The man might have been around seventy or perhaps even a few years older, but she’d seldom seen anyone so straight, lean and dignified. His soft, silvery-white hair was cut short, and the customary wrinkles of age couldn’t change the fine contours of his face.

He was wearing a gray suit, white shirt and a vest that matched his suit. He looked like a man about to walk into an important business meeting, not a tourist eager to hear the history, lore or ghost stories of New Orleans.

For a moment, she wondered if he was real. Living.

Yes, he was real. He was speaking with Lorna.

Lorna didn’t see the dead. Nor had Katie ever shared with her friend, or anyone for that matter, the fact she was able to see and speak with many of the ghosts that filled the city streets.

Her uncanny talent helped a great deal in her relaying the stories that abounded in the city.

It had started that horrible day her parents had been murdered. The ghost of Billy Battle—privateer, not pirate, as he assured her—had come to her in the water. He had probably saved her life, since she’d been floundering, heedless of whether she lived or died. She had seen him only once again, one night on the beach, since she had left the Keys so quickly after her parents’ deaths. But he had been kind and had given her so much comfort. In her new world, the dead were not to be feared; they were to be embraced.

“Katie!” Lorna called to her. “This gentleman has been waiting for you.”

“Oh?” Katie offered the man a polite but questioning smile.

He smiled back. “Yes, I’ve been very much looking forward to meeting you,” the man said.

“Oh?” she repeated.

The day was going from tragic to strange to stranger.

“May I?” he asked, indicating the step to the carriage.

“Uh...yes, of course. Do you want more of a historic tour or a ghost tour?”

“Ah, well, a good ghost tour is all about history, isn’t it?” he suggested.

“Well, yes, I’ve always felt that way.”

“A little of both, please,” he told her.

He seated himself in the wagon, in the passenger seat to the right side, making it easier for her to glance back and look at him.

Lorna waved from the sidewalk, curious. Then her attention was diverted as a couple approached her for a tour.

Katie glanced back at the man. He was studying her curiously, intently, but with a smile.

“Katie,” he said quietly, “I was waiting for you specifically because I suspect you’re someone who can help in the current situation.”

She groaned. “You mean the murders. I drive a carriage. I’m not a cop of any kind. I’m not an investigator. Do I think they’re all associated? Yes. But I can’t personally do a damned thing about it.”