaPiere owned the three-story brick structure on Toulouse Street. The man emigrated to New Orleans in 1798 and probably built it. His wealth would have been more than sufficient for such a project. I calculate the construction date between 1798 and 1805.”
It always impressed Landry how much his friend could turn up about a subject. The ability to ferret out little-known facts was just one reason he was so valuable an asset.
“For decades the building housed the offices of LaPiere et Cie., one of the city’s largest slave brokerages. The offices were on the ground floor, there was an entresol above that for storage, and the family lived on the second floor. Their quarters opened onto a balcony on the street side and another on the courtyard, linked to it by a wrought-iron stairway along one side of an adjoining building they also owned.”
Landry added there were also three dormer windows on the top floor, and Henri smiled. “Have patience, my boy. I’ll talk about the attic soon.”
He said a billiards room and tavern had occupied the space for almost thirty years during the second half of the twentieth century. When Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans in 2005, the owners shut it down, and the building had sat empty ever since.
“I remember going there,” Landry said. “I didn’t get to NOLA much in my younger days, but my friends and I shot pool there. It was a great place — smoke-filled rooms, country music blaring from a jukebox, and lots of locals enjoying a beer or two.”
“Did you know the ghost stories back then?”
“No, but I’ve been doing research since all this started. I’m interested to hear what you know about it.”
In his element and ready for a trip back in time, Landry ordered two espressos and a brandy for Henri.
His friend continued, “Lucas and Madam LaPiere lived on the second floor, as I mentioned. The house servants had rooms in a building on the opposite side of the courtyard, and according to historical records, they were treated decently by the master of the house. But there was a sinister aspect to the building that involved his wife Prosperine.
“You mentioned the third floor — the attic. Those three little windows on the street side are the only giveaway it’s there. I explored the building a few years after Katrina. There used to be an outside stairway to a balcony on the second floor. They
