Ghost Walk. Heather Graham

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      “Yeah, and if you don’t get off it, she’ll talk to Max and see that your ass is fired,” Patricia warned sweetly.

      “Ouch!” Mitch said.

      “Guys, please,” Nikki said. “I’m busy, and I’m discerning, and I take my time, okay? And right now we need to worry about work, okay?”

      Julian turned to Andy. “Just how decent would this bum of hers be if we cleaned him up?”

      “Pretty decent,” Andy said thoughtfully. “He just looked…down on his luck.”

      “Okay, guys, playtime over,” Nikki said firmly. “Julian, Greg wasn’t that much of a creep, just a little self-centered. I had no intention of going anywhere with him, so it was fun, but it’s over. And thanks, but I don’t want to date the bum. I’m fine. I love my apartment, love my work and enjoy my friendship with all you guys. I’m normal, not tense, and when I want to date, I will.”

      “Maybe she’s working the strip clubs at night under an alias,” Mitch teased. She shot him a glare from blue-green eyes. He lifted his hands. “I’m going to behave now. Really.”

      “Okay, guys, I’ve got notes from Max. Mitch, you’re welcome to introduce any new story, as long as you validate it first. Julian, if anyone makes you feel uncomfortable on the walks, tell them you’re married.”

      “What?” Julian said, startled.

      Nikki shrugged. “That’s what Max said to tell you. He said it works for him all the time.”

      “Oh, really? Who would be trying to pick up old Max?” Julian demanded.

      “Oh, come on,” Patricia protested. “Max is cute—in a creepy kind of way.”

      “Great. I say I’m married, then when the right person comes along…they think that I’m married or a liar,” Julian said. “There goes my social life.” He groaned. “I’ll end up like Nikki.”

      “Oh, come on, will you guys please, please leave me alone?” Nikki demanded.

      “That bum is looking better and better,” Julian said to Nathan.

      “You didn’t even see him,” Nikki protested, irritated.

      “We’re just trying to help,” Nathan said.

      “I don’t want to be helped,” Nikki snapped. “Hey—work on Andy for a while, huh?”

      On cue, they all turned to stare at Andy. She laughed. “Nikki, they don’t know me as well. I won’t be nearly as much fun to torture.”

      “Besides, Andy is a flirt,” Nathan said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

      “Really?” Andy said.

      “Yeah, really,” Mitch assured her.

      Andy giggled. “Okay…I am a flirt. I admit it.”

      “You can flirt with me anytime,” Julian teased.

      “And if he’s not around, and you’re looking for a good solid Yankee boy…” Mitch suggested.

      “Never play where you work, that’s what Mom always said,” Andy told them with a sad shake of her head.

      “Well, you could just sleep with me,” Mitch said. “We wouldn’t have to play at all.”

      “Hey! Go back to torturing Nikki, will you?” Andy demanded.

      “If you all don’t quit, tomorrow night’s off,” Nikki said.

      “The tour is off?” Julian asked, puzzled.

      “Of course not,” Nikki said patiently. “If you’d all just behave like adults and listen… We had a record month. Max is going to pay for a celebration at Pat O’Brien’s. Dinner and drinks on him, tomorrow, after the night tour.”

      “All right!” Mitch cried happily.

      At that moment Madame D’Orso made one of her sweeping appearances, bearing her elegant coffeepot, chatting with her guests.

      And they were special guests. Their tours met in front of her place, bringing her lots of business.

      “It’s calmed down out here some, huh?” Nikki asked her.

      “Yes. Not that I complain about business, but we had a busy late lunch crowd today,” she told them, pouring them more coffee. At her place, it was premixed. Café au lait meant café au lait.

      “Hey,” Mitch said to her, setting a friendly hand on her back, just above her waist. The gesture wasn’t flirtatious, just affectionate. Mitch was in his late twenties. Madame was in her late…well, hard to tell, but she was a few decades older. “Should Nikki date the bum who was in your place?”

      “What bum?”

      “You didn’t see him?” Andy asked.

      “Honey, I wouldn’t have noticed if Robert E. Lee stopped in. It was busy in there today. As if this parish isn’t nutty enough, it’s election time. Campaigners, do-gooders and politicians everywhere, thick as flies. There’s those trying to clean up the place, make New Orleans a ‘family’ destination. And then there’s those trying to keep her wild, wicked and free.” She removed Mitch’s hand, grinned and moved on.

      “Damn. Wish I’d seen the bum. Then I’d know if we could clean him up enough or not,” Mitch said with a wink.

      “Drop it. Or there will be no free meal for you tomorrow night,” Nikki warned him.

      “It’s dropped,” he assured her.

      Nikki rose. She could see a tour group gathering out front. “Julian, it’s showtime. Andy, you’re following along. Patricia, Nathan, don’t forget you’re on tonight.”

      With a last long swallow of her café au lait, Nikki started off with a smile to meet the growing crowd. Twenty minutes later, she was standing in front of the Bourbon Street bar, once a blacksmith’s shop, that the pirate turned patriot Jean Lafitte was said to haunt. She found the story of the man a fascinating puzzle, and focused her speech on his enigmatic history, along with a mention that there were definitely “spirits” of all sorts to be found there—many of them behind the bar.

      Her smile was as enigmatic as her story. She was certain that Jean Lafitte’s ghost loved to have his story told. She could feel the mischief in the air, something a little wicked, and yet benign.

      She always told the story of the man with affection, and she knew that she always gave her audience a few delightful chills.

      Ghosts filled the streets here, between the neon lights that advertised Girls! Girls! Girls! and the shop fronts offering voodoo charms, the ever-present music, the mimes on the street, the antique shops, the boutiques and the T-shirt shops that also sold pralines and potions.

      It was New Orleans, and she loved it.

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