Garden of Forbidden Secrets

by Eric Wilder

  Backing away from him, she grasped the blouse of her dress with both hands and tore it open, exposing her naked breasts. Dropping to her knees, she drizzled wine down her chest, red droplets hanging from her nipples. When she arose and moved again toward Baron Samedi, he licked her from her waist to her neck with an inhumanly long tongue. Taj continued to chant until Mama stopped dancing and prostrated herself in front of the loa.

  “What question do you have for me, Mambo Mulate?” he asked.

  Mama rose to her knees, not bothering to cover her naked breasts wet from wine, sweat, and Baron Samedi’s saliva.

  “Who summoned Taj to New Orleans, and to what purpose?” she asked.

  “Your answers lie in a courtyard garden in the French Quarter.”

  “There are many gardens in the French Quarter,” Mama said.

  “Only one is still cloaked in forbidden darkness.”

  Baron Samedi’s image glimmered and grew dimmer. Once again a shadow with a flickering aura, it began moving away from her.

  “Wait,” Mama said. “That’s not enough. Can’t you tell us more?”

  “Ask the Irish witch,” Baron Samedi’s fading image said.

  “Please,” she said as Baron Samedi’s image began to fade away.

  “There’s someone who needs your help,” Baron Samedi said.

  “Who?” Mama asked.

  “Aisling, the red-haired Irish girl.”

  When Baron Samedi’s image faded into darkness, Taj put his arms around Mama and hugged her, feeling her warmth and the beating of her heart against his own. She was trembling.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Even mambos don’t often converse with Vodoun loa. I’m a bit shaken.”

  Taj removed his long leather coat and draped it around her shoulders.

  “It’s a shame to put you through all of this and still not get the answers we needed.”

  Mama grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him.

  “Oh, but we did, even if we don’t know right this moment what it means.”

  “What now?” Taj asked.

  “Wyatt texted me. He left my car in the parking lot of your hotel. If the cabbie is still waiting, we’ll have him take us there.”

  Wink, glad to see them when they reached the cab, quickly opened the backdoor for them. Taj rewarded him with the promised hundred.

  “Where to now?” he asked. “Charity Hospital?”

  Mama let the sarcastic reference to the old hospital, abandoned since Hurricane Katrina, pass without comment.

  “The Hotel Montalba in the Quarter,” she said.

  Mama was still shivering as they headed back toward the lights of the French Quarter. Taj put his big arms around her.

  “I’m confused,” he said.

  “About what?”

  “If you were trying to summon Baron Samedi, then why was I chanting Papa Legba? Who is Papa Legba?”

  “Papa Legba guards the spiritual crossroads that separates humans from loa. When someone summons a loa, Papa Legba is the deity that either denies or accepts the request. He accepted our plea, and that is why we were able to communicate with Baron Samedi.”

  “Is it that rare to be able to talk directly with a loa?”

  “Extremely so. My religion believes in possession. The only times I’ve seen a loa was when they had possessed a human’s body.”

  “Then what made you think Baron Samedi would see us tonight?”

  “Because of you. Sam was the actual Baron Samedi and not a human possessed by the loa. He met you in the cemetery for a reason. Apparently, an important reason.”

  Chapter 13

  Wink dropped Mama and Taj in front of the Hotel Montalba, and they made their way to the parking garage. Wyatt had left instructions with the attendant to let Mama Mulate have the Bugeye Sprite when she arrived. Taj eyed the little vehicle.

  “I don’t think I could fit into your car if I tried,” he said.

  “That’s why we took a cab. I’m worried about Wyatt. He’s not answering my texts.”

  “Let’s see if Adela knows where he is. We can take the elevator to the room from here.”

  Though Mama had lived in New Orleans for years, she’d never been inside the Hotel Montalba.

  “I can’t believe how ornate this old lady is,” she said. “They don’t construct buildings like this anymore.”

  “Demons seem to like it.”

  When Taj reached for his electronic key to open the door, Mama grabbed his hand.

  “Are you okay with all the strangeness you witnessed tonight?”

  “You kidding me? I watched a gorgeous woman perform one of the most sensual dances I could have ever imagined. It was worth it having spirits of the dead light me up like a candle. How in the world did you become a voodoo mambo?”

  “Long story,” she said.

  “I’ve got lots of time. I’d love to hear it.”

  “And I’d love to tell it to you. Do you like gumbo?”

  From the face Taj made, Mama could tell he didn’t.

  “It’s not that I don’t like gumbo. I’ve never tried it. Guess I’m more of a steak and potatoes man.”

  Mama was grinning when she said, “Though I’m trying very hard to like you, I’m not sure we’re orbiting the same planet.”

  “Invite me for gumbo. I promise I’ll try it. Even if I don’t like it, I’ll do my best acting job and never let you know.”

  Mama still had hold of Taj’s hand. Though she was tall, she had to stand on her tiptoes to kiss him. Their smiles disappeared when they turned on the lights in the hotel suite and went into the bedroom.

  ***

  The sudden glare of the overhead light awoke me from a fitful dream. I sat up in a strange bed, Mama Mulate, and Taj Davis, standing at the foot staring down at me. Both of them were frowning.

  Someone moved beneath the covers, red hair mussed and makeup smudged when her head popped out from the sheets. It was Adela.

  “What the hell!” she said. “Can’t a girl get a little privacy around here when she’s trying to sleep?”

  Not waiting for an answer, she tossed off the covers and strolled naked to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. With arms folded in a rebuke, Mama continued glaring at me.

  “I think you have some explaining to do,” she said.

  One of the robes Adela and I had donned after coming in from the rain lay in a disheveled pile on a nearby chair. Rising to a sitting position, I pointed.

  “Can you throw me that robe?” I asked.

  Mama slung it at me. I climbed out of bed, covering my own nudity as best I could from the condemning eyes of Taj and Mama.

  “Taj and I have been working diligently on his case, and we find you here, in bed with one of your clients.”

  “It’s not what you think,” I said.

  “No? Then how is it?”

  “I have a reasonable explanation. I’m not going to talk to you about it in front of Mr. Davis.”

  “You’ve betrayed us,” Mama said. “I think you owe both of us an apology.”

  My eyes were caked and burning, the top of my head feeling as it were about to cleave off and explode. Mama’s lecture was more than I could take. Wheeling around, I faced them both.

  “I said I have an explanation. If you’re too damn bullheaded to listen, then screw you. Right now I feel like hell and don’t have time for your happy horseshit.”

  When Adela came out of the bathroom in a bathrobe, I took the opportunity to take her place, slamming the door behind me for effect. Adela had turned off the light. As I fumbled for the switch, I hoped like hell I’d find my clothes. If they weren’t there, I would have to slink back into the bedroom to continue my search. I felt a moment of relief when I found them in a pile on the floor.

  Mama and Taj were waiting for me when I came out of the bathroom. Adela was sitting in a chair, sipping wine from the bottle on the service cart. Mama’s hands were on her hips, the frown still on her fac
e, as I headed for the door.

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” she asked.

  “My apartment,” I said.

  “It’s raining out there,” she said.

  “I won’t melt. I’ll get dry when I get home.”

  I started away, down the long corridor, the sound of my heels echoing against the hotel’s old walls. Mama came running after me.

  “Stop,” she said. “You have some explaining to do.”

  I punched the down button on the elevator. “I have a story to tell. If you want to hear it, I’ll be in the bar at Bertram’s.”

  “Wait, I’ll drive you.”

  “Forget it. I’m walking.”

  I regretted my rash decision the moment I exited the front door of the Hotel Montalba onto Royal Street. Within seconds, I was drenched to the bone. Bertram’s bar on Rue Chartres was close, but I didn’t need to hurry. It really didn’t matter. Except for the Cajun bartender himself, Bertram’s was empty when I reached it.

  “Well, look what the cat drug in,” he said. You gonna tell me where you been?”

  I was dripping water on the floor from my soaked clothes.

  “Not until I dry off and change into something warm,” I said.

  I hurried upstairs to my second-floor apartment overlooking Chartres. My cat, Kisses, was waiting for me. I opened a packet of food for her before shedding my wet clothes. I always kept the door to my balcony cracked so she could come in and out. The floor was wet from rain, a cold breeze blowing through the opening. I shut the door and threw some towels on the damp floor before doffing my wet clothes and dressing in something dry and warm.

  “You okay, little girl?” I said, lifting Kisses off the floor and giving her a few full-body strokes.

  When I put her on my bed, she curled up against the pillow and went to sleep. I had no clue what time it was, though I already knew the curious Cajun would be waiting downstairs for me. Bertram was mopping the floor when I returned to the bar.

  “Didn’t your mama teach you better than to track water through the house?”

  “Sorry about that. It was too wet to sleep on the street.”

  Bertram had a pot of coffee brewing. Its enticing aroma, coming from the kitchen, drew me to the bar. When Bertram finished mopping, he poured me a cup.

  “Figured you might need some coffee,” he said.

  “How about a couple of aspirins?”

  “Got a headache?”

  “A headache, stomachache, you name it.”

  “Want to tell me about it?”

  “I have a feeling Mama Mulate is going to join us before long. If you can wait until then, I’ll tell you both at the same time.”

  “I got all night,” he said. “What there’s left of it.”

  “What’s the story on Eddie’s restaurant?”

  “Let me pour a shot first, and then I’ll tell you.”

  “You bet,” I said.

  I waited as Bertram laced his coffee with a shot of Cuervo. He took a sip before continuing.

  “Looks like a no-win situation to me. The island is vacant except for two strange dudes. The restaurant is as old as the hills and needs lots of work. It’s also huge and, like I said, there ain’t no paying customers within twenty miles of the place. I did have a good bowl of oyster chowder and a mug or two of the best rum I ever tasted.”

  “Oh yeah? Where’d you get that?”

  “Frankie’s caretaker is also the keeper of the lighthouse. It was pouring down rain, and he invited us for dinner and a place to hang out until the rain slacked up.”

  “I thought you said he was strange.”

  “Just because he was hospitable, don’t mean he wasn’t strange. The little guy is an ex-Navy man with a big ol’ pit bull named Brutus.”

  “What makes him so strange?” I asked.

  “Just seemed like he has lots of secrets, and he and his buddy were a little too anxious to have Eddie take over the restaurant.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Jack Wiesinski. His partner is a big Indian, and I do mean big. Had a funny name for an Indian.”

  “Funny ha ha?”

  “Funny peculiar,” he said.

  “Such as?”

  “Grogan La Tortue. I never heard of his tribe. Jack said they once was cannibals.”

  “Interesting,” I said. “Seems I’ve heard the name La Tortue before, though I can’t remember where.”

  “Too bad you don’t drink anymore, because Jack give me a bottle of the rum I told you is the best I ever tasted,” Bertram said.

  “What brand?”

  “From the Dominican Republic. The bottle he give me ain’t got no label. I dug this empty one out of his kitchen trash when he wasn’t looking.”

  Bertram pulled an empty bottle from beneath the counter to show me.

  “Bottled in 1929. Other than its age, what makes it so valuable?”

  “Dominican rum is like Cuban cigars; the best in the world. I got no idea where Jack come up with this bottle. I can’t imagine he don’t know how much it’s worth, or why he would serve it with oyster chowder to two people he just met.”

  “Does sound strange,” I said. “What’s your take on it?”

  “Something fishy if you ask me.”

  “I am asking you.”

  “The big Indian acted as if he didn’t know we was going to be there. He’d brought a folder with him. I got a look at it when no one was looking.”

  “You playing amateur detective again?” I asked.

  Bertram grinned. “It was a packet of maps and charts of the Gulf.”

  “So what?”

  “Don’t know,” he said.

  I wrote down the two names on my notepad, along with the information on the empty rum bottle.

  “I’ll check it out,” I said. “Did Eddie tell you what he intends to do?”

  “He’s taking a cab out to Frankie Castellano’s mansion on Lake Pontchartrain later on this morning. I imagine he’s going to tell Frankie he’s gonna pass on his offer. Knowing Eddie, you never know.”

  “Eddie was valedictorian in his law class at the University of Virginia,” I said. “I’m sure whatever he decides to do will be well thought out.”

  “Eddie’s smart except when it comes to women. Then he lets his little head do all his thinking.”

  “He’ll figure it out. Right now, I have problems of my own.”

  “Like what?”

  Without answering his question, I nodded at the door. Mama Mulate was coming in out of the rain. She didn’t look happy. After reaching across the counter and giving Bertram a kiss, she sat on the stool next to me.

  “You got here just in time,” Bertram said.

  “In time for what?” Mama asked.

  “You like rum?”

  “Nothing I like much better than Jamaican rum.”

  “Then prepare yourself for a treat,” he said, filling a shot glass and handing it to her.

  Mama’s frown disappeared when she sipped the rum. “Good God, Bertram. I have to have a bottle of this. What is it?”

  “Rum from the Dominican Republic, vintage 1929.”

  “Get the hell out of here,” she said. “I’ve never tasted better rum. Where did you get it?”

  “The Oyster Island lighthouse keeper give it to me.”

  “You mean down by the Gulf, not far from Mississippi? What were you doing there?”

  “Tell you later,” he said. “Wyatt has a story, and he’s been waiting for you to get here so we could both hear it together.”

  “Well?” she said, looking at me for the first time.

  “Better put on another pot of coffee and keep that bottle of prized rum handy. This could take a while.”

  Chapter 14

  After his visit to Oyster Island, Eddie had all but decided to decline Frankie Castellano’s offer to run the restaurant there. On their ride back to New Orleans, Bertram Picou had done nothing to dissuade him. Eddie was still undecided as he too
k a cab to Frankie’s palatial estate on Lake Pontchartrain.

  Frankie’s estate occupied twenty acres on a spit of land jutting out into the blue water of Lake Pontchartrain. A fence of iron and white stone encircled the green lawn surrounding a two-storied mansion at the end of a long, one-lane road. Like everything else that Frankie owned, the southern-plantation-styled mansion was nothing less than spectacular. The cabbie dropped him off by the veranda encircling the house. Adele, Frankie’s adoring wife, met him at the front door.

  “Come in this house,” she said in her Italian-flavored Metairie accent.

  Adele was middle-aged gorgeous with big dark eyes. She’d trimmed her long hair since the last time Eddie had seen her. Now it was shorter, just over her ears and the top of her neck. She hugged him the moment he stepped through the door.

  “You get more beautiful every time I see you. Why don’t you leave that husband of yours and run away with me?” Eddie said, holding her at arm's length.

  She was grinning when she said, “You are so full of shit. Frankie had business in town this morning and will be home soon. Let’s go to the den. I’ll fix us a cup of coffee.”

  “I’ve already had a pot of chicory-laced coffee. What I need now is a scotch to get rid of the buzz.”

  “Eddie, Eddie,” she said. “You never change, do you?”

  “You know you wouldn’t like me any other way.”

  “Josie would.”

  Talk of Eddie’s former fiancee and Adele’s step-daughter momentarily wiped the smile off his face, as he followed her into the main living area of the large house. Frankie’s den was more spacious than many small houses, the centerpiece leather couch situated in such a way as to take full advantage of the large windows overlooking the sailboats breaking the whitecaps on Lake Pontchartrain.

  “The view is spectacular,” he said.

  “You never been here before?”

  “Nope, today’s my first visit.”

  “Well, I hope it won’t be the last. I never saw Frankie so distraught as when he learned Josie wasn’t going through with the wedding. He’d planned to have it out there on the lawn. Full orchestra, party tent, everyone in gowns and tuxedos. It would have been fabulous.”