The Casquette Girls (Book 1)

6. Staked

I sprinted the remaining six blocks home and slammed the front gate behind me, pausing on the stoop to catch my breath. I grasped one of the slick, wet bars and looked both ways down the street.

No one. Nothing.

Safe behind the iron gate, my pulse mellowed, but then I remembered there was a giant hole in the back of our house—not exactly high security.

Rain dripped from my dress and weighed down my Docs as I stormed to my room. I kicked off the boots and flopped onto my bed, not caring when my hair soaked the pillow.

What the hell just happened?

The stake was still clutched tightly in my right hand. I loosened my grip, allowing blood to flow back to my fingers, and then turned the piece of iron over and over, examining it, but there was nothing to give me a clue.

Blue eyes. Dead, blue eyes. Why were his eyes still so blue? He showed no signs of decay, but the Storm hit over two months ago. My hands began to shake. I set the stake down on the bed as I tried to recall the scene in exact detail.

The black sedan seemed undamaged, except for the smashed driver's-side window. Gray suit, blond hair, blue eyes. My breathing picked up. What if the man hadn't actually been dead and I'd neglected to help him?

No, he had no pulse. He could not have still been alive. And yet, he certainly couldn't have died two months ago. Did I discover a man who'd just died?

I sat up quickly, knocking the stake off the bed. My heart pumped faster as I tapped 9-1-1 a second time.

No signal.

I dialed four more times until I finally heard ringing.

"Hello."

"Hello! I need to report a murder!"

"You have reached the New Orleans Police Department's automated hotline. If you're calling to report a missing person, please visit our website at www.nopd.gov. If you're calling to report a crime or another emergency, please stay on the line."

"You've got to be kidding! Who in this city has Internet right now?"

An instrumental version of "Mardi Gras Mambo" started playing. Then a gentle scraping sound came from the ground next to my bed. I glanced down.

"What the . . . ?"

The stake was standing upright on its point. I blinked several times. As the hold music droned on, the stake slowly started to turn, grinding itself into the floorboard.

"To report a dead body, press one. To report a dead animal, press two. To report a non-Storm-related violent crime, press three."

I pressed the number three without looking.

"Please state the nature of your call. You can use phrases like, 'My house has been robbed.'"

"Um, I'd like to report a crime. A dead body, possibly a murder—"

"Thank you for calling the NOPD. Who am I speaking with?" asked a despondent female voice.

The stake stopped turning.

"Hi, my name is Adele Le Moyne." My tongue garbled the words.

"Miss Le Moyne, what's your location?"

"Burgundy S—but the body's on Chartres Street around Franklin—"

"There is a separate line to report Storm victims, Miss Le Moyne—"