Ghost Talker by Byrd Nash

Author:Byrd Nash [Nash, Byrd]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Rook and Castle Press

Chapter 11

Before I could reach the Alenbonné morgue, I was lucky enough to spot my target: Dr. Charlotte LaRue. I rapped the roof and asked the cab driver to stop.

“Charlotte! I was just heading your way for a visit.”

Dr. LaRue greeted my hail and stepped over to the curb. She wore a dark blue check pattern in trousers, vest, and coat, with a carelessly tied stock around her neck, and a derby hat. In her hand, she held her cane. Not that she needed it for support or style, but because it held a sword stick she wasn’t reluctant to use.

Dr. LaRue’s outfit might have stood out as bizarre on Glamour Row, but in the student section of town, she blended into the strange artistic rabble found in the district.

“To meet me? Then it must be about Giles Monet. You only visit me because of my bodies.”

“Not true!” I said, stepping out of the cab. “I saw you on your birthday.”

“You do realize, Elinor, that was two months ago?”

To the quick-cab driver, I handed up a five-royal bill. “Would you take my things to Mysir de Archambeau’s town home on Lunea Street? Do you know where that is?”

“I do indeed, madame.” He touched the crown of his hat before turning his horse in the middle of the street. The u-turn earned him a shouted string of curses from a young student wearing a black scholastic robe whose cycle almost collided with him. The driver only gave him a backward wave over his head, his trotting horse quickly away.

Ready for a chat, I wrapped my arm around Dr. LaRue’s.

“Well, I want to know more about our dead body. Can we do it over lunch? I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Dr. LaRue’s eye gained a speculative glint.

“I know the perfect place. My treat. Come, it’s further down the street.”

The wan blue sky had that texture when winter replaces the halcyon fall. The breeze was brisk, and my new attire made me feel quite cozy and stylish even among the avant-garde residents of the student quarter.

“Nice outfit, by the way. You look younger.”

“I’ve been shopping.”

“Looks good on you. Better than all that black.”

“Why does everyone feel a need to comment on my clothes?”

“Who’s been commenting?”

I didn’t answer her as Dr. LaRue had stopped to survey the front of a café. It didn’t look out of the ordinary, with its two bay windows facing the boulevard and a black door between them. Inside, the crowd seemed thin, but I assumed that was due to it being past the prime lunch hour.

Dr. LaRue patted my arm. “Come along, I’m friends with the owner. They have a haunt they need your help with. The situation is ruining my best lunch spot, and that can’t continue. Think of my stomach!”

When the staff saw Dr. LaRue enter, the man behind the bar greeted her and a server stopped washing glasses to rush over. Wiping his wet hands on the towel at his belt, he showed us to a clean table.

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