Mischief in Mudbug (Ghost-in-Law, #2)(16)

Turner whistled. “Doesn’t sound like much fun. What can I help with?”

“I need access to some files…FBI files. Nothing that will raise any eyebrows. All old shit—back during Vietnam.”

“Sounds okay to me, man. Hey, if you’re coming now, do you think you could pick me up a burger and another six pack?”

“I think I could manage.” He closed his phone, grabbed his keys and the case folder, and headed out of his apartment. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe my memory is totally off and the guy in the drawing has nothing to do with a wanted criminal from a long since dead war.

Then the vivid recall of the young man in uniform flashed across his mind, imprinted there as if he’d seen it just seconds ago. Everything in perfect clarity, right down to the three freckles on the bridge of his nose.

That perfectly matched the three he’d seen on Sabine.



Sabine clenched the steering wheel of her car, well aware that it was far too early in the day to be up and moving, much less driving around downtown New Orleans with Helena Henry.

“By the hotdog stand is good,” Helena said, directing Sabine to a corner about a block away.

For the life of her, Sabine couldn’t figure out exactly what Helena wanted to do here. “What are you up to, Helena? You wake me up first thing this morning, even though you know I didn’t get hardly any sleep last night. Then you insist I drive you to New Orleans—”

“First thing! Are you kidding me? It was eight o’clock already.”

“I have a head injury, and I’m not a morning person. Besides, I was busy almost having to shoot intruders last night, remember?”

“No shit. Well, while you were busy playing Cops and getting your beauty rest, I was formulating a plan of action.”

Sabine groaned and pulled up to the curb. “Why does that worry me so much?”

“Jesus, for such an artsy-fartsy liberal sort, you’re just as uptight as Maryse. I’d think a so-called psychic would have a broader mind.”

“Well, it might help if I knew what I was supposed to be broadening my mind to.”

“You’ll see. Just circle the block. If I’m not here when you come back, circle again.”

Sabine stared at the empty but very vocal passenger seat. “And how the heck am I supposed to know if you’re here?”

Helena laughed. “Oh, you’ll know. But just in case I need to give you some getaway instructions, you might want to roll your windows down. Okay, I’m outta here.”

There wasn’t so much as a stir of the air as Helena left the car, but a minute later, a floating hotdog that appeared to be eating itself gave her away. Dead people could eat? Good God. Sabine pulled on her sunglasses and slid down in her seat. What the hell was she thinking? Hooking up with Helena? Letting Helena help? Helena’s brand of help had almost gotten Maryse killed.

You’re desperate.

Sabine pulled away from the corner and hoped that whatever Helena had gotten her into wasn’t illegal. But she didn’t hold out a whole lot of hope. Helena had never believed the “rules” applied to her when she was alive. Death had given her an entirely new avenue on life…one that could get her living, breathing accomplices in a whole boatload of trouble.

Sabine circled the block and approached the hotdog stand again, keeping an eye out for any stray floating hotdogs. Nothing. She pressed the gas and circled once more, hoping no one had noticed her circling and called the police. She was almost to the end of the block when she saw a group of policemen rush out of a building a block away. “Police Substation,” the sign on the building read. Great. Just what she needed was the police only a block away with Helena breaking God knows how many laws just down the street.

They could start with stealing hotdogs.

She stopped at the corner and watched as the cops came to a halt in the middle of the street, looking both directions, confused expressions on their faces. A bad feeling washed over Sabine. Something wasn’t right. What in the world were they all doing standing in the street? What were they looking for?

A horn sounded behind her and she jumped. She lifted one hand to wave at the angry motorist and started to make the turn, and that’s when she saw the hotdog stand hurtling down the sidewalk toward her car. Which might not have been so odd in itself, but the fact that there was minimal slope to the road and no wind at all made the situation far from normal. Not to mention the small matter of the cart owner running ten yards behind and yelling at the top of his lungs.

The horn behind her sounded again and Sabine panicked, torn between pulling over for the other motorist to pass and hauling ass back to Mudbug as fast as her old Sentra would manage. Abandoning the last semblance of common sense, she jerked the wheel to the right and stopped the car at the curb, waving as the honking motorist drove around her and gave her the finger.

“Prepare to haul ass!” Helena’s voice sounded above the fray.

Sabine whirled around in her seat just as the hotdog stand launched off the sidewalk behind her and landed in the street, sending hotdogs flying in all directions. The police had locked in on the commotion and were running toward the stand, closing in on her parking space by the second. To heck with this. Sabine put the car in gear, but before she could stomp on the gas, a mailbag flew through the open passenger’s side window and landed on the floorboard.