The House on Prytania (Royal Street #2)(108)
Author: Karen White

 

“Good morning,” I called, hoping she’d respond by introducing herself.

 

She smiled, revealing even white teeth, and not the missing or gold incisors I’d anticipated. Proving, once again, that you should never judge a book by its cover.

 

“Good morning, Nola,” she said, her voice smooth, with a hint of an accent I didn’t recognize.

 

I leaned forward. “Do I know you?”

 

“Not yet.”

 

I stood and walked toward the edge of the porch. “Wait—I remember now. I saw you in Jackson Square, right? You had a crystal ball.”

 

She dipped her head in acknowledgment.

 

When she didn’t offer any more information, I prompted, “Do you live nearby?”

 

Instead of answering she said, “I have a message for Beau.”

 

“You just missed him.”

 

“I know. I wanted to give it to you first. He needs your counsel even though he would never admit it. He’s stubborn, that one. Just like his father.”

 

“You knew Buddy?”

 

She nodded. “That’s why I’m here.”

 

“Okay,” I said slowly. “Can you tell me your name?”

 

“Madame Zoe. He won’t know me, and he will fight the information he needs to know. Which is why I’m telling you.”

 

I sighed, my sense of peace and respite evaporating like morning mist. “All right. Although I’m not sure he’ll listen to me, either. He’s . . . selective that way.”

 

“He will. There is a connection between you two. He will hear you, although he might not listen at first. There’s a difference, you know. That’s why it needs to come from you. And when he’s ready, you know where to find me.”

 

“Can you be more specific? I’m not sure . . .”

 

But Madame Zoe had already begun to walk away. She shuffled off down the sidewalk, and I watched until she disappeared from view. I stood staring down the empty street for a long time before reaching for the putty knife to resume scraping. My hand froze in midair as I stared down at the recently scraped patch of floorboards. Next to the knife was a perfectly formed footprint, a water mark barely visible on the pale wood.

 

Straightening, I stepped back and saw that it was the first of several prints leading down the steps and across the street toward where Beau’s truck had been parked. I sat down on the floor, watching as the footprints completely evaporated.

 

I continued scraping, mentally going over the long list of house projects still to be tackled and considering which I might start next. I’d discuss it with Thibaut, and Jorge, and maybe even Beau. Anything to keep from having to think about Madame Zoe or the personal demons I had thought I’d left behind.

 

If there was one thing that Melanie had taught me about besides spreadsheets and labeling guns, it was the belief that some problems did go away on their own. For those that didn’t, well, that was what tomorrow was for. That’s when I’d start to wonder why Adele was still here, and why my mother had chosen now to be worried about me. And what sort of bond I supposedly had with Beau. I pushed all those thoughts away. I’d think about them all tomorrow.