“My family’s Catholic,” Sam said, “but a lot of the Voodoo and Catholic traditions are…I guess, more interconnected than you might think. The Saints feature in both, for example.”
“Sam is correct,” Sage chimed in. “Did you know that the Africans, when they were shipped here and forced into slavery, weren’t allowed to practice their religion so they allied each of their gods with a saint and practiced covertly.
“Oh, interesting,” said Charles.
“Marie Laveau was a kind woman, a lifelong Catholic as well as being known as the Voodoo Queen. She held Voodoo ceremonies in New Orleans that thousands came to, but she also attended church regularly. She worked all sorts of magic. It’s all woven into the fabric of everyday life here, I guess. You’ll see signs of her everywhere. Or nowhere. It depends on how you look at things.” She trailed off and pursed her lips, seeming far away.
Elijah piped up. “You’ve heard of Voodoo dolls, of course?”
“Yes,” said George.
“Don’t you stick pins in them to hurt people?” Nat asked.
“I don’t think it’s quite that simple,” Elijah said frowning.
“No, it isn’t,” Sage said, coming back to the present with a chuckle. “It’s a popular misconception and something of an old wives’ tale. Most commonly they’re used to help people, or to communicate with loved ones who have passed on.”
Elijah grinned. “My grandmother told me a story once about how she was courted by someone who wasn’t so good for her. She kept trying to leave the guy, but he’d do something nice, and she’d just fall in love with him all over again. Her friends were very worried about her, so they took her to a Voodoo priestess for help. This Voodoo priestess told my grandmother to make a doll of herself and tack it to a tree upside down. It was supposed to make her stop caring about her sweetheart. So that’s what she did. And it must have worked because later she met my grandfather and was married to him for over sixty years.”
“And you are here with us!” Nat chimed in.
Elijah smiled. “Damn straight. My grandmomma never really believed in it, though. She said it must have been the placebo effect, but you never know. Either way, she looks back on that moment as a turning point in her life.”
For dessert, Roxy ordered a bruléed parsnip tart with wine-poached pears and bourbon ice cream. By the time they picked up the bill, the food, wine, and music had alleviated any heavy feelings they had felt at the beginning of the evening.
“So shall we go to the Palace of Spirits then?” Sam asked, pulling on his jacket. “I heard that’s where you were interested in going, George.”
“Now?” Nat said doubtfully.
Roxy nudged her in the ribs and giggled. “Thought you didn’t believe in any of that old rubbish.”
“Really, Nat?” George said. He sounded disappointed.
“I didn’t before, I’ll admit,” said Nat. “But hearing all these stories, I’m beginning to change my mind…Are you sure it’s safe, Sage? We’re not going to awaken some crazy spirit, are we?”
“No, honey,” said Sage. “They can be fearsome, yes, but only to protect innocent people from others who want to cause them harm.”
“This may be a dumb question,” Nat said as they walked out of the restaurant, “but am I innocent?”
George took her hand in his. “Yes, you are. You have a good heart.”
Nat blushed and pulled her hand away, but not so quick that Roxy didn’t notice. Roxy felt her jaw drop a fraction and quickly clenched her teeth.
“And if you’re in doubt,” George said, “I’ve cleansed my soul so I can be like an angel on earth. I’ll protect you from anything evil.”
“Really?” Nat replied.
“Really.”
They caught another cab to the Palace of Spirits on Bourbon Street, which turned out to be buzzing with nightlife and lit up with color. People, many of them tourists judging by the fact that they stopped every few yards to take photos with their phones, were roaming around, laughing and talking, walking in the middle of the street as they made their way down it. When the cab stopped on the corner, Sam told the driver to wait until they were done.
“I don’t know,” the cab driver said, looking nervous. He glanced down the street. “How long are you gonna be?”
“Not long,” said Charles. “Ten minutes at most.”
They walked until they arrived outside a tiny shop, a small sign that dangled from the overhanging roof announcing that they had arrived at their destination. They stood in silence looking at it.
