Moonlight Scandals Read online

It looked like smudge on the camera or a flying grocery bag, but she knew that wasn’t what it was. She hit play and then slowed the film down. It still looked like a grocery-bag-blob when it disappeared into the opposite wall. What followed could only be described as the sound of a sledgehammer hitting the floor.

  Rosie knew the sound was coming, after all, but it still caused her to jerk and her heart to jump. Whatever was behind that noise was physical. It caused the camera to shake, and seconds later, she could hear the baby crying from inside his room.

  “Damn,” she whispered. A slow smile crept across her face.

  Not a full-bodied apparition, but there was definitely something in that house.

  Whatever was caught on the camera might not seem like much to the untrained eye, but it was some sort of evidence, and it gave her hope they’d find more, because they’d just installed the cameras in the Mendezes’ home over in the Garden District on Friday. To catch anything this quickly was a good sign—to Rosie and her team.

  Not to the poor Mendez family.

  They’d contacted NOPE a little over a month ago. Maureen and Preston Mendez had bought the rather recently built home on Third Street a few years back. They didn’t have any trouble until their son came into the picture. According to what the Mendez family reported, it started off as disembodied footsteps and other sounds, like unexplained bangs and thuds. Then they started catching movement out of the corners of their eyes, and items would go missing and randomly reappear in odd places. Things that could easily be ignored or chalked up to the house settling or one of them being forgetful, but the behavior had been steadily increasing over the weeks and months. Both the husband and wife claimed to see a shadow figure in the upstairs hallway, near their son Steve’s room. The unexplained thuds grew louder, eventually shaking the entire house, like the one caught on the camera. Feelings of being watched and followed throughout the house had escalated into doors slamming and, according to the couple, the holy grail of hauntings.

  Full. Body. Apparition.

  Preston claimed he saw what appeared to be an older man in baby Steve’s room, standing by the crib. He described the apparition as being solid around the head, shoulders, and chest, while the lower body was more see-through. Preston had been so caught off guard by the sight, he hadn’t noticed the period of clothing or any other detail other than the room feeling colder than normal. The apparition had disappeared right before his eyes.

  Afraid for their child’s safety, especially since the FBA was seen in Steve’s room, and more than just a little freaked out, the family called NOPE. Most ghosts never meant any harm. If they were active hauntings versus residual, they were often just curious. However, sometimes what people had in their homes weren’t ghosts.

  Sometimes it was something else entirely.

  Rosie lowered the laptop and flagged the segment of film. Saving the video, she sent the file over to Lance Page, who had the technology to isolate the images and magnify without losing quality. Reaching for the cushion beside her, she snatched up her phone and quickly sent a text to Lance letting him know he had film heading his way. Before she put her phone aside, she scrolled through her texts until she came upon her friend Nikki’s last text.

  Face hurts like hell, but I’m okay.

  Rosie stared at it for what felt like an hour but was only a few moments. She knew that Nikki was physically okay but emotionally? Mentally? That was a different story, and Rosie didn’t need her third unused bachelor’s degree, this one in psychology, to know that.

  Dropping her phone on the cushion, she leaned forward and placed her laptop back on the coffee table. She tugged off her glasses and placed them on the laptop.

  She glanced at the closed balcony doors. Night had fallen, but the hum of traffic and voices was still as strong as ever. When she closed her eyes, the most annoying image ever surfaced. She immediately saw Devlin standing before those doors.

  Goodness, that man was good-looking, but he was also a certifiable douche nozzle—an attractive douche nozzle.

  An arrogant, straitlaced, demanding, obnoxious douche nozzle about as warm and friendly as a haunted house.

  A jerk who appeared to be very, very well-endowed. God. She did not need to think about that. She didn’t even need to think about him in general, but he was in her thoughts whether she liked it or not.

  Opening her eyes, she pursed her lips. Saturday morning and that man had been dressed as if he were attending a business meeting, wearing gray trousers and a white button-down. He looked amazing, though, just like he had at the cemetery, but she doubted he owned a pair of jeans.

