When they tried to moan explanations, Wendy jabbed a crooked finger at them. “I don’t want your excuses! If you two don’t get over me and move on with your lives—or whatever—I swear to you, I’ll throw myself in front of a train again. And this time I’ll let you pick up the pieces!” Her shoulders hitched up and down as she wept openly. The spectators muttered.
Running up behind the Patchwork Princess came the stout, matronly Lujean Eccles. “Oh, my, my! Wendy, dear, come with me. Stay away from those louts!” She wrapped an arm around the girl’s shoulder. Like a protective mother bear, she glared at the fighting zombies, ignoring everybody else. “You should be ashamed. You’ve already hurt this poor girl more than she can endure.” Miss Eccles shook her head and made a tsk-tsk sound.
“What’s the problem here?” McGoo said. “I want an explanation from somebody.”
I introduced him to the sawbones. Still holding the Patchwork Princess, rocking back and forth to console her, Miss Eccles spoke. “When she was alive, poor, dear Wendy was torn between two suitors. The men claimed to love her with all their hearts, but they just couldn’t stop competing with each other. They told Wendy to choose between them, but she wasn’t ready to do that.” Miss Eccles shot a sharp glance at the reeling, embarrassed combatants. “She should have dumped them both when she had a chance.”
Wendy continued sobbing, pressing her face against Miss Eccles’s chest.
“These idiots challenged each other to an old-fashioned duel with pistols in the park to determine who got to have Wendy.”
The Patchwork Princess lifted her head. “I never, ever agreed to it!”
Miss Eccles made a raspberry sound. “That didn’t stop them. They shot each other, both died—and Wendy blamed herself. She couldn’t bear the guilt, so she threw herself in front of an oncoming train.” The woman again reprimanded the cringing zombies. “This is your fault. Look what you did to this poor girl!”
In a huff, she turned the Patchwork Princess around. “Come with me, dear. You needn’t bother with them anymore. Sorry for the disturbance, Officer.” She guided the crying, weaving Wendy away and threw a last glare over her shoulder at the mangled zombies. “She doesn’t want anything to do with either of you, ever again!”
The zombies hung their heads in regret—or maybe their necks had simply been damaged.
“All right, that’s it. Show’s over,” McGoo said. The zombies shambled off in opposite directions.
McGoo raised his voice, shooing the crowd away. “Nothing to see here. You all go home.”
The crowd dispersed, and McGoo let out a long sigh of relief. “Some crazy night, eh, Shamble? What is this, a full moon?”
“Full moon is tomorrow night. This is just a warm-up,” I said, then glanced at my watch. Miranda would be waiting for me. “I’ve got an appointment.”
Chapter 35
Miranda Jekyll had suggested meeting at Basilisk, claiming it was one of her favorite nightclubs. I doubted any Straight Edgers would set foot inside a place like that, so we’d be safe enough from any of her husband’s goons.
I felt more uneasy about having Sheyenne join me there, but she was adamant. “I’m in this with you, Beaux. I slipped into Jekyll’s study, I got the ring, I was there when you got shot—you obviously need my help.” She had given me a mischievous smile. “I’ll meet you at Basilisk.”
Sheyenne hadn’t been back to the nightclub since her death, and I was afraid the visit would be a traumatic experience, but she insisted she had to face it. She had her own reasons: The meeting with Miranda gave her an excuse to keep an eye on Ivory.
After leaving McGoo and the brawling shamblers, I headed across the Quarter to Little Transylvania, arriving at Basilisk only a few minutes late. I entered the dimly lit lounge and looked around, expecting to find Jekyll’s wife waiting for me, impatient, annoyed.
Miranda wasn’t there yet. Naturally. She hated to be on any schedule at all, and was pathologically, rather than fashionably, late. I should have known.
A semitransparent Sheyenne appeared next to me with an uncertain expression. I could practically see the flood of memories crossing her face as she looked around the nickel-appointed bar and the tables bunched close to the stage where Ivory would sing. I wanted to put my arm around her.
“This place . . .” Sheyenne said, fighting off a shudder. “Right now, I could really use a hug.”
I reached out to air-pat her arm; it was the best I could do. “It’ll be all right—I’m here. I won’t let anything else happen to you.”
“So many memories. How can I not hate this place?”
I forced a smile. “They’re not all bad memories, are they? This is where we met.”
She responded with a wistful expression. “No, not all bad, I guess. But given the choice, I’d rather still be alive.”
“So would I.”
At the bar, Fletcher Knowles gave me a cautious nod, then his eyes widened when he recognized the ghost beside me. “Sheyenne! You’re back—It’s good to see you.” He bustled out from behind the bar. “Really sorry about what happened . . . and then Dan got killed too. What a mess.” Standing awkwardly in front of us, Fletcher shook his head. “Did he tell you I was the one who found his body in the alley? Small world.” He let out a nervous chuckle. “Quite a testimonial to Basilisk, I guess—my customers keep coming back even after they’re dead.” He glanced at the still-empty stage. “Now here’s an idea—I can make it open-mic night, if you like. These people would love to hear you sing again.”
“I don’t know, Fletcher,” she said. “What would Ivory think?”
“I’m the boss. She can move over if I tell her to.”
I wasn’t convinced who would win in a shouting match between Fletcher and the big vamp diva, but Sheyenne wouldn’t change her mind anyway. Eventually, the manager backed off. “Okay, suit yourself. Can I at least buy you a drink?”
Sheyenne looked uncertain, glanced at me, then back at Fletcher. “I haven’t had one in a while. What do ghosts usually drink?”
“Oh, any sort of distilled spirits.”
“I’ll take you up on it—as long as you’re buying for Dan too.”
“No problem.”
Fletcher pulled me a beer, then poured a double bourbon and water for Sheyenne. I said, “Let’s go find a table close to the stage—if you’re ready for that.”
“Oh, I can’t wait. When that bitch starts to sing, I want to be up close, right where she can see me.” Carrying her drink, Sheyenne drifted across the room. We picked an unclaimed table up front. I looked around—still no sign of Miranda. Twenty minutes late now. I thought she would have been anxious to hear what we had found in her husband’s study....
Taking care of business, I handed Sheyenne the Zom-Be-Fresh sachet and the goo specimen from the disintegrating puddle of Franklin Galworthy in front of the mission. After I told her what had happened to the dapper zombie, she looked appalled. “I need you to contact your friend at the chem lab. There’s got to be some clue here as to what made Mr. Galworthy dissolve.”