That Awful Sound: Psychic Detectives - The Joliet Sisters

  Copyright 2015 Margaret Emery Hubbard

  Smashwords Edition

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  Table of Contents

  Books by Lynn Emery

  Meet the New Orleans Psychic Detectives

  Chapter 1 – The Grand Into

  Chapter 2 – The Plot Gets Thick

  Chapter 3 - The Man With A Plan

  Chapter 4 – He Had It Comin’

  Chapter 5 – And Then There Was One

  Chapter 6 – Something Wicked

  Chapter 7 – Loose Ends

  Chapter 8 – Triple Cross

  Message from the Author

  Author Website

  About the Author

  Enjoy More Books by Lynn Emery

  A Darker Shade of Midnight

  Between Dusk and Dawn

  Only By Moonlight

  Best Enemies

  Devilish Details

  Pretty Dangerous

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Meet the New Orleans Psychic Detectives

  ~ Charmaine Joliet – social worker by training and education, with telepathic ability. Though for years she believed her abusive mother and doctors who said she suffered from delusions.

  ~ Jessi Joliet – Charmaine’s younger sister, a former “escort” and recovered drug user. Diagnosed as schizophrenic as a child, Charmaine was the first and so far only one who realized Jessi sees and hears dead people.

  ~Call 1-800-Spirits if you need to get rid of an annoying ghost~

  (Note: Vampires, werewolves, goblins and trolls require special rates)

  The Grand Intro

  Charmaine moved slowly through the nineteenth century mansion. Noise from traffic on St. Charles Avenue a block away contrasted with the otherworldly atmosphere inside. The muffled swish of cars and rumble of delivery trucks sounded odd. Late afternoon sunshine slanted through windows, the heavy drapes pulled back. Still, deep brown antique furniture made the house seem dark.

  “This is beyond creepy. Don’t know how I let you talk me into this,” Jessi mumbled. She glanced at a window to her left. “Real cozy, if you’re into haunted houses where people end up dead.”

  “Anything?” Charmaine said, ignoring her sister’s complaints.

  “Dead men tell no tales,” Jessi replied. Then she went into a fit of giggles. “Get it? That old saying…”

  “Yeah, I get it. Will you focus please? We’re here to do a job. Mrs. Fortsall paid a hefty fee for us to get rid of her problem. And no smoking,” Charmaine added when she saw Jessi fishing in the pocket of her leather Moto jacket.

  “I’m cutting back. Nicotine gum.” Jessi held up a small square then popped it into her mouth. She chewed for a few seconds.

  “Humph.” Charmaine cracked a brief smile. She went back to scanning the large parlor for signs of paranormal activity.

  She dared not bring too much attention to her younger sister’s new healthy routine. Jessi breathed rebellion. Any sign that Charmaine was turning into an authority figure could trigger an outbreak. Still Charmaine relished having Jessi as a sidekick. Away from her dangerous lifestyle of drugs and prostitution, Jessi became a funny intelligent twenty-something taking online college courses. Her sister deserved a good life after the childhood she’d been through; the hell they’d both been through as kids. Maybe they could end up with normal lives after all. When they weren’t taking gigs to track down troublesome things that go bump in the night. Or day. Charmaine paused. Then she swung around as if to extend her invisible psychic antennae.

  “Did you hear a noise?”

  “Probably a cat in the alley. Hate those things. Relax,” Jessi drawled. “Going upstairs.”

  “Sounded like something dragging across the floor upstairs, not a cat. Be careful. Maybe Mrs. Fontaine is just a superstitious lady with a bit of paranoia tossed in. But you never know.” Charmaine walked to a glass cabinet. Crystal and blown glass figurines stared back at her. A collection of animals and tiny people seemed to question what she was doing disturbing them. “Fortune worth of doo-dads just on one shelf.”

  “Huh?” Jessi’s said over a shoulder just as she went through an archway to the hall.

