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CHAPTER 1
The ghostly harp music had given Carol Marlowe her first clue that something out of the ordinary was brewing. She'd listened to those ethereal strains inside her head for weeks now — a sure sign that her subconscious and her extrasensory perception were working in tandem, about to spring a surprise. She already had a feel for what was coming. The melancholy melody spoke to her of days gone by, tears of grief, and long-lost love. Actually, she found the mental music damn depressing!
Taking all this into account, when she picked up the phone in the pullman kitchen of her mountain house that frosty February morning in 1992, she wasn't surprised to hear the troubled male voice at the other end of the line. She was surprised by her own warm, totally female reaction to that deep, lazy drawl.
"Miz Marlowe? Sorry to bother you so early." The stranger sounded almost defensive. "This is Detective Captain Frank Longpre of the N'Awlins Police Department. I've put off calling you for a good while, but ... well ... the point is, I need your help."
The instant he said "New Orleans," a series of visions — like images flashed too quickly on a screen — zapped in and out of Carol's head. She saw again the heavy fog in some watery, marshy place that had been a part of her dreams these past weeks. With a shudder, she visualized a snake coiled to strike. She glimpsed a man and a woman embracing. And through it all, she heard the harp playing and a child crying pitifully.
"How can I help you, Captain Longpre?" She guessed that her clairvoyant powers had prompted this call. She knew, too, that she could and would use them to help him.
The man hesitated as most people did when they were forced to call a psychic detective as a final resort. They never wanted to admit that they believed in such powers.
"Captain Longpre?" she prompted.
"Yes, ma'am, I'm still here." Again, that sexy, deep voice with its distinct Louisiana drawl. "Can I be real honest with you, Miz Marlowe?"
"Please," she answered.
"I don't see what help anybody can be on this case. I mean, it's like nothing I've ever run up against in all my years on the force. To be right honest with you, ma'am, my boss closed the file on this one last week. But I just can't get it out of my craw. I've got to know what happened."
"What do you think happened?"
"I'm not real sure," he admitted. "Could be murder, could be not. And even if it was murder, what then? There'd be no one left to try for the crime. You see, ma'am, this woman's been dead a long time and we don't even know who she was."
"She?" For an instant, the ghastly, staring eyes from Carol's nightmare returned to haunt her.
"Yes, ma'am. A fisherman found her body in a bayou a couple of days after Christmas. I reckon she'd been down in the mud for a right good while. Oddest damned thing! The corpse is preserved — mummified — like — as if she died just a few days ago, but that can't be."
Carol frowned and rubbed at her forehead. A headache was starting. His words were like déjà vu. Speeded-up visions came rushing through her mind like a runaway freight train. She was getting a sense of very distant grief, of confusion and hopelessness.
"Captain, just how long do you think this woman's been dead? Months, years, decades?"
He hesitated for several seconds before answering. Finally, Carol heard a long sigh and then, "Ma'am, I'd say generations is more likely. No tellin' how long she may have been out there in that swamp."
Now it was Carol's turn to take a deep breath and let it out slowly. The kaleidoscope of visions in her head made her slightly dizzy. She leaned against the kitchen counter for support, then glanced down at the telephone scratch pad. All the while they'd been talking, Carol had been idly doodling the words, "Elysian Fields." What on earth did that mean? she wondered.
"Did you hear me, Miz Marlowe? I said generations!"
"I heard, Captain. But what would make you think such a thing?"
"Her clothes, for starters. Now, granted, there were only tatters left. But the boots she was wearing were in pretty fair shape and they go way back. Then there was a necklace still on the corpse that dates to before the war."
"The war?" Carol asked, thinking World War II or possibly even I.
"Yes, ma'am. The War Between the States. Dental work — or lack of it — points to that, too. As for her identity or what happened to her, so far we've come up empty on both counts."
The War Between the States, indeed! Carol thought. She shook her head and her hazel eyes flashed green — always their predominant color when someone angered her. Who did this guy think he was kidding? More than likely the visions and voices she'd been seeing and hearing had nothing to do with this supposed detective's supposed case. He was just another early-morning crank caller.
"Where did you get my number? How did you find out about me?" Carol demanded.
Always wary of tricksters and people calling simply to poke fun at her, Carol normally asked this question before she went any further. Calls like this were the very reason she had left Cassadaga, Florida, to move to this secluded spot in the mountains of North Carolina. Cassadaga had a reputation as "Clairvoyant City" and fans of the Florida lottery knew it. They had nearly driven her crazy — calling at all hours, offering to split their millions with her if only she'd tell them the lucky numbers in advance. It was impossible to explain to those with avarice in their souls that her precognitive powers could not be used for personal gain. In fact, when she had worked with the police in the past, Carol had refused any payment for her services.
"Well, Captain Longpre, did someone refer you to me or not?"
"Do you know a Jesse Calhoun in Atlanta?" her caller asked.
