Just Fooling Around(56)

“What do you know about your stepmother?” Reg asked, pushing the plate even closer to her.

“Not a whole lot. She’s a pain in the butt, really, but I guess when you consider her family, that’s no big shock.”

“Her family?”

Libby shrugged. “Oh, it’s not like they’re famous or anything. Well, except one.”

“And the one?”

She rolls her eyes. “Mirabelle Rousseau. She lived back in the eighteenth century or something.”

“Why was she famous?”

“It’s bullshit, of course,” Libby said. “But the whole freaking family thought she was a witch.”





5




REG WORKED HARD NOT TO LET his excitement show on his face, but he was pretty sure he failed. After all, he could see clearly enough his own feelings reflected in Anne’s eyes.

A witch.

It was just as Olivia’s journal had referenced, and the timing was right. The eighteenth century. Back when Timothy Franklin was getting into trouble with women of questionable character.

It wasn’t a stretch to assume that Timothy had bedded Mirabelle, seen the amulet and taken it.

Mirabelle realized who took it, and let it be known that she would take her revenge—and she would take it through witchcraft if necessary.

Considering the curse he now lived under, he had a feeling Mirabelle’s assumed threat wasn’t idle.

What didn’t make sense, though, was why the curse still existed if Mirabelle got her amulet back. Either they were chasing the wrong story, or Mirabelle held a grudge.

He was banking that it was the latter.

“Do you know anything else?” Anne asked the girl.

“What? About Mirabelle, you mean?”

“Anything at all might help.”

“Well, gosh. I heard that she collected statues of angels.”

Reg caught Anne’s eye, remembering the reference to angels in the inscription. “Interesting.”

Libby rolled her eyes. “Weird, actually. ’Cause while she’s off collecting angels, she’s also supposedly cursing people. Made them have bad luck.” She wiggled her fingers. “Whoo woo, and all that.”

“Whoo woo,” Reg repeated, the irony heavy in his voice.

“It’s stupid,” Libby said, “but what the hell do I know? Maybe it would be cool.”

“Cool?” Reg knew he shouldn’t ask—that he should keep her on point—but he was too curious about what she meant.

“Sure. I mean, hell, there was no curse on my family, but they still got wiped out. First the damn hurricane, then my dad’s stroke. And it was just bad luck. Woulda been nice to have a curse to blame it on. At least then stuff wouldn’t be so random.”

“Random,” he repeated.

“You know. Like what they say. ‘Life happens’ and all that bullshit.”

He looked at Anne, his chest suddenly tight. “Right. All that bullshit.” A moment passed, and as it did, it seemed to Reg that something within him was shifting, even though he couldn’t quite grasp what it was. Now, however, wasn’t the time for introspection. He needed to learn what this woman knew.

“Anything else you can think of?” Anne asked, as if reading his mind.

Libby’s forehead scrunched up. “Well, I know that some of her descendants donated a ton of money to build a church a couple of generations ago.” She rolled her eyes. “I know because I got dragged to mass there, and I’m not even Catholic. I guess they figured a church makes up for having a witch in the family. And I know she lived more than ninety years, and was one of the first people buried in Lafayette Cemetery.” She swiveled on her stool to look at them both. “Does that help you any?”

Fifteen minutes later, Anne and Reg were pondering that very question. “Does it?” Anne asked as they walked through Lafayette Cemetery Number One, just a few blocks up the road from Camillia Grill. What better place, after all, to find an angel?

They were holding hands, and if you ignored the fact that they were walking among the dead, the afternoon felt wonderful. Like he’d asked her for a date, and now they were taking a walk through the park. A normal, typical, pleasant afternoon. It was, he thought, just a little bit like heaven.

“If Franklin didn’t actually return the amulet,” Anne began.

“And if it was Mirabelle who took it back herself,” he continued, picking up her thread.

“Then that probably wouldn’t be a reason for her to remove the curse,” she finished. “So that means a Franklin needs to return her amulet.”

“That’s the plan,” he said.

“And when you do—when we—do, then the curse will be lifted.” She smiled brightly. “Of course, maybe it’s a moot point. Nothing bad’s happened since you lost your hotel reservation.”