most cherished beliefs. He’s a bit of a curmudgeon in that regard.”
“Give me an example.”
“He tries to refute generally accepted versions of history using communication with ghosts to dispute commonly held understanding of famous historic events. He did a series of shows about the founding fathers and talked to ghosts of their slaves to prove what a good deal it was to be one of their slaves. Gary got hundreds of death threats over those shows.”
“When did these episodes air?”
“At the end of his first season, six years ago. The public outcry was what got his show renewed, in fact.”
Damn. It was old history, then. That didn’t sound like a motive now for kidnapping and possibly worse. But he asked nonetheless, “What’s the most recent scandal he’s stirred up?”
“Well, this season, he’s working on a treasure hunt having to do with the last French governor of Louisiana in 1803. The guy supposedly worked for Napoleon, but Gary got it in his head that this guy, Pierre Clément deLaussat, was a secret French royalist.”
Still didn’t sound like motive for kidnapping or worse. What was he missing? He prompted, “And this is controversial because...”
“Gary claims to have been approached by the ghost of deLaussat’s mistress, who told him deLaussat was in possession of a great royal French secret that he hid in New Orleans.”
“Are you kidding me?” Bastien blurted.
The young woman winced. “I wish I were.”
“I hardly think the reputation of some guy who lived in the early 1800s is worth committing a felony over.”
“You would think, wouldn’t you?” she responded. “But Gary’s detractors get wired way tight when he attempts to challenge history.”
“If he’s using conversations with ghosts as his rationale, I can see why they get up in arms.”
She looked up at him, her chocolate eyes worried. “Enough to harm him?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? He summarized: “So far, all we know is that two guys grabbed him and took him away from Pirate’s Alley. Maybe they wanted to get more information from him. Or hell, I don’t know, maybe they wanted him to perform a séance.”
She snorted. “Gary wouldn’t know how to do a real séance if a ghost jumped up and bit him in the butt.”
“Duly noted,” he replied dryly.
Her gaze snapped to his, and a moment of humor shone in her eyes. It lit her entire face, transforming her into a fey creature for an instant. Whoa. He could almost believe in ghosts and otherworldly beings when she looked at him like that.
Kidnapping. Investigation. Ask questions. He dragged his mind back to business and managed to come up with, “You said he’s on a treasure hunt. For what? How valuable is it? Maybe someone snatched Hubbard to get at a rich treasure.”
“I don’t know what the treasure is. He won’t say. He’s releasing clues in each show this season and plans to do a big reveal in the season finale.”
Bastien frowned. “How can you not know? Aren’t you working closely with him on the television show?”
“You’d think.” Bastien detected a hint of bitterness in her voice. So. She wasn’t happy that the boss was keeping secrets from her. Unhappy enough to provide a motive for kidnapping, maybe?
He asked, “Has Mr. Hubbard received any recent threats? Maybe letters or emails?”
“I don’t know. He handles his own correspondence. I’m just the cameraperson, and I do the first post-shoot editing.”
Did that mean she was responsible for dubbing in ghosts? He was tempted to ask, but he wasn’t here to argue with a ghost hunter over the existence of ghosts. “Do you have access to Mr. Hubbard’s email account?”
“No.”
“Too bad. Normally, we have to wait until a subject has been missing for forty-eight hours before we can use police resources to begin searching for him.”
She frowned. “I might be able to figure out his password. He’s not the most creative or computer-savvy guy on the planet.”
“It would be best if you leave his computer alone for now.” Spotting the stubborn look that entered her eyes, he added, “If you do get into his account, give me a call immediately.”
She nodded, a frankly adorable frown puckering her brow. And, she was back to looking like a nymphette. He would not look at her chest. At a glance it wasn’t anything to write home about, but at a second glance, she was nicely endowed in proportion to her overall smallness. Dammit, he respected women, and he was not going to turn this interview into a leering session.
“Can you think of anything else that might help me find Mr. Hubbard?”
“He’s a big beer drinker. Tends to hang out at microbreweries and in bars that serve artisanal beers.”
That gave him a place to start. He could canvas the local bars. “Do you have a picture of Mr. Hubbard that I could have?”
“Of course.” She moved over to the kitchen sink and lifted out a three-ring binder that she carried back to the sofa.
“You don’t cook much?” he asked.
“What?” She glanced back at the sink and down at the binder. “Oh. No. I destroyed a pan once while trying to hard-boil eggs. And it was stainless steel.”
“Impressive.”
“Did you know eggs actually blow up?” she asked indignantly.
He bit back a snort of humor. “Can’t say I did.”
She sat down next to him, and he was abruptly aware again of how small she was. Her face was fine-boned and slightly heart-shaped, vaguely elfin in appearance and utterly lovely. “They make a god-awful mess when they do. Yolk goes everywhere, and it dries on stuff like paint.”
His lips twitched in humor as she rifled through the binder.
“These are publicity photos he sends to fans. Would this work?” She pulled out an eight-by-eleven glossy head shot of Gary Hubbard.
He studied the professional picture critically. “That’s arguably the best photo I’ve ever seen of a missing person. Hell, it’s practically life-sized.”
She smiled back at him. “Let’s just say Gary is not a modest man and leave it at that.”
“Tell me more about him.”
“He’s been a television personality for nearly thirty years. He hosted a string of failed game shows. Tried a talk show, but he wouldn’t shut up and let his guests talk. That lasted only half a season. Then he landed the ghost-hunting gig. He’s been doing America’s Ghosts for six years.”
“Wife?
