The Casquette Girls by Alys Arden Read Free Book Online Page B

head. I peeked out with one eye. The thick iron stake that had held the shutter was rolling along the cement towards my face, as if pulled by a magnetic force. It stopped right before it touched my nose.
    I quickly sat up and grabbed it. The metal felt strangely powerful in my hand, a thick, giant nail, twice the width of my palm.
    My eyes told me I was alone, but my gut told me I wasn’t. Every ounce of my being screamed, Get out! Now I really was trespassing, and on the private grounds of the archdiocese.
    Another loud crack of thunder made me scramble to my feet.
    The wrought-iron gate banged shut behind me, just as the chapel bells began to clang.

Chapter 6 Busy Signal
     
    I sprinted the remaining six blocks home and slammed the front gate behind me, pausing on the stoop to catch my breath. I grasped the slick, wet bars and looked both ways down the street.
    No one. Nothing.
    Safe behind the iron gate, my pulse mellowed, but then I remembered only a chair held the kitchen door closed and that there was a giant hole in the back of our house – not exactly high security.
    Rain dripped from my dress and weighed down my Docs as I stormed to my room. I kicked off the boots and flopped onto my bed, not caring that my hair would soak the pillow. My head spun.
    What the hell just happene d ?
    The stake was still clutched tightly across my chest. I loosened my grip, allowing blood to flow back to my white knuckles, and examined the piece of iron. I turned it over and over, but there was nothing to give me a clue.
    Blue eyes. Dead, blue eye s . I exhaled loudly, trying not to cry. Why had that man’s eyes still been so blue? He had shown no signs of decay, but the Storm had hit over two months ag o . My hands began to shake. I set the stake down on the bed as I tried to recall the scene in exact detail.
    The black sedan seemed undamaged, except for the smashed driver’s side window. Gray suit, blond hair, blue eyes. My breathing picked up. What if the man hadn’t actually been dead, and I had neglected to help him?
    No, his neck had been contorted into a position allowed to no living person. He coul d no t have still been alive. And yet, he certainly couldn’t have died two months ago. Had I discovered a recently deceased ma n ?
    I sat up quickly, knocking the stake off the bed, and dug my phone out of my bag. My heart pumped faster as I pushed the three numbers we were schooled to never dial unless in case of a real emergency.
    Busy signal.
    I dialed four more times until I finally heard ringing. The line picked up:
    “Hello.”
    “Hello! I need to report a murder!”
    “You have reached the New Orleans Police Department automated hotline. If you are calling to report a missing person, please visit our website at www.nopd.gov . If you are calling to report a crime or another emergency, please stay on the line.”
    “Oh, you have got to be kidding! Who in this city has Internet right now?”
    An instrumental version of “Mardi Gras Mambo” started playing.
    From the ground next to my bed came a gentle scraping sound. I glanced down.
    “What the…?”
    The stake was standing upright on its point. As the hold music droned on, the stake slowly started to turn, grinding itself into the floorboard. I blinked several times, totally perplexed.
    “To report a dead body, press one. To report a dead animal, press two. To report a non-Storm-related violent crime, press three.”
    I pressed the number three without looking at my phone.
    “Please state the nature of your call. You can use phrases like, ‘My house has been robbed.’”
    “Um, I’d like to report a crime. A dead body, possibly a murder—”
    “Thank you for calling the N.O.P.D. Who am I speaking with?” asked a despondent female voice.
    The stake stopped turning.
    “Hi, my name is Adele Le Moyne.” My tongue garbled the words.
    “Ms. Le Moyne, what’s the incident you’d like to report?”
    “I was walking on Chartres Street around Franklin. And