Sheyenne hovered there, wrestling with her reaction. I watched a catalog of emotions skim across her face. I wanted to hold her—she needed some support right now—but we didn’t have a full-body glove close at hand.
Sheyenne had already told us how she had lost her parents: They were killed by a businessman talking on his car phone—and back then I mean an actual car phone installed in his Mercedes with a handset and stretchy cord pulled out. He’d been having an argument about a Chinese to-go order, not watching where he was driving, and the crash had killed Sheyenne’s parents on impact.
She’d been just a teenager, forced to take care of herself. She went through a succession of jobs, holding on by her fingernails, learning whatever she could, and never giving up on the chance to make something of herself. I’d always admired her spunk and determination.
She’d worked in the business world before deciding to change careers and go to med school. Money was tight. While working at a nightclub for monsters, she barely scraped by in a tiny apartment in the Quarter, late on the rent, unable to pay her phone bill. All of this she had shared with us.
But she had never mentioned Travis.
“You must have been . . . out of the picture?” I prompted, raising my eyebrows.
“My sister and I had a parting of the ways, but that’s all water under the bridge now.” Travis kept his attention entirely on Sheyenne. “I would have been here if I could. You know you mean the world to me.”
“I know a lot of things, Travis. Do you expect me to forget what you did? I may be dead, but I don’t have amnesia.” She turned to us, explaining in a huff, “I worked my fingers to the bone to survive after our parents died, trying to make something of myself, but Travis went the opposite direction.”
“We had the same goals,” he said. “I wanted to make something of myself, too.”
“You wanted a shortcut,” Sheyenne said, clearly furious. “You looked for the easy way out, and I paid the price for it.”
Travis tried his disarming grin, spread his hands. “So I was a little unlucky. I was an entrepreneur, and Fate wasn’t on my side.”
Sheyenne said to Robin and me, as if her brother weren’t there, “His schemes crashed and burned. He lost all of his money, and then he lost other people’s money.” Her blue eyes were flashing, intense. “I tried to help you.”
“Please, let’s not rehash this, sis. You should have loaned me the money I needed. I had a line on a big score, and we both could’ve had a villa in Cancun right now if it had paid off . . . if you’d given me that investment I needed.”
Sheyenne huffed. “I was saving to go to med school. I couldn’t spare a dime.” Robin and I stood there awkwardly, not wanting to be in the middle of a family feud, but I wasn’t averse to taking sides. Sheyenne spun to face me. “He stole my money, Beaux. He cleaned out my accounts and then disappeared. I haven’t seen him since, until today.”
Travis looked flustered. “I was earning your money back, trying to make it up to you. I swear I would have repaid you every cent, but now you’re . . . dead. So what’s the point?”
Realization hit me, and I said to Sheyenne, “That’s why you had to move into that little apartment and take the job at Basilisk? Because your brother stole your savings?”
Sheyenne pressed her pale lips together and nodded.
Travis talked fast and frantic. “I didn’t hear about your death until recently, I swear.” The term douchebag came immediately to mind. “And when I found out you were a ghost, I just had to make amends. I came by to say I’m sorry. You’re my sister—we’re flesh and blood.”
“I’m not flesh and blood anymore,” Sheyenne said. “And whatever happened to the big score? Since you took the money I didn’t lend you, show me my villa in Cancun, and I’ll rethink my opinion of you.”
Self-consciously, he tugged down the front of his jacket. “That investment didn’t pan out due to political turmoil on Easter Island. Nothing I could have predicted.”
Sheyenne sniffed. “You stole my money, then you lost it.”
“Come on, Anne—I’m your brother, I’m family! We’re stuck with each other.” He looked so earnest, so pleading. “Look, I mean to make it up to you. I came back, didn’t I? I’ve turned over a new leaf. Give me another chance.”
I was ready to give Travis the bum’s rush out the door, if that was what she decided. But it was Sheyenne’s choice.
She looked uncertain, then seemed to deflate. “I don’t want to be one of those vengeful ghosts. I’ll bury the hatchet—so long as you know that you really did me wrong.”
“I am sorry, I truly am,” Travis wheedled. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay, even being dead and all.”
“I’m fine. I’ve learned how to deal with it.”
“And . . . I wanted to spend a little personal time in the Unnatural Quarter. Do you think I could stay at your place, just long enough to get my bearings?”
Sheyenne floated in the air in front of him. “I’m a ghost, Travis. Why would I pay rent for an apartment?”
“I guess I didn’t think that through.” He chuckled nervously and looked at me. “How about—?”
I had a small room upstairs, but it was more claustrophobic than cozy, cluttered with boxes and old furniture. On the rare occasions when I did go up to take a nap, I usually just leaned against a wall for a while. Robin’s place, next to mine, wasn’t much bigger. She had made it her home, even though she spent little time there, and I had no intention of suggesting that this guy could use it.
“Sorry, Travis, no room at the inn.”
Again with the disarming smile, Travis pretended not to be disappointed. “No problem. I’ll find someplace else.”
Sheyenne rummaged in her desk and pulled out a sheet of paper that we offered for our out-of-town clients. “Here’s a list of places you might try. Some of them are dirt cheap.”
“Good, I’m sort of living on a budget.” Travis smiled at Robin and me again, as if we hadn’t just heard all of the ugly details about his character. “It was a pleasure meeting you.” He turned to Sheyenne. “And I really want to make amends, Anne.” With a final wave, he left.
Sheyenne muttered, “Sometimes family ties are a noose.” With great intensity, she busied herself cleaning up the mess of the broken coffeepot.
Chapter 11
In spite of her unending, exhausting work at the Hope & Salvation Mission, Mrs. Saldana maintained a sunny disposition. Whenever I went to check on her, I felt rejuvenated by the dose of good cheer that rubbed off from the old woman’s halo. Maybe she put special additives in those cookies she made for the unfortunate unnaturals in her congregation, or maybe optimism and good cheer just came naturally to her. She drew genuine heartwarming pleasure from helping those less fortunate; that was the only pick-me-up she needed.