When she’d first arrived in New Orleans, Roxy would have sprinted as fast as she could away from a situation such as this. Now though, she was much, much braver. Life had so much to offer, she’d learned, if you stuck around for it, if you opened your mind and took it all in.
“Okay, now everyone, silence,” Meredith ordered. “I must raise the spirits and see if they are willing to speak to us. This might take some time. It can be tricky if they are not in the mood.” Meredith began to talk in a booming, commanding voice. “Spirits of New Orleans, all those who are favorable, come unto us in this moment. Spirits of the earth, of the air, of the fire, of the river, come unto us.”
Roxy heard Meredith inhale through her nose and puff out a long breath through her lips. “We are here now, to learn of your wisdom from the other side. We revere your grace, your beauty, and your wisdom. We understand your ownership of higher forms of life, of knowledge, that which is gained through your experiences both here on earth and in other realms, and we humbly ask that we may gain your insights so that we may make progress and prosper.”
Roxy felt this talk was very strange indeed. She opened her eyes wide in the darkness, hoping that might enable her to see something, anything.
“Royston Lamontagne!” Meredith shouted so loudly and suddenly that Roxy flinched. She imagined everyone else did too, although she couldn’t see the slightest thing in the darkness. The source of Meredith’s voice changed a little, and Roxy could tell that she was standing. “We are here to attend first to Royston Lamontagne!” Meredith said in such a deep voice that Roxy almost doubted it was her speaking. “Royston, your humble question for the spirits please…”
“I want to know how I should proceed in my business. There are signs that a very difficult deal may turn nasty, and I wish to know the best steps to take to protect my safety and the safety of my business, but most of all, that of my dog Fenton.”
“Spirits, we bring this question to you!” lamented Meredith. “Please, give us the answers we need.”
There was a long silence. Meredith began to hum in a high, light, singsong voice, like a child’s. No answers from the spirits seemed to be forthcoming and as she waited, Meredith’s humming got louder and louder. Roxy could hear the older woman’s clothing rustling and concluded that Meredith was swaying from side to side.
BANG!
The single sound reverberated around the room. The humming stopped. There was a clatter as something landed on the table, followed by a thud as something large and heavy fell to the floor.
CHAPTER FOUR
FOR A SECOND, Roxy ran all kinds of visions in her mind as the well of panic threatened to take her over again. Was this part of the séance? Had an evil spirit just made its presence felt? Everyone else seemed to be wondering the same thing. A silence stretched out into the blackness.
It was Dr. Jack who broke it. “Meredith?” he said.
There was no answer.
Someone got out of their chair and suddenly, with a tiny click, the room was far too bright. Roxy, as if in slow motion and shielding her eyes from the brightness, turned to see Dr. Jack, his hand reaching behind the curtain as he turned on the light switch. Still squinting, she looked wildly back to the table and her eyes landed on George, his eyes growing wide as he stared at the floor.
Roxy looked down. Meredith lay there, her hands by her ears, her mouth open in surprise, and her eyes staring. A rapidly growing dark stain in the middle of her chest marred her white blouse, the ruffles of which no longer shook. This was no performance. This was real. The image was horrifying but as much as she wanted to look away, Roxy kept staring at the woman lying on the floor. Then she noticed the gun on the table and time seemed to slow down even further.
Slowly the occupants of the room became aware of one another and what had just happened. They all stared at each other wordlessly, in complete and utter shock.
“What?” Terah breathed after some seconds. “What?”
“Who…who did that?” said Dr. Jack, looking at each of them in turn.
Royston Lamontagne shook his head, his hand at his mouth, his sunglasses still obscuring his eyes. He stood and half fell, half stumbled around the room, muttering something about “Fenton.” Meredith’s husband Charles had turned completely white and looked like he may fall down himself from the shock. George let out a wail that pierced Roxy’s body like a dagger.
“I’m getting out of here, now,” said Terah, gripping her purse and rushing to the door.
