“Patrick, you have such a rare innate instinct. I want to return to the back and try to see if I can calm myself. Would you mind?”
“No,” Patrick responded, “I will just continue unpacking that new shipment of herbs and oils that came in this morning after I’m done with this gentleman. But Tiesha, what kind of ward did you place over the door this morning?”
“A mighty, powerful one. I had one of my gut feelings as soon as I was in front of the shop this morning while I was opening up. It made me real uneasy, so I placed it first thing.” Turning around and heading for the back of the store, Tiesha added, “And the feeling emanating from that ‘tiny woman’ as you called her, was filled with ugliness and very strong. There is much negative power there. She must be from the islands to carry that type of blackness around. It is killing her though, she doesn’t have long to live.”
“Well, whatever is killing her has her in tremendous pain. She was looking for something beyond the traditional to help relieve it. That is why she was trying to come in, to make a purchase. Should you not let her spend her money here too like anyone else?”
“I do not want that kind of evil in my place tainting us. Better to not have a customer with that one, than to scare away all the good paying customers that will feel the evil she leaves on everything. They will not return. She is bad business in every way there is, my dear.”
With that said, Tiesha shut the door to her meditation room. She thought about that woman and made a mental note to call Ciarra about her later. That kind of evil never bode well for mankind, and something was telling her that Ciarra was going to need her to help with it in some way. With several deep calming breaths, Tiesha slipped back into a relaxed state of mind.
Trent chased her to the elevators. “I’m sorry, again.” Was it just him or was he doing a lot of apologizing? “Ciarra . . .” Why was he chasing her? Why did he care? What was it about this woman, this cop that he couldn’t seem to control himself whenever he was around her?
Her eyes had become red and swollen, but the softness he’d seen earlier had disappeared. The street cop returned. “I’ll be fine. Whether you like it or not, I’m stuck with you. I will do my job and that’s as far as this,” she waved a finger back and forth between them, “will go.”
The elevator opened and both moved inside. Trent pushed the one button. “You obviously loved him and still do. I shouldn’t have come on to you.” Hell, in any normal situation, he never would have. She didn’t fit his type. But, something about her made it hard to resist. Maybe it was the hardened shell she built around herself and the passionate soft inside.
Like he’d thought Rachel had been. But she only wanted his money. She had been a complete fake. “He was a lucky man to have someone as devoted as you, even in death, so much like my mom.”
“How is that?”
“My dad had the potential for an incredible, well-to-do life. They never would’ve had to struggle. He was so smart. A complete genius. But, he didn’t want fame and fortune. All he wanted was the damn farm. I can’t count how many times they almost lost the place to the bank, struggling to make it break even. It was pathetic. But, my mother loved him with everything she had and stuck by his side. Because my father wanted to hide from her dying, he stayed out from sun-up to sundown on the farm, especially in her last days. He should have been with her, by her side. Not out working that damn farm while she was dying. Then, after Mom passed away, he buried himself even deeper on the farm to hide from losing her.
Mom had a severe stroke. She smoked like a damn chimney.” He laughed with sarcasm. “I tried to tell her, but she was a stubborn woman. She had to be in order to put up with my father. They were poor. I hated growing up there. One of my brothers and my sister swear by the miserable place, but not me. I promised myself nothing would stand in my way of leaving it and making my life easy. It took a lot of hard work and long hours, but here I am. Unlike my father, I will not struggle in old age.”
Ciarra tightened her clinched fists at her side as she climbed off the elevator. “You don’t know poor.”
“Of course I do. I lived it.”
She stopped in her tracks and spun around, coming close to knocking him on his ass. “You had a roof over your head. You had food and heat and a bed. Don’t tell me you lived it.”
“How would you know?”
“Trust me, I did live it. Have you ever been down to the docks?”
“No. Why would I go down there?”
“Now I see. You’re a snob. That’s what you are. You’re too good, right?”
“Too good for what?”
“The people who live out in the streets down by the docks.”
The paging system crackled to life. “Doctor Moore, please report to the ER stat. Doctor Moore, stat to the ER.”
“Sorry. We’ll have to continue this later. I suppose you’ll be following.”
Ciarra arched a brow. “Well, of course.”
“Just stay out of the way.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s getting pretty late. Maybe it’s time to wake your partner and get some shut eye yourself.”
“Thanks. I’ll be fine. I can just hang out in the halls.”
There was no way he’d have this sexy woman under his feet all night. She was beyond distracting. And infuriating. “No. Either go wake your partner or go out to the waiting area. Pick one.” He certainly didn’t want any staff to hear her speaking of Voodoo and curses.
Ciarra’s eyes moved to several people who had gathered in the waiting area as did Trent’s. “I think I’ll take myself down to the overflow room. However, if something goes wrong or another ‘accident’ occurs, someone has to come and get me.”
“Deal.”