  “Nothing.” Charmaine figured it best not to give little sis ideas for bringing in extra income. She wasn’t totally reformed yet.

  “Yes, mother,” Jessi wisecracked. “Damn. This staircase is bigger than the shotgun house we grew up in.”

  “The closets are bigger than the house we grew up in,” Charmaine joked to herself, because she was alone downstairs.

  Totally alone. Nothing moved except leaves on the house plant stirred by the cool air from heating vents. The formal living room looked like something out of Architectural Digest. Rich dark oak tables and chairs contrasted with oak wood floors in a lighter color. Not that much of the floors could be seen. Beautiful cream and ruby red wool rugs covered them. Pale green draperies were pulled back from the windows. Cream gauzy curtains beneath the draperies let in light but kept a private feel. Charmaine gave up resisting the urge to touch the rich fabrics of the sofas. A few leather chairs were mixed in as well.

  She moved across the hallway that bisected the mansion. A long formal dining room that doubled as a ballroom took her breath away. She marveled that people lived like this. She glanced up at the elaborate crystal and gold chandelier. The plaster of Paris ceiling was painted in a pattern that complimented the enormous wool rug. A table capable of seating twenty-five people stretched down the center. More chairs lined the walls. Beautiful and untouched. That’s what felt weird. The place didn’t feel lived in. She moved through the other rooms and picked up human vibes, stronger in the kitchen.

  “The cook or hired caterers for her parties,” Charmaine said aloud to no one. Still it was spotless with everything in place.

  The sprawling library was a different matter. Raw male energy filled the room. Two walls contained large bookcases. A narrow yet sturdy looking staircase on one wall led up to a balcony with another bookcase. Furniture just as rich filled the room. The massive oak desk dominated the room. Along another wall a set in credenza held a computer with two monitors and another chair. An oil portrait of a stern looking man hung over the fireplace.

  “My husband’s domain,” a husky female voice said firmly.

  Charmaine started and spun around. “Shit, I almost...”

  “What?” The tall auburn-haired woman strolled in with one professionally perfect eyebrow raised.

  No need to say she almost pulled a gun and shot her crazy ass, which was on the tip of Charmaine’s tongue. Rule number five on Charmaine’s small business tip list – don’t shoot your client; especially one with deep pockets. Your creditors will not be pleased.

  “Sorry Mrs. Forstall. I thought you’d be gone until at least seven tonight,” Charmaine said, recovering quickly. Images of bills due helped her overcome being royally pissed by the woman. Again.

  Mrs. Forstall chuckled deep in her throat. She shrugged and tossed her purse onto a nearby chair. Then she crossed to the bar. “I got curious about how ghost hunters work. Can you get rid of whatever is menacing this house today?”

  “We’re not ‘ghost hunters’. And I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that,
” Charmaine drawled. The woman must have majored in annoying the lower classes at her fancy private school.

  “Well how does it work then?” Mrs. Forstall gracefully turned to Charmaine again. She held a tumbler of brandy in one hand.

  “We assess security first off. You’d be surprised at how many ‘ghostly’ happenings turn out to be a crime about to take place.” Charmaine continued to circle the room, examining objects at she went.

  “Something is stalking me in my own home,” Mrs. Forstall said.

  Charmaine looked at her sharply. Loretta Chevalier Forstall wasn’t joking, nor was she play-acting. Her hand shook as she raised the glass to her mouth. Born into one of the old New Orleans families, she’d married into another equally distinguished old family. Mrs. Forstall was still on the sunny side of forty; at thirty-seven she was eight years older than Charmaine.

  “So far we haven’t found anything, not one sinister whisper. No objects floating on their own. No heavy footsteps,” Charmaine said. She turned back to gaze at the leather bound books.

  “Don’t patronize me, Ms. Joliet,” Mrs. Forstall snapped. “I’m not some elderly nincompoop with too much time on my hands and a wild imagination.”

