Read Crossroads Shadowland for Free Online Page A

this."
    Carmen's sob revealed her horror.
    "Let's not jump to
conclusions; allow Frank to do his job." The anguish in Dave's eyes belied his words.
    Frank knew while they might
have considered the possibility a molester was involved they hadn't actually said the words aloud until
now. "Any success in talking the police
out of the shoe and flashlight?"
    Mark shook his head.
"Evidence." The man handed him recent photos of the boys and a list of friends and places they hung
out.
    After spending the better
part of an hour with the parents discussing possibilities and strategy, Frank excused himself with a
promise to be in touch the following day.
At this point, he almost wished he was dealing with a person motivated by financial gain. At least he'd
know what to expect in the ensuing
days.
    To tell Brent and Charlie's
parents he believed a ghost had snatched their boys,
would result in questions he couldn't deal with right now,
much less answer. Carmen's words ran
through his mind, ' Well, I'm not buying
it .' He had a
sinking feeling that before too long, they'd all have to buy
it.
    And like it or not, eat, breathe and live
with it.
     

Chapter Four
     
    Since the brochure at Hotel
Provincial said, 'No trip to New Orleans is complete without a
visit to Pat O'Brien's,' Frank's feet couldn't transport him there fast enough. At their outdoor patio, he'd
order a red rum blend called the Hurricane
as soon as he arrived. After his horrific afternoon, perhaps
he should have ordered the infamous Hand
Grenade—the ingredients a closely- guarded
national secret.
    Frank grabbed a table to
the left of their signature fountain, ordered, and people-watched,
hoping Rand's face would appear among the crowd. Abandoning the Hurricane twenty minutes later,
Frank went for broke and ordered the Hand
Grenade. A man with buff biceps and lean hips delivered the beverage in a green plastic glass at the same
time Rand settled into a chair across from
him.
    "My meeting with Sister
Francoise smacked of a history lesson from junior high," Rand said.
    Quicker than a fly
loitering on the fringe of a spider web, the waiter appeared and looked at Rand. "What can I bring
you?"
    "I think," Rand paused and
nodded toward Frank's drink. "I'll have one of those green things."
    "Great choice." Frank put
the glass to his lips and moments later said, "History class, huh? I assume you're talking about the
background of the Ursuline nuns and the
property the hotel sits on?"
    "Don't get me wrong; the
hours sped by and I found it all quite fascinating."
    "Before you tell me, give me a visual on
Sister Francoise."
    "Okay." Rand looked off
into the distance. "You said her voice on the phone reminded you of a little bird's? So will her
physicality. Think mighty heart, small
toes."
    "You saw her toes?"
    "She wore sandals." Rand
graced him with his engaging smile. "Anyway, picture clear, wintry blue eyes and weathered skin softened
by a roadmap of humanitarian
crinkles."
    "No long robe to go with those sandals?"
    Rand shook his head. "I
never saw habits on the ones I met. Sister Francoise sported a dark blue blazer and a denim skirt. Other
than the religious pins on her lapels and
a gold crosses around their necks, you'd never know the women at the Archdiocese were nuns."
    "You're good. I liked the
part about the weathered skin and the wintry blue eyes."
    Rand picked up the drink
the waiter had delivered, sipped, and smacked his lips. "I think after one Hand Grenade, wintry blue might
be bintry woo."
    Frank snorted. Damn, the kid oozed charisma.
"All right, lay it on me."
    "Most of what you told me
earlier was correct, with one exception. The Order moved uptown in 1824. They don't reside in the original
convent where records dating back to 1718
are housed. Not only is the convent the only remaining building from the French colonial period in the
United States, but survived the disastrous
eighteenth century fires that destroyed the rest of the French Quarter."
    "And that's