Toe to Toe Read online

  Nonie eyed her suspiciously. “What’s that got to do with you flapping around here like a madwoman?”

  Buggy drummed her fingers on the table. “Well, see, the producer wants to put a scouting team together.” She suddenly held up a finger.”Wait a sec.” She glanced around the room. “Is he here?”

  “Who?”

  “Lover boy.”

  Understanding Buggy meant Guy she shook her head. “No.”

  “Whew, got so excited I forgot for a moment. Anyway, like I was saying, they’re looking for a team of people who’ll go to different locations that are supposedly haunted. Once there, they have to try and get some kind of concrete evidence on audio or video that the place is really haunted, then bring the evidence back to the production team. If the producer thinks it has merit, enough to send a film crew to do a real investigation, he’ll pay the scouting team five hundred dollars a head for the find. You got that, girl, five hundred dollars. That’s a five with two zeros after it!”

  Nonie rolled her eyes. “I know what five hundred dollars is. But what does that have to do with us? Specifically me?”

  Buggy shot up from her chair. “Are you kidding?” She put her hands on her hips. When Lyle told me about this at lunch yesterday I almost had a shit fit. I started thinking like we could really be rolling in cash with this deal. With what you know . . . you know what I’m talking about—”

  “Buggy . . .” Nonie warned.

  “Swear to God, I didn’t tell a soul,” Buggy promised. “I didn’t tell anyone anything about that thing you can do.”

  Nonie swiped a hand over her face.

  Still standing, Buggy started to fidget from one foot to the other. “You promised to wait until I was finished before you said anything, so let me finish already. If we put a crew together . . . which I kinda sorta already did—I’m calling us the Boo Krewe, only I spelled Krewe like in Mardi Gras? Is that cool or what? Anyway, this idea hit me so hard, I told Lyle to go right back to the producer and tell him he had a crew already lined up and ready to start work whenever they were ready. ‘Cause with you on the team, Nonie, the money’s in the bag. They’re going to supply the scouting team with all kinds of cameras and woo-woo equipment to find ghosts, but with you there, who in the hell needs equipment? We’ll know right up front if we’re working with a dud or have something legit. Then we can go about recording or taping evidence on whatever thingamajigs they give us. ”

  Nonie slouched in her chair. “What the hell do we know about scouting for ghosts? We’ve never done anything like that before. And who else is in this crew you supposedly put together?”

  “What’s there to know about scouting?” Buggy said, a note of indignation in her voice. “We’ve all seen those ghost hunting shows on TV a million times. Half that shit’s made up anyway. But with you on this gig, now we’re talking about the real deal. And, I bet if we do a stupendous job, we might actually be part of the real team that’s on the television show. Then we’d get paid major bucks. Major!” Buggy’s hands started to flap again. “Look, I know this sounds over-the-top, and I’m a little excited about it. Screw it. I’m a lot excited about it. I mean, for real, how often do people get opportunities like this?”

  Nonie sat up, about to tell Buggy to go home and have a beer and chill out, when Buggy started up again.

  “I know you hate working here, girl, and I’d sure like to do something better than waiting tables at Meemaw’s Café. With the kind of money we’d be bringing in from this scouting gig, we could go into some kind of business for ourselves.”

  Nonie’s head began to swim, trying to absorb everything Buggy had said.

  “So whadda ya say?” Buggy said, in her face again. “Come on. Tell me you’re in.”

  Nonie raised a hand and stood. “I can’t, Bug. I just can’t.”

  Buggy’s eyes widened with shock. “Why the hell not? You have to Nonie. We can’t let this gig slip through our fingers.”

  Nonie picked up her soda, popped the top on the can and took a sip. “You know why. If I do something like that then everybody’s going to find out.”

  “No, they won’t. I swear. We’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” Buggy insisted.

  “And just how in the hell are we going to do that? Use sign language? Learn Italian so nobody understands what we’re talking about? And you didn’t answer my question. What do you mean you’ve already put together a team? What team? Who’s in this Boo Krewe?”

  Hope lit up Buggy’s eyes. “Shaundelle Washington is one of them and—”

  “Hold up,” Nonie said, and cocked her head. “Are you talking about that big woman that runs the Tint and Tips on Sixteenth Street?”

