Forget Me Never by Sable Hunter (books successful people read txt) 📗

“Where is it coming from?” Garrison asked with wonder in his voice.  “It’s not raining down from above, it’s rising from the ground!”

Savanna touched her palm with her tongue.  “Flour, its white flour!”  It took a few minutes for the significance to dawn on her, but when it did, she was amazed.  That night had bend te she would never forget.

At last when they had completed their filming, all three of them and the crew had sat before the control board and looked at all of the footage.  Again they marveled at the shadowy form of the old home that appeared out of nowhere and faded just as fast.  “I want to compare this to actual photos of the home, but it looks like it to me,” Garrison chuckled.  “This is fuckin’ incredible.  Our ratings are gonna go through the roof.”

Jeremy played back the moaning noise and this time they heard something else.

“Turn it up,” Savannah leaned in.  “That’s people singing, isn’t it?” She was excited.  “Hold on, let me show you something.”  Leaving her chair, she went after her bag and pulled out a binder where she had jotted some notes.  “Yeah, here it is, listen to this.”  She proceeded to read to them accounts of the slaves at The Grove being asked to sing for the guests.

“Wow, we’ll have to put it through a special filter and see if we can identify the song.”

Savannah kept reading and stood up in surprise when she found another tidbit of vital information.  “Oh, my God!  Listen to this.  In 1859, the steamboat Princess exploded off Conrad’s point near Baton Rouge.  It was traveling from Vicksburg to New Orleans for Mardi Gras and blew up with four hundred people on board, mostly women.  At least two hundred were lost.  Slaves from The Grove pulled many of the burned and scalded victims to shore and they were laid on the lawn of the plantation on sheets covered with flour.”  Her voice had wound down and slowed until the last word came out almost as a whisper.

Needless to say, the time with PROOF had gone a long way to convince Savannah that ghost-hunting was something she wanted to pursue.  Since word of their findings had hit the media, she had been inundated with requests to either join in investigations or conduct her own.  Savannah wasn’t sure how she felt about that.  Really, her life was full – of Patrick mostly.  All she wanted to do was be with him or talk to him or think about him.  He consumed her thoughts.  But she had to work, she had bills to pay and now it seemed as if her job had morphed to include a bit of hands-on supernatural sleuthing.

*****

A car horn made her jump and she realized she had sat at the light too long.  Taking her foot off the break, she put on her blinker and turned toward Prejeans.  The award winning Cajun restaurant was one of their favorite noon hang-outs.  Parking by Cato’s jeep, Savannah looked around to see if Fresca had driven her motorcycle.  Yeah, there it was.  No one could miss that cherry red Harley-Davidson.  Climbing out of her Camaro, she straightened her hair and bit her lip to keep from grinning. Today, she had a man to talk about.  Usually, all she did was listen to the others talk about their love ler motornd dodge questions and avoid their efforts to fix her up with some well meaning friend of theirs who probably wouldn’t be interested in her anyway.

As soon as she walked into the restaurant, she heard Cato.  Her husky giggle was unmistakable.  Their favorite table was off to the right side and Savannah smiled to see that all three of her friends were charming the chef.  He had brought them out some cherries jubilee and the flames eating up the alcohol were as festive as Christmas lights.

“Did you bring enough for four?”  So, they were eating dessert first.  This didn’t surprise her at all.

“There’s plenty, Doucet.  Get your bubble butt over here and taste this.  Pierre is the finest chef in South Louisiana.  He made homemade ice cream and the best cookies in the world to go with this flaming nectar.”  Tammany had been born with a silver shrimp fork in her mouth; she mainly volunteered at the center to be near the research material she needed for her doctoral thesis.  Her greatest love was teaching.

Savannah pushed in close and grabbed a spoon, dipping into the sweet treat.  “Cato, how is your mom?” She knew that Mrs. Vincent had recently been diagnosed with breast cancer.  Realizing her friend was looking down at the table, Savannah touched her arm and got her attention.  Once Cato had looked up, she repeated it.  “How’s your mother?  Is she feeling better?”  Chemotherapy could be rough.

“She’s much improved, thank you.”  Cato grabbed her hand.  “Did you bring any new pictures of your man?”

Savannah wanted to shush Cato, but it always embarrassed her friend to be told she was talking a bit too loud, so Savannah just let it go.  “Yes, I did.”  Being partially deaf hadn’t slowed Cato Vincent down a bit.  Her speech was a bit distorted, but Savannah thought it was endearing.

“Let’s see,” Fresca nearly crawled over the table to get a look.  “I love to look at him.  I wonder if I could coerce him into modeling for me.”

Savannah pulled out the photo of Patrick.  It had been taken recently.  He was standing in the sun with two of his buddies holding the puppy he had adopted.  Fresca immediately confiscated it, “Holy Crap on a cracker!”

“Ewwww Fresca, I’m trying to eat over here,” Tammany protested.

“Oh hush, Rich Girl.  You’d better toughen up if you plan on making it down in that third world country you’re moving to.”

“What?” Savannah was confused.  “Where are you going, and why?and  Lord, was she completely out of the loop?

“It’s a long story,” Tammany brushed off her