Witness on the Run

by Cassie Miles

  “Really? Are you telling me that death isn’t a bummer?”

  “Death don’t always mean being buried in the cemetery—could be an end of things, like a bad habit.”

  “Truth,” Jolene said. “Many smokers come to me.”

  Her gestures were quick, darting, almost birdlike. Her skinny arms waved emphatically when she talked, clanking her many bracelets and sending her necklaces twirling. She fluttered energetically in the back room of her shop, where a huge mural of dancing skeletons and a fire-breathing dragon decorated the walls. The shelves were lined with candles and jars filled with mysterious substances. Incense tainted the air and mingled with the scent of something bubbling in a pot on a hot plate. Alyssa hoped the stew was chicken.

  She didn’t really believe in voodoo or magic, but she found the practice interesting. Besides, getting a reading from Jolene was a good alternative to thinking about what was going on with Rafe and Charlotte. “Can you really use magic to get people to quit smoking?”

  “If they believe in dragon’s blood,” Jolene said, “I can cure them.”

  “Where do you find dragon’s blood?”

  “Special formula. It comes from plants and trees.” She held a small vial containing a crimson liquid. “Very precious. I use dragon’s blood to make the gris-gris I sell in my shop.”

  “A gris-gris is a lucky amulet, right?”

  “And so much more. My gris-gris wards off evil and turns away zombies.”

  She’d been in New Orleans long enough to understand that voodoo wasn’t always about ugly little dolls to stick pins into and rituals to cast dark spells. Most of the magic involved love potions or ritual enchantments to bring fame and fortune. “Can I buy a gris-gris necklace from you? I need all the protection I can get.”

  “First, we talk of your future.” Jolene touched the bill of Alyssa’s baseball cap. “Take this off.”

  She removed the cap. “Now what?”

  “Sit, my child.”

  Alyssa sank into the patterned cushions of a low rattan chair. Glancing at her phone, she checked the time. Rafe had been gone for eighteen minutes. She estimated eight to ten minutes to get to the Corner Oak Tavern and back here. That meant he’d been talking to her aunt for about eight minutes. Would he bring her here? Could he convince Charlotte that she was in danger?

  Jolene combed her fingers through Alyssa’s hair. “Clear your mind,” she said. “Stop your worrying. Forget your woes.”

  Not necessarily good advice. Alyssa tended to suppress her negative emotions. A therapist had told her she needed to deal with all these issues: abandonment by her father, her mom’s early death by hit-and-run, witnessing a murder and the whole WitSec thing. No, thanks. She’d rather do it the voodoo way. “Forget my woes.”

  Perching like a colorful canary, Jolene took a seat on the opposite side of a small round table draped in woven kente cloth from Ghana. She motioned for Sheila Marie to join them. “Alyssa, place your hands on the table, palms down.”

  She tilted her vial of dragon blood and allowed a drop to fall on the back of Alyssa’s hand. While she murmured incomprehensible syllables, Jolene smeared the red liquid in a jagged pattern. She put on a good show. Alyssa’s only other experiences with fortune tellers hadn’t been half so dramatic.

  “In your future,” Jolene said, “there is a man.”

  Sheila Marie cackled. “Tall, dark and handsome, I betcha.”

  “Not this man. He is not tall. A nice smile...” She rubbed her upper lip. “And he has a mustache. A kind man and strong, he has many secrets.”

  She had to be talking about Max Horowitz. Ever since Alyssa learned that Davidoff was coming to town, she’d been thinking that it was time to make the emergency call to her former boss. “Will he help me?”

  “He would do anything for you. He would die for you.”

  That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Dragging Mr. Horowitz into danger was the last thing she wanted. “If I call him, what will happen?”

  “I cannot say.” She leaned back from the table, distancing herself.

  “That’s not fair,” Alyssa said. “What kind of fortune teller are you? I need answers.”

  “I’m not a carnival act.” Quickly, Jolene leaped to her feet, ready to take flight. “I am a seer. I connect with the future and the past. I can advise you, my child, but there are too many variables to make an accurate prediction.”