  Recalling the look on his face when she called him a dickhead, she giggled. She wished she’d had the foresight to have had her phone in her hand, because that splash of shock would’ve been amazing to capture on film. She would’ve changed her Facebook profile pic to it just to be an ass.

  Another giggle escaped her as she glanced up at the llama-shaped clock her friend Bree had gotten her. God only knew where she found a llama-shaped clock, but Rosie wasn’t complaining. The thing was amazing, and she had a soft spot for those adorably weird creatures.

  It was close to ten, and she should be tired, having woken up so early yesterday and the same today to pull a shift at Pradine’s to get ready for the church crowd, but she was wide-awake and antsy.

  And there was only one thing that cured restlessness.

  Du Monde beignets.

  Sadly, that meant she was going to have to get changed. Even though it was nighttime in the Quarter and there’d be all manner of people walking the streets, Rosie was not going out there wearing nothing but a tank top, boxer shorts, and thick, knee-high socks.

  Beignets were worth the effort, though.

  Popping to her feet, she’d started to turn when her phone rang. A smile appeared when she saw Lance’s name and the goofy pic of him wearing a headband with tiny plastic ghosts attached to springs.

  “Hey, buddy,” she answered as she picked up her wine. “Thought you were on shift tonight?”

  “Nah. Got off early,” he answered. Lance was an EMT, and boy, did his job never have a dull moment. “I saw the video. Haven’t been able to take a closer look, but whoa, I can’t believe we caught something already.”

  “I know.” She took a sip of her wine. “It’s freaking out there.”

  “We need to get back in that house and spend another night.”

  “Yes, but the family hasn’t agreed to that yet.” They wanted their help, but NOPE had only been able to log a handful of hours investigating. “And if they don’t . . .”

  Lance sighed. “If they don’t, then I am suspicious as fuck that we’re getting played.”

  “Me, too.” Finishing off the wine, she carried her glass into the kitchen. NOPE debunked and discovered scams more than they found actual evidence, but that was the nature of the business. “Jilly said she’d be calling the family tomorrow with an update. You’ll have the film enhanced by then?”

  “Of course.” There was a pause as Rosie placed her glass in the sink. “Doing anything tonight?”

  “Nothing except I was thinking about walking down to Du Monde.”

  “Want company?”

  Rosie grinned. Lance lived off of Canal, and that was a bit of a hike to Du Monde, but, like her, Lance was a night owl and was up for anything. “If you’re sure you want to join me.”

  “Babe, I always want to,” he replied.

  Her grin faltered as she pushed away from the kitchen counter. There was something teasing about how he said that, but there was also something . . . more. Anxiety bubbled to life. Lance was cute and an all-around great guy, but he was one of her closest friends. She knew better than to cross those lines, no matter how easy it would be. And lately? Lance had been throwing off signals that could be read as him being interested in more. Dinner invites. Showing up unexpectedly at Pradine’s with her favorite drink—salted caramel mocha—or surprising her with her favorite snack, those Graze box t
hingies that were all garlicky and yummy and not easy to come by. Or he could just be an awesome friend and she was reading way too much into it.

  Probably the latter.

  “You there, Rosie?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “Sorry. Zoned out. Weird weekend.”

  “Then even more reason to shut the weekend down with beignets.”

  Relaxing, she rolled her eyes. “No truer words have ever been spoken. I just need about fifteen minutes to get changed. Okay?”

  “Perfect. See you there.”

  Hanging up, she left her phone in the kitchen as she hurried into her bedroom, grinning when the curtains rattled obnoxiously behind her. Yanking a pair of patterned leggings out of the dresser, she toed off her socks, nearly falling over in the process.

  She tried to picture Devlin spontaneously going to get beignets at ten at night, and burst out laughing. With her leggings halfway stuck around her knees, she fell backward, her butt hitting the bed.

  Rosie was betting Devlin de Vincent was about as spontaneous as a dentist appointment.

  Dev didn’t like surprises.

  Especially when that surprise came in the form of his uncle, Stefan de Vincent, waiting for him in his home office Monday morning.

