a powerful, angry energy. He,
whoever he is, has Brent and Charlie and I
don't know why he took them." Frank tilted his head back and watched a string of clouds chase the sky. "More
bad news—I don't know how to get them
back."
"We must appeal to the
human side of his once compassionate nature, of course."
"Maybe he didn't have one," Rand
interjected.
"Oh, I believe our ghost
did, particularly after reading about his death." Frank pulled is gaze from the clouds and met her
eyes. " His death?"
She pulled something from
the sleeve of her blazer—a snapshot of a grave—and looked at Rand again. "Mr. Brennan—"
"Please, Sister, since
we're on our second date, I insist you call me Rand."
"Very well. Rand, will you
lift that tombstone at your feet so we might see the name on front?"
Passing the photo to Frank
she said, "Take a close look at the photo, Mr. McGuire"
"Frank."
"Frank, can you make out the name on the
headstone in that photo?" He nodded. "Valmont Doucet."
"That's right, and what's
the name on the marker Rand is holding upright?"
"The same," Frank said.
"I ran across the photo
last night while looking through a file marked Committee for The Beautification of Tombstones."
"Okay, Sister, I'm with you so far."
"The Committee took the photo last month
while on a trip through the cemetery to see what graves were in
need of repair."
Frank wanted to hug her but
held back. "Bless you, Sister Francoise." Blue eyes twinkled.
"And you, Frank."
"I'm going to let go of the
headstone now," Rand said. "And then please tell me what is going on."
Frank handed Rand the
picture of Valmont's marker, and seconds later he gave a slow nod. "Brent and Charlie smashed his
headstone."
"Bingo," Frank said.
"Pissed. . . sorry, Sister. Pitched Mr. Doucet into a frisson of rage."
"As they often do, one
thing leads to another. This morning I made a trip to the Archdiocese and sifted through old records
concerning the convent during the Civil War." She made the sign of
the cross again. "The Lord was looking
over my shoulder and pointed me to a file containing
newspaper articles about the battle. Lo
and behold, one spoke about the passing of our Valmont Doucet."
"Let me guess," Rand interjected. "He was a
commanding officer?"
"No, but a hero
nonetheless. Stationed at Fort Jackson while Federal boats bombarded New Orleans with mortar, his
regiment sustained massive casualties.
When the flagpole holding the Confederate flag splintered,
Mr. Doucet rigged several bayonets
end-to-end and took a mortal wound in an attempt to raise it again at the highest summit of the
fort."
"And died at the temporary
field hospital where the Provincial Hotel now sits?" Frank said.
"Precisely."
"Brilliant, Sister, absolutely
brilliant."
"Thank you, Frank, but I'm afraid our work
isn't complete yet."
"You mentioned appealing to the human side
of his compassion."
"Yes, you must channel him,
contact him or whatever it is you do, convince him the boys must be returned."
Frank didn't miss Rand's
shudder and knew he was reliving his ordeal from last night. "That's a very tall order."
"With God all things are
possible, Frank. Gain Valmont's trust. Call him by name, strike a bargain with him."
"Bargain?"
"Yes, tell him he'll be
granted eternal peace when he releases Brent and Charlie."
Frank shook his head.
"Whether dealing with human or spirit, I've learned things backfire when you don't follow through on
deals you strike. Could get
ugly."
"It's not in my nature to
deceive anyone, not even a misguided spirit," she insisted. "Persuade him to meet us here tonight so we
might bring those boys home."
" Us? I can't agree to put you in
harm's way, Sister—"
Frank's new ally flashed a
mischievous grin. "The Sisters of Ursula were placed in harm's way long before landing in New Orleans in
1727," she interjected. "They survived
pirate attacks during the journey and the ravages of disease aboard ship. After arriving, they
established schools,
whoever he is, has Brent and Charlie and I
don't know why he took them." Frank tilted his head back and watched a string of clouds chase the sky. "More
bad news—I don't know how to get them
back."
"We must appeal to the
human side of his once compassionate nature, of course."
"Maybe he didn't have one," Rand
interjected.
"Oh, I believe our ghost
did, particularly after reading about his death." Frank pulled is gaze from the clouds and met her
eyes. " His death?"
She pulled something from
the sleeve of her blazer—a snapshot of a grave—and looked at Rand again. "Mr. Brennan—"
"Please, Sister, since
we're on our second date, I insist you call me Rand."
"Very well. Rand, will you
lift that tombstone at your feet so we might see the name on front?"
Passing the photo to Frank
she said, "Take a close look at the photo, Mr. McGuire"
"Frank."
"Frank, can you make out the name on the
headstone in that photo?" He nodded. "Valmont Doucet."
"That's right, and what's
the name on the marker Rand is holding upright?"
"The same," Frank said.
"I ran across the photo
last night while looking through a file marked Committee for The Beautification of Tombstones."
"Okay, Sister, I'm with you so far."
"The Committee took the photo last month
while on a trip through the cemetery to see what graves were in
need of repair."
Frank wanted to hug her but
held back. "Bless you, Sister Francoise." Blue eyes twinkled.
"And you, Frank."
"I'm going to let go of the
headstone now," Rand said. "And then please tell me what is going on."
Frank handed Rand the
picture of Valmont's marker, and seconds later he gave a slow nod. "Brent and Charlie smashed his
headstone."
"Bingo," Frank said.
"Pissed. . . sorry, Sister. Pitched Mr. Doucet into a frisson of rage."
"As they often do, one
thing leads to another. This morning I made a trip to the Archdiocese and sifted through old records
concerning the convent during the Civil War." She made the sign of
the cross again. "The Lord was looking
over my shoulder and pointed me to a file containing
newspaper articles about the battle. Lo
and behold, one spoke about the passing of our Valmont Doucet."
"Let me guess," Rand interjected. "He was a
commanding officer?"
"No, but a hero
nonetheless. Stationed at Fort Jackson while Federal boats bombarded New Orleans with mortar, his
regiment sustained massive casualties.
When the flagpole holding the Confederate flag splintered,
Mr. Doucet rigged several bayonets
end-to-end and took a mortal wound in an attempt to raise it again at the highest summit of the
fort."
"And died at the temporary
field hospital where the Provincial Hotel now sits?" Frank said.
"Precisely."
"Brilliant, Sister, absolutely
brilliant."
"Thank you, Frank, but I'm afraid our work
isn't complete yet."
"You mentioned appealing to the human side
of his compassion."
"Yes, you must channel him,
contact him or whatever it is you do, convince him the boys must be returned."
Frank didn't miss Rand's
shudder and knew he was reliving his ordeal from last night. "That's a very tall order."
"With God all things are
possible, Frank. Gain Valmont's trust. Call him by name, strike a bargain with him."
"Bargain?"
"Yes, tell him he'll be
granted eternal peace when he releases Brent and Charlie."
Frank shook his head.
"Whether dealing with human or spirit, I've learned things backfire when you don't follow through on
deals you strike. Could get
ugly."
"It's not in my nature to
deceive anyone, not even a misguided spirit," she insisted. "Persuade him to meet us here tonight so we
might bring those boys home."
" Us? I can't agree to put you in
harm's way, Sister—"
Frank's new ally flashed a
mischievous grin. "The Sisters of Ursula were placed in harm's way long before landing in New Orleans in
1727," she interjected. "They survived
pirate attacks during the journey and the ravages of disease aboard ship. After arriving, they
established schools,
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