“Not the kind of palace I’m used to, that’s for sure,” Nat said in her London accent. “Not very palace-y, is it?”
The Palace of Spirits was incongruously named. In reality, it was a tiny store in a building that needed some attention. The exterior paintwork was scuffed and peeling. The windows needed washing. A drainpipe outside was stuck with torn and peeling posters that seemed to act as Band-Aids, propping it up and holding it together. The small windows were stuffed full of…stuff. Figurines, beads, cards, masks, feathers filled the brightly-lit space. The doors to the store were open and Roxy could see the inside outdid even the window. She could see bottles, fans, crucifixes, books, jewelry, skeletons, candles, all manner of knick-knacks. It was like Dr. Jack’s botanica on steroids. There was a black t-shirt hanging from the doorway. It had a skull on it.
“Look, Nat, there’s something for everyone here.” Roxy tapped Nat on the arm and pointed upward. Nat looked up and scowled. She looked decidedly uncomfortable despite George’s assurances.
“I’m not sure about this. I wish Meredith were here,” Charles said. “This doesn’t seem like a good place. She’d know how to deal with difficult spirits better than any of us.”
“Don’t worry,” Sage said. “We’re here for a good reason. It can’t hurt, and it might just help. You never know. Let’s go in and see if we can connect with a senior spirit, maybe even Marie Laveau herself!” Despite the liveliness all around them, Roxy began to feel a little nervous.
Sage led them inside. There was no one in the outer part of the shop so they continued to the back room, this one dimly lit. Skeletons, skulls, even a wrought iron gate were laid out there, along with beads, an altar, and wreaths long since dead and dried out. Beyond that, there was a doorway covered with a black lace veil. Sam took the lead through it into a dark room illuminated only by flickering candles.
“STOP!” someone yelled. They all jumped out of their skin. Roxy screamed.
A woman appeared from another back door—a very tall, skinny, terrifying-looking woman with alabaster, almost transparent skin, and straggly, jet-black hair that fell around her shoulders. She had an angular face with a diamond-shaped chin and thin, dry lips that were peeling. The woman was dressed entirely in black and glared at them with small, dark eyes, clearly unafraid of the group in front of her despite there being seven of them.
“Let’s get out of here!” Nat whispered frantically.
“Wait!” George said to her. He turned back to the woman. George wasn’t very tall, but he drew himself up to his full height and spoke. His voice sounded strong and confident, but Roxy heard a shaky undertone. “We would like to connect with your most senior spirit,” he said. “To ask a favor.”
The woman replied through gritted teeth as though she were suppressing some kind of rage that had presumably and inexplicably been caused by the strangers in front of her. Her hard low tone sent shivers down Roxy’s spine. “They are not here right now. The Palace of Spirits is out of bounds. I suggest you come back tomorrow,” she added although it clearly wasn’t a suggestion at all.
“Okay,” Elijah said quickly. “Let’s go. I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere tonight.”
“Are you sure?” Sage tried to cajole the woman. “We come with pure intentions and good hearts.”
The woman in black inhaled deeply, her eyes blazing. Like George, she drew herself up to her full height that, to Roxy, seemed rathe
r tall, almost as tall as Sam.
“Okay, okay, we hear you. Let’s go, people,” Sam said before the woman could say anything to frighten them further. They started filing out of the room into the street except for George who stood his ground until Nat caught his sleeve and started to pull him away from the woman.
“We’re not afraid of you and your darkness!” George shouted at her. “I’m sending out positive healing energy at this very moment. There’s a sinister ritual being performed in that room, I can feel it.” He pointed to the door through which the woman had emerged.
“Clever boy,” the woman growled.
“You won’t get away with it,” George said firmly. “You won’t!”
The woman said nothing, her pointed chin lifted, triumphant.
Nat laughed, though it sounded like she was almost crying. “No problem. We’ll just be going now.”
The group scurried back the way they had come, dodging and weaving through the tourists back to the cab. As soon as the car doors closed, they breathed a collective sigh of relief.
“To the Funky Cat Inn,” Roxy said to the driver. “As quickly as you can.”