  “I’m sorry. The senator insisted it could not wait.” Richard Besson explained as Dev stalked down the hall of the second floor.

  The older house manager was as much a part of this building as a de Vincent was, having run the home, along with his wife, since Dev was a child. Livie was out for health reasons for the time being, and their daughter, Nikki, had stepped in. However, Nikki was no longer a suitable replacement, even temporarily, for a multitude of reasons.

  Dev briefly wondered what Besson thought of his daughter’s relationship with Gabe. Even though Gabe was, by far, the most . . . likable of the brothers, he was still a de Vincent, and Besson had seen a lot in his time working here.

  Besson also knew a lot.

  The faint curiosity disappeared as his gaze focused on the paneled doors that led to his office. A muscle worked along his jaw.

  “It’s okay.” Dev adjusted the cuffs on his shirt. “Can you please bring up a pot of coffee when you have a chance?”

  “Of course.” Besson started to turn.

  Dev stopped as Besson started to turn. Lowering his arms, he shook out the sleeves. “Richard?”

  A flicker of surprise crossed the older man’s face. “Yes?”

  He opened his mouth and then closed it. A moment passed as he considered what he wanted to say. He stepped toward the older man, keeping his voice low as he said, “I am sorry for what happened to your daughter. I will make sure nothing like that happens again.”

  Besson stared back at him for a moment and then cleared his throat. “I do not have a doubt that you will . . . ensure that my daughter is safe. Thank you.”

  Dev nodded. “We need to have a discussion later about a temporary replacement for Livie. Nikki is no longer suited for the job.”

  Her father opened his mouth.

  “She’s in a relationship with my brother,” Dev said, catching the man’s dark eyes. “I do not think you want her responsible for serving his food and cleaning up after him, too.”

  A faint smile crossed Besson’s face. “No. I do not.”

  “Good.”

  The smile remained. “I’ll have a fresh pot of coffee brought to your office momentarily.”

  Giving the man a curt nod, Dev pivoted and approached his office doors. He placed his hands on the panels and pushed.

  His office was light and airy from the sun streaming through the east windows, but there was a dark cloud sitting with his back to the doors.

  Lawrence de Vincent had been pure evil. His twin, Stefan, was just a fucking idiot in comparison. Dangerous in his own ways, but nowhere near as bad as Lawrence.

  “Nice of you to finally join me,” Stefan said.

  Dev’s lip curled as he closed the doors behind him. He hated the sound of Stefan’s voice, because it sounded like Lawrence’s. “Nice of you to show up unannounced after you haven’t returned my calls all weekend.”

  “I was in D.C., Dev, and quite busy.”

  “So busy you couldn’t use a phone?” Dev strolled across the office, and as he passed his uncle, he caught the faint scent of Cuban cigars. Rich, sweet ones like Lawrence used to smoke. He stepped behind the desk, and only then did he allow himself to look at his uncle.

  With the trademark blue-green eyes and dark hair with only a tint of silver to the man’s temples, he looked every inch a de Vincent. Faint lines appeared at the corners of his eyes and lips. Whether it was because of a skilled doctor’s hand or good genetics, the man was aging well.

  Stefan looked just like Lawrence. After all, they were identical twins, so every time Dev had to cast his eyes upon Stefan, it was like looking at the one thing he truly hated.

  His uncle probably came in at a close second if Dev had to list those he hated, and his uncle deserved every ounce of it, but if he had to compare the two men, Lawrence was worse.

  Lawrence would always be worse.

  “I was busy representing this fine state. Running the country is quite time-consuming.” Stefan smiled as Dev sat, toying with the gold band of the Rolex wrapped around his left wrist. “But I figured you were calling me over what happened Friday night, and I am here now.”

  “So, you’ve seen the news?”

  Stefan snorted. “How could I not? It’s all over the damn place. The brother of a de Vincent fiancée killed while attempting to murder someone? The fuckers are eating this up.”

  “Fuckers?”

