Roxy smiled a little. “Easier said than done, though, right?”
He nodded. “Generally, yes, but don’t feed fear with time, that’s what I always say. It’s like ripping off a band-aid—it’s best just to go for it.”
“And what about Johnson? And the untruthful influencer?”
“Well, that’s up to you too. Do what you think would be the best for Dash.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
FOR DINNER THAT evening, Nat had prepared shrimp étouffée and salmon cakes with rice and a Creole remoulade. None of the guests felt in the mood for a large, dress-up dinner, so everyone came down in their jeans and sweaters. The evening had turned cool. Lily Vashchenko even wore bright pink fluffy slippers with rabbit ears—and two-inch heels. Only Ada dressed up. She wore jeans but with towering stilettos and an emerald-green silk shirt.
Everyone—even Kathy—made a concerted attempt to talk about everything except Dash’s death. They talked about the weather (changeable), what was planned for next year’s Mardi Gras (nothing that they knew of, but they were sure it would be fun), the color of the dining room wallpaper (powder blue with shimmering beige stripes), whether all bottled water was collected from natural springs (!), and Derek’s future career plans (none specific at present).
Roxy made a special effort to smile a lot at Sylvia and engage with everything she said like she was her special friend. A raised eyebrow from Nat let her know she was overdoing it a little, so she toned it down.
Roxy was desperate to tell Nat what she’d found out about Sylvia, but they hadn’t been alone all evening. She had to be patient. The guests would shortly be retiring for the night, and Roxy would be able to launch straight into all that she’d learned as soon as she and Nat were alone in the kitchen.
“Let me help you load the dishwasher,” she heard Kathy say, as the others left for their rooms. Roxy inwardly groaned.
“But you’re a guest!” Roxy protested. “I can’t let you do that. Please, please, sit down in the lounge and help yourself to a drink.”
“But I insist,” said Kathy. “I’m doing an online course in personal development, and for a challenge, we have to go out of our way to do one good deed a day.” She held her head up proudly and said, “It’s always good to learn and grow.”
“Yes, but…” Nat looked a little bewildered. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Kathy said emphatically.
Nat shook her head. “Well, okay…if that’s really what you want.”
Kathy sang Country and Western songs as she loaded the dishwasher and Nat and Roxy cleared the dining room. They waited to see if Kathy had an ulterior motive for offering to help, but when she was done, she simply gave them a huge smile and said, “Deed done for the day.”
Roxy smiled back. “Thank you, Kathy. Now please, go ahead, and sit yourself down with a nice drink.”
“Raise a glass to Dash for us,” Nat added.
“I sure will,” Kathy replied.
Nat closed the kitchen door behind Dash’s mother as she left and waited a few moments. She whispered, “I’m not sure about her.”
“She is a bit strange. Anyway, forget that. Listen to this.” Roxy explained all about Sylvia being Helen and everything she’d learned.
“No way!” Nat whisper-shouted. “I thought there was something fishy about her.”
Roxy laughed. “You think everyone’s fishy, Nat.”
“But even if she does appear a bit dodgy, why would she kill Dash or hurt Michael? And wasn’t she asleep by the time Michael was attacked? He stayed for a good while to chat with Sage and Dr. Jack, even after the others had gone to bed. They were talking about subatomic reality and how that related to spiritual enlightenment, or something like that. Sage told me. Of course, it’s all rubbish, but that doesn’t change the fact that Sylvia couldn’t have attacked Michael when she was here, in bed.”
“I guess you’re right,” Roxy said. “But, she could have snuck out. I didn’t lock the door until past midnight, because Ada, Lily, and Derek stayed out late.”
“Well, it’s them we need to look at, I reckon,” said Nat. “Lily wanted the Hilton contract so she could have bumped off Dash to give her a better chance of landing it, Ada could have done it in revenge for Dash humiliating her, and Derek…well, maybe he was jealous of his brother, so much so that he killed him.”
“Come on!” said Roxy. “Derek wasn’t even in the city when Dash was killed.”
“Good point,” Nat said. “But he could have attacked Michael. Maybe Michael’s attacker wasn’t the same person who killed Dash. Maybe Derek believes Michael was the murderer and was doling out his own form of justice.”
