Mischief in Mudbug (Ghost-in-Law, #2)(22)

The scene in the exam room played in my mind over and over the rest of the day.



Sabine sat back in her chair and stared out the kitchen window. Black marketing babies. What a horrible thought, the level of desperation it would take to go such a route to have a family. She shook her head. And Sabine thought locating her family was hard. Imagine a black-market child ever finding their biological family. It was a sobering thought, especially given Sabine’s current medical crisis.

Wondering if her aunt had ever come in contact with the woman again, Sabine lifted the journal and skimmed the pages, looking for any mention of babies. It was a couple of months later before she found another entry.

November 4, 1963



Sissy and her husband, friends of mine from high school, came in today with their baby. She’s about three months old and has a face like a cherub. Sissy could hardly contain herself. She had rheumatic fever when she was a child and knew that it would be unlikely she’d ever have a baby. They’d put their name on the adoption list the year before and her dream had come true. I was a bit surprised, as healthy white babies are in high demand and not so easy to get through the proper channels.

When her husband left the room to speak with Dr. Breaux, I made a comment to Sissy about their good fortune, and she confided in me that the adoption had been private. The woman had been poor and unable to care for the baby. Apparently the father had been killed in Vietnam. The woman had asked the priest at their church to find a good home for the little girl. I asked whether they had any personal information on the mother or the father, in particular their medical history. Sissy told me the priest had only said that the mother was a devout Catholic.

In less than two months, I’ve seen two healthy white babies being raised by women who didn’t give birth to them and live in the same small town. I have a bad feeling about it, but I don’t know what can be done. I worry that those mothers didn’t give up their babies voluntarily. Or even worse, maybe the mothers are dead.

Something’s not right about any of this. I am going to check the obituaries for the past year and see if I find any military widows who had recently given birth. Hopefully, I am wrong in my suspicions. All I can do for now is pray for those babies and their mothers.



Sabine flipped through the rest of the journal and three more after that but didn’t find another reference to the women or the babies. Frustrated, she placed the last journal on the table. There had to be an answer. Aunt Meg wasn’t given to flights of fancy. If she’d thought something was wrong, then something had been.

Sabine tapped her finger on the stack of journals, but a good answer didn’t magically appear. She glanced down at her watch and shook her head. No wonder. Before figuring anything out, she’d need some lunch. She was deliberating between a grilled cheese or ham sandwich when the chair across from her slid back from the table. It took her a second to register the indentation on the chair cushion and process exactly what that meant. “Helena, jeez, you scared me.”

“You sure are jumpy lately.”

“Two break-ins in one week are a little beyond my lifetime limit,” Sabine said. “I’m allowed to be a little on edge if someone just strolls into my apartment and I can’t even see them.”

“I guess.”

“Is something wrong, Helena?” The ghost’s voice didn’t sound right, and for the first time since that horrible cone bra sighting, Sabine wished she could see her.

“Today’s the exhumation.”

Sabine sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry. I’d completely forgotten.” Maryse’s week-long adventure in trying to remain alive had produced a whole lot of surprises, one of them being the exhumation of Helena’s body. They were looking for evidence of murder, something the police and the coroner hadn’t considered the first time around.

“Well, you’ve got other things on your mind,” Helena said. “I know that. But Maryse is off at the lab in New Orleans still trying to save the world with one of her concoctions, so I didn’t really have anyone else to talk to.”

“Are you worried they won’t find anything?”

“No. Yes.” Helena sighed. “That’s just it. I feel funny, but I’m not sure why. You know that feeling that you get before you go to the dentist or something?”

“Yes, I know that feeling well.” And ran out of a restaurant because of it. “I think it’s fear, Helena, even though you can’t put your finger on what it is exactly that you’re afraid of.”

“Fear. Hmmmm. Maybe you’re right.”

“I think I am. This is a huge event for you. You’re sure you were murdered, but what if the medical examiner doesn’t find any evidence of that…where does that leave you? Not to mention that even if they prove you were murdered, that doesn’t tell us who did it. And there’s just the overall ickiness of knowing your body is going to be lying on a table somewhere. That would definitely make my stomach flutter.”

“Yeah. I think no matter what, it’s the ‘where does that leave me’ question that haunts me the most. What if I never leave here? What if this is it—death’s cruel joke for the lifetime of bullshit I put people through?”

Sabine considered this for a moment. “I don’t think you’re being punished for being a bitch, if that’s what you’re asking. I honestly believe that you’re still around because no one has solved your murder. Apparently the world is just not in balance until that happens, so you’re stuck in the transition.”