  Charmaine took a deep breath and faced Mrs. Forstall. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like I was making fun of you. I can see your fear is real. Let’s go over what’s been happening again.

  Mrs. Forstall blinked back tears. She put a hand to her forehead and then sat down on a leather sofa nearby. “Do I have to?”

  “Being here might help you think of details you didn’t recall at my office.” Charmaine sat beside her and assumed a sympathetic expression. “No rush, just take it slow.”

  “For the past three months I haven’t felt comfortable here. Not since my husband... went to oversee the Rome branch of his business.”

  Charmaine and Jessi figured that was code for he left her for another woman. But they were still checking out the family and her story. “He took your children with him.”

  “No, Alyssa only. Grayson is away at school. I told you all of this.” Mrs. Forstall glanced at Charmaine. “You’re checking to see if I keep my story straight.”

  “You’ve been shaken up. I want to make sure I have it right. That’s all.” Charmaine said with a business-like nod. “Go on.”

  “Grayson was accepted into Williams College. I thought he was too young to go so far from home, but my husband disagreed.” Mrs. Forstall’s expression turned sour. She finished off the drink and frowned at the empty glass.

  “You didn’t mind your youngest going to Italy?” Charmaine tilted her head to one side as if the angle would afford clear insight.

  “She’d never been abroad, and she adores her father,” Mrs. Forstall said in a flat tone. “You said ‘we’. I hired you. I don’t want strangers mixing in my personal affairs.”

  “My sister—”

  “Isn’t part of our business arrangement,” Mrs. Forstall said crisply and stood, drink in hand. She started to say more, but a loud thump stopped her. She dropped the glass. “Oh God. It’s starting before daylight now, that horrible sound.”

  “I doubt it,” Charmaine murmured. She stood and walked to the open door leading to hallway.

  “I hear it. We have to get out. Now!” Mrs. Forstall’s already pale coloring turned almost glowing white.

  “Don’t scream. We’re not going to let anything bad happen to you.” Charmaine crossed to the woman and shoved her down onto the sofa again. “Stay put.”

  Mrs. Forstall’s mouth worked but no words came out. Fear had disconnected her brain to her vocal chords it seemed. Charmaine felt a rush of energy as well, but not fear. She’d given up being scared of the supernatural. People and the things they got up to sent more chills down her spine than any goblin. She’d been on the receiving end enough times.

  With a hand in the leather cross-body bag slung over one shoulder, Charmaine stepped into the hallway. The wide staircase looked stunning as usual. A louder banging sound came from upstairs. As Charmaine put a foot on the first carpeted stair, Jessi appeared on the landing above, hands on both hips.

  “The rich bitch lied to you. There’s a body up here, and it sure as hell ain’t natural causes.”

  The Plot Gets Thick

  Two hours later Detective Wayne Harrison stood with a cigar clamped between his lips. The color of milk chocolate and at least six feet tall, Detective Harrison’s gaze missed little. He huffed and puffed smoke as he observed the chaos spread out before him. Night had fallen, and the cold March evening wind made him pulled his wool jacket closer. Police lights flashed casting blue against the stately old home. Harrison took turns glaring at Charmaine and listening to verbal reports from other officers. What Charmaine assumed were two crime scene techs went in and out of the house. After thirty minutes they returned with plastic and paper bags. The body had not been moved. After another thirty minutes Harrison marched over to Charmaine.

  “Where’s my sister? She’s sensitive around cops you know,” Charmaine said, pre-empting his control of what would become a police interview.

  “Yeah, that happens when you run around killing folks,” Harrison growled back.

  “She’s never been convicted or even arrested.” Charmaine leaned against the NOPD cruiser and crossed her ankles.

  “Dead bodies and you two young ladies seem to attract each other. Now we’ve got another one.” Harrison jerked a thumb toward the Forstall mansion.

  “Sadly violent crime is a problem in our wonderful city, Detective. Not that I blame the police. You folks are doing your best,” Charmaine replied mildly.