“Oh, I don’t know what to think,” Roxy admitted. “It’s just too complicated, but I can’t stop thinking about it. I need to do something. Oh, and I found all this out because of a note someone posted under my door this afternoon. Don’t you think that’s strange?”
Nat stared at her. “That is weird. Who would do that? Do you recognize the handwriting?”
“Nope,” said Roxy. “They wrote it all in capitals. The writing’s very shaky like someone wrote it with their opposite hand.”
Nat sighed. “A poison pen letter! Look, I sound so, so, so incredibly boring and square, I know, but you should really hand that over to Detective Johnson.”
Roxy wrinkled her nose. “Yes, you’re right. But, oh, you know he’s going to grill me like a cheese sandwich. I’ll have to psych myself up for another interview. Which reminds me, Sam still thinks I should speak to the reporters, give them a simple statement to get them off my back. One of them accosted me in the street earlier.”
Nat shrugged and said casually, “Sounds like a good idea to me. Can’t hurt, can it?”
“Oh, easy for you to say!” Roxy said, feeling a wave of anxiety immediately rise up and wash over her. “I’m the one who has to stand in front of all these cameras that are beaming my face across the world and say stuff that makes some kind of sense. It’s terrifying.”
Nat flashed her a wicked grin. “You’re the boss. That means you get all the headaches, responsibility, and horrible jobs. Congratulations!” She threw her hands up in the air and laughed. “Sorry, girl. Look, I believe in you. Go ahead and do it. In fact, do it right now. Go out there and find a reporter. The more you wait around, the more afraid you’ll become.”
Roxy could hear her heart thumping, even in her temples! But she knew Nat was right. It was crunch time.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
ROXY DID EXACTLY what Nat suggested, and trying not to think any more about what she was doing, she marched outside. She stood in the middle of the narrow cobblestoned street on which the Funky Cat Inn was located and looked up and down, straining to catch a glimpse of the woman with a mass of wavy dark hair, a flash of red lipstick, and a massive, menacing microphone. It was late in the evening. Roxy half-hoped that Mariah Morales had gone home.
“Roxy,” a voice said behind her, so close that it made her flinch. She spun around and there—as if Roxy had, by thinking about her, manifested her out of thin air—was Mariah Morales, her bright red mouth stretched into a broad smile.
“Hello,” Roxy said. Her voice sounded shaky and weak. Her shoulders drooped. Roxy hated that she sounded so pathetic. She instantly threw her shoulders back, lifted her chin and cleared her throat. “Hello, Ms. Morales. I want to make a statement.”
“Wonderful!” Mariah said, throwing one hand up in the air and snapping her fingers. “Sheldon, we’re ready. We’ll record it and send it right over to the station.” She looked around the street warily. “Wouldn’t want to wait for a live slot and let anyone else get their claws on this story.” Her voice became more intense. “Sheldon, come on! Are you ready yet?”
“Ready,” grunted Sheldon from behind her. He held the camera at chest height and the recording light came on.
Instantly Mariah slapped on her trademark smile. “And with me now is Roxy Reinhardt, manager of the Funky Cat Inn
where just a few days ago famous Instagram influencer, Dashiell Davies was brutally murdered.”
Mariah continued to set up the segment as Roxy heard blood thunder through her ears. She barely registered what Mariah was saying until…
“What would you like to say to the world about this tragedy, Ms. Reinhardt?”
Roxy’s mind went blank. She couldn’t get her thoughts straight. In fact, she couldn’t think at all. The only thing she could do was open her mouth, let the words come, and hope she sounded somewhat lucid. She couldn’t even process what she was saying, not really. All she remembered afterward was “terrible tragedy” and “Detective Johnson,” “justice,” and “no evidence that our hotel food was responsible.” “Thank you,” Roxy said at the end of her statement. She walked away, leaving Mariah to close the segment in front of Sheldon.
As she made her way back inside the Funky Cat, Roxy felt something she had never experienced in her entire life. An incredible rush of relief and pride pulsated through her like she’d been “plugged in” for the first time ever. The mint green of Elijah’s Bakery in front of her, the pink façade of the Funky Cat across from it, the dark blue of the sky above, and the bright orange of the streetlights were all so intense that she felt like someone had turned up the saturation on her vision. She wanted to skip, to run, to shout, she was so pleased with herself.
She had too much energy to go back to the hotel. Instead, she decided to track down Sage. It was late, but Roxy wanted a card reading even if she still wasn’t quite convinced she believed in them. She thought back to the reading Sage had given Sylvia. Her memory was fuzzy, but hadn’t Sage said that Sylvia’s story had not yet been fully released, that something about it was still unresolved?
Roxy climbed the steps to the street where Sage had her apartment, but there was no answer when she rang the bell. Roxy put her ear to the door, but she couldn’t hear a gong, drumming, voices, meditation music, or any familiar noise that would indicate Sage was home. Similarly, Roxy couldn’t smell the aroma of incense unfurling under the front door. She concluded that Sage wasn’t in. Roxy decided to try Dr. Jack’s botanica, instead. Despite the lateness of the hour, it would be open, you know, for the witches.
Roxy hurried to the magical supplies store, and stepped inside, savoring the wonderful familiar smell. She could never quite put her finger on what it was, but it was musky and sweet with notes of wood and herbs. It was like walking into a hug that you weren’t quite sure you wanted.
There was no one at the cashier desk, so Roxy weaved her way through the aisles of candles, cauldrons, handcrafts, statues, soaps, and skulls. Finally, she found Dr. Jack counting essential oils on a shelf, his back to her. Before she spoke out or identified herself, he said, “Hello, Roxy. How nice to see you.”
Roxy felt shivers go up her spine. “How did you know it was me?”
“You have a very distinctive aura,” he said. “Especially tonight. A very particular kind of energy, expansive. Did you achieve a goal of some kind?”
Roxy was dumbstruck. “Well, I did finally talk to a reporter outside the Funky Cat, something I was very nervous about.”
“Aha!” he said. “Well done. Now, what can I help you with?”
“I’m looking for Sage,” she said.
“She was due here earlier,” he replied, “but had to cancel. She’s staying the night at a hotel near her client’s offices. She has a very early presentation there tomorrow morning.”
“Oh,” Roxy said, disappointed. “I was looking for a reading.”
He held his arms out. “Hello?” he said.
Roxy laughed. “Oh, I know, but…”
“No charge,” he said. “Come on, I insist. You look like you need a good reading. Let’s do a fast one. One card. Pick it.” He whipped out a tarot deck from his pocket and pointed it in her direction. “Go! No thinking, now. Thinking will overwhelm your intuition.”
Roxy shut her eyes and picked a card at random. It was a card with a young man holding a medallion. The medallion had a star on it. “The Page of Pentacles,” she read.
“A wonderful card,” Dr. Jack said. He peered at her. “It means you’re ready to manifest your dreams. This is a good time to start new projects. Look to the possibilities and potential of what you’re doing and make concrete plans. Don’t just react to how events unfold. Be proactive. Make things happen, Roxy. Push ahead.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
ROXY WAS TRYING desperately hard to heed Detective Johnson’s advice. She bustled around her room going through her early morning wakeup routine, ruminating as she did so. She was not going to go investigating and poking her nose in where it was not wanted. Instead, she was going to focus on making sure that her guests had the best time with her that they possibly could, given the grisly events that had occurred and the possibility that one of them was the murderer.
She decided to organize another trip for them, and an idea popped into her head while she was in the shower. This time, why not go to Marie Laveau’s grave? Since the steamer captain had told her about it, it had piqued Roxy’s curiosity. She’d see for herself what it was all about, and she would take her guests with her.
Roxy was undecided about what she thought of New Orleans Voodoo, but she did want to know about the heritage of the city. It was undoubtedly a special place. There was something in the air, a certain type of magic, and she wanted to understand what it was. It wasn’t just the Cajun and Creole spices, it wasn’t just the allure of Mardi Gras or the soft warmth of soulful jazz. There was a je ne sais quoi of the place, a sense of mystery about which Roxy didn’t tire of learning.
The cemetery would undoubtedly generate interesting content for the Instagrammers, and she put her idea to the influencers over breakfast. Everyone was keen to go along. Even Ada said she would join them if only for the historical aspect of the outing. “I do not believe in such witchcraft, though,” she said. “I want that noted by everyone.”
“And you think I do?” Nat said pausing as she topped up the coffee pots. “It’s just something you have to know about, being in New Orleans. It’s not like you’re going to become a Voodoo priestess tomorrow!”
Ada opened her eyes wide. There was silence at the table.
“How dare you be so impertinent!” Ada said.
“Sorry,” said Nat quickly. “I didn’t mean anything by it, Ada. I was joking around, that’s all.”
Ada continued to look outraged before looking at Lily, Sylvia, Kathy, and Derek. They were staring at her, their utensils paused in midair as they waited for this latest drama to unfold. Ada caught sight of Kathy, whose eyes were wide, her mouth forming a small “O”.
It was at just that moment that Elijah arrived. Without knocking, he breezed through the front door, sashaying his way through the lounge and dining area, one hand aloft supporting three boxes of pastries piled on top of one another. “Morning, everyone!” he cried without stopping. He turned to push the kitchen door with his behind. He gave Derek a little wave and a grin before disappearing into the kitchen.
Elijah’s appearance had pierced the heavy atmosphere and Ada relaxed. She gave Nat a small smile. “That’s okay, I forgive you. But don’t do it again,” she finished softly. Roxy breathed a sigh of relief, and Nat hurried into the kitchen, glad to have a bolthole.
“Let’s go to Marie Laveau’s this morning and get a light lunch afterward,” Roxy said brightly, keen to dispel any lingering remnants of tension. “Because I don’t know about you, but I’m not keen on going at night.”
Everyone felt the same. So she, Nat, Lily, Sylvia, Ada, Kathy, and Derek set off toward the old cemetery soon after breakfast. Roxy also called Evangeline to see if she wanted to join them, but she said, “I’ve been one hundred times before, cher, since I was a little girl. My mama had plenty a wish granted by the Voodoo Queen. Say hello to her for me, won’t you?”
Michael didn’t want to come either. “It’s just a tourist trap, Roxy. I want to experience the real spiritua
l heritage of New Orleans. Plus, my head still aches.”
Roxy thought his response was a little rude but didn’t say anything. She kept what he’d been through at the forefront of her mind. She brushed off his dismissal and prepared herself to act as tour guide.
Roxy had thought that visiting the spot in the morning would take away the eeriness of the place, but she was wrong. The Saint Louis cemetery was incredibly quiet, the silence spooky. They could hear every footstep as they walked deeper and deeper into the cemetery. It was like walking through a miniature, abandoned city. Eventually, they came upon Marie Laveau’s grave. It was a huge gray box of a mausoleum nestled in among those of others. X signs were scrawled all over the tomb, some with rings around them.
“This feels too weird,” whispered Lily, shivering even though the sun was out.
Roxy felt the same. It seemed as though even the birds had stopped singing. She told herself not to be so ridiculous, that Marie Laveau was long dead (1881!), and any stories of her spirit lingering around were just superstition.
“Marie Laveau was a hairdresser by day,” Roxy told the assembled group, “but at night she was known as the Voodoo Queen, sought after for her potions and charms. She was immensely powerful and many people were enthralled by her. It is said that even politicians, lawyers, businessmen, and the wealthy were influenced by her.”
Ada hovered at the back of the group with a guidebook. “This is very interesting from a historical perspective,” she said. Her voice shook a little.
Just then, they heard a voice coming out from behind the mausoleum. “You come to see me?” the voice bellowed, in thick, foreboding tones. Everyone jumped. Ada screamed. Lily launched herself across the group and grabbed Roxy’s arm.
Derek jumped out from behind the grave. “Haha!” he cried, showing more energy in this one moment than he had in the entire time he’d been in their company. “I scared you all, didn’t I? The looks on your faces! I should have recorded it on my phone! Now that’s an Instagram story!”
Roxy Reinhardt Mysteries Box Set Page 27