Mischief in Mudbug (Ghost-in-Law, #2)(40)

“You’ve been hanging around me too long.”

“That is an overstatement.” Sabine rose from the table. “I’m going to take a hot bath and crawl in bed with a glass of wine.”

“Hmmmm, wine sounds good. Hey, I wonder if I can get drunk. What do you think?”

“I think we’re not going to try. Good night, Helena.”

“Wait a minute. If you have a phone book, I can probably jot down a couple of names for you. My memory’s not what it used to be, but the phone book should bring it back.”

Sabine pulled a thin local phone book from her kitchen drawer. She placed the directory, a pad of paper, and a pen on the table in front of Helena’s chair, then headed off to start her bath.

Twenty minutes later, she emerged from the steamy water feeling much more relaxed. Especially for someone whose life was falling apart at every end. She pulled on her pink cotton pajamas and headed into the kitchen to see what Helena had found. The ghost hadn’t made a noise the entire time Sabine was in the bath, which meant she was either engrossed in her studies or all that food had put her in carb overload and she was asleep on the kitchen table.

“I came up with three names,” Helena said as Sabine entered the kitchen, “but I think one of them died a couple of years ago, so maybe only two. Hell, to be quite honest, the other two might be dead by now, too. These women were closer to my mom’s age than mine.”

Sabine leaned over and took a look at the list, but the names weren’t familiar to her. “Do they live in Mudbug?”

“No. The dead one was from Rabbit Island and the other two were up around Bayou Thibodeaux.”

“That’s close to my family, right?”

“Yeah, a couple of miles up the bayou from town, but they could be anywhere now. Still, if anyone’s going to know the local gossip, it would be these two. If they’re still alive.”

Sabine nodded. “I’ll check tomorrow.” She stepped into the kitchen, pulled a brand-new bottle of wine from her refrigerator, removed the cork, and poured herself a generous glass. Then she took a couple of sugar cookies from the cookie tin, since apparently Helena had helped herself to the ones on the table, and headed to the bedroom. “I’m off to bed, Helena. Turn off the kitchen light when you’re done, all right?”

“No problem,” Helena replied.

Sabine placed the glass of wine and cookies on her nightstand next to the latest thriller she was reading and climbed into bed. Between the hot bath, the wine, the sugar, and the book, she ought to be out like a light in no time. She took a nice, slow sip of the wine, a huge bite of a cookie, and opened the book to her marker. She’d barely read the first two sentences when she realized something was wrong.

Her breathing constricted, like a whooping asthma attack, and she could feel her heart beating doubletime in her chest. She tried to sit up straight, hoping to expand her lungs a bit, but she seemed rooted in place, her limbs not responding at all. She tried to yell, but it came out not much more than a whisper. “Helena. Helena, help.”

She strained to hear something…anything moving in her apartment, but only the ticking of the kitchen clock met her ears. This is it. I’m going to die. Frantic, she struggled with her lifeless body, but couldn’t move her hand more than an inch. “Help. Helena, help.”

“What the hell are you whispering for?” Helena’s voice boomed next to her. “Speak up if you want something.”

Sabine opened her mouth, at least she thought she did, but no sound emerged. She looked at the side of the bed where she’d heard Helena’s voice, frightened beyond belief. Helena was her only chance. If the ghost couldn’t figure out what was going on, she was going to die right here in her bed.

“Holy shit!” Helena said, apparently realizing something was very wrong. “Just hang in there. I’ll dial 911.”

Sabine saw the cordless phone rise from her dresser and heard the numbers being depressed. Then the phone glided across the room and stopped with the mouthpiece at her lips. The operator answered and Sabine struggled to get out a word. “Help.” Her voice was so faint, she didn’t know if the operator had heard her at all. “Help,” she said again and slipped into unconsciousness.




[page]Chapter Ten




Beau tossed Sabine’s file on the dresser with his gun and wallet and plopped back onto the worn-out recliner with a sigh. Another hour of reading over the same information and still he had nothing. He reached for the remote and turned on the television. He needed a distraction—one that didn’t have coal-black hair and a body that was an art form. He shook his head. Stupid. That woman is nothing but trouble, yet you insist on humiliating yourself over her. Real smart, Villeneuve. He jumped up from the chair and paced the length of the room, all three steps of it, then turned and paced it again. The job is officially over, and it’s not your business to play bodyguard. Get back to New Orleans and forget your ever met Sabine LeVeche.

He sat on the end of the bed with a sigh. If only it was that easy.

It should have been easy. It should have been a piece of cake. It wasn’t like Sabine was the first woman he had ever been attracted to. But this woman…this woman with strange beliefs and a huge can of worms for a family had stopped him cold in his tracks.

It just didn’t make sense.