  “I... You little....” Harrison pointed a forefinger at Charmaine, but cut off his tirade. He glanced to his left and snorted. A pudgy white man in a dark suit beckoned to the detective. His attitude showed he expected to be obeyed.

  “Detective, we need to talk.”

  “Your boss gotta a lot of nerve,” Charmaine prodded.

  “Just stay right here. Keep your mouth shut about spirits and that other bullshit.” Harrison strode off.

  Harrison and the man entered into a tense exchange. Charmaine could tell they didn’t like each other. Though interested in that dynamic, Charmaine worried more about Jessi. Her sister had a flat out phobia about police officers. Ignoring the detective’s order, Charmaine went to two police cars, but Jessi wasn’t in either of them. Then she spotted her. The double doors of a police van were open. Jessi sat in the van with a blanket around her. She held a plastic cup. As Charmaine cautiously approached, Jessi winked.

  “What the…?” Charmaine whispered once she got close.

  “I felt faint from the shock of finding a dead woman, so the nice officer helped me. Then he got my preliminary statement.” Jessi sipped from the cup. “Want some water? I got connections.”

  “Harrison is here and he’s pissed. Thinks we’re up to our necks in this murder.” Charmaine sighed as she sat next Jessi.

  “Yeah, that’s Commander Murphy with him. Mrs. Got Mad Money is tossing us under the bus right this minute.” Jessi turned to stare into the van. “Hmm, interesting tools.”

  “Keep your sticky fingers off. We’re in enough deep shit as it is. And there’s no way Mrs. Forstall can blame us for a dead body in her house.” Charmaine bit her lip.

  “Power and privilege. She hired us to sniff out the hired help stealing. We confronted her housekeeper, there was a fight and now there’s a dead body. We have shady records.” Jessi shrugged.

  “You have a history of attacking people, not me. I just have a history of...” Charmaine’s voice trailed off.

  “You have a history of getting me out of trouble. Who you think they gonna believe?” Jessi gave a grunt.

  “Wait, the victim is a woman and her employee? How did you find out?” Charmaine craned her neck until she spotted Detective Harrison. He and Commander Murphy still faced off.

  “She didn’t tell me,” Jessi said. She shrugged again when Charmaine
glanced at her. “Hey, not all ghosts hang around to chat. Some spirits take off to wherever they go once the body stops.”

  “Heaven or hell,” Charmaine said.

  “There you go with the religion myths. One day we’ll have a scientific explanation for a lot of paranormal activity. Our bodies generate energy. Ghosts or spirits are made of subatomic particles generated after we die.” Jessi waved a hand. “Stop with the God and angels crap.”

  “Who created those particles? Okay, look. Let’s debate intelligent design later. So some cute police officer gave you information?” Charmaine looked at Jessi.

  “I acted like I knew more than I did, which wasn’t hard. The woman has on a uniform, like a hotel housekeeper. Dark blue pants and a matching button front shirt.” Jessi drained the rest of the water from the cup and tossed it into the van.

  “Please tell me you didn’t touch a dead body,” Charmaine blurted out.

  “I checked to see if the poor heffa was still breathing. Not that it was likely since Shawntelle was stuffed in the wall.” Jessi patted her jacket pocket. She sighed happily as she pulled out a package of cigarettes.

  Charmaine snatched them from her. “How did you know her... oh.”

  “Right. This house was built between 1849 and 1852. Any place that old has to have a little something extra floating around. A slave named Lucas wanders the neighborhood. He worked for one her hubby’s ancestors. Did carpentry work when his owner let him. Says both families are a mean bunch,” Jessi said.

  “I’ll listen to hundred year old gossip another time. So he knows how she ended up dead?” Charmaine gazed at the house. The beauty of it started to fade with each secret uncovered.

  “He wasn’t around. Lucas was down the street scaring the shit out of a descendant of a man who used to beat slaves for fun,” Jessi said with a wide grin.