“What was that all about?” Nat asked George. She was squeezed in the corner of the back seat next to Elijah and Sage and had to look around them at George. “What did you mean by a ‘sinister ritual’? How did you know?”
George was frowning. “There was dark energy, the blackest. I’m still feeling it. It’s so heavy.” He leaned his head back. “I’ll need time to understand what it means.”
They were all silent as they drove back to the Funky Cat, even Elijah. Roxy looked out of the window, her elbow on the window ledge, her palm propping up her chin, her lips pursed. She had that leaden feeling one gets after something has gone badly wrong.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“ANYONE WANT A nightcap?” Roxy asked brightly when they arrived back at the hotel. She was trying to rescue the evening.
“I have to head off, Roxy girl,” Elijah said. “I have an early start.”
“Me too, honey,” said Sage. “I have a marathon meditation session set for tomorrow morning.”
“I’m going straight to bed.” Charles let out a deep sigh.
“I’ll be contacting the spirits for some time yet. I need to go to my room right away.” George was emphatic.
Roxy nodded. She didn’t have any enthusiasm either. “You’re right. It’s best that we all go to bed and wake up bright and early in the morning, hopefully in better moods.”
Outside the hotel, they said their farewells and dispersed. “Night, Roxy,” Sam had said simply before he left. Roxy disconsolately watched the cab drive him and Elijah away. She hung her head and went inside.
“How you doing, girlfriend?” Nat asked her. She wound a loose arm around her friend’s neck.
“Oh, I don’t know. Things just don’t feel…right, you know? I feel out of sorts.”
“Yeah, that was weird what happened back there.”
“I think I’m going to bed. There’s nothing to be gained from staying up given the mood I’m in.” Roxy moved to lock the front door.
“Yeah, me too.” Nat left her and walked through the lounge toward the kitchen. She lived in a unit behind the hotel.
“Night, Nat,” Roxy called out.
“N—, hey, look!” Nat whispered. She held her fingers to her lips and beckoned Roxy over. Roxy padded lightly to where Nat was standing. “Looks like Neffi has had a better night than we have,” Nat said, pointing.
Roxy looked over to the sofa and there entwined together fast asleep, their tails twitching, was Nefertiti and her ginger tom.
At some point during the night, Nefertiti must have abandoned her stripy orange friend, or he’d abandoned her because when Roxy woke the next morning, Nefertiti was curled up beside her. Roxy stroked her gently, staring up at the ceiling, her thoughts turning to the investigation immediately.
Roxy knew she needed to question both Charles and George. Of course, she didn’t want to amplify their grief, but the clock was ticking. She knew that today she’d have to engineer some kind of opportunity to talk to them about Meredith’s life and death.
She didn’t relish the prospect, but the thought of Dr. Jack languishing in a cell under the firm hand of Detective Johnson was enough to spur her into action. Even more important was her commitment to him. Roxy was utterly reliable. When she gave her word, she gave her heart and soul along with it.
“I’m going to talk to one of them over breakfast, Neffi. Charles or George—it doesn’t matter which one. That’s my goal.” Roxy got up, had a quick shower and dressed for the day. She nipped over to Elijah’s bakery to pick up fresh beignets.
“Morning darling!” Elijah called out. He was wearing chef’s whites and a hair net. It always surprised Roxy to see him kitted out so bland and dorky. It was such a change from his “off-duty” attire, but then perhaps that was the point.
“Thought I’d save you the walk across the cobblestones. Have you got my order ready?” she said.
“Of course I have. Just like always.” Elijah sauntered over to a side counter. “And I gave you a bonus, something new I’m trying—top box. Don’t open it now. Come back and tell me what you think.” He handed her two big white boxes that when piled on top of one another were so tall she could barely see over them. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll manage,” Roxy replied. “Just an ongoing hazard of being small.” Elijah went around her to open the door and then had to dash across the alleyway to open the front door to her hotel when he saw that she couldn’t manage by herself.