But Dr. Jack was faster. He dashed from his chair to intercept her. “Oh no, you don’t,” he said. “We must stay here. We have to call the police.” He turned to everyone in the room, shaking. “One of you here did this. I don’t know who, but I know that you have committed a murderous act. Not only will the police punish you, but the spirits will, too, mark my words. Now, come outside into the botanica, but you must stay in the building. I’m calling Detective Johnson, New Orleans PD.”
Everyone filed out of the room, all of them deathly silent except for George, who was sobbing his eyes out, his face red and moist. Roxy turned to see Charles hang back just a little. He kneeled and clutched Meredith’s hand. He kissed it. “Goodbye, my sweet darling,” he said. He stayed there for some time until Roxy went over to him and gently encouraged him up.
Outside in the botanica, Dr. Jack locked the front door. Then he locked the door to the backroom. “We must protect the crime scene.” He turned to the small group—Roxy, Terah, Lamontagne (who had now been reunited with his little dog Fenton), Charles and George. Jack’s eyes were full of sorrow. “I don’t know what on earth is going on. Neither will Detective Johnson. But the spirits do, and you can bet it will all come out. Whoever did this, you have violated a sacred space, taken an innocent life. You are playing with life and death as if they are mere children’s games. The killer, whichever one of you it is, has made a grave error. A very grave error indeed.”
“What’s all this then?” Detective Johnson said as he stepped into the botanica after Dr. Jack had unlocked the door to allow him to enter. He looked in all directions and Roxy tracked his eyes as he took it all in—the incense burners, the skulls, the crystals, the essential oils. Undisguised hostility emanated from him as normal, but Roxy thought she discerned a little vulnerability behind his eyes.
“Someone’s been killed,” said Dr. Jack.
Johnson’s gaze swiveled as he took in not just the strange objects in the botanica, but the strange people. Charles, George, Lamontagne, and Terah stood or sat around the botanica desultorily looking about them. “You told me that already,” Johnson snapped. His shiny head reflected the different colors rotating through the botanica as the low, early evening sun shone through the windows onto the crystals which dispersed the light into tiny rainbows. “Who’s the vic?”
“Meredith Romanoff, the renowned psychic and spirit communicator,” said Dr. Jack grimly, wincing at Johnson’s overfamiliar and disrespectful manner.
“Renowned what?” Johnson said waving his hand dismissively. “Never mind.” He rounded on George, who was sobbing in a corner by the oracle decks. “And who’s this then? The son, I presume?”
“No,” George said, gasping through tears. “I am, was, her assistant spirit communicator.”
Johnson threw his eyes to the ceiling. “Right. Okay.” He turned and caught Roxy’s eye. He started in surprise. “You! Why do I always find you at some crime scene or other?” He curled his lip and growled.
“I don’t know,” Roxy said truthfully. “I can assure you, Detective, that I’m no happier about this than you are.”
Johnson fixed his unwavering glare on her. “I’m watching you. Just know that, Ms. Reinhardt.” He turned to Dr. Jack. “Well, where’s the body?”
“She’s not a body. She’s a person,” George wailed. “Oh…” He threw his head forward over his lap and embarked on another jag of prolonged sobbing.
Roxy looked at Charles, who was still ashen. He sat on a seat in front
of the counter, looking almost dead himself. He had barely moved as much as his eyes since Johnson arrived. They were fixed on a point on the floor.
“In the backroom,” replied Dr. Jack to Johnson.
“Look, I have to get to an important meeting,” said Royston Lamontagne. He spoke around his little dog who was licking his face hungrily. The businessman marched up to Johnson, looking him directly in the eye. He removed his sunglasses to reveal piercing, angry black eyes. His shoulders were squared and his fist, the one that wasn’t under Fenton’s chest, was clenched. “I must get away as soon as possible. I have business to attend to.”
Johnson snorted. “You could be having coffee with the President for all I care, but you’ll not get away any earlier. You’ll leave when I say you can.”
Royston’s lips pursed with obvious fury, and he glared at Johnson. But wisely, he said nothing and threw himself down on a chair next to Charles.
Johnson nodded at Dr. Jack. “In there?”