Chapter 6
The indistinguishable voice whispered far in the distance. The fog in Ciarra’s head made it hard to determine if she might be in a catatonic dream state or not.
The aroma of fresh coffee infiltrated her senses, and the voice gradually became clearer. Something about puking? “Leave me alone,” she muttered.
“I got your favorite coffee. Dark roast and fresh from Gourmet Café.”
Ciarra groaned. The haze was slow to lift. She opened one eye. Rick crouched down in front of her holding a steaming cup in one hand and a white paper bag in the other. Her eyes focused in on the logo on the front. Gourmet Café. She grumbled, “That better be their famous croissants, or you might as well march your ass back down there.”
“Good morning to you too, sunshine.”
She must have lain on her side the entire time. It hurt to sit up. “Where the hell am I?” And it clicked. Acadia Memorial. Her hands shot down to the couch, pushing off to stand and came close to knocking Rick to the floor. “Where’s the doctor?”
“Whoa. Calm down there, sport. He’s here. Just coming off shift. He’ll be down in a moment. Here.”
She rubbed her eyes, grabbed the cup, and sat down. “Sorry. What time is it? Anything new?”
“It’s a little after seven a.m. I got a call from Jackson.”
“What’s up?” She took a sip of the most wonderful coffee in the world. Nice and strong the way she liked it. She dug out a croissant and raised it, taking a bite. This was a grand piece of heaven in the morning. “Solicitor Baker is having some health issues. Jackson called an ambulance.”
The news caused her to pause in midair about to take another drink. “Like what?”
“Like cold sweats and puking. A bad case of the flu.”
She knew she heard that crappy word. She finished chewing before responding. “Do you honestly have to say ‘puking’ as I’m eating? You are lucky I’m not one of those who have a weak stomach.” Ciarra’s partner had very little finesse. He drove her a bit crazy at times, but he had good instincts. And he’d saved her hide a couple of times. She wouldn’t be choosey.
“Sorry, ma’am.”
“So, the judge and the taxi driver are dead, and now the solicitor is rushed to the hospital? Did Jackson mention
any more about Leon Borque’s death?” She took another bite.
“Just that they were planning on going out to talk to Sheriff Brunson over in White Parish where Borque was found dead. But then Solicitor Baker got wicked sick.”“
Trent stood in the doorframe. “Hold up. Mr. Borque is dead? And now Baker is sick?”
Ciarra looked up at Trent. “Pack up. You’re going with me. Rick, try to get in touch with Sheriff Brunson and see if he is available for me to go talk to him. What about the Montreuils?”
“No further word at all. I checked the public schools, and they had been enrolled through the end of the last school year in May. They never showed up for classes this fall.”
“Let me guess. With that last known address?”
“You got it.”
“Have we heard back about the trace on the Dr. Moore’s phone?”
“The search is down to a nine block area. I’ll call the sheriff and head over to the search area while you get Dr. Moore settled. Just call me when you get to his home, and I will send over a couple of officers to keep watch.”
Trent jumped into the conversation. “Hold up. I’m not going anywhere.”
Ciarra stood up. “Doctor Moore, quite frankly, I don’t care what you think you’re not doing. But, in reality, you are going home, and I’m coming with you.” She leaned closer to him, whispering. “This will be strictly professional. Do I make myself clear?”
Ciarra had practically pulled her gun on Trent to convince him he wasn’t walking home. That was his usual routine, taking his time through the park. He came close to having his way, but the woman was conniving. All he wanted to do was walk the hell home. What was so wrong with that?
But no. She claimed it might be too dangerous. When he tried to argue, she threatened to shoot him ‘in the ass’ while she rested her hand on the butt of her gun. The narrowed look told him she was pretty serious. He was reluctant to climb into her Crown Victoria, but did so without argument. He was just being stubborn. She was being awful bossy. The whole episode was kind of hot.
Once in the car, Ciarra received a call. She mashed the button on her Bluetooth to end the call. “Change of plans. I need to go out to see the sheriff out in White Parish.” She mashed the button on her Bluetooth again and told it to call the sheriff’s number.
Leon Borque had lived in White Parish, about fifteen miles outside Acadia. Taxi drivers didn’t make great pay, so Trent was surprised Leon would have driven that far from home for employment. But, who knew? Maybe he’d already had the job and moved.
Ciarra had requested that the White Parish sheriff meet them. As she hung up, she said, “Didn’t sound too thrilled, but he was nice enough. Sounded very old country.”
When they arrived at the Interstate Nine Diner, which was just over the parish line, it wasn’t too hard to pick out good ole Sheriff Brunson. Of course, he wore his uniform with the sheriff’s badge. But, the cowboy hat and boots would have given it away without the rest.
He tipped his hat to them and after introductions, they moved inside the diner. They each ordered coffee, but only the sheriff ordered a breakfast plate.