Once in the kitchen, Roxy opened the boxes, excited to see what Elijah had made for her. He often tried out new recipes on her guests. They were always fabulous. Elijah was such a perfectionist that he would never let anything leave his bakery unless he was certain of a positive reception.
The first box contained beignets, as usual. She turned to the second and took off the lid. There, on a paper plate covered with a paper doily, were five piles of sweet, chocolate-y deliciousness. Each pastry comprised of two choux buns that were sandwiched together, topped with chocolate ganache, and further topped with whipped cream. Roxy sliced one open and more ganache oozed out from inside the buns. “They’re called Religieuse,” Elijah would tell her later.
“I can see why,” Roxy had replied.
Roxy didn’t have to taste one to know they would be divine. She debated whether to save them but decided they would make an impressive sight first thing in the morning and quickly slid the doily with the pastries onto a china plate and along with the beignets, put them on the serving table in the dining room.
“Good morning, Roxy,” George said when he strode in. “Those beignets smell like heaven.”
Roxy grinned. “Freshly made this morning. I picked them up myself. They are still warm. But look at what else I have for you.” She showed him the plate of choux pastries with a flourish. “New and fresh from Elijah’s Bakery just minutes ago. Try one.”
George didn’t need to be asked twice. He took a bite and closed his eyes. “Hmmm, these are gorgeous. Melt in the mouth.”
“Sorry, sorry, sorry I’m late!” Nat said, running in and throwing her apron over her head. Her dark hair was spiky and unbrushed. She’d obviously just rolled out of bed.
“Hey! Don’t worry about it!” George said to her smiling. This morning, he was her exact opposite. He was bright-eyed and smiley, his face scrubbed pink, his hair freshly jelled, and his clothes casual but neat. “We all had a late night last night. Looks like Charles has slept in, too.”
“Yep. I’m tired.” There were dark rings under Nat’s eyes. “What would you like for breakfast, George? I am not too tired to make whatever you want.” She cast a nervous glance over in Roxy’s direction as she checked her manager’s reaction.
“I don’t normally go for a hot breakfast, but I’d love some oatmeal if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Of course not!” Nat said. �
��I’ll get to it right away. Oh, and I’ll bring some juices and coffee and tea in. Roxy, I’m really sorry.”
“It’s fine, Nat, honestly,” said Roxy kindly.
“Do you want anything?”
“I think after that dinner last night, I’ll stick with a beignet and some tea,” said Roxy. “I still feel full.”
George sat down at the table and began to munch on another choux pastry.
Roxy took a deep breath. She had him alone. Now was her chance to question him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“YOU’RE CONCERNED,” GEORGE said.
Roxy looked at him over the table. He put his hands under his chin and looked back at her steadily, a warm smile on his face. Roxy had never met an adult who was so comfortable with eye contact. He had the credulous, artless gaze of a six-year-old.
Roxy nodded. “You’re a good reader of people, George. I’m worried about Dr. Jack. Honestly, I think it’s very unlikely he killed Meredith, especially over such a minor argument, but I’m willing to keep an open mind. Do you know if there was any history between them?”
“I don’t think so,” said George. “At least Meredith never mentioned any. She simply asked me to book a small private room in New Orleans for her reading. It was me that found Dr. Jack’s botanica. She had never met him before.”
“Did Meredith ask you to do a lot of things like that?”
“Of course. She was supposed to. I was her assistant. I did whatever she wanted.” He gave her a broad grin. He had a slight gap between his front teeth. “And I did it with a smile.”
Roxy shifted in her seat. “Look, George, I’m going to be direct now,” she said, eyeing him carefully. “Meredith didn’t seem very kind to you. I noticed her, well, um, snapping at you and ordering you around.”
George’s smile faded, and he looked down at the tablecloth before lifting his eyes to Roxy once again. “She didn’t have to be kind to me, Roxy. She wasn’t on this earth to be kind. She was here to be brilliant and sharp and a psychic genius, which she was. It was an honor to be her assistant, her apprentice. I was learning from the best. How she treated me was neither here nor there.”
Roxy Reinhardt Mysteries Box Set Page 41