"Yes, I've worked with Jesse on three cases." Her anger began to cool; Jesse Calhoun was a close friend.
"Yeah, Jesse told me — a missing woman who wandered away from a nursing home, some paintings stolen from a museum, and the murders of all those little children around Atlanta a few years back."
"Then you know Jesse, too." She felt reassured.
"Sure do, ma'am. He and I attended The Citadel together. Wasn't a finer cadet on the place than ole Jesse. We were talking on the phone awhile back and I mentioned this case and the brick wall I was buttin' my head up against. He gave me your number, sang your praises to the skies, and said I should call you if I wanted some help. I have to admit I was right skeptical at the time."
Carol laughed softly. "Why not admit that you still are, Captain?"
"Okay, ma'am, I'll give you that. But if you know a way of solving this one so I can sleep nights, I'll be forever beholden to you. Actually, as I said, the case is pretty much closed, officially. Still, it just keeps gnawing at me. I'd like some answers before I let it go, so I'm taking a couple of weeks off to do some investigating on my own. With your help, I hope."
Silence on Carol's end of the line was Frank Longpre's only response.
"Listen, Miz Marlowe, if you want to call Jesse, check me out, and get back to me, I'll understand."
The harp was playing its sad song again, louder than ever. "No, Captain, I'll take your word for it. Actually, I guess I knew you were going to call."
"How'd you figure that, ma'am?"
"I've been getting signals since right after Christmas, and I just wound up one in a long series of horrendous nightmares starring your Cajun fisherman and his gruesome find. I usually start seeing things right before I receive a call for help. I'll need to come to New Orleans, of course. I can't do this long distance. I'll have to see her."
"I understand that." He sounded vastly relieved. "Let's see ... this is Wednesday the twenty-sixth. How about I book you on a flight out of Charlotte tomorrow, if that's not too soon for you? We'll put you up at a hotel in the French Quarter. I think you'll like this place. You'll be coming at the best time, too."
"How's that?" Carol asked, distracted by the crying child who was now calling for someone named "Cami."
"Mardi Gras falls on the third of March this year," he answered. "Carnival's in full swing. Of course, it won't be quite the same with all the City Council ruckus over discrimination and Momus and Comus pulling their floats out of the parades. But, shoot, Mardi Gras is still the best free show on Earth. I have an invitation to one of the balls, too, if that sort of thing appeals to you."
Mardi Gras was the furthest thing from Carol's mind right now. However, when the detective mentioned the ball, she got a fleeting glimpse of a woman dancing in the arms of a tall, handsome man. Both of them wore glittering masks, yet Carol could clearly see the look of love in his black eyes. He obviously adored the woman, but Carol sensed, too, that a dark shadow hung over them.
"That would be nice, Captain Longpre. I've never been to Mardi Gras. In fact, this will be my first trip to New Orleans."
"Well, ma'am, you have quite an experience in store. I'll have the airline call you about your flight, and I'll pick you up at the airport myself. It's been good talking to you, and, Miz Marlowe, I sure appreciate your help."
"Hold the thanks until I've done something to deserve it," she answered.
"You will be able to, won't you?"
The music and the crying child were now making such a racket in Carol's brain that she could hardly hear what he was saying. "I think so, Captain. I'll certainly do my best."
"Then I'll see you in New Orleans tomorrow, ma'am. 'Bye now."
"Goodbye, Captain Longpre."
The moment Carol hung up the phone, the clamor in her head ceased — a sure sign that these phenomena were linked to the New Orleans case. She sighed with relief, welcoming both the silence and the proof that she wasn't about to set off on a wild goose chase.
She poured a cup of coffee — last night's dregs — and took a sip, her mind racing with seemingly disjointed details. She felt tense and eager to get under way with this case. Somehow, it seemed that something was different this time, more urgent than ever before. She felt almost as if she had some personal stake in this mystery. But that was nonsense, of course. She had no ties to Louisiana; she'd never even been there.
For a time she stood with her back to the kitchen counter, sipping coffee and staring out the window at the bleak but beautiful winter landscape. A light snow was falling, drifting down over the distant mountains. Somehow this morning the view from her windows didn't look quite real. Carol felt removed from the scene, as if she were already far away in Louisiana. She realized she was trembling. Hurrying over to throw a log on last night's embers, she poked the fire up to a roaring blaze.
"That's better," she said, clutching her robe more closely about her and allowing herself an exaggerated, warming shiver.
Thinking back over her conversation with Captain Longpre, Carol decided to call Atlanta, just to be on the safe side and to get some background information on the detective with the sexy voice. She reached for her address book and looked up Jesse Calhoun's number, then dialed it quickly. She was delighted to find him at his desk on the first try. Usually he was a tough man to catch.
