Henry meets Cole in a spooky cemetery for a quick hook-up during Mardi Gras in New Orleans. During their encounter, Henry finds a beautiful object in a pile of dirt. They take it back to Henry’s hotel room and discover they have picked up an ancient and very valuable crucifix.
Suddenly, they find themselves haunted by the ghost of Jean Lafitte, a French pirate from the 19th Century who wants his treasure returned. Unfortunately there is nowhere to hide from a ghost, even among the thousands of people in town for the celebrations. If they don’t give it back, the ghost has a particularly cruel fate awaiting them. What will Henry and Cole do?
A familiar figure crossed the intersection ahead of them. Henry recognized the tattoos and beefy arms, which now held onto a limp body draped over John’s shoulder.
“Don’t ask,” Henry cut off Cole’s obvious question. “You don’t want to know.”
They passed by a narrow opening between two buildings. A tall, handsome man in a pirate outfit stepped from the shadows and onto the sidewalk.
“Soumets-toi á moi.”
Cole jumped with a cry of surprise at the sudden appearance.
Henry heard Cole shout and spun around. “What’s the matter? Are you all right?”
“That pirate scared me.
“What pirate?”
“The one standing right ...” Cole broke off as he looked back down the street, but Henry saw no one. Cole paled. He ran back to the opening. “There was a guy standing right here.” His voice shook as he pointed to a spot on the sidewalk.
“What did he look like?”
“Cute.”
Henry was beginning to see a trend in Cole’s paranormal sightings, but decided not to mention his thoughts.
“He was dressed as a pirate, I think,” Cole said. “Kinda like the guy on the float last night. I think it was the same guy on the float and the one in the mirror this morning. Now I’m certain I’ve seen him before, but I can’t remember.”
“I wonder if this has anything to do with the crucifix we found,” Henry mused. “Come on.”
They wandered through the abandoned streets to Decatur Street, where the Jean Lafitte National Historic Park and French Quarter Visitor Center stood. The museum employee, whose name tag identified her as Ann, seemed to be pleased and surprised to find someone up and around as early as she was. She gave them a big smile.
“This is one of the largest museums dedicated to preserving the history of one of New Orleans’s roguish adopted sons, Jean Lafitte,” she announced, the pride obvious in her voice. She motioned to a portrait on a nearby wall.
Cole grabbed Henry’s arm. “I think that’s him!”
“What?” Henry and Ann said simultaneously.
“That’s who?” Henry asked further.
“I think that’s the guy I keep seeing.” Cole paused for a second. “It could be, but with a drawing like that it’s hard to tell.”
“Oh, you’ve seen our favorite local pirate?” Ann's smile broadened. Henry detected a slight tinge of jealousy in her tone, as if baffled as to why Lafitte would appear to this goober instead of her, a native, a fervent researcher, and a big fan of his.
Henry pulled the crucifix from his pocket and showed it to her. “Have you seen anything like this?”
Hands flew to her face as she shrieked in surprise. “Where did you get that?” she demanded.
“I found it in the St. Louis graveyard last night,” Henry responded as if the answer to her question was obvious.
“What the hell were you doing digging in a graveyard?” Her eyes flashed with anger.
“We weren’t digging,” he responded as he and Cole shifted nervously under her intense glare.
“Oh.”