“Sheriff, we understand you found Mr. Borque dead at his home?” Ciarra jumped right in.
“Yep. Been dead for a couple of days accordin’ to the corner.”
“What was the cause of death?”
Brunson slid over a file and opened it for her. “Natural causes, ma’am. The boy’s niece seen him three or four days ago. Said he looked mighty ill. Told him to go see a doc. Apparently, he never did.”
As Ciarra sifted through the papers in the file, Trent asked, “Did he ever mention someone might be out to get him?”
The sheriff’s brows drew together. “Not accordin’ to the niece. Nor anyone else. Why?”
Trent shrugged. “Just curious.”
Ciarra lifted her gaze to Trent. For a brief second, she rested her hand on his sending tiny shocks along his arm.
She turned back to Brunson. “Did you talk to his employer?”
“No, ma’am. Didn’t see a reason to. Natural causes, you know.”
They spoke with the sheriff for a few more moments, but didn’t get any further along.
Ciarra put on her coat and as they headed to the door, she said, “I never usually take victims or anyone else with me. But I can’t leave you alone. And quite personally, this is your life. Let’s go see the manager over at the taxi company. Maybe he might know something.”
Trent agreed.
It took some warming up to the manager, John Sheehan, to get any information out of him. But, after fifteen minutes, he let out a whoosh of air and stated, “I don’t believe it was natural causes. Look, I don’t want to stir up shit. I don’t want anyone coming after me next. I have a family.”
Ciarra sat up straighter on the bench. “Who would want to come after you? Do you think Mr. Borque’s death had ended under mysterious circumstances?”
“Can’t prove it. Said he’d been feeling a little under the weather lately. Seemed to be getting worse.” He stared off in the distance above their heads for a moment. “After his accident, he’d been looking over his shoulder all the time. Afraid that crazy woman would come after him for not going to jail for a lot longer than he had.”
“What woman?”
“The one who accused him of killing her kid. Ummm . . . some black lady.”
Ciarra glanced at Trent as he exhaled. “Why would she accuse him of something like that?”
Mr. Sheehan stood up and grabbed a stack of files. “All I know is he had run over her kid. You know, on accident. Kid came out of nowhere into the street.” He opened the top drawer of the large file cabinet and shuffled through the folders. “He told me she’d been around. The first time wasn’t too long after he got sentenced. I had to suspend him from his driving my taxis since he lost his driving privileges. Killed me to do that to him knowing he wasn’t drunk or anything. But I had no choice. So, I found him work around the garage and in the dispatch office. Him and I went into the diner out on Broad Street there. Delightful Eats I think. He had drank most of his coffee and got up to use the bathroom. A black waitress had come around with coffee to refill.” He turned around to them. “You know, hindsight is twenty-twenty of course. I didn’t think it strange at that moment she’d only come to our table. But, at any rate, she asked if I wanted a refill and I didn’t. She didn’t bother asking about Leon’s cup and poured some in his.”
Trent rubbed his forehead. “What’s so strange about that?”
“I’m getting there. Of course when he came back and saw the full cup of coffee, he said how it was nice of our waitress to give them a refill, poured some creamer in it and took a couple of gulps. He glanced around the room and his eyes grew wide and his face went white. He got up and grabbed me by my shirtsleeve. When we got outside, he looked back inside the window and said that the kid’s mother was in there, but must have disappeared. I thought he was losing his mind.
Then, he began seeing her everywhere. Even said a lady got into one of our cabs he was riding in about a week or so ago, and she was talking to herself or something. I guess about evil. Then she said something like ‘the finger points the way’ and Leon freaked. Made the driver pull over, got out, and hailed down another cab. I nearly fired him for that stunt. But he swore it was her.”
“Did he ever show you a picture of her or point her out to you?”
“Nope.”
Ciarra opened her purse and pulled out a photo. “Do you recognize her?”
Mr. Sheehan froze. “Oh yeah. That was the woman who poured more coffee into Leon’s cup. Now that I think about it, she had an accent, you know like from the islands.”
“The islands?”
“Yeah, in the Caribbean. Jamaican or Haitian. Something like that.”
Ciarra stood up and reached to shake the man’s hand. “Thank you again for talking to us.”
“Hey, any time. If there is any more I can do, give a shout.”
As Ciarra and Trent walked out to the car, she asked, “Have you ever been to that diner?”
“No. Do you think she poisoned him or something?”
“I don’t know. Why would she pour him more coffee? And if she wasn’t their waitress, why would she go to their table anyway?”
“Maybe their waitress was on break. Maybe she didn’t know it was Mr. Borque?”
“Coincidence? I don’t believe in that. I guess we may never know. Preliminary tests showed a sudden cardiac arrest. If he’d been feeling sick for a while, it could have been a heart attack. I still believe it’s the curse.”
Trent opened the car door. “Natural heart attacