sticking out. It hadn’t been as humid today. Maybe there’d be no fog tonight.
Once again dressed in my Regency gown and ballet-style slipper shoes, I grabbed my shawl, key, and cell phone, this time putting them in a reticule one of Maggie’s friends had helped me crochet. Maggie was on the phone when I left, so I waved and headed out.
New night, new tour, same meeting place—the tour substation by the waterwheel, where a band was again in full swing at the Mill Top Tavern.
And, yikes, many of the same faces from last night. I ’d wanted to be a successful tour guide, but having this many of Monday’s group show up again? Too weird.
The newlyweds were back, and so was Gomer. Standing off to my right, Yolette in another semi–see-through outfit regaled Gomer with tales of Paris, while Etienne stood by looking bored. Gomer nodded at Yolette and drawled “Gol-lee” every now and then, but his gray eyes looked glazed. He wore different colors tonight but the same kind of clothes —a flannel shirt and polyester pants, with the sleeves, pant legs, and shirttails still too short.
To my left, Shalimar chatted with two middle-aged ladies I didn’t recognize from the night before. None of them wore the teal Jag Queen visors tonight, just knit pants that looked warm and snugly, and T-shirts that read ST. AUGUSTINE. Stony had dressed in black again and hovered about ten feet away from both little groups. He looked tense, alert, and determined, his eyes narrowing first on me, then shifting to Yolette.
I didn’t feel flattered that these people had shown up again. I felt stalked.
Especially when Etienne spotted me. He hurried over, seized my hand, and pressed a kiss on my palm. Yolette, I noticed, paused in pelting Gomer with her monologue to shoot a death-ray glare at Etienne’s back.
“Ah, Francesca, enchanté ,” he said. “Comment le charmant de vous regarde.”
I plucked charmant out of his effusively delivered comment and knew he’d said I looked charming or some such thing. I wasn’t bamboozled.
“Thanks,” I said, pulling my hand out of his grip and resisting the urge to wipe it on my skirt.
“We share more delights tonight, oui ?” He smiled as if I found him clever and suave.
“If you find ghosts delightful,” I said repressively.
“I find you the delight, ma petite ,” he bantered, stepping closer.
I frowned and stepped back. “Etienne, I don’t flirt with married men.”
“Ah, but Yolette and I,” he said, sliding nearer again, “we have the open marriage.”
“Well, it’s closed to me, and right now I have to collect tickets.”
For a heartbeat he looked annoyed. Then his brow smoothed. “But of course,” he said, flourishing two tickets as he bowed from the waist ever so slightly.
I’d accidentally read minds the night before and was tempted to purposely try it now. I might be able to psyche out what Etienne was up to other than making Yolette jealous enough to strip my hide. And making Stony stare daggers at us. But did I really want to know what either man was thinking? Probably not.
I was glad to have my cell phone—on vibrate mode, and ready to dial 911, if things so much as looked like they might get out of hand. Being responsible for mortals was not to be taken lightly, especially when my vamp powers were only so-so. I really didn’t want to get close enough to Stony to take his ticket. Didn’t care if he had one. I did want Etienne to stop following on my heels, so I inched toward the other five women who made up the tour. In various styles and colors of jeans, jackets, and tennis shoes, the thirty -to forty-somethings stood not far from Stony talking about—assuming my vampire hearing wasn’t on the fritz—bumping people off. Poison seemed to be the weapon of choice, though one especially sweet-looking lady wanted to use a kitchen knife on her victim. Who knew guiding ghost tours would be so dangerous?
I must have made a noise, because Knifer looked up and
Once again dressed in my Regency gown and ballet-style slipper shoes, I grabbed my shawl, key, and cell phone, this time putting them in a reticule one of Maggie’s friends had helped me crochet. Maggie was on the phone when I left, so I waved and headed out.
New night, new tour, same meeting place—the tour substation by the waterwheel, where a band was again in full swing at the Mill Top Tavern.
And, yikes, many of the same faces from last night. I ’d wanted to be a successful tour guide, but having this many of Monday’s group show up again? Too weird.
The newlyweds were back, and so was Gomer. Standing off to my right, Yolette in another semi–see-through outfit regaled Gomer with tales of Paris, while Etienne stood by looking bored. Gomer nodded at Yolette and drawled “Gol-lee” every now and then, but his gray eyes looked glazed. He wore different colors tonight but the same kind of clothes —a flannel shirt and polyester pants, with the sleeves, pant legs, and shirttails still too short.
To my left, Shalimar chatted with two middle-aged ladies I didn’t recognize from the night before. None of them wore the teal Jag Queen visors tonight, just knit pants that looked warm and snugly, and T-shirts that read ST. AUGUSTINE. Stony had dressed in black again and hovered about ten feet away from both little groups. He looked tense, alert, and determined, his eyes narrowing first on me, then shifting to Yolette.
I didn’t feel flattered that these people had shown up again. I felt stalked.
Especially when Etienne spotted me. He hurried over, seized my hand, and pressed a kiss on my palm. Yolette, I noticed, paused in pelting Gomer with her monologue to shoot a death-ray glare at Etienne’s back.
“Ah, Francesca, enchanté ,” he said. “Comment le charmant de vous regarde.”
I plucked charmant out of his effusively delivered comment and knew he’d said I looked charming or some such thing. I wasn’t bamboozled.
“Thanks,” I said, pulling my hand out of his grip and resisting the urge to wipe it on my skirt.
“We share more delights tonight, oui ?” He smiled as if I found him clever and suave.
“If you find ghosts delightful,” I said repressively.
“I find you the delight, ma petite ,” he bantered, stepping closer.
I frowned and stepped back. “Etienne, I don’t flirt with married men.”
“Ah, but Yolette and I,” he said, sliding nearer again, “we have the open marriage.”
“Well, it’s closed to me, and right now I have to collect tickets.”
For a heartbeat he looked annoyed. Then his brow smoothed. “But of course,” he said, flourishing two tickets as he bowed from the waist ever so slightly.
I’d accidentally read minds the night before and was tempted to purposely try it now. I might be able to psyche out what Etienne was up to other than making Yolette jealous enough to strip my hide. And making Stony stare daggers at us. But did I really want to know what either man was thinking? Probably not.
I was glad to have my cell phone—on vibrate mode, and ready to dial 911, if things so much as looked like they might get out of hand. Being responsible for mortals was not to be taken lightly, especially when my vamp powers were only so-so. I really didn’t want to get close enough to Stony to take his ticket. Didn’t care if he had one. I did want Etienne to stop following on my heels, so I inched toward the other five women who made up the tour. In various styles and colors of jeans, jackets, and tennis shoes, the thirty -to forty-somethings stood not far from Stony talking about—assuming my vampire hearing wasn’t on the fritz—bumping people off. Poison seemed to be the weapon of choice, though one especially sweet-looking lady wanted to use a kitchen knife on her victim. Who knew guiding ghost tours would be so dangerous?
I must have made a noise, because Knifer looked up and
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