“Have I no other recourse?”
“That’d be a question for a lawyer.”
Experience had taught her lawyers were expensive. She could afford one, but did she want to sacrifice the time and energy a trial would consume?
To say nothing of the added stress. Technically, she herself wouldn't be on trial, but she was an outsider. Even so, Grace had had enough of courtrooms and the associated notoriety to last her several lifetimes.
“Can you, as sheriff, put the fear of God into those two men and assure me they’ll never come near me orSweet Dreams?”
DeLille puffed up his chest and smiled. “Miz Thibodaux, you been a good customer. I will do everything in my legal power to see those two men stay far away from you andSweet Dreams. I’ll even put a word in Guidry’s ear for you, seeing as how they work for him most of the time.”
“They work for Guidry?” Rage surged up from her gut, and tight fists formed at her sides. “I should give him a piece of my mind.”
The older man put a hand over one of hers. “You leave that to me, Miz Thibodaux. I told you before, Guidry has no manners. Well, he’s got even less common sense and is kind of bull-headed. If youmake him angry, you’ll have more misery than a couple of trespassers coming your way.”
She blew out a breath, and took the sheriff at his word. Confronting a threat, even when she was upset might not be the wisest or most effective thing to do. Her contentions with Captain Flynn hadn’t produced the desired result.
However, DeLille offered to face Guidry for her. She wanted never to see the tavern owner again. “Thank you, I’ll accept that offer and wish you good day.”
“Good day to you, Miz Thibodaux. You let me know as soon as you need to place your next order for delivery.”
“I will do that.”
With his retreat, exhaustion consumed her, driving her back to her bed and sleep.
The clock at her bedside informed her it was nearly one in the afternoon. She hurried to the kitchen. Time had gotten away from her, so her plan for the day was shot. She wouldn’t get half of it done.
At the bottom of the servants' stairs, Grace halted just inside the door.
For a moment the terror and frustration of dealing with trespassers consumed her and her vision grayed.
Every wall of the kitchen was completely painted, and her equipment had vanished. Most of the walls down there had been unpainted. She’d left all her paint and tools neatly stacked in the corner farthest from the stoves. What kind of trespasser did chores?
She suspected she’d find all the gear carefully stowed away in one of the many storage rooms opening off the kitchen.
Perhaps she’d painted in her sleep or something? Wasn’t sleep-walking a sign of stress? But sleep-painting?
The dogs sniffed at the newly white-washed walls. They seemed okay.
Grace gulped down her emotions and did a quick circuit of the ground level, looking in all the rooms. She found the paint and tools exactly where she’d expected. From under the tall stove, the cat yowled.
She hurried back to the main part of the kitchen. She opened the front door, to let in cooler air, and found a honeysuckle plant. She closed her eyes. Plants weren’t threatening. “This has to be a moon-gift. Who left it? Why didn’t you two alert me?” she threw a mock-glare to Mars and Mercury.
Mars thumped his tail.
His white ear dipping toward his shoulder, Mercury tilted his head, as if trying to make out her words. Grace smiled, and fed them. She fed the cat, too. “I really need to give you a name, Miss Feline.” Nothing came to mind and Grace shrugged. “I need to plant that honeysuckle in a sunny spot.” She grabbed an apple, sliced it in quarters, and left for the stables. While she worked, she puzzled over the events of the past weeks. The sledge-hammer. The fire. The Voodoo priestess, along with the amulet and dogs. The fence posts. The Baltimore clipper that could not possibly be where she saw it. Today, painted walls that yesterday were not. Lastly, the two moon gifts.
I have to be losing my mind.
Was it possible the place really was haunted?
Could a specter dig fence posts and paint walls, all by itself?
Of course not. Nor did trespassers do chores, she reminded herself.
What other explanation is possible?
She’d read about confidence artists who bilked money from gullible people by creating the illusion of ghosts and phantoms. The illusions almost always involved some sort of skullduggery on the part of a second or even third person.