  “Yeah, but she doesn’t only do nails and hair. She’s awesome with a camera. I’ve seen some of the pictures she’s taken. They’re fabulous. Most of them were of naked guys, but the quality was awesome.”

  Nonie opened her mouth to tell Bug she’d not only fallen off the deep end, she’d completely missed the pool. Before she had a chance to voice it, though, Buggy grabbed the second of silence to jump back into her litany.

  “And we’ve got Tatman.”

  “What’s a Tatman?”

  “You know, that big guy that works over at Guidry’s Hardware.”

  Nonie thought for a moment. She’d been in Guidry’s a few times for her dad, but the only

  big man she remembered working there had been covered in tattoos and had long, thinning, scraggly hair that he pulled back into a messy ponytail “Are you talking about that biker looking dude? Heavyset? The one that looks like he hasn’t showered since . . . birth?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Buggy said with a clap. “That’s him. His real name is George but everybody calls him Tat because he’s all inked up.”

  “And you picked him why?”

  “Muscle mostly. We’re gonna have a lot of equipment to lug in and around different locations. I figured he’d come in handy. And just ‘cause he’s inked doesn’t mean he’s stupid. He knows a lot about fixing stuff. He’ll kinda be like our insurance guy. If we run into problems with something, he can beat the shit out of it or fix it.”

  “How’s he going to beat up a ghost?”

  “Well . . . just in case. And anyway if equipment breaks or the van breaks down—”

  “What van?”

  Buggy bounced in place. “Wait, didn’t I tell you? We get to use one of the WXRT vans! Not the ones with the satellite stuff on it. A supply van. So there’s another bonus. They’re supplying the techie equipment, a van, and moolah if we find ghoulies.”

  “But—”

  Buggy didn’t allow Nonie to get another word in edgewise. She was more than wired for sound. “Oh, and we get a real deal investigator to add to our Krewe, too. I think he’s one of the producers’ nephew or something like that. He’s done investigations before and knows how to use all that techie stuff. His name’s Jack Nagan. Real smart guy from what I hear.”

  “You haven’t met him?”

  “Uh . . . not exactly yet.”

  Nonie felt sweat drip from her armpits. She didn’t know why she’d allowed Buggy to get her so worked up. All her friend had done was put together a gaggle of misfits plus a producer’s son, nephew, whomever. No way that production company was going to give them the gig.

  “So,” Buggy continued, “the plan is we’ll all meet up, and Jack will show us how to use the equipment. We’ll be pros before you know it. I can handle a digital recorder, Shaundelle a camera, Jack all the other tech stuff, and Jesus H Christmas you’re smarter than all of us put together. I know if Jack shows you how to use some gizmo you’ll catch on,” Buggy snapped her fingers, “just like that.”

  Nonie stood and rubbed her temple with a finger. “Look, Bug, I’ve gotta get back to work. We’ve got the mayor’s viewing tomorrow. We’ll talk more about this later, okay? I’m sure there’ll be a lot of people trying out for this job. Not to knock your blocks down, but the chances of any of us getting on this ba
ndwagon I’d say were slim to no way.” She gave Buggy a quick hug. “Give me a call later. Maybe we can catch a late feature at the Round Up –”

  “Uh . . . We’ve already got the gig,” Buggy said, then flinched like a puppy waiting to get its snout popped with a rolled-up newspaper.

  Nonie took a step back. “W-what? How? Who . . .?”

  “I told you as soon as Lyle told me about the gig, I jumped on it like white on cotton. He went to the producers, told them there was a crew ready to go and bing, bang, boom, the big man okayed it. Even called his nephew to let him know.”

  Nonie scowled. “You did all that thinking I was your ace in the hole and didn’t even talk to me about it first?”

  Buggy grabbed both of Nonie’s hands and squeezed. “Look, I’m sorry about that, but I know you, kiddo. You’d have kicked like a mule against this. So I made a couple calls to Shaundelle and Tatman, told Lyle what to tell the producers, then said a quick novena to St. Jude that you wouldn’t kill me when I told you.”

  Nonie pulled her hands out of Buggy’s grasp and threw them up in the air. “Hell, Bug, I really don’t want to do this.”