  “The press.” Stefan flicked his wrist. “They love nothing better than a de Vincent scandal. Especially that damn reporter for the Advocate. Ross Haid? While I was on the way here, I got a call from my office saying he was already there, asking questions.”

  Dev smirked. The mere mention of Ross Haid’s name on any other day would’ve annoyed him greatly. Hearing that the reporter was bothering Stefan amused him. “Well, you do have a lot of experience with reporters digging around in your business, don’t you?”

  Stefan’s lips thinned. “I have a lot of experience with the press making a mountain out of a molehill.”

  “A missing and presumed-dead intern is a molehill?”

  “It is to me.” Stefan lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. “What did Parker do exactly?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I know that the press believes it was some sort of domestic situation. The victim’s name has been withheld, but they believe he attacked someone and was killed in the process,” Stefan answered. “I find that odd since I wasn’t aware of Parker being in any . . . domestic-type relationship.”

  Not for one second did Dev believe that was all that he knew. “Parker attacked Nikki.”

  “Nicolette Besson?” Stefan let out a laugh. “The housekeeper’s daughter?”

  Dev kept his expression blank. “You mean Gabe’s girlfriend?”

  “What?” Another laugh as Stefan sat back in the chair. “Jesus. He’s screwing that little piece—”

  “Careful,” Dev warned softly. “I doubt you would like what would happen if Gabe were to hear you speaking like that.”

  “As if you care how I speak about her.” Stefan snorted with a roll of his eyes. A moment passed. “That girl always had a thing for him, didn’t she? I guess he’s a lucky man.”

  Tension crept into Dev’s shoulders. That was an interesting statement for his uncle to make. Nikki practically grew up in their house when she was younger, spending many of the summers here while her parents worked. Of course, Stefan had been at the home on and off over the years, but Dev hadn’t believed his uncle was that observant when it came to what used to be Nikki’s schoolgirl, unrequited crush on his brother.

  Obviously, Dev had underestimated his uncle’s observation skills. He thought of the photograph he received on Sunday.

  “
Parker went after her?” Stefan asked.

  “And you really didn’t know that?”

  “Of course not,” Stefan exclaimed. “How would I?”

  There was a knock on the door, and Dev lifted his hand, silencing Stefan. “Come in.”

  Besson entered and the scent of freshly brewed coffee erased that of cigars. The man was quick as a bullet, serving the coffee and then leaving. Dev figured that Besson wasn’t exactly a fan of the senator even though he was too damn professional to show it.

  That was why he liked Besson.

  Stefan waited until the door closed. “You do not think Sabrina had anything to do with her brother—”

  “I know for a fact Sabrina had everything to do with what Parker tried to do to Nikki. I also know that she has been stalking Gabe since college,” he said, and when his uncle’s gaze flew to his, he raised a brow. “And I also know that she and Parker were responsible for Emma’s accident.”

  “Emma Rothchild?” Stefan froze with the coffee halfway to his mouth. “The woman Gabe used to be involved with years ago?”

  Dev’s expression smoothed out as he studied his uncle. When the news that Sabrina had been involved in Emma’s death had come out, it had shocked Dev, who thought he’d known all that Sabrina was capable of. He’d misjudged just how . . . psychotic that woman was at the end of the day. It was a mistake Dev would have to live with.

  “Jesus. You’re not joking.”

  “Why would I joke about something like that?” Dev asked.

  Stefan took a sip of his coffee. “Why would you lie about how my brother died?”

  “Now, Stefan, you know Lawrence hung himself,” Dev responded, picking up his coffee. It was dark. No sugar. No cream. A taste as bitter as a winter’s night. “Let’s not go down that road again.”

  “I’m never going to get off that road, Devlin.” Stefan lifted his cup. “I know my brother did not kill himself.”

  “Hmm. Tell me something, Stefan.” Dev sat back, crossing one knee over the other. He waited until Stefan took a drink. “Do you think I don’t know you’ve been fucking Sabrina?”

  The man sputtered, choking on the coffee. Liquid splashed across the front of his suit. His lips pulled back, baring his teeth. “What in the hell?”