“Yes. Let me unlock the door.” Johnson put plastic covers over his shoes and briefly disappeared inside the room. Everyone else in the store was silent and still except for George, whose sobs had petered out to be replaced by tiny sniffs punctuated by the occasional heaving sigh.
Johnson reappeared and spoke into his radio, “Back up for forensics and questioning at… What’s this place called again?” he asked the room.
“Dr. Jack’s Botanica,” Dr. Jack replied.
“Erm, Dr. Jack’s Botanica, 22 52nd Street. Be quick about it, y’hear. Homicide.”
The door to the botanica opened and in strutted a young officer. He thrust his chin into the air. “Officer Newman Trudeau,” he said to Roxy who was standing just inside the doorway. “Where is Detective Johnson?”
Before Roxy could answer, she heard Johnson groan. “They sent the country boy, did they?” he said.
“My name is Officer Trudeau, sir,” the policeman said. His eye contact was solid for a few long seconds until it stuttered under the unblinking gaze of the senior detective. Trudeau looked away.
“Question everyone here about everything,” Johnson ordered, “Dr. Jack… you’re not a real doctor, are you?”
“Well, that depends what you view as certification,” Dr. Jack explained. “I was trained in the herbal medicine of the Andes mountain people, and…”
“That’ll be a ‘no’ then,” Johnson said. “Jack, where can Newbie… sorry Officer Newman Trudeau conduct his interviews? Is there another back room? Or will we have to transport y’all back to the station?”
“There’s only a restroom,” Dr. Jack said.
“Will a chair fit in there?”
“Yes,” said Dr. Jack.
Johnson grinned nastily, showing imperfect teeth as he looked at Trudeau. “Just the thing.”
“But sir, wouldn’t it be more professional to take them to…”
“No,” said Johnson abruptly, “it would not. Question them one by one in the restroom and try to do it properly, boy. I don’t want any rookie mistakes. I’m going out to get a sandwich. I expect the interviews to be done and recorded effectively by the time I get back. I want you to present to me all the evidence in a coherent fashion on my return. Understood?”
Roxy saw Officer Trudeau’s hands shaking. “Right, sir. Yes, sir.”
Johnson swaggered out and wedged his large form behind the steering wheel of his unmarked police car. With a powerful surge of acceleration that, Roxy suspected, was for his onlookers benefit, Detective Johnson drove off.
Officer Trudeau, on the other hand, clearly felt humiliated and now, with his superior gone, his humiliation morphed into self-importance. He assembled his features into an expression that he clearly hoped telegraphed authority and opened his mouth to speak.
“Now, look,” his words came out croaky. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Now look, I don’t want no talk of ghosties and ghoulies in your interviews, y’hear? None of that nonsense. You’ll stick to the facts and only the facts. Okay?”
“Yes, sir,” Terah said. “Absolutely, sir. I’m with you. I’m not sure I believe all that either. Seems as though being on good terms with the spirits didn’t exactly help Meredith any, did it?”
“Hmph, let’s keep our opinions to ourselves too, shall we? Now, Jack or whatever your name is, put those chairs in the restroom.”
“You’ll only need one. There’s no room for a second. One of you will have to sit on the toilet.”
“You,” Officer Trudeau said, pointing at Roxy. “Let’s have you first. Get in there. And fast. I don’t have no time to waste.”
Roxy sighed. Why was it always she who got interviewed first? She felt a little bit sick. Johnson made her feel uncomfortable, but this Officer Trudeau seemed almost worse. While Johnson was officious and arrogant, Trudeau had something to prove, and it seemed unlikely he would give up until he’d proved it.
Roxy followed the police officer into the rest room and shut the door behind her. With them both in there, there was no room to turn around.
“I think you’ll have to sit on the toilet, Officer. That way your witnesses can get in and out easily,” Roxy ventured carefully. It wasn’t a very luxurious restroom, just a simple small room with white tiles on the walls and floor, a toilet, a sink, and a small window.
“Absolutely not,” Trudeau said again. They engaged in an awkward dance as they tried unsuccessfully to change places by squeezing sideways and sidling past one another. It was impossible.
Grudgingly, Trudeau finally accepted Roxy’s argument, and she was treated to the sight of an officer of the law sitting atop a toilet seat interviewing her as she sat on a chair next to the sink. They were uncomfortably close together, their knees almost touching. Trudeau’s humiliation was now total.
CHAPTER FIVE
“RIDICULOUS,” ROXY HEARD Trudeau mutter under his breath. He balanced his phone on the edge of the basin and set up the recording. He looked at her, his gray eyes so penetrating that she had to look away for a moment. “State your name and date of birth.”
“Roxanne Melissa Reinhardt, 2, 27, 1995.”
“Occupation?”
“Manager of the Funky Cat Inn.”
Trudeau then spoke the date, time, and location of the interview. He omitted the fact that they were in a bathroom. On his knees, he set a paper notebook.
“Right,” he said. “Tell me what happened.”
Roxy explained the evening’s events as Trudeau feverishly wrote everything down.
“Do you have any previous connection with Meredith Romanoff?”
“None,” said Roxy. “She was recommended my hotel by Dr. Jack. She wanted to stay somewhere more intimate than the big impersonal chain hotel where her main event is taking place. Oh! That’ll have to be canceled now. Oh dear.” Roxy looked at the floor for a moment. “Well, anyway, I came here to pick up her baggage as a courtesy, but she called me back and invited me to attend the séance. That’s the only reason I am here, her request. She said the spirits were demanding my presence.” Roxy could hear how silly her words sounded, a view reflected in Officer Trudeau’s expression. He raised his eyebrows just a fraction and pursed his lips.
“Do you know anything about the relationship between the owner of this store and the victim?”
“Dr. Jack? Nothing.”
“Was there any tension between Meredith Romanoff and anyone else this evening?”
Roxy swallowed and thought back to the argument between Dr. Jack and Meredith that she had chanced upon when she had arrived at the botanica. “Well, yes. I mean, I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything…”
Trudeau slapped his pencil down onto his notebook. “I didn’t ask you if it meant anything,” he snapped. “I’m not searching for the meaning of life like you hippie-types. I want information. Stick to the cold hard facts, not what you think they mean.” He sighed, exasperated, and picked up his pencil again. Clearly he’d been a student of Detective Johnson’s interview methods.
“Are you new? To the New Orleans police force, I mean?” Roxy asked, before realizing that she wasn’t being very tactful. “I… I’m just curious. I’ve not seen you around before.”
“No, I am not new to the police force,” he said. “I’ve been working in a rural part of the state. But that doesn’t mean I’m not tough or cut out for detective work in the city.”
“No, no, of course not. I—I see,” Roxy stuttered, but Trudeau continued.
“I’ve shut down some real bad dog-fighting rings in my time, I can tell you, and I’ve also solved a lot of gun crime cases. It’s not all sleepy farms in rural Louisiana, despite what you might have heard.” Roxy had clearly hit a nerve. Trudeau was babbling. “In any case, I can tell you’re not from this area by your accent. It’s very obvious. Do you know about rural poverty, and the crimes it causes? Of course, you don’t.”
“Actually,” Roxy said sharply. “I grew up in poverty myself, in Ohio. I am well-acquainted with the drug problems and other crimes that happen in these communities. I know how tough it is.”
“Right,” said Trudeau. He stared at her, then his expression softened and he quickly looked away. In that second, Roxy recognized a fellow traveler. She knew that Trudeau had had a similar upbringing to her, one where shoes ended up with holes in the soles yet didn’t get replaced, where cockroaches scuttled across the kitchen, where sleep was merely a short respite from the constant strain that living in such tenuous circumstances brought about. Empathy was strong in Roxy, and she felt for him. Trudeau was trying to prove himself in the big city, to better his life, just as she was. All was forgiven for a moment as she caught on to the bond they shared.
“Continue with what you were saying,” he said, more gently this time.
“Well, Meredith and Dr. Jack were arguing when I arrived,” Roxy said. “I’m quite sure he didn’t kill her, though. He would never do that.”
Roxy Reinhardt Mysteries Box Set Page 33