  “Think of the money, girl. I mean we’re talking pretty big bucks. Where else you gonna find a deal like that around this podunk town?”

  Regretfully, Nonie had to admit that if she pushed her own fears aside Buggy was right. But that didn’t mean she had to like it.

  When she was about six years old, Nonie had seen her grandfather standing at the foot of her bed, smiling. That had been the night after his funeral. She’d told her parents about seeing him, but they hadn’t believed her and told her not to talk to anybody else about it because people would think she was crazy. Rita and Elmo, T-boy, Broussard were not the sort of parents or people who believed easily. They had to see everything for themselves for it to truly have stock. Her mother had even talked about possibly taking Nonie to a psychiatrist to make sure something wasn’t wrong with her daughter’s brain. That had scared Nonie more than seeing her grandfather.

  For the most part, the dead left her alone after that. Then, after Guy died, everything changed. The moment she’d found out about his death she’d wanted to die herself. She’d always known he’d be her husband one day, and Guy’s demise had sent her world spinning off its axis. She’d cried for days, barely able to get out of bed. Couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. Then one night, after a huge tear-fest, Guy had simply appeared beside her bed. She’d gasped as if waking from a nightmare and quickly reached out for him. All she’d felt was a cool breeze whisper through her fingers as her hand passed right through him.

  “My Nonie, one and only,” Guy had said. “Don’t cry, baby. I’ll always be with you. I promise.”

  And he’d been true to his word. Seeing him had been a constant over the past nine years. After a while, she’d grown desperate to tell someone about her experiences with Guy. Her parents were out of the question, and the only other person she trusted wholeheartedly was Buggy Mouton. As she’d expected, Buggy had been slightly taken aback by the news but in short order her attitude changed to enthusiasm and total belief. And as far as Nonie knew, to date, Buggy had yet to tell another soul, as promised.

  It wasn’t as if Nonie saw and heard the dead wherever she went. She sensed more than she saw. Except for physically seeing Guy, seeing others who’d passed on seemed to come and go at their own discretion. Like the time Mrs. Gail Roy, the wife of a local grocery store owner in Clay Point, died after a long illness. Nonie had attended the funeral, as did most of the town, to pay her respects. While everybody whispered and gossiped, moved in and out from the viewing room to the coffee lounge, Nonie saw and heard Mrs. Roy standing at the foot of her casket, bitching the entire time that her daughter had put her in a purple suit when she knew she’d wanted to be buried in pink.

  “Mah dat’s a shame, yeah,” Mrs. Roy had said. “Look how bad I look in dat dress. Why she put me in dat purple thing? I tol’ her and tol’ her, when de time comes to bary me, I want you to dress me in pink. I look good in pink. But does she listen to her mama? No. She put me in purple. Lawd, look how I look bad.”

  Mrs. Roy had all but yelled her complaints, and Nonie looked around, figuring others had to have heard her, as well. But everyone was either talking amongst themselves or sniveling into a tissue. Nonie had been the only one to witness the tantrum, and she certainly didn’t share the news about color preferences with Irene, Mrs. Roy’s offending daughter.

  Although this scouting gig sounded like a financial hit, it made Nonie extremely nervous. She feared someone might slip—that someone being Buggy—and others would find out Nonie’s secret. And if the wrong person caught wind that she could see and speak to the dead, word would spread through Clay Point like ants at a picnic. She imagined the entire populace chasing her down Main Street, carrying torches and straitjackets. Okay, so maybe her imagination had a bit of a cayenne in it, but still, small towns—small minds.

  Nonie sighed, and tried to be open-minded. Maybe, just maybe they could pull this off. The fact that the money was the enticer made her feel a little guilty, but being able to breathe easier financially and doing so away from the funeral home softened the guilt somewhat. As for the other members of the Boo Krewe finding out about her so-called gift, she and Buggy would have to find a work-around for that issue. Nonie knew enough about Shaundelle Washington to know the woman was totally self-absorbed. So if Nonie gave Buggy some kind of signal that a place had a spirit attached to it, more than likely Shaundelle wouldn’t notice. Same with George—aka Tatman. The few times she’d met him, he’d seemed a little slow on the uptake. But the Nagan guy made her fidgety. She knew absolutely nothing about him.

  Puffing out her cheeks then slowly releasing the air, Nonie finally said, “If. . . and I’m saying IF I go along with this, I’d need more info on this Jack Nagan guy. When are you supposed to meet him?”

  Buggy clapped and twirled in place, her round face red with excitement. “Tonight! We’ll meet him tonight.”

  “What do you mean we?”

  “Well, I left it sorta open-ended with everyone until I had a chance to talk to you, but I told them we’d maybe meet at your house around eight tonight.”

  Nonie let her jaw drop, flabbergasted. She glared at Buggy. “You mean to tell me you invited strangers to my house! Why not your apartment?”

  “It’s too small.”

  “Why not the Hole in the Wall bar or Tatman’s house?”

  Buggy shrugged. “The bar’s too loud and there’re too many people. Somebody might overhear our conversation and start asking questions. I don’t want to have to explain anything to anybody. We don’t want the competition. As for Tatman, he lives with his mother. Your place seemed like the most logical location.”

  “I live in a duplex, you know that. It’s maybe a third larger than your apartment. And what about Dora Arsemont, the woman who lives in the other half of the duplex? She’s nosier than a Labrador with its nose up a duck’s butt.”

  “So? Is there a law against you having a few friends over? It’s not like she’ll be inside your place to see or hear what we’re doing.”

  “Dora’s got ears like a bat, and the walls are thin.”

  Buggy let out an exasperated sigh. “So we’ll talk softly, work quickly. She’ll never know what we’re up to. She—”

  Nonie held up a hand, stopping Buggy’s tirade. “I need some time to think about this.”

  “Well, you better get to thinking ‘cause we’re going to be at your house at eight.”

  “What were you thinking, inviting all of those strangers to my house without talking to me first?” Nonie said, flustered. “Suppose I had a date?”

  “You, on a date?” Buggy clicked her tongue against her palate. “Like with who? Lyle and me aren’t going anywhere and the last person I know you went out with was Kyle.”

  Kyle was Lyle’s identical twin brother who worked offshore. Occasionally, when he was in town, Nonie tagged along with
Buggy, Lyle and Kyle to the movies or a concert. But it was far from what Nonie would call a double date.

  “For your information, Miss Know-It-All, that new deputy, Nate Lopez, who just started working for Sheriff Buchanan? He’s asked me out a couple of times.”

  Buggy’s head snapped back in surprise and her eyebrows shot up. “Really? Wow, he’s quite the hunk.”

  “And what am I? A dog?”

  “No, no,” Buggy said. “With him being new in town, I just thought . . . well, figured it kinda weird that he’d start asking anyone on a date. At least get to know folks in town first.”

  “He’s been here a little over a month, and Clay Point is a small town. Even being brand new here, I can’t see it taking that long to get a lay of the land or the people in it.”

  Buggy waggled her eyebrows. “So give me some scoop. Where did you meet him? What did he say? And how come you didn’t tell me—”

  In the middle of Buggy’s barrage of questions, Margaret Simms, the funeral home’s receptionist for the living and hairdresser and cosmetician for the deceased, walked into the coffee room. She marched up to Nonie, hunchbacked and scowling. She wore a dark blue dress with a wide white belt cinched around her narrow waist. As usual, her eyeglasses, which were half the size of her narrow, pinched face, sat on the end of her nose. She’d worked for the Broussards for over twenty years, since Nonie’s grandfather ran the place. Although Margaret would never reveal her age to a soul, Nonie guessed her to be nearing seventy if not slightly over.

  “Where have you been, missy?” Margaret asked Nonie. She glanced at Buggy but didn’t acknowledge her. “Your mama’s been looking everywhere for you. There’s a lot of work to be done. You know we’ve got a big viewing tomorrow and look at you. Hanging out with a soda, chitchatting without a care in this big ol’ world.”

  Margaret had come from Georgia and was somehow related to some second cousin’s cousin on which side of the family Nonie couldn’t remember. Even after all these years, Margaret still carried her Georgian accent, a nasally twang that thickened when she got agitated. To make matters worse, Margaret chain-smoked, although she’d swear on all that was holy that she didn’t, so her twang came out deep and raspy.