When the Stars Align Read online

  I must look like an idiot.

  One hand on his waist, the other on his forehead, he tried to remember the events from last night. Had he really had too much to drink?

  Surely one drink wouldn’t leave him this disoriented.

  Not afraid to ask for directions, he went into the hotel lobby and waited until the clerk finished checking out a tall brunette female. She smiled as she walked past him, suitcase in tow.

  “Checking in?” the young girl behind the desk asked. Her fingernails were painted blue and she had a streak of blue down the left side of her hair.

  “No,” Bradley shook his head. “I was at a bar last night – the Le Bon Temps Roule. Right next door. I know they’re probably closed, but can you point me in the right direction?”

  “It’s over on… Magazine Street, I think.”

  “Yeah. I know. I found that one on my map. But I was here, last night, and went inside. There must be two of them.”

  The girl with the blue nails and the blue streak in her hair laughed. “A lot of people get confused. I promise. There’s no bar next door.”

  Bradley considered. Started to walk away, but turned back. “Ok,” he said. “Can I ask your manager, just for my own piece of mind?”

  The girl shrugged. “Sure. I’ll get him.”

  She went into the back and a burly man, in perhaps his late thirties, followed her back out. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

  Bradley repeated his request.

  The man shook his head before Bradley could finish his question. “I’ve been working here since I was her age. I promise. There’s never been a bar on this side of the street. And the only Le Bon Temps Roule is across town – out by the zoo. Not the best part of town, you know.”

  “What about here, in the hotel?” Bradley asked, a swirl of confusion and panic running through him.

  The man shook his head. “There is no bar in this hotel.”

  “Do you have anyone working here by the name of Camille Lafleur?”

  “Lafleur is a common name, but no.” The man said, and started to walk away.

  “Wait,” Bradley called out, placing a hand on the counter.

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  The man took a step back toward him. “There are many possible explanations,” he said. Assuming you weren’t somewhere else, perhaps you had too much to drink. Or…” He glanced at the girl with the blue nails and hair. She shrugged. “Some say the place is haunted. Perhaps you saw a ghost.”

  Bradley stepped back, his mind locked. He knew he hadn’t been lost and he had only had one drink. No even the whole thing. But the smoke from the cigars had given the room a haziness. No one had spoken to him other than Camille and the other barkeeper.

  “They say there is a man who talks to people and some have seen a girl.”

  Bradley turned and rushed out of the hotel into the street. He bent over, his hands on his knees. He’d seen a ghost then. Had a crush on a ghost?

  No. She hadn’t been a ghost. Ghosts didn’t have beautiful green eyes.

  Never. Not in even one ghost story had a ghost ever had green eyes.

  Since he had nothing else to do, he walked back to Jackson Square and went inside the cathedral.

  It was cool inside and quiet.

  A few tourists were already there, but mostly a handful of people scattered about, praying.

  He sat on a bench. Turned his eyes to the front of the church.

  He’d ruled out being intoxicated. Being lost. Barring seeing ghosts, there was only one explanation left.

  Camille sat at her father’s huge desk. Technically, she supposed, it was her desk, since she was the one using it this winter.

  She liked it here in the city.

  Granted, she didn’t like the society balls and such, especially the ones in the summer when the new debutantes came out and all anyone talked about was marriage, but she did like the tavern. Maybe it reminded her of her brothers and the good times they had as children here. At the plantation, they were always out hunting and fishing. Those things hadn’t appealed to her. She went occasionally, but only because she liked to ride horseback.

  Camille didn’t see herself as a typical woman. She liked horses, but not hunting. She didn’t care for cooking or traditional feminine tasks. Not that she needed to do those things. Her family had people to do the cooking and cleaning. But she also didn’t care for needlepoint or any of the other things her mother did to pass the time. Knitting was tolerable, especially since it was practical and led to things like socks or the new shawl in the trunk of her room.

  But Camille liked numbers. She loved numbers, in fact.

  She’d taken to bookkeeping like a duck to water. She’d sat on her father’s lap and spout out the answers before he could begin to add the numbers. She was always right.

  He had finally given the task over to her. He didn’t care so much for it anyway. He preferred to be outside. Riding around the fields. Watching the cotton from seeds to harvest. Or socializing with patrons and vendors.

  She quickly tallied the numbers from last night’s income. It wasn’t that she minded the soirees and the BBQs. She enjoyed the dancing and the conversations with men. What she didn’t like, she mused, was the pressure by certain men to marry her and take her away. Camille loved her home – both of them actually. And she would never marry if it meant being taken away from them.

  She set her ink pen in the ink well and scowled at the ledger. The only income was from one new membership. She had taken the money herself. The man’s name was Edwin McGregor. Edwin was a man in his forties, at least.

  There was no record of the young man with the blue eyes and the short brown hair with the perfect white teeth.

  She read back through the list of members. She knew each and every one of them. He was most certainly not on the list.

  It struck her then that she didn’t even know his name.

  After leaving the cathedral, Bradley walked along the river walk until the shops opened. Then he went to work. His first purchase from a high end department store was a black wool tuxedo jacket and black bow tie. His next purchase was a little more difficult to find. He must have gone in every shop in the French quarter before he found the perfect black mask. He was so excited he didn’t notice until he went to check out that it didn’t have attached ties to secure it around his head.

  He must have looked as crestfallen as he felt because the girl behind the counter asked him to wait. “Just a minute, hon, I think we have some black ribbon in the back.”

  A few minutes later, she came back, and secured some ribbon to the mask. She asked him to sit, and secured the mask over his eyes and tied it around his head.

  “There,” she said, gesturing to a mirror, “what do you think?”

  Bradley smiled. “It’s perfect.”

  Keeping his mask on and feeling quite debonair, he ate a late lunch at a quiet outdoor café.

  He had walked by the Place d’Armes at least half a dozen times. Still no door to a bar.

  Ian called to confirm tomorrow’s flight to Houston. They would meet in the hotel lobby at 10:00 am. Bradley suspected that an afternoon flight would have been more to their liking, but he would be ready. That meant no alcohol for him tonight. His personal philosophy was no alcohol twenty-four hours before a flight. It made him sluggish. And being sluggish in the air was not a good thing.

  During his walk on the river’s edge it had occurred to him that perhaps he needed to recreate last night’s events.

  Only tonight, he planned to start much earlier.

  If his theory was correct, everything had to be just right.

  Chapter Two

  Camille took her time getting dressed for her evening shift to serve at the tavern. She’d taken an afternoon nap, so she was prepared to work as late as her father would permit. He was planning to play cards tonight, so hopefully he would forget about her, or at least allow her to stay later since she wou
ld be within his eyesight.

  She put on one of her favorite gowns – a deep lilac, with lots of layers and a bow at the right side of the bodice. Brushing her hair, her thoughts wandered to the man she hoped to see tonight. It was too much to hope that he would come back. The city was rife with tourists right now with Mardi Gras. He’d said he wasn’t from here. Perhaps he’d just been passing through.

  Or, her heart surged with hope, as she tied her white mask over her eyes, he was staying for the celebration. In that case, he may wander back into her tavern.

  This time, she vowed, she would find out more about him. Beginning, at least, with his name.

  Satisfied with her appearance after checking the mirror, she left her room and went down the hallway, down the stairway, to the family dining area. She loved the way that this townhouse was set up. The building had three stories, well… four if counting the attic. The bottom floor was the tavern – customer area with lots of tables, a serving counter, then a whole kitchen and storage area dedicated to the tavern behind that. There was also an office where her father spent much of his time during the day meeting with other men. The second floor was the living area – a parlor, kitchen, and dining area. There was also a library and an another office where the actual work took place. That’s where Camille spent her days.

  The third floor was dedicated to bedrooms. Two of the bedrooms had little sitting areas. One of those bedrooms was Camille’s. The other was her mother’s. Her mother had the largest bedroom and, besides having a sitting area, it was connected to her father’s bedroom. The other two bedrooms belonged to her brothers.

  It had been incredibly quiet and lonely since her brothers left. She missed them terribly.

  She wandered into the family dining area where there was always food available.

  “What would you like to eat Miss Camille?” Abby, the servant in charge of the dining room asked as Camille entered the room.

  “Just something light.”

  “A cheese and fruit tray?”

  “Yes,” Camille agree, “That would be perfect.” She sat at the large dining table and Abby went to get the food.

  Camille hardly had time to sit before her father came into the room.

  “Good afternoon, my dear,” he said, coming to give his daughter a quick peck on the cheek.

  “How are you Father?” Camille worried about her father. Perhaps overly much. “Are you prepared for your card game?”

  Her father sat at the table across from her. “I am indeed. My opponents don’t stand a chance.”

  “That’s good to hear. Thank you for letting me work in the tavern this weekend.”

  “It baffles me, Camille, why you enjoy it so much.”

  “Perhaps I take after you,” she said, a teasing note in her voice.

  Her father merely grunted.

  Camille knew that her father also disliked the Mardi Gras balls. He would make an appearance with her mother when she was in town, of course, then return to the tavern to play cards later into the night.

  “Any new members last night?” he asked.

  “Two,” she answered. Though, truth be told, only one had paid. As soon as she learned his name, she would add her mysterious man to the list of paid members.

  After much consideration, she had determined that he was not a man of means; hence she didn’t think he would have the hefty sum available required to become a member of her father’s elite club.

  Besides, she blamed herself for coming up with the idea. Unless her father planned to keep the membership low, Camille had decided the whole membership thing was a bad idea after all.

  “You look festive,” her father commented. “Are you certain you wouldn’t rather go to the ball? If you do, I’ll forego my card game and accompany you.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of keeping you from your card game, Father. I know how much you enjoy it.”

  Abby appeared with Camille’s cheese tray and offered to bring something for Mr. Lafleur. Her father declined, but Camille knew that he would eat later with his business associates.

  “If you need anything while I’m out,” he said, “Billy will be here.”

  Camille smiled. Billy was the largest man she knew. He usually stood somewhere within view when she was in the tavern.

  “I’m not worried, Father.”

  He stood up, pushed his chair beneath the table. Camille was proud of her father. He was a handsome man. Sturdily built, but trim, nonetheless. And he always kept his mustache trimmed and his hair short.

  “I’m not sure if your ability to not worry about things is one of your best qualities or your worst,” he said. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

  Perhaps her best quality was not letting her father know that she did, indeed, worry. But her worry was confined to her family. Her father. Her mother. Her brothers. She worried not about things like marriage or men fighting in the tavern.

  She finished her fruit and cheese, then went downstairs and began preparing for the evening. Made sure all the most requested liquors were well-stocked.

  Satisfied that she was ready for the evening, she retrieved a novel from her father’s office and sat at one of the tables to wait for the first customers. She was reading The Last of the Mohicans. It was her third time to read it, but each time, she learned something new.

  Engrossed her book, she didn’t hear the door open.

  She nearly toppled out of her chair, however, when someone pulled out the chair next to her.

  It was him!

  And he was grinning from ear to ear.

  Bradley began walking at five o’clock. It wasn’t yet dark, but he didn’t want to risk missing a single minute with Camille – whether she was ghost or spirit or even of his imagination.

  His scientific mind had come to the conclusion that he needed to start by waiting until nightfall, perhaps even when the streets were crowded. Part of the whole recreation process. He began walking a route that would take him down the sidewalk in front of the Place d’Armes hotel. He walked slowly around the block. Each time, it was a little more crowded. He truly hoped this worked, especially before he began to step on people again. The smell of alcohol already floated in the air.

  Fortunately, the pleasant weather had held. He didn’t relish the thought of perspiring in his new tuxedo jacket. Or having to wear it drenched from another rain storm.

  His fifth time around the block, the sun dipped below the Mississippi River and a cold breeze drifted through the air. No one else seemed to notice. He was almost to the hotel. He hopped onto the sidewalk and put his hands in his pockets. The drunken reverie had resumed around him.

  He passed the hotel and…

  There.

  There was the Le Bon Temps Roule door. He took out his phone and snapped a picture of the sign. Then as an afterthought, stepped back and snapped a picture with both the hotel and the bar sign. It took a minute to get a shot between tourists.

  But now he had something to show them. He had not been lost. He locked his phone and slipped it back into his pocket.

  He pushed the heavy wooden door open. Unlike last night, there was no smoke yet. Hence, he had a clear view of the room.

  The bar was to the left as he’d remembered and tables were scattered around the room. Only now they were empty.

  With one exception.

  He recognized her immediately. Today she wore a purple dress with her white mask. Her eyes glued to a book, she didn’t even hear him come into the room.

  A woman after his own heart, indeed.

  As a pilot, Bradley used his time spent waiting, of which there was lots of, reading.

  His mother accused him of using reading to escape reality.

  He could think of no better means of escape.

  But at the moment, all he knew was that he had found her.

  Stepping to the table, he pulled out the chair next to hers and she jumped, nearly dropping her book.

  He grinned at her. Somehow his catching her off-guard made her
seem more… real.

  “You scared me half to death,” she said.

  “I apologize,” he said, though his elation at seeing her overshadowed any regret at startling her. “May I?” he asked, indicating the chair.

  “Of course,” she said, seeming to shake off her surprise. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  He almost said yes. He wanted anything she offered. But caught himself. “I can’t drink tonight.”

  She looked askance at him. “But you’re in a tavern.”

  “I know,” he said, “What can I say?”

  “It’s because you had too much last night,” she said.

  He nodded slowly. That was a good enough explanation. For the time-being. Right now he wanted to know about her.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  He raised an eyebrow. And perhaps she wanted to know about him.

  “I need to add you to the list of members,” she added quickly.

  “Bradley Becquerel,” he told her. “But I haven’t paid my membership. Do you take credit?”

  That elicited an odd expression on her face. “I took care of it.”

  “I can pay,” he put a hand in his pocket to pull out his money clip.

  She touched his other arm lightly on his sleeve. “We don’t take credit anyway, so truly, don’t worry about it.”

  He left it alone. The pressure of her hand on his arm, even through his jacket, was enough to keep him from arguing.

  “What are you reading?” he asked.

  She glanced at the book, as though she had forgotten it. “The Last of the Mohicans.”

  “Oh. That was a good one.”

  “You read it?” she asked, her eyes lit up.

  “It was required in English lit, but I liked it. My sister especially liked Daniel Day-Lewis,” he said, absorbing the pang of grief that went with mentioning his sister.

  Camille frowned at the book. “I haven’t gotten to that part yet.”

  “Hmm.”

  The door opened and a couple of men came in.