  “Advise me. Should I contact this man?”

  “The decision is yours,” she said archly. “It’s not my job to make you happy.”

  “Back it up,” Sheila Marie said. “You got to tell her about the French man with the powerful mojo. He is important.”

  “When it comes to him, she doesn’t need my advice,” Jolene said. “They are already bonded, hand to hand and heart to heart.”

  Alyssa liked the way that sounded. She peered at the painted bamboo curtain that separated this small room from the outer store. Any minute, Rafe should be here.

  In the meantime, she bought a gris-gris amulet that was marked with genuine dragon’s blood and found a quiet corner to make her phone call to Mr. Horowitz. She punched the number she had memorized into her phone. After three rings, a mechanical voice answered and repeated the number back to her. She selected her words carefully, not wanting to give too much away.

  “You told me to call if I needed your help, and I do. Everyone thinks I know where the millions are hidden, and I might have a clue if I can compare inventory with my accounting. At least, I’ll know what was stolen. I miss you. All I want is for this to be over. Life used to be safe and calm, and I want that life back.”

  She stopped herself before she launched into a nostalgic memory of the Christmases he’d spent with her and her mom or the spring days when they strolled along the lakefront. This wasn’t the time for sweet, soft memories. She needed to be strong.

  “Charlotte came back from the dead,” she said. “Seeing her makes me think of Mom.”

  Her comment was too personal. If anyone other than Mr. Horowitz was listening, they’d know she was the caller. “Anyway, please get in touch with me. I’m in New Orleans. Oh yeah, and I met a guy. You’d like him. ’Bye for now.”

  Before she put her phone away, she checked the time. Rafe had been gone for forty-two minutes. A lot of bad mojo could happen in that amount of time.

  * * *

  RAFE PERFORMED BASIC first aid on Jessop. The bleeding was minimal, and there were no deep lacerations from gunshot or knife wounds. Jessop had been beaten, and his head wound was beyond Rafe’s rudimentary skills. He shouted over his shoulder at Charlotte, “Call 911.”

  “I can’t. This is my damn room. The cops will think I did this.”

  He doubted there was anybody who’d suspect her of pistol-whipping a physically fit, well-trained federal agent. Charlotte was tall but didn’t have the muscles to inflict this level of damage. “Just make the call.”

  “Can we move him out of my room?”

  “He’s unconscious and in bad shape. By moving him, we might make his injuries worse.” Why was he even talking to her? He took his phone from his pocket and tapped in the numbers.

  “Rafe, no. You don’t understand. I can’t go to jail.”

  “We’ll wait for the ambulance, and I’ll get you out of here.”

  “But the room is in my name.”

  An alias, he thought. After ten years on the run, Charlotte knew better than to use a name that could be traced. When the 911 dispatcher answered, he gave the important information. “We have a 10-999, officer down, immediate assistance requested. Send a bus to this address, second floor.”

  Instead of staying on the line as instructed by the dispatcher, he disconnected and looked over at Charlotte. “Bring me a pillow and a blanket.”

  “Why?”

  “To prevent shock.” Jessop w
as breathing steadily and groaning.” Rafe leaned close and spoke with urgency. “Who did this to you? Give me a name.”

  Still, Jessop didn’t open his eyes. If anything, he squeezed them shut, blocking out the overhead light in the bathroom. When he tried to move, it was apparent that his right arm had been injured. Likely, his shoulder was separated—an injury that Rafe could fix if Jessop moved into the right position. He decided to wait for the paramedics.

  Jessop’s eyelids fluttered as though he was struggling to regain consciousness, trying to wake up and name his attackers. Rafe encouraged him. “Tell me, mon ami. Who hurt you?”

  There had to be at least two of them, maybe more. Rafe took the pillow from Charlotte and used it to elevate Jessop’s head. Though he didn’t wake up, Jessop responded with a gasp. His mouth opened. A thin trickle of blood spilled from the corner.

  Rafe tried to reconstruct what had happened in this room. Jessop wasn’t the sort of man who came up with elaborate conspiracies; his actions would be straightforward. He had arranged to get Charlotte out of the way, drinking at a blues club. While she was gone, he went to her room. But why? What was he looking for? She must have evidence in her possession. He remembered that Jessop had a connection with Davidoff and might have been doing his bidding.

  The thugs must have been waiting in the room to ambush him. If they’d interrupted Jessop midsearch, he would have pulled his weapon, and it didn’t look like he’d had time to get off a shot. His holster was empty, and there was no smell of gunpowder in the air. The men who attacked were cowards and definitely not geniuses. Leaving a witness alive wasn’t a smart move.

  Charlotte peeked over his shoulder. “Is he going to be okay?”

  This was the first time she’d showed concern. “With a head injury, his condition is unpredictable.”

  “He’s a nice man. I hope he recovers.”

  From outside, he heard the scream of an approaching ambulance. “Do you know who attacked him? Can you take a guess?”

  “You mentioned Davidoff,” she said.

  “Why would he come after Jessop? Does he want something from you, Charlotte?”

  In an angry huff, she stamped away from the bathroom, returned in a shot and snapped at him. “Can’t you just take my word? It was Davidoff.”

  “You’re a liar and a scam artist. I wouldn’t take your word for the time of day if you showed me a clock.” The ambulance was louder. “You need my help, Charlotte.”

  “Get me out of New Orleans, and I’ll tell you what Davidoff wants.”

  Not a great deal, but he had very little choice. The longer he stayed at this crime scene, the longer Alyssa was unprotected. “Listen to me, Charlotte. When the paramedics get here, stay out of the way. They’ll have to use the staircase to move Jessop. The elevator is too narrow.”

  “Should we take the elevator to the ground floor?”

  “Too obvious,” he said. “The bastards who attacked Jessop are probably watching.”

  “What should I do?”

  “Grab your necessary stuff. We’ve got to run.”

  He wiped his hand on a towel before sending a similar text to Alyssa. Be ready to go.

  Moments later, they heard the EMTs coming up the staircase, dragging their equipment and complaining with every step. While Charlotte disappeared into a closet, Rafe directed them to the bathroom. “This man is a federal agent. Check his wallet.”

  “You should stick around, pal. The police are going to have questions.”

  “You got here fast, merci.”

  “Pas de quoi.” The paramedic grinned. “It’s our job.”

  Rafe stepped out of the way while they worked on Jessop. He was lucky that the ambulance arrived before the police A call of “officer down” usually brought an aggressive response. He heard their sirens approaching.

  Charlotte came toward him. She had used her few minutes alone to prepare for flight, changing from a light dress to black slacks, black jacket and sneakers for running. She had a small backpack on her shoulders. He was glad to be wearing a dark-colored windbreaker to cover the blood. They would blend into the darkness, and they needed every advantage to evade the local police and the people who had attacked Jessop. “You need to do as I say,” he told her.

  “Absolutely.”

  Her quick agreement was something of a surprise. Alyssa never would have accepted his leadership without a fight. Maybe her aunt had something to teach her after all.

  Without exchanging a word, they exited her hotel room and rushed to the elevator. Instead of going down, he hit the “up” button, taking them to the fourth floor where they exited into an empty hallway. So far, so good. He motioned for Charlotte to follow and crept down the hall to a door at the end of the hall. He jiggled the handle, played with the lock. The door opened onto a fire escape.

  Rafe went first. On the metal fire escape, he ducked and peeked through the bars at the chaos in the street below. Two ambulances and four police cars blocked traffic. A crowd of watchers gathered on the sidewalk, chatting and drinking.

  He scanned until he saw a man who stood alone and didn’t seem to be observing the police action. Instead, he stared at the building, watching. He tilted his head and looked up.

  Though Rafe had only seem him once before from a distance, he recognized Woodbridge.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Nervous, Alyssa paced on the wood floor in the front shop at Dragon’s Blood Voodoo Emporium. Moments ago, she’d gotten a text from Rafe, warning her to be on the lookout for Woodbridge and his buddies. Her thumb rubbed the leather of the gris-gris amulet that hung from her neck, and she prayed that Rafe was unharmed. Sending him to meet with her aunt might have been a mistake, but she couldn’t ignore the signs of danger that pointed at Charlotte like daggers.

  Sitting outside the door by the front window, Sheila Marie kept watch for Rafe and the luxurious Mercedes. The night shadows didn’t dim her vivid clothing. If anything, she seemed more colorful. She held a wooden drum between her knees and tapped a rhythm on the tautly stretched head. More than once, she pointed tourists toward another shop and told them to come back in fifteen minutes. Jolene had asked her to keep people away until they knew Rafe was all right. Though the fortune teller couldn’t really see the future, she didn’t want to take a chance that a tourist would be injured in her shop.

  Jolene poked her head around the bamboo curtain and flashed a too-bright, toothy grin that hinted at mischief. “May I introduce you to my dearest companion?”

  Reluctantly, Alyssa said, “Okay.”

  With her arms spread wide and her hands gesturing gracefully, Jolene stepped into the front of the shop and slowly turned in a circle so Alyssa had a chance to admire the companion she’d mentioned: an eight-foot-long, brown-and-black-patterned snake. Alyssa didn’t have a problem with reptiles. One of her friends in Chicago was a stripper who used snakes in her act.

  “Burmese python,” Alyssa said. “May I touch her?”

  “She would enjoy being touched. Dominique is my sacred serpent, a creature of great wisdom and magic.”

  Alyssa stroked the smooth skin, marveling at the muscularity of the snake as it coiled around Jolene’s arm. “Are snakes important in voodoo?”

  “I don’t use Dominique as much as I could,” she confided. “But she’s very helpful when it comes to warding off bad people. Many fear the snake.”

  “A matter of taste.”

  Carrying her drum, Sheila Marie bustled through the front door and charged toward the back of the shop. “I saw the fine Mercedes. Rafe is almost here. He gonna come through the back door, like I told him. Go, Alyssa. Wait for him.”

  “Hide in the closet,” Jolene said. “Don’t come out until I give you the signal.”

  Alyssa wasn’t bothered by the Burmese python, but she didn’t know how Rafe would feel. “Do you have any of Dominique
’s friends stored in the closet?”

  “There’s a cage full of food. Rats.”

  “Okay.”

  She ducked behind the curtain but didn’t rush to get into the closet with the rats. Instead, she peeked into the front of the shop, where Sheila Marie had settled down with her drum. Jolene went out the door, chanting and dancing with her snake. When she returned, a few tourists came with her. Within five minutes, others arrived. They must have been locals, because they were carrying their own drums and singing their own tunes.

  Woodbridge stepped through the front door. She immediately recognized his hatchet jaw. As she pivoted toward the rear of the shop, she saw Rafe enter. Charlotte was with him, but Alyssa barely noticed her aunt. Rafe was the center of her world.

  She dashed across the room and leaped into his arms. He was here. He was safe. Everything would be all right. She wanted to indulge in a long, deep kiss, but now wasn’t the time.

  Though the drumming and dancing were loud, he kept his voice low. “What’s all the noise from the front of the shop?”

  “The voodoo dance of the sacred serpent.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the closet. “Jolene said to wait here. Aunt Charlotte, that means you, too.”

  Muttering under her breath, she followed them. “You two have really made a mess of things. I was doing just fine until I came to New Orleans.”

  Sadly, the feeling of disgust was mutual. Alyssa would like nothing better than to build a loving relationship with the only person left in her family, but Charlotte wasn’t the happy, imaginative, loving aunt who’d played games with her when she was a child. This silver-haired woman with the beautiful voice was cold, bitter and deceptive.

  “We didn’t bring you here.” Alyssa opened the door to the closet. “By the way, there’s a cage full of rats in here. Don’t scream unless you want to die.”

  “I’m too tough to scream. Why would I die? Who’s after you now?”

  She looked up at Rafe. “I saw Woodbridge come into the front of the shop.”