"Hey, Carol! How you doin', girl?" Jesse had a voice as southern as a pool of melted butter floating on a cloud of hot grits. He was your standard "good ole boy" — beer-belly, open smile, and a ready if sometimes off-color wit.
"Fine, Jesse. I just got a call from a friend of yours in New Orleans." She was doodling "Elysian Fields" again, wondering what it meant.
"So, ole Frank finally screwed up the nerve to phone you, eh?"
"Reluctantly, I could tell," Carol answered.
"You gonna help him?"
"If I can. It sounds like a strange case, though."
"Downright weird is more like it, honey. I'd have pure nightmares if I turned up a mummified corpse."
Carol laughed in spite of the grisly topic. She couldn't imagine Jesse having nightmares over anything. He was the toughest, most unemotional cop she had ever run across — the kind who could eat jelly doughnuts while observing at an autopsy.
"I'm flying to New Orleans tomorrow to have a look around. I've been picking up vibes already, so I may be able to provide some sort of break in the case."
"Damn right!" Jesse answered. "If you can't, nobody can, Carol. You've got a mind I don't even believe. Shoot, if you ever do get married, your husband better sho'nuff watch his P's and Q's. 'Cause there won't be no way for that poor bastard to keep any secrets from you."
As if to corroborate his left-handed compliment and change the subject, Carol asked suddenly, "Jesse Calhoun, is that your third jelly doughnut this morning? For shame! And after your doctor told you to watch the cholesterol."
"Thunderation!" Jesse bellowed into the phone. "And just when I was about to sink my teeth into the last of my breakfast. Raspberry, too! My favorite! How'd you do that?"
Carol laughed. "It didn't take any special powers, Jesse. I worked with you long enough to know your morning habits. It's almost ten o'clock, so you've already polished off two of those sweet horrors. And I could have guessed the next one's flavor. You always get one strawberry, one lemon, and your favorite, raspberry, which you save for last. I'm not only psychic, I'm very observant, ole buddy."
"Shit! That ain't fair!" Jesse fussed. "You jokin' around and gettin' me all crawly-fleshed, thinkin' you're readin' my mind or somethin'."
Carol chuckled. "I don't waste my powers on your cholesterol count, my friend. I've got more important ways to use them. But you had better lay off the sweets!"
"Nag! Nag! Nag!" Jesse replied, but Carol could read his true thoughts: Bitch! Bitch! Bitch! After last year's Anita Hill-Clarence Thomas hearings, Jesse had abruptly cleaned up his act, too wary of being accused of sexual harassment to use his favorite phrase aloud any longer. At least something constructive had come out of that fiasco, Carol mused.
"So, Jesse, tell me about your friend Frank Longpre. His voice intrigued me."
"Finest cadet ever to graduate from The Citadel."
"He said the same of you."
"Well, hell, who am I to dispute the word of such a sterling fellow? I guess ole Frank must have been second best, in that case."
"He's your age?"
"Yep!" A pause, then a long sigh. "We'll both be hittin' the big fouroh pretty soon."
"Let me guess," Carol broke in. "Frank married his beautiful Charleston-belle sweetheart right out of college and took her back to Louisiana where they've raised a passel of pretty little Creoles."
Jesse's bantering tone changed abruptly. "Your psychic powers are slippin', Carol. Frank put in his time in the Army before he married. He said he didn't want his wife to have to move all over Kingdom Come. The minute he got out, though, he and Eileen tied the knot. I was best man at their weddin'."
"What happened to Eileen?" Something in Jesse's tone told Carol that the marriage was no longer intact.
Jesse hesitated and Carol heard a long, slow sigh before he answered her question. "She vanished! Like a goddamn puff of smoke! One reason this present case is probably buggin' the bejesus out of Frank is on account of Eileen's disappearance. It happened just about a year after they married. Never a trace — no body, no murder scene, no ransom demand, no farewell note. She was pregnant at the time, too. Frank's never gotten over it. That was back in 1980, but he's still searchin'. Hell, he's never even had her declared legally dead."
Carol shivered. "How sad! Thanks for telling me, Jesse," she said quietly. "You probably saved Frank some pain and me one of my bigmouthed blunders. God, what a bummer! How has he lived with that all these years?"
"Not well," Jesse answered. "He drank pretty heavy for a while, just didn't seem to care about anythin' once he realized Eileen was actually gone for good. Then one day, he got out of bed, showered, shaved, and went back to work. Since then, the department's been his whole life. He does tend to get overly wrapped up in his cases, but better that than wrappin' himself around a bottle again."
Carol was receiving new images — all blurred and confused. These had nothing to do with the body from the swamp, she was sure, but centered on Frank and Eileen instead. Nothing clear came through, however. She shook her head sadly, wishing she could give Frank Longpre some clue to his wife's whereabouts.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Whispers in Time"
by .
Copyright © 1993 Becky Lee Weyrich.
Excerpted by permission of Diversion Publishing Corp..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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