Maryse pushed down the throttle of her bass boat and zoomed across the bayou. Even though she’d been awake for hours, there was still that tiny thought lingering in the back of her mind that she’d wake up any moment and find the whole thing had been one big dream—parts of it a nightmare.
Of course, that theory already had two strikes against it. The first being that she completely lacked the imagination to even dream something this weird, and the second being that even if she had dreamed up a haunting, the last person she would have put in the starring role was Helena. And now, against her better judgment, she was headed down the bayou to a stretch of bank within easy view of Helena Henry’s house. Not that Maryse knew where Helena hung out, exactly, but her house seemed to make the most sense. And the last thing Maryse needed today was another dose of Helena.
In fact, the more she thought about it, the more avoiding Helena seemed like the best plan. Maryse spent most of her days in the bayou, and even though Helena claimed she could walk on water, and quite possibly run, she probably couldn’t keep up with a boat—not in ghostly high heels, anyway.
Of course, her cabin posed a bit of a problem. Helena had already “dropped by,” so that wasn’t safe at all. There was always the Mudbug Hotel, but it probably wouldn’t take Helena long to get around to that one either, given that the hotel owner, Mildred, had essentially raised Maryse after her mother died.
She turned the steering wheel and guided her boat into a large offshoot of the bayou that ran parallel to downtown Mudbug. The bayou was lined with cypress trees on one side and historical homes on the other, Helena’s estate being the largest, of course. Maryse could see the white, imposing monstrosity as soon as she made the turn. She wondered for about the millionth time what God could possibly be thinking by sending a scientist a ghost.
She’d always figured He had a sense of humor, but this was ridiculous.
Cutting her boat over toward the cypress trees, she let off the throttle and tried to find the tiny shoots of greenery she needed for the trials. They’d been here just last week, she could have sworn it, but no matter how hard she looked, the plant in question seemed to evade her. She had just leaned over the side of the boat to finger something that looked reasonably close to the plant in question when she heard shouting behind her.
Maryse groaned, afraid to look. She turned around and confirmed this world was definitely going to hell in a hand-basket.
Helena Henry was walking on water.