Josh pulled at his gun belt and squared his shoulders. “Then I’ll have the black bean lasagna, too,” he happily announced.
“Coming up.” Jazzmyn waved down Scott behind the bar. “Get them something to drink,” she called to him.
A thought crossed Jazzmyn’s mind and she glanced back at Gus. “What’s going on with all these women getting murdered in town? Do you guys have anything?”
Gus shrugged his round shoulders. “Word around the department is it some kind of cult thing. They don’t have much to go on. A detective I know working the case said all they got was some weak eyewitness statements and a few dog hairs at one of the scenes.”
Jazzmyn gave Gus a curious side-glance. “Dog hairs?”
“I heard it was goat hairs,” Josh spoke up. “That’s what made them think it was cult related.”
Gus turned to his partner. “Who would bring a goat to a murder?”
“Cult members, or maybe it’s some weird voodoo thing. Who knows? It’s New Orleans.” Josh smiled weakly for Jazzmyn. “We get all kinds in this city.”
“Well, I hope you catch whoever it is.” Jazzmyn took a step back from the bar. “I’ll go and get those orders started for you guys.”
She left the police officers at the bar and headed to the kitchen door. As soon as she stepped inside the kitchen, she walked directly to the prep area.
“Kyle, fire up two black beans. Gus and his new partner are out front.”
“Who’s in trouble this time?” Kyle asked.
“Vince,” she answered. “Armed robbery.”
Kyle shook his head. “Maybe that’s why he hasn’t shown up for work in three days.”
“He knows the cops would come here looking for him,” Jazzmyn agreed.
Kyle slid a plate of stuffed trout with Cajun rice under a heat lamp. “I think you should start doing background checks on all of your employees, Jazz.”
“I wouldn’t have any employees if I did that.”
“Then do it on the men you date, at least. You can start with the wino.”
“I’m going to dinner with Julian Wednesday night and that’s it, Kyle. Stop trying to talk me out of seeing him again.”
“I’m just saying that maybe you should have the guy checked out before you go over to his house for dinner. See if he has an arrest record, history of sadistic behavior, cruelty to animals, that sort of thing.” He pointed to the dining room door. “Ask Gus to run a check on him.”
“Kyle, drop it.”
He raised his eyebrows playfully. “Do you want me to ask Gus?”
She took a step closer to the prep table. “Last night you wanted me to see him and get him out of my system; now you want me to have him investigated. What is the matter with you?” she argued, in a low voice so none of the other kitchen staff could hear.
Kyle’s blue eyes became like two pinpoints. “What do you know about the guy, Jazz? Do you know his family, where he went to high school, or even his blood type?”
“I don’t know your blood type, Kyle, and what has that got to do with any of this?”
“My blood type is O positive. I just want you to be a bit more cautious with the men you date, Jazz. I know I told you to go out with him, but that was before…you know?” He shrugged.
“Before what?”
“The murders, of course. Why, what were you thinking?” Then he grinned. “Or did you think I was referring to our little kiss last night? Have you been thinking about it, Jazz?”
Jazzmyn smirked at him. “Nice try, Kyle. Just fire up that order and bag it for the cops. They’re waiting by the bar.”
“I really wish you would do a little more digging on your wino. The guy is just plain weird. You’ll see. I’m right about him.” Kyle frowned at her and then turned to the cooler behind him.
Jazzmyn walked back to her office and sighed with relief that she had avoided yet another confrontation with Kyle about her date with Julian. She did not know what was worse for her nerves, the idea of seeing the alluring Julian Devereau again or the constant barrage of questions Kyle kept hurtling at her about the man. As her thoughts strayed to her coming evening with Julian, she felt those excited butterflies begin to flutter in her stomach.
“Please don’t let this one turn into another Kyle,” she muttered as she opened her office door. “For once in my life, let one man I date become much more than another stupid mistake.”
Chapter 10
Wednesday evening, Jazzmyn was applying the last touches to her makeup when she heard a car pulling up in front of her home. She quickly checked the light application of rouge, lipstick, and gray eye shadow in the bedroom mirror. To make the illusion complete, she dabbed the expensive Hermés of Paris perfume she kept for special occasions on her neck. Her formfitting, blue silk dress with the silver beaded hem had been hidden in the back of her closet for years. She had spotted the short, off-the-shoulder number on a rare shopping adventure with Kyle. They had gone to get him new clothes, but ended up buying her the dress instead. He had told her she looked sexy in it, and begged her to buy it. At the time she had regretted the purchase, but now she thanked providence that she had the fancy outfit to wear to dinner with Julian.
When she opened the heavy front doors of her home, an older, heavyset man with a brown mustache and wearing a snug black suit nodded his head to her.
“Ms. Livaudais, I’m Ed. Mr. Devereau has sent me to bring you to his home,” the man said with a sweet smile as he gestured to a black limousine waiting by the curb in front of her house.
Jazzmyn glimpsed the car and then smiled. “Thank you, Ed.” She raised her hand to her mouth, stifling a sudden case of the giggles. Jazzmyn had never been in a limousine before, and the idea of arriving at Julian’s house in such a grand car made her feel absolutely light-headed. “I’ll just get my purse,” she told the driver.
She reached for the silver evening bag by the door, and just before she was about to turn back to Ed, she thought of Kyle and his continued warnings about her being careful with a killer on the loose in the city. Silently cursing the man, she removed the hammerless .32 revolver from her brown leather work purse and slipped it into the small silver one. The dressy clutch bag instantly felt heavy and bulky, but she reasoned she might feel better with the gun than without it.
After she locked her front doors, Jazzmyn followed Ed down the red-bricked walkway to the limousine. He opened the rear door of the car for her and she settled into the back seat. As the car pulled away from the curb, Jazzmyn hoped that this was one night where she did not start out feeling like a pampered princess, only to discover that her handsome prince was nothing more than just another well-dressed beast. She had dated enough men to know that when a man was trying awfully hard to impress her, he usually wanted sex. But she had a sneaking suspicion that sex was not all Julian was after. The one question that was beginning to bother Jazzmyn was what else could the intriguing, wealthy, and very attractive Julian Devereau possibly want from her?
***
The sun was setting over the French Quarter when the black limousine stopped in front of the gate to Julian’s home. Ed ran around to the back door of the car and opened it for Jazzmyn. When she stepped onto the curb, Jazzmyn looked over her shoulder to catch the last red embers of daylight sinking below the rooftops. She could hear a mellow jazz tune coming from the house and gazed up at an open french window on the second floor balcony. The leisurely music added a seductive ambience to the imposing mansion.
“Have a nice time, Ms. Livaudais,” Ed offered as he motioned to the front gate.
Jazzmyn slipped her silver purse under her arm and smiled. “Thanks, Ed.”
Just before she reached the black gate, an untidy, older woman with gray, messy hair and a scraggly face came toward Jazzmyn. She wore an ankle-length wrinkled skirt and two different denim jackets over a filthy white T-shirt. In her hand was a red leash, and at the end of the leash was a toy duck, rolling on wheels.
“You goin’ to
see the demon?” the old woman asked in a raspy voice.
Jazzmyn gaped at her, struggling to think of something to say.
“Ruthie!” Ed called from the limousine behind them. “Don’t you be bothering this nice lady. Go on home.”
Jazzmyn looked over the woman and smiled, suddenly realizing who she was. “Ruthie? Of course, I remember you…Ruthie, the duck lady.”
Ed came up to her side. “You all right, miss?” He waved his hand at Ruthie. “Ruthie doesn’t mean you any harm.”
“It’s all right, Ed. I remember Ruthie from when I was younger and would come to the French Quarter with my father.”
“You goin’ to see the demon?” Ruthie pestered in an impatient tone.
“What demon, Ruthie?” Jazzmyn questioned.
Ruthie nodded to Julian’s home. “The demon that lives here. He’s come back.” She raised her bloodshot, brown eyes to the open french window and listened to the music emanating from it. “He comes back every forty years. He kills every time he comes home, too. He don’t think I remember him, but I do. He’s killin’ again. You be careful, girl.”
