Page 2 of Memento Mori

“—call him when you get there.”

Mom’s voice pulled me from my irritated mental ramblings, and I realized that I had missed a huge piece of what she’d just said.

“Sorry, Mom. I think we had a bad connection. What’d you say?”

She gave me a long-suffering sigh as she took a drink of whatever she had poured herself earlier. “I said, you need to call Deveraux Glapion when you get settled. He’s expecting your call. I texted you his number earlier.”

I pushed a hand through my long brunette waves, realizing that I should have had it cut and colored when I was still in Texas, especially if I might end up on TV. I didn’t know any stylists here. “Who the hell is Deveraux Glapion?”

Mom sighed again. “The host ofHaunted New Orleans, silly. I’ve told you like a thousand times. Did you even watch the show clips I sent you?”

I could only shake my head, knowing she couldn’t see me—which was probably a good thing; I didn’t school my features well. Of course, I hadn’t watched. This was a bunch of bullshit, and I had way better things to do than waste my time watching some idiots traipsing around supposedly haunted locales, playing it up for the cameras and gullible viewers—like my mother.

“Sorry, Mom. I didn’t have time. Work’s been crazy.” I rolled my eyes, once again thankful that this wasn’t a video call.

“It’s fine, dear. You don’t need to have watched the show to appreciate what you’re doing. How fun will it be to see the old homestead on TV?”

“Real fun, Mom. It’s a good thing we’ve been paying someone to keep the place up, huh?” The peopleIhad been paying, even though I hadn’t set foot in the house for over ten years. But I was the current owner of the property, and we did make good money from the rental site—people went out of their way to rent it because of the chatter regarding the hauntings—so I shouldn’t complain too much. I could still bitch, though.

I saw my exit up ahead and signaled to merge into the turn lane, a wave of nostalgia rising, threatening to drown me in memories. “Say, I should go. I’m not super familiar with where this hotel is. I’ll text you later—”

“Don’t forget to call Dev,” she said, cutting me off. “He’s expecting your call before six. It’s important that you guys meet before they start setting up for the shoot.”

God, pushy much? “Got it.” I bit my lip to keep from saying something super snarky. “Chat later. Love you.”

“Bye, baby. Love you, too. Be good. Give N’awlins my best,” she drawled, a smile in her voice.

“Will do. Talk soon.” I pressed the dash screen to disconnect from the call and turned on the road that would take me to my hotel and the next two weeks of my life. I wasn’t sure how I would handle being back here, but with enough alcohol and some progress on this case I had taken before I left Texas and needed to try and wrap up before I headed home, I just might survive.

Chapter 2

Hanlen

Of course.

Of course, my mother or the show or whoever had booked the hotel would put me up in a place without mini bar access or a restaurant on site. It was like they knew. And I would certainly need some liquid courage and fortification for this trip, given all of the hullaballoo I would likely be dealing with. I didn’t believe in any of this shit, but the rest of my family did, and my mother was right in one thing . . . this was our family’s legacy, and I was a part of that, like it or not.

After some Google searching, I discovered that all hope was not lost. There was a liquor store two blocks down, and my suite did have a mini fridge. Huzzah.

Once unpacked and settled, I threw my hair into a ponytail, grabbed my purse, and headed out for a little stroll. It was only three p.m., and the day was beautiful. I generally preferred fall in New Orleans, but spring had its own kind of magic.

I realized as I cleared the front entrance of the hotel that I hadn’t called the host ofHaunted New Orleansyet. Mom had said that I needed to call before six, and I figured now was as good a time as any. Finding the text she’d said she sent, I tapped on the number and then pushed through to call.

It rang a few times before a smooth baritone came over the line. “Glapion here.”

I cleared my throat and tried to figure out what I was supposed to say. “Um, yes. Mr. Glapion, this is Hanlen Arbor. My mother, Linette, told me to call you. She, um, gave me your number. Said you needed to speak with me regarding the show at Arborwood.”Arborwood. I mentally snorted. The name my family had christened the plantation with ages ago. Redundant if you asked me.

I heard wind through the phone. “Ah, yes, Ms. Arbor. Thank you so much for calling. And thank you for allowing us access to your beautiful home.”

Something about his voice did things to my insides. Crazy things. Things I didn’t understand. I had never, in my thirty-two years of life, experienced anything like it, and especially not from avoice. I shook my head to clear it. “That was all my mother, but I’m happy to help.” I wasn’t, but I figured I could be nice and at least say so. “I had some business in the area anyway. What do you need from me, Mr. Glapion?”

I heard sounds of the outdoors over the line once more before he spoke again. “Please, call me Deveraux. Even better, Dev. And excuse the noise, I’m running an errand. I would love to sit down and chat with you before the team moves in to set things up at the plantation. Get some history, talk with you about what we’re planning to do, etcetera. Are you free tonight or tomorrow?”

The thought of going anywhere tonight or tomorrow made me itchy. Despite being a P.I. and having to be out and about a lot, I was more the homebody type. And, truth be told, I preferred my company to that of others. I wasn’t a bitch or totally antisocial, I just had my quirks—I mean, I liked whiskey and maybe three people. I laughed internally at that. But it was kind of true.

I tolerated people well, but I didn’t go out of my way to engage with them, and it had been a long time since I’d met anyone who made me want to try. Plus, I had been on the road for most of the day and wanted nothing more than a hot bath and a generous pour after a nice Creole meal. But I had agreed to this. Maybe I could at least push it out as much as possible.

“Tonight might be tough. I literally just got into town. I have some things to take care of later today and early tomorrow, but I could make something work. What time were you thinking?”

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