City of Masks Read Free Page A

to take out a checkbook and a fat Mont Blanc fountain pen, then flipped open a paird it's something you can do soon. We, uh, feel it's become a matter of some urgency given my sister's state of mind, you understand." He put on the glasses but peered over the top of them with a blue gaze calculated to drive home the point: His sister was not coping with whatever had happened to her.
    Cree tapped on her keyboard to bring up her calendar. "There are a few things I need to take care of, and as I said, my partner's in Massachussetts, so he's not available . . . It's short notice, but I think I can juggle things to get down there by the end of the week. Is that soon enough?"
    "Sooner the better. Your retainer for this 'preliminary review,' how much would that be?"
    "Five thousand dollars, plus expenses - airfare, hotels, and so on."
    Beauforte began to write out the check.
    "Mr. Beauforte, there is one other thing you and your family should be aware of." The obligatory caveat. It was in the contract, too, just so clients couldn't say you hadn't warned them.
    "Oh? And what's that?" Bent over her desk, he paused, eyes alert.
    "Part of our process is to do extensive investigation into the personal and family histories of our clients. It will be especially important in this case, since the house has been in the family for several generations. Should we take on this case, we will need to have candid, in-depth discussion with you and your sister, your mother, and any others who have known you, your father, or your grandparents."
    "Isn't it Temp Chase's family you want to talk to? Isn't he the supposed ghost?"
    "We don't know that yet. One of the problems facing a serious researcher is that the history of a place is very much . . . layered. We'll need to be like archaeologists, delving down through those layers of time. If there is a haunting entity, it could be the residuum of a homeless person who died there while the house was empty back in the forties. Or the wife of General Beauforte, say, or one of those Union soldiers who occupied it. Or someone from any time in between. And sometimes it can be . . . older still."
    Beauforte nodded equivocally. "Okay, I get the idea."
    "Your family's history is particularly important for two reasons. One is simply that they've been the house's primary occupants. The other is the issue of the link - why it is your sister who has had these experiences, why she's particularly vulnerable or sensitive. We'll need access to family archives, photo albums, and genealogies . . . My point is, this can become very personal, and some clients find the process intrusive. And sometimes . . . unpleasant details emerge. But let me stress that this is an essential component of our work. And our contract includes strict confidentiality clauses that - "
    "Ms. Black." Beauforte took off his glasses, squared his wide shoulders, and drilled his eyes into hers. "You have never been to New Orleans, have you?"
    "No."
    "When you do come, you will discover that we Beaufortes are held in highest esteem by our community. For the simple reason that there is nothing less than honorable in our history. Nothing in the slightest unsavory." He finished writing the check, ripped it free, and flipped it onto Cree's desk. "Your warning is unnecessary and verges on being offensive. The Beaufortes have nothing to hide."
    "Of course not, Mr. Beauforte." The smile she gave him was meant to be reassuring and businesslike, but it felt wan and wry on her face, the best she could manage. She felt a rush of sympathy for him: He was either a man who knew very little about the human condition, or a man who worked very hard in what would always be a futile effort to stay above it."No insult was intended," she said, wanting suddenly to console him.
    "Of course not."

2
     
    A FTER HE LEFT, CREE jotted a few more notes, started a file on the case, and brought the retainer check out to Joyce. The outer office was smaller but had enough room for a row