“All right, Ruthie,” Ed asserted. “Get back home with Wilbur and take your pills, okay?”
Ruthie frowned at Ed and then tugged on the red leash in her hand. “Come on, Wilbur. It ain’t safe ‘round here.”
Ed and Jazzmyn watched as Ruthie made her way along Esplanade Avenue, pulling her toy duck behind her.
“Never mind her,” Ed began. “Ruthie never hurts anyone, and only starts talking nonsense when she hasn’t taken her medicine. Everyone that lives down here keeps an eye out for her.”
“I know Ruthie is loved by everyone in the Quarter,” Jazzmyn acknowledged.
Ed dipped his head toward the house. “Best be getting inside, Miss,” he said, and then opened the black wrought iron gate for her. “Mr. Devereau is waiting.”
Jazzmyn entered the small courtyard that was nestled behind the high walls and flinched slightly when Ed shut the heavy gate behind her with a loud clang.
“There you are!” a deep, harmonious voice called out.
Julian was standing in the wide entrance to his home, wearing a white, long-sleeved shirt and black trousers. His curly, black hair was sleeked back as if he had just stepped from the shower. The gold Rolex gleamed on his wrist in the glowing light of two gaslit torches above either side of his wide front door. “I was beginning to wonder what was keeping you,” he added.
As he came up to Jazzmyn, his dark eyes lingered over her outfit.
“Now, that is a dress,” he proclaimed as he stood a few feet away, taking in every inch of her figure.
“I bought it years ago and always wanted an excuse to wear it,” she confessed.
He moved to her side and she detected the woody hint of his cologne. He smelled as if he had just run through a thick forest and still carried the scent of the trees on his skin. The aroma was intoxicating and vaguely familiar to Jazzmyn, but she could not place it.
Julian lowered his head to her. “You’re wearing Caléche by Hermés of Paris.”
Jazzmyn adjusted the evening bag under her arm. “How did you know that?”
“I told you, I have a very sensitive sense of smell, and I have also visited the Hermés store in Paris many times. Caléche is one of my favorite perfumes.” He waved his hand to the open leaded glass door. “I hope you like vegetarian food, because I have cooked enough for an army.”
She skeptically raised her eyebrows. “You cooked?”
“Of course. I wanted tonight to be special. Unfortunately, I haven’t found many places in the French Quarter that cook vegetarian food quite how I like it.”
“And how is that, Julian?”
He placed his hand behind her back and escorted her to the front door. “With the freshest ingredients possible. I cook everything with a light dash of olive oil and spices that are meant to please the palate, but not overpower it.”
A light chuckle escaped from Jazzmyn’s lips. “You sound like a chef.”
“I’m not a chef, just a very picky eater. I know what I want, and I always get it.”
“Always?” Jazzmyn considered his remark. “Does that philosophy apply to people, too?”
“Yes,” Julian confidently replied. “When I find someone I want to be with, I use every ounce of influence I have to make that desire an eventuality.”
She stopped right before the entrance to his home and turned to him. “What happens to a person who tells you no?”
Julian grinned. “I’ve never had anyone tell me no.”
“Even a woman?” she proposed with a smirk.
He leaned in closer to her, and Jazzmyn felt the heady smell of him encircle her like smoke from a smoldering campfire. “I will never force myself on you, Jazzmyn. When you are ready, when you decide, then we will be together.” He leaned back from her and tilted his head to the side. “I’m a man who does not believe the ultimate goal with any woman is to sleep with her, but get to know her, physically as well as mentally.”
Jazzmyn shook her head. “Where in the hell were you in high school?”
Julian walked to the threshold of his home and held his hand out to her. “Adolescent boys are not men. For boys, sex is a challenge; for men, it is a gift.”
Jazzmyn hesitated as she beheld his outstretched hand. She fought to suppress a sudden sense of doubt about his true intentions, but when she gazed into Julian’s dark eyes, her reluctance faded. Jazzmyn reached for his hand and then stepped inside his home.
The brightly lit foyer was tiled with white marble, had soft white wallpaper with gold laurel wreaths embossed into it, and a winding white, double staircase that rose to a second floor landing. Behind the landing was a rectangular stained glass window with two strange creatures facing each other. They had thick torsos covered with course, dark hair, human-like faces, and goat-like trunks, legs, hooves, and tails. The figure on the right was playing a golden flute, and the one on the left was holding up a gold goblet with drops of red wine spilling over the rim.
“Satyrs,” Julian offered as he stood beside her. “The house is filled with them. Julian Philippe was obsessed with them.”
“Why was he obsessed with them?” she asked, admiring the windows.
“He went mad after Odette’s death. Who knows what he was thinking when he built this place?”
She turned to him. “What exactly is a satyr?”
Julian motioned to a mural on the right wall of the foyer. In the depiction were numerous half-man, half-goat characters dancing with naked, buxom women and filling their glasses with red wine from large oak barrels.
“They were rustic fertility spirits said to live in the forests and countryside. They are mentioned in the Bible as being called se’irim or hairy ones by the Hebrews, and were believed to inhabit wastelands. But they’re most often associated with the Greek god Dionysus, the god of wine. As companions of Dionysus they were always depicted on ancient vases as dancing, drinking, playing flutes, and ravishing women. They were meant to represent the vital powers of nature, mainly sexual prowess. Always male, it was said no woman could resist them. By the time of the Romans they were called fauns, and represented as the half-man, half-goat creature that you see depicted around the house.”
“Just like the shield above the door,” she said, nodding to the mural on the wall. “The Satyr House. That’s what people call it.”
He frowned momentarily. “What people?”
“Tour guides that lead those haunted New Orleans tours. Kyle said he heard about the place from one of them.”
“Kyle?” Julian snorted with disdain. “What did he tell you? Or do I even want to hear this?”
She could not help but smile as she noted an inkling of jealousy in his voice. “He said that your ancestor was cursed to live as a satyr.” She paused for a moment. “Ms. Helen also told me about the curse.”
He glanced back at her. “Ms. Helen?”
“She works at my restau
rant, and has been there since the day my father opened it. Ms. Helen even helped raised me when I was little. I always thought of her as a second mother.” Jazzmyn paused and took in the open foyer. “Still is in a way,” she softly added.
“What did Ms. Helen tell you? I find it fascinating that half the city knows more about this curse than I do.”
Jazzmyn tugged at the heavy purse under her arm. “Ms. Helen tells everyone she’s a voodoo priestess and is constantly threatening to cast hexes on half my staff.” She watched as Julian’s eyes wavered with worry. “She says the curse was meant to turn Julian Philippe into the epitome of what he was, a satyr; a man who only cared for wine and women. But the wine would never quench his thirst, and women would never satisfy his lust.”
“Probably why he went insane,” Julian quipped.
Jazzmyn nodded in agreement. “That’s what I thought.” She looked back to the mural on the wall. “If he believed Eve cursed him, then she did. The power of suggestion, more than any voodoo curse, probably drove him mad. If he had a history of mental illness, that could explain his obsessive behavior.” She gestured to the mural on the wall.
“You sound like an authority on the subject,” Julian commented as he took the silver clutch bag from under her arm and carried it to a dark oak bench by the stairs.
“I studied psychology in college. I was going to go on for my doctorate when my father fell ill.”
“Why didn’t you go back to school?” he questioned, placing the purse on the bench.
“I had The Sweet Note to take care of, and after a time I decided I liked running the restaurant more than studying.”
He picked up her silver purse once again and stared at it, wrinkling his wide brow. “I know women stuff a great deal into these things, but what have you got in here?” he inquired, weighing the evening bag in his long hands.
“Lipstick, my keys, and a hammerless .32 revolver,” she casually reported.
Julian raised his dark eyebrows as he gingerly placed the purse on the bench. “Is that supposed to frighten me?”
“No, but with all these women being killed around the city, I thought….” She shook her head. “Kyle has been pestering me to keep the thing on me day and night. He even wants me to sleep with it. I’m not sure why I brought it.”
The Satyr's Curse (The Satyr's Curse Series Book 1) Page 10