Aloha Nani

 

Please enjoy another short story on our heroine from The Body Hunters and The Body Hunters: Paradise Denied.

The Body Hunters by Raven Newcastle http://www.amazon.com/dp/B009X971ME/ref=cm_sw_r_tw_dp_N6xQrb13R6TGQ … …

The Body Hunters: Paradise Denied by Raven Newcastle http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CODG81Q/ref=cm_sw_r_tw_dp_r7xQrb0RWBN1N … … the fun continues in the sequel.

 

 

“Mama, I don’t want to go!” A pouting ten year old Danny informed her mother under no uncertain terms was she going to the sports exhibition expo in New Orleans. She threw herself on her bed tossing a throw pillow across the room.

Julianna Labouleaux rubbed her temples with her delicate fingers. “Danielle, may I remind you that you are the one who wanted to play soccer? “

“To play not be stared at like I’m some freakazoid!”

“Darling, you should be proud, you are the only girl on the team and the best goalie they have. Your coach just wants to show you off a bit. How about you do it for your team honey?”

Danny hated to be the center of attention and hated being told what to do even more.  Rolling her eyes and folding her arms across her chest was her international sign for ‘I don’t care what you think, I’m not doing it.’ 

Julianna sighed in defeat. “Darling it’s up to you, but right now I have to pack.”

“Are you leaving again mama?” Danny looked up at her mother’s violet eyes feeling a bit hurt.

Pain overtook Julianna’s heart, squeezing every last ounce of guilt out of her. “It’s just for a few days.” She looked away from her daughter’s silently pleading eyes.

“Is Daddy going with you?”

Julianna took her child’s face in her hands. “Not this time honey, he’ll be home and your Grandmere says she’s taking you to the zoo. I’ll try my best to be home to see you compete at the exhibition, that is of course if you decide to participate.”

“That’s what you said the last time you signed me up for ballet lessons and then didn’t show up for my recital!” Danny barked pushing her mother’s hands away from her face.

“Danielle!” A loud booming voice reverberated in her room, the imposing figure of her father, Marcel stood in the doorway.

Julianna hurriedly walked over to Marcel placing a soft hand on his chest to calm him.

“Marc it’s alright, she’s just a little upset and you can’t blame her.”  Her light touch always did the trick. “Please talk to her about the exhibition, her coach has already signed her up.” She gave him a quick kiss on his lips as she left Danny’s bedroom.

Marcel plopped himself down next to Danny on her bed. Her golden brown skin and eyes matched his and the emotions she held behind her eyes contained a lot of awe and a smidge of fear of him. He put his strong arm around her. “Danny, please be more respectful of your mother, she doesn’t want to leave you.”

“Then why is she going again?” Danny didn’t know whether to scream or cry.

Marcel hugged her close. “You know sometimes she has to go away and help her family.”

“She says you’re not going this time. Are you really staying home?”

“Yes but I have to work so your Grandmere will watch you and take you to soccer practice.”

“And the zoo?” She asked as she crawled into her dad’s lap.

“Yes baby girl and the zoo. But only if you do the exhibition.”

The only thing Danny loved more than being in Grandmere’s restaurant reveling in the delicious smells and excitement of the busy kitchen was the zoo. Taking pictures of the animals was her favorite hobby since she could look at them over and over without being dragged into the spirit realm dealing with the 'ghosties', as she and Grandmere put it.

She had in fact had several of her animal pictures blown up and plastered all over her walls since, as she discovered, any pictures of humans could transport her at anytime to relive past memories or visit with the deceased. Like her grandmere, Danny was blessed with psychic skills.

“Isn’t that bribing daddy? Didn’t you say to bribe someone was a crime? Like that case you were working on with Uncle Ryan?” Uncle Ryan to Danny was her father’s FBI partner for the last six years.

Marcel nodded his head. “Yes, you’re right baby girl, but I would really like it if you did the exhibition, it’ll be fun and I’ll get to take lots of pictures and brag on you.” He kissed the top of her head.

“Mama says she’ll be there, do you think she will? She tells me that all the time and then never shows up.”

“I’ll tell you what, what do we do when you make us a promise and don’t keep it?”

Danny pondered for a moment resting her head on his chest. “I get grounded and you take my TV away.”

“Ok, so if mama doesn’t show when she promised then you get to ground her and she has to watch cartoons with you all day.”

“And eat any kind of ice cream I want?”  She asked her bright eyes wide with delight.

Marcel laughed. “Yes and any ice cream you’d like.”

 

 “You really shouldn’t promise her things like that Marc.” Julianna advised as she brushed her long raven colored hair at her vanity mirror.

Marcel stared at his wife's reflection in her mirror, His own eyes looking heavy and weary.

“Honey, what am I supposed to say to her? Just promise me you’ll do your best to be home for her competition you know she craves your attention.”

Julianna dropped her brush on the table and lowered her head covering her misty violet eyes with her hair. She knew he hated to see her cry, but she wasn’t fooling him. Lifting her up off her chair he held her close nuzzling her neck.

“I want to be there, you know that but you know that every time there is a chance that something can go wrong.” She cried.

He did his best to console her “Julie, you are the best at what you do so don’t talk like that; someday this will all be over.”

“Someday, someday feels like a long way off. When she’s an adult we will have to tell her the truth, I can’t imagine what that conversation is going to be like.”

Marcel took her head in his hands. “Like you said that’s a long way off; let’s not worry about it tonight.” He kissed her deeply as she melted into his arms.

“Lose these!” She whispered in his ear tugging at his shorts.

Marcel smiled. “Yes ma’am!”

 Danny tiptoed back to her room confident mom and dad hadn't seen her, crawling back into her bed she hugged her big teddy bear that Marcel had won for her at a local summer fair. She fell asleep wondering what her mother meant by ‘possibly go wrong’.

 “Cher? Come now we have to get to the field, you’re up soon.” Grandmere Marie grabbed Danny’s hand leading her to her coach.

“I'm OK grandmere you go sit with daddy. Make sure he takes plenty of pictures for mama.”

“OK, you don’t be nervous. Just do your best sweetheart.” The older woman gave her a kiss and left for the sideline of the soccer field.

The New Orleans Sports Expo was a big event and school teams from all over the U.S were invited to compete for championship titles in various sports in all age groups. Danny was in the ten and under soccer division. She held the awe of her coach Duncan Stewart, a stout Scotsman with a heavy accent. He had tried in vain to tell her it was a brogue not an accent, but as he told her, as long as she could keep goal like that, then she could call it whatever she wanted. 

Danny hated to admit it but the ballet lessons her mother forced her to take actually paid off making her light and fast on her feet. She had even won the respect and admiration of the boys on the team after being placed with them when there were no openings left in the girls division. Marcel had demanded that his little girl be given the right to play. The sports director just figured she’d give up and quit against the boys when it got too rough, but  coach Duncan Stewart found out better the first time she dove for a block.

“Wait here lass.” Duncan ordered as he went to see when her turn was up.

Several young rowdy teenage boys caught Danny’s attention chanting in the corridor saying words that were foreign to her and stomping on the ground beating their chests. Danny walked over to the boys to watch the display closer.

"Aloha!" a few of the boys called out to her.

"What does that mean?" she asked in her shy southern tone.

One of the tall boys answered her. "It means hello."

“What were you doing?" She asked of the group.

One of the teens, a tall muscular young man with a skin tone that almost matched hers came forward. “It’s a war chant, we do it before all our games, Shorty.“

“I’ve never heard anything like it before. Do you play soccer?” She asked mesmerized by his blue eyes that were partially being covered by his long dark hair.

“Shorty we play a real game, rugby.”

Danny was offended. “Soccer’s real!“

The big teenager laughed kneeling down to her. “Do you even know what rugby is shorty?”

“Well, no.”

“It’s like football but much tougher. Grrrrr.” He growled at her as he made a face squinting his eyes and sticking out his tongue, putting his hands up to look like bear claws. She took a cautious step back. A worried look crossed his face. "I'm sorry shorty did I scare you?

“No!” She said in a small voice, but in truth the big teenager did scare her.

“What are you here for Shorty?” he asked.

“My name is Danielle not Shorty and I’m in a goalie competition; it’s between me and another boy to see who can keep the most soccer balls out of the goal and i'm going to win." 

“You against a boy? No offense, but a little Nani like you doesn’t stand a chance. You’re a skinny little string bean. Did you lose your front teeth to a soccer ball?” 

Danny instinctively covered her mouth feeling embarrassed.

“No, they just fell out! And I am just as good as any boy! You don’t have to be such a jerk! At least I don’t have a caterpillar growing on my face!”  She pinched his arm hard.

“Ow, damn Shorty that hurt!” He bellowed.

Uproarious laughter and the sharp sound of thigh slapping from his teammates ensued as he stood up to yell at them. “Shut up okole pukas!”

“Hey I think she likes you! better watch out that Kailani doesn't see you with her, she'll be jealous brah!” His buddy chided.

Another teammate chimed in. “You should dump Kailani for this feisty little one, looks like she can keep you in line Brah!”

The big teenager with the blue eyes saluted his teammates with his middle finger.

“Danielle you’re up lass!” Duncan Stewart motioned for her to come towards the field. Danny started to run to her coach.

“Hey little Nani, hang loose and good luck!” The big teenager with the blue eyes held up his hand like a fist with only his thumb and pinky fingers up.

Danny mimicked the gesture as the big teen smiled back at her.

 

 “It’s a nice trophy Danny.” Julianna said as her daughter slid into bed.

“Were you there for all of it?” Danny asked hugging her teddy bear.

Julianna smiled at her. “Most of it, I’m so proud of you sweetheart!”

“I’m glad you were able to make it mama, I was afraid you wouldn’t show at all. I guess this means you don't have eat ice cream and watch cartoons with me.” Danny sighed disappointedly.

Julianna kissed her forehead. “I don’t know about that, I think that sounds like fun. Maybe we can do each other’s hair and paint our toes too?”

“Ugh!” Was all Danny could muster at the thought of her mother suggesting girly activities. “Mama, what does this mean?” She showed her the gesture the young teenager had made with his hands.

“It’s Hawaiian; it means take it easy I think, where did you learn that?”

“A boy. What does okole puka mean?”

Julianna gave her a disapproving frown. “Did you hear that from that boy too?” Danny nodded. “Never you mind what it means.”

“What about Nani? Is that bad too?”

Julianna brushed Danny’s hair back from her face. “I think it means pretty. Sounds like you got a boyfriend at that competition.” Julianna teased.

“Ugh no mama he’s old!”

Julianna laughed. “Old! How old?”

“Not like you and daddy old, but like one of those teenagers grandmere complains about that work in the restaurant. He called me little Nani.”

“I don't know, sounds you like him! We're not going to have to plan a wedding are we?" She teased.

Danny giggled at mother’s comment. "No mama!"   

"Good because I don't think your daddy is ready for you to get married just yet." Julianna brought her blanket up to her chest and tucked her in. She gave her a kiss and turned out her side table lamp. “Goodnight darling.”  

 

 Danny opened her eyes shaking off the chill in her body and cobweb’s in her brain. It was the same after every visit to the spirit realm. She dropped the high school team photo of a bunch of muscular teenage boys in their team jerseys holding a very large trophy. She had pulled the photo out of a box in the basement mislabeled ‘kitchen stuff’. Photographs were her psychic gateway into the spirit realm.

She had been sorting the final boxes in storage since moving into the Savannah home almost a year ago not realizing the box she opened was not her own. She fingered the photograph a moment longer resting her finger near a familiar face. Putting the picture aside she dug back into the box and pulled out a red jersey that had a silhouetted tropical floral pattern in the background and Polynesian tribal markings that ran down along the left side. On the back of the shirt was the name STONE with the number 25.  

Oh my God! She thought to herself, no freaking way! She held the jersey close to her chest. Searching again inside the box she found his class ring and a picture of him, his father Joseph Stone and his mother Anna Stone smiling as they all three held a large trophy together. Aiden's father was native Hawaiian and it was clear from the photo that he took after his father in his physique and his naturally exotic but rugged good looks. He also shared many of his mother’s African American and Irish features, none more than her ocean blue eyes that glowed almost luminescent from the picture in the filtered basement light. They seemed to be staring into Danny's soul. A soft female voice entered her thoughts. Sometimes we have to look to the past to see our future. She was startled by the voice realizing it wasn’t her own. She looked down at the t-shirt she was wearing, a favorite one she had worn for years that was a gift from her now ex-husband. He had given it to her on their first date. She slipped it off and replaced it with the jersey. As she suspected it was too big for her but in her mind it fit like a glove.

“Nani? Nani?” Aiden bellowed for her from the side kitchen door that led to the outside garden path.

“I don’t think the neighbors heard you, can you yell louder, please?" she mocked. "What do you want?” She barked at him sticking her head out the door.

Aiden stood by the large outdoor garbage can and held up her favorite AC/DC t-shirt. “Why are you throwing this away?”

“I found something new I liked and figured it was about time I let go of the past.”

Confusion crossed his face. “Really? You’re really going to throw your favorite tee away? What could possibly replace this?”

Danny opened the kitchen door wide to fully reveal his old jersey. “It’s okay isn’t it Big Daddy?” She strode up to him wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Oh my God! My rugby jersey from high school! I thought I lost it, where did you find it?” He asked as he embraced her tightly.

“Some idiot put it in a box of old memento’s and labeled it ‘kitchen stuff’”

Aiden laughed. “Yeah I was pretty drunk when I packed up the apartment, but Nani are you sure you want to throw this away?” He held up the t-shirt again. “This shirt holds a lot of memories for you.”

 “I think it’s time for me to make new ones.” She reached her arms up around his neck and pulled herself up to his 6' 4" frame wrapping her legs around his waist. He let the shirt fall back in the trash as he wrapped his strong arms around her. Holding her close to him as they shared a deep kiss.

 

Danielle and the Jewel Thief

Please enjoy another short story on our heroine from The Body Hunters and The Body Hunters: Paradise Denied.

The Body Hunters by Raven Newcastle http://www.amazon.com/dp/B009X971ME/ref=cm_sw_r_tw_dp_N6xQrb13R6TGQ … …

The Body Hunters: Paradise Denied by Raven Newcastle http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CODG81Q/ref=cm_sw_r_tw_dp_r7xQrb0RWBN1N … … the fun continues in the sequel.

The glaring red and blue flashing lights of police cars are out of place in this neighborhood. It's one of those communities where people always say 'that kinda thing doesn't happen here', usually said after that ‘thing’ that couldn't happen, does happen. The Garden District of New Orleans' is known for its lavish mansions and high society living. I ought to know, I have estranged relatives living in this particular neighborhood somewhere.

I've never laid eyes on them since they disowned my mother after she defied them and married a man not only of Creole-Haitian descent, which in their eyes was already sinful, but also a man below her station, which was to them downright societal blasphemy. I’ve never even met my maternal grandparents, not by my parent’s choice but theirs and if they had a coronary about her marrying him, I'm pretty sure they wouldn't be happy to see the biracial child produced from what they considered an unholy union.

I push away the annoying memories of forced debutante balls and frilly gowns as we approach the crime scene. I let out a deep breath and get my mind focused on the task at hand. You see, there's something you didn't know about me; I'm psychic.

This ability has run in my family for generations. My father’s mother, my beloved grandmere Marie, trained me how to use my gift, just like her mother trained her. My ability to communicate with the dead allows me to witness the last few moments of a victim's life.

You don't need to be psychic to find this the address because the emergency lights are like a beacon filling up the sweltering New Orleans night. That cynical part of me wonders if there would be this kind of police presence if this shooting happened in the seventh ward or any of the other bad neighborhoods, but I shove that thought aside, a victim is a victim.

I pull the New Orleans Police Department issue Crown Vic into the circular drive a little too fast for my partner, Charlie Robinson's taste.

Unlike me, a New Orleans native, Charlie is a transplant from Detroit. With the economic downturn in Michigan, he left the Detroit Police Department and headed down to New Orleans where good officers were needed.

He’s built like a pro wrestler, over six feet tall and burly. I tease him all the time about how his bald head looks exactly like a giant milk dud. Charlie was my mentor when I first made detective and he’s like the big brother I never had. I also school him on all things N'awlin's, so we learn from each other, which makes our partnership work.

"I swear Labouleaux, are you trying out for NASCAR? Next time I'm driving!" He complains, releasing his gripped fingers from the dashboard, but I know he doesn't mean it. He gets out of the car wobbling like he's getting off a roller coaster. “This is not your Camaro.”

“Sorry gramps but we needed to get here before the turn of the next century. You know you drive like you're driving Miss Daisy!” I rag him on his grandfatherly driving skills. He just scowls at me and growls under his breath, something about ‘damned kids’.

I laugh at him as I pull my black hair into a ponytail. It's hot and sticky out here and it's driving me crazy clinging to my neck. At the moment I'm giving serious thought to chopping it off again, but that fact that my mother liked my hair long makes me reconsider.

My attention is drawn to the ambulance, which is stationary and not rushing away from the scene. That doesn’t bode well for our victim. Our initial call of ‘shots fired’ is probably a homicide at this point.

We approach the grand mansion’s large double doors that are guarded by two uniformed officers, acting as if they’re club bouncers than men in blue. After checking my badge, which hangs around my neck on a chain and Charlie’s which is on his hip, they allow us entry.

My eyes are assaulted by a riot of color, sequins, feathers, and rhinestones. The festive attire now seems out of place since most of the partygoers are in tears behind their masks or wearing looks of outright shock. The DJ has since stopped playing music, but the disco ball is still twirling, beads of light striking every possible surface in the room making the scene look like a surreal nightmare. Out of the hundred people in attendance, a few are quarantined to tables that once held refreshments as they give their accounts of the events to officers.

“Okay, tell me again what’s going on here.” Charlie requests, as he shakes his head at a shirtless man in a mask and sparkly pink tutu. We’re heading up the grand staircase to the bedroom where the crime happened.

“Oh Dear Charlie,” I begin in my patented snarky southern belle tone. “We are in the very mansion that belongs to Genevieve Lablanche. Every year for the past ten years, Madame Lablanche throws her summer masquerade extravaganza for the elite citizens of N’awlins.” I exaggerate the word extravaganza with a quick hand wave.

“She lets all these people in her house?” Charlie asked unbelievingly as he soaks in the mansion’s well placed but overpriced antiques.

“Yes, usually there are around one hundred people or more in attendance.” I provide in my normal voice.

“And every one of them is a suspect.” He says. His Detroit distrust is showing on his face.

We arrive in the bedroom of Genevieve and the first thing I see is red. It’s everywhere, on the white carpet, on the walls, just red everywhere. Genevieve is laying face up, a large blossomed flower of dark maroon spread all over her beautiful white sequined gown, her bottle blonde hair spread like a halo over the floor. There’s a large hole in her forehead right above her sequined mask and her dead eyes are open. Held in a literal death grip in her right hand is a diamond necklace, now splashed with dried blood.

“Shit.” Charlie mutters, stepping around the body.

“Gunshot wound to the chest and forehead.” I announce, not at all perturbed by the sight of a dead body. I’ve been trained since I was a child to use my psychic gift, so I’ve seen the ugliness of death several times over the years.

Getting our fill of the crime scene, we seek out the witness in the adjacent bedroom. Talking to a uniformed female officer with a wadded snot rag in her hand is Genevieve’s best friend, Bianca. Her dark hair is a tangled mess, like the cats have been sucking on it, as my grandmere would say. Her hands and dress are covered in the rusty red of dried blood. She’s shaking like a leaf and a road map of running mascara covers her face.

The female cop introduces us and leaves the room.

“Aren’t you a little too young to be a detective?” Are the first words out of her ruby red painted mouth.

“Aren’t you a little too old for that dress?” I shoot back.

She immediately looks down at the cotton candy pink garment, which looks like she got it on sale at Ho’s R Us.

“Uh, ma’am.” Charlie intervenes. “Can you tell us what happened to Ms. Lablanche?”

She recants the story of how Genevieve retreated upstairs for her third costume change for the evening, when she heard the commotion. Checking on her friend, to her horror, Bianca caught Genevieve tussling with an armed intruder over a necklace when she saw the man shoot her. She tried unsuccessfully to resuscitate her friend, but it was too late.

As she starts to describe the murder, she gets more and more hysterical. After asking for a description of the killer, which she can’t provide, we release her.

We question a few more witnesses and see the body off to the coroner. Charlie and I decide there’s not much more we can do until the crime scene team has gone over everything. Or rather, there’s nothing more Charlie can do.

Even though it’s nearly five in the morning, my grandmere is waiting for me when I arrive. She’s bundled up in her housecoat, slippers and an old lady scarf wrapped tightly around her head. She gives me a sleepy smile as I walk through the door. No matter how late I’m out working, she always waits up for me.

“What are you doing up so late?” I ask her as if I don’t know the answer. I kiss her with a light smack on the cheek.

“Now you know I can’t rest until I’m sure you’re home safe. What’s going on?”

She never tires of hearing my cop stories. “Somebody murdered Genevieve Lablanche.”

She wrinkles up her nose like she does when she’s thinking. “I knew her mama when I was coming up. She was a real nice lady. I can’t say the same for her daughter, though. Clara would be turning in her grave at some of the stories I’ve heard about her daughter.”

For years, Genevieve parties had been the talk of the town. Her mansion she inherited from her blue blood family had been turned into a den of debauchery. Her family fortune was often spent on wild parties and designer drugs for her so-called friends. The sterling Lablanche name was now tarnished and rusty, thanks to Genevieve’s actions. Now with her death, there would be no chance to redeem it.

But it wasn’t my place to judge her life. She was my victim and I was her advocate. After a few more words with Grandmere, I head upstairs to my bedroom.

I spill the minimal contents of the case file on my bed, but I’m not interested in the paperwork or the police reports. My doorway into the spirit realm is Genevieve’s photo, which I found at the house.

My eyes focus on the picture of the woman, just probably an hour before she made the transition into eternity. I let my eyes shut and I get that distinctive tingle in my back that feels like I’m being touched by someone with icy fingertips.

My eyes open and I’m in the middle of a party. Genevieve is standing beside me in that gorgeous white gown, only it’s not splattered with blood. She's my guide through the last moments of her life.

The chaos of a party is going on around me, but due to the limitations of my gift, I don’t hear a sound. It’s like watching a movie with the mute button on. It’s why I really concentrate on the visual details.

Around me the guests gyrate and bounce to the music I can’t hear. Their faces are concealed behind masks and I find myself searching their eyes for any sign of malice. It’s a little hard when there are people dressed as devils, demons, and grim reapers staring back at me.

After a little while, I watch as Genevieve ascends her staircase, never to return again. I follow, to the second floor, ignoring the drug use and x-rated acts that are going on in the other rooms. I’m standing in Genevieve’s bedroom, bearing witness as she pulls a glittery purple cocktail dress from her walk in closet. From the jewelry box on her dresser she removes the same diamond necklace she died holding within her hand.

 A shadow in a corner of the darkened room comes to life, eyes intently watching her. The shadow moves and she drops her mouth. He approaches; a duffel bag dripping diamonds on the floor is slung over his shoulder. Their limbs tangle until the prowler has Genevieve in a headlock. The two of them thump against the bedroom wall as she fights back. In the struggle, Genevieve removes the burglar's mask.

He's Cajun, with stringy brown hair and dark brown eyes. I commit his facial features to memory.

Genevieve and the burglar are now tussling across the bedroom floor. Genevieve knees him hard in the crotch, crab crawling away from him and into a far corner of the room. Somehow she's still holding on to that necklace, her chest heaving heavily. Wobbly on his feet, the prowler stands up, holding his crotch.

Both their heads turn as the bedroom door opens and the lights flicker on. Wearing a look of surprise, Bianca enters the room wearing that tacky pink dress, shutting the door behind her. She looks first to the burglar before turning to her best friend. She removes her mask and saunters up to the man, her hand groping around his waist till she finds what she’s looking for. The gun she retrieves is obscenely large in her small hand.

Bianca handles the gun like a kid with a toy. She poses like one of Charlie's Angels before walking over to her best friend. The burglar grabs Bianca's arm, mouths no to her but she shrugs him off.  Her eyes are set on Genevieve and what I see in them I don't like.

She levels the gun at her best friend and pulls the trigger as easily as taking a breath. I rewind the scene and play it again as the muzzle flash illuminates Bianca's face in an evil light. After she puts the bullet into her BFF's abdomen, Bianca puts one between Genevieve's eyes for good measure. I rewind the scene and watch it play out five more times. It's not that I'm naive and can't believe it, I am a cop after all. It's just that this is so unbelievably cold blooded. Bianca and Genevieve have been besties since kindergarten.

I'm also curious as to how this cat burglar plays into things. What exactly is his involvement?

I rewind and playback the murder over and over until I'm mentally exhausted. I decide to finally call it night and drift off the sleep, though the murder still plays in my head whether I like it or not.

The ringing of my cell phone, desperate for my attention is what wakes me sometime around noon. Charlie is on the line saying that they've caught the killer and to be ready in ten minutes. I'm fresh out of the shower and dressed by the time the wheels of the Crown Vic touch Grandmere's driveway.

Before he can even put the car in reverse, I tell him that the burglar is not the killer. He gives me a look and nods his understanding. Though I have never gone into details about my abilities to Charlie, he knows that there's something going on with me and that most times my hunches are correct.

The Cajun cat burglar, Remy Fontaine, as his fingerprints identify him is waiting in an interrogation room with his court appointed lawyer. His hairy hands are shackled to the metal table.

Charlie goes in playing bad cop, threatening bodily harm and the electric chair if Remy doesn't come clean. Remy's lawyer advises his client to remain quiet. I tell Charlie to go take a break before he runs up his blood pressure and he goes into the hall.

"I know you didn't kill Genevieve." I whisper to the Cajun.

His eyes look at me questioningly to me as if this is some form of police trickery.

"I know who pulled that trigger and I need your help to put her away." I continue in that quiet voice. "Her fingerprints are on that gun, aren't they Remy?"

The lawyer hisses for Remy to remain silent, but the flood gates open.

With tears streaming down his face, Remy tells his sordid tale of seduction and collusion. Bianca was insanely jealous of Genevieve, ever since their girlhood. To her Genevieve was always more popular, prettier, and richer than she could ever be. Wanting to get recompense for her imagined slights, Bianca hooked up with Remy, a two time loser with a rap sheet for small time burglary. The plan was for her to leave Genevieve's window open so Remy could come in and pilfer her collection of diamond jewelry. No one was to be harmed during the burglary.

In the midst of the theft, Remy was shocked by Genevieve's arrival, since Bianca was supposed to keep her busy. They tussled, with Remy trying to keep Genevieve quiet so he could make his escape, but the woman was frightened to death. Bianca arrived and using the gun Remy kept as a bargaining tool in case he was discovered, killed her so-called best friend.

I have him write out his story and get the prosecutor involved for negotiations. Remy's testimony in exchange for a lighter sentence and the murder weapon. In his case, it's the most he can hope for.

The crime lab goes over the gun and luckily we have Bianca's fingerprints on file from a previous drunk driving arrest. Just as my vision and Remy's confession indicated, Bianca handled the gun that killed her friend.

The look on Bianca's face is priceless, as she's leaving the country club and heading to her Porsche when the cops swoop in on her. I personally slap the cuffs on this treacherous society princess. It seems that Bianca just got the popularity she so desperately wanted.

Danielle's Mardi Gras

Here is another short story featuring our herione, Danielle Labouleaux, from The Body Hunters.  In this story she's sixteen again and she gets into a little trouble when she heads down to Mardi Gras.  Enjoy!

The Body Hunters by Raven Newcastle http://www.amazon.com/dp/B009X971ME/ref=cm_sw_r_tw_dp_N6xQrb13R6TGQ … …

The Body Hunters: Paradise Denied by Raven Newcastle http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CODG81Q/ref=cm_sw_r_tw_dp_r7xQrb0RWBN1N … … the fun continues in the sequel.

As usual the people who call themselves my mother and father are gone leaving me in this big empty house alone.  Of course they're off to save the world yet again, all the while forgetting about their only child.  Dad is an FBI agent and he's heading up a big investigation, so I expect him to be gone; it's just part of his job.  Mommy dearest on the other hand is off trying to impress her blue blood cronies by helping them with some charity dinner nonsense.

Those rich, high society bitches never did forgive my mom for marrying a black man, well Haitian Creole man to be exact.  Mom comes from a long line of New Orleans nobility, going all the way back to caveman times probably.  The snobs aren't exactly the most understanding and accepting group in the world.  Before the ink was dry on their marriage certificate they excommunicated mom from their little clique.  Over the years I've watched mom bust her ass trying to get back in the good graces of those good Christian women, for what I don't know.

She's even tried to use me in her ploy, expecting me to be a little brown copy of herself.  Other than my caramel complexion and my gold-brown eyes I got from Dad, we sorta do look alike.  I've got mom's straight black hair, which half the time I'm tempted to chop off just to piss her off and her facial features.  Except for my boobs and my butt, which I'm assuming I got from Dad's side of the family, me and mom share the same petite and thin body structure, though I do think I've got a couple inches on her.

She's always trying to get me to go to this ball and that extravaganza.  She forces me to wear these gaudy dresses showing me off to her so called friends like her personal life size Barbie.  I drew the line when she tried to force me into befriending their equally bitchy and uptight daughters.  That's definitely not gonna work.  Danielle Labouleaux is not going to be caught dead hanging around those backstabbing, stuck up, highfalutin', snotty heifers.  I've seen them in action and I need friends like that like I need a hole in the middle of my head.

With my issues with my parents, I'm so grateful for my grand mere.  My parents were always too busy for me, wrapped up in their own worlds, so my grandmother has been my one constant.  She lives just across the street which is totally convenient for those times when my 'birth units' piss me off or when I come home from school to an empty house.  No topic is off limits and I can always count on her to be my Yoda with the good advice.

The connection between me and grand mere also runs a bit deeper than most.  Unbeknownst to my parents and like my grand mere, I'm psychic.  I can communicate with the dead.  Yep, I see dead people! Grand mere says that it runs in the family through the female members of the Labouleaux family.  Due to a childhood illness that nearly killed me, Grand mere says I have a stronger connection to what she calls 'the spirit realm' and that one day my abilities will surpass even her own.

Even though I've had this ability since childhood, I've put off telling my parents.  I've seen the way they look at grand mere when she starts talking about spirits and the dead.  They treat her like a senile old lady with one foot in the nursing home, which I know is far from the truth.  Not wanting them to fit me for my own personal straight jacket, I decided long ago to keep my supernatural skills to myself.

Tonight is the Mardi Gras parade, and like my alien pods called parents, Grand mere is away, spending the evening at a church function. Without her to talk me out of any mischief, I'm left to my own devices.  Oh well, it serves Marcel and Juliana right for leaving me alone.  I surmise any trouble I get into is their fault.

Right now I'm in the garage, paying dear Lucille a visit.  Lucille is my dad's classic '70 Z28 Camaro.  He bought her before I was born from some old dude and he spent a nice chunk of change getting her in tip top shape over the years.  Last year he had a new engine and transmission put in and the year before that he went for the candy apple or as I like to say 'hooker red' paint job.  He refuses to let me drive her, but what dear old Dad doesn’t know won't hurt him.

Lucille and I have an understanding.  I take her out every now and then and she doesn’t tell Dad.  Seriously, it should be a sin to keep this car locked up the way he does like a giant paperweight.  It's like locking a lioness up in a cage without letting her go out and hunt.  Lucille is a bad ass ride and doesn’t deserve to be treated that way.  I smile to myself as I run a finger along the smooth lines of the hood.  Yeah, me and Lucille are gonna have a girl's night out.

With a plan in my head, I go up to my room and get dressed.  I pull on a black knit tunic that ends right above my knees, with a pair of skin tight denim leggings.  A black leather belt goes around my waist and I slip my feet into a pair of black biker boots that mom finds absolutely atrocious.  Just in case it’s a little chilly out, I grab a beat up leather jacket that I stole from Mom's closet a few months back.  I don't know what the hell she was doing with a leather jacket in the first place.  I check myself out at the mirror and like always my eyes gravitate toward the faint scar that runs between my breasts, a souvenir of my childhood illness.  Satisfied with my perfectly punk look, I go downstairs.  I reach into the cookie jar where dad thinks he keeps the keys hidden and head to the garage where Lucille is patiently waiting.

I'm sixteen years old and I can now drive without an adult being present.  When I'm allowed to drive, it's always the grandpa mobile my parents have designated as my car, you know the kind of car you don't back out of the drive way, you launch it, so driving Lucille is a treat.  I start her up and Lucille roars at me.  But any drive wouldn't be complete without driving music.  One of the upgrades dad made to the Camaro is a CD player, so I check the visor where he keeps his CD's stashed.  Sade, James Brown, Aretha Franklin, and Led Zeppelin are all waiting to be played like albums lined up in a juke box, but I grab Dad's AC/DC CD that mom refuses to let him play in the house.

With the bass cranked up way too loud, I head to my friend Amy's house, letting Lucille stretch her legs and pick up some speed.  I called Amy before leaving and she was up for hanging out tonight.  Maybe we could check out the Mardi Gras parade after all.

One of my pet peeves is people who like to mess over other people.  When I was in sixth grade, I came to Amy's defense when Tammy and her blue blood crew started picking on her at school.  I'd been watching from the sidelines as Amy, who joined the school in the middle of the year, was singled out by Tammy and her flunkies.  They'd call her names, talk about her mom, that sorta thing, and me rooting for the underdog, was waiting for Amy to tell them to take the express elevator straight to hell.  She never did and the bullying got worse and worse as Amy walked with her head down and never said a word in her own defense. 

The terrorizing escalated one day in the girl's locker room when one of the gang tripped Amy and Tammy shoved her to the ground.  Not able to mind my own business anymore, I intervened.  I helped Amy off the tile floor and told Tammy if I caught her or any of her friends messing with Amy again, I'd put my boot to her ass like she owed me money.  I could see the fear in Tammy's eyes.  You see me and that bitch went way back. 

When I came back to school after my heart surgery when I was six, Tammy was the ringleader of my torment, calling me Frankenstein because of my scar.  After not being able to take the teasing anymore, I beat the dog shit out of her.  She cried running home to mama and I was put on punishment.  She never so much as farted around me even after all those years.  She knew I wasn’t bluffing.

Since the moment I came to her rescue, Amy and I have been best friends.  She skips to the car as I pull up to her house, in her jeans, black tank top and sneakers, her blonde curls bouncing along the way.

"Sweet ride, Danny."  She said as she hops into the car.

I turn around the corner a little too fast probably, because I immediately see the blue and red lights flashing in my rear view mirror.

Oh shit.  I mutter as the cop slow walks to my door, my hands shaking like a leaf.  Dad is gonna skin me alive if he finds out!  I hand him my license and registration and he gives me that fatherly look.  As easily as he wields that look, I can tell that he has kids at home.  He lets me off with a ticket and a stern warning not to get into trouble.

Crisis averted, I head to the Mardi Gras parade and because of the crowd gathered on Bourbon Street, I am forced to park the car over a few blocks.

Amy and I are engrossed in the sights and sounds of Mardi Gras.  Even though I grew up in New Orleans, I was never allowed to visit the festivities because as my parents said 'Mardi Gras is not for kids'.  I immediately know exactly what they meant and as I'm quickly learning,  It's like a place for adults to behave badly, nothing and I mean nothing is too taboo.

As the parade floats pass, young women lift up their tops and show off their boobs for a handful of cheap plastic beads.  The smell of liquor and puke hangs in the air and I roughly grab Amy's arm as she's about to step into a suspicious puddle on the sidewalk.  Drunks stagger up and down the block while couples engage in PDA not caring who's watching.  Drag queens make their way through the street, flirting with the men in the crowd.  With all the adult activity going on around me, I start to feel a little uncomfortable and know exactly why I was forbidden from attending Mardi Gras in the first place.  Gee go figure the dynamic duo of Marcel and Juliana got it right for once!

After getting more than an eyeful of the festivities, I tell Amy that I'm ready to go.  We take our time as we head down Bourbon Street, window shopping the various store fronts.  Amy Oohs and Aahs over the display of a voodoo shop and I am reluctantly pulled inside. 

"Oh, this is so cool!"  Amy says as inside my head all my supernatural warning bells are going off like a car alarm.

This shop is obviously a tourist trap, filled with all the stereotypical things you'd expect in a voodoo shop, from voodoo dolls, incantation books, and a smoking cauldron.  It's to sucker the visitors in so they can buy 'authentic' voodoo paraphernalia.

"What you doin' here children?"  An old woman startles us as she emerges from the beaded doorway at the back of the shop.  Her voice heavily accented like someone from the Islands.

She's wearing a floor length caftan, small clouds of curly white hair peeking from under her turban, crowning her dark face.  Her eyes are locked on me and I can see that one of her eyes is grey and the other hazel.

"Ah, you have the sight child?"  She says to me and I know exactly what she's talking about.  She knows about my abilities.

She turns to Amy and dismisses her with a wave of her hand.  "You wait outside."

Like she's watching a tennis match, Amy looks between me and the woman for a few seconds before finally obeying.

Now alone the woman reaches for me.  The first thing I think of when I see her hand is the gnarled roots of a tree.  Her skin is baby smooth though, her hands warm as she takes mine.

"You are strong, child."  She says to me.  "Your grand mere teach you?  Yes?"

With my grand mere's training, I'm not at all skeptical about this woman knowing about me.  It just goes with the territory.  I feebly shake my head yes.

"You will suffer a great loss of something you never knew you had."  She predicts, her voice is raspy like she needs to clear her throat.  "Three loves you will have."

Okay, she is really freaking me out with these predictions!  She must have read my mind because she releases my hand, but not before pointing her knobby finger into my chest.

"Beware of a wolf in sheep's clothing."  She says as I just nod my head like an idiot.  She smiles and waves her hand at me to leave.

I'm practically running back out to Bourbon Street where Amy is waiting wide eyed.  "What happened?"

"Um..She just wanted to tell my fortune."  I say.  Amy doesn't know I'm psychic and I have no plans to share it with her either.

I am totally rattled by the old woman's predictions, so I'm not in a talkative mood as I drop Amy back at home.  I know it's harsh since she's my best friend, but I need some time to think to myself.  I pull Lucille back into the garage without incident, remembering to leave things as I found them.  I'm pacing in front of our big picture window, until I see grand mere pull up into her driveway.

Before she's out of the car, I'm across the street rambling on about what happened at Mardi Gras.  Calm as ever she wraps her arm around me and sits me at her kitchen table, asking me to go over what I said slowly.  With a freshly brewed cup of her special tea in front of me, I tell her the whole story between sips. 

Grand mere doesn't seem the least bit troubled.  She takes my hands and tells me that my future is what I make it.  No one can know my future except for me.  Feeling a little better, I nod and she wraps me in a hug and kisses my cheek.  She points her finger at me and lightly scolds me about taking Lucille out without permission.  It's funny how just a little chastising from her feels worse than any hollering my parents do when they're mad at me.  I tell her I'll try and do better, but I'm careful not to make any promises.

Two weeks later the old woman's premonitions are just a faded memory.  I walk into our house, slinging my backpack onto the loveseat.  For some strange reason Dad is home, sitting in his favorite living room chair.  There's a small stack of mail on the wooden coffee table. 

I look at him and he looks at me.  I know something is wrong but I don't know what.

"Hey."  I said, putting my toe in to test the waters.

"Hey."  He answers back.

"What's going on?"  I ask.

"Oh, nothing."  He says, flipping through the envelopes.  "Just sorting through mail, you know: catalogues, bills, traffic tickets."

I am so busted.  I'd planned on paying that ticket, but I'd forgotten all about it.  My mouth opens to speak, but I can't make anything come out.

"You mind telling me what you were doing out in Lucille?"  He growls, holding up the ticket reminder postcard.

"Uh, yeah, uh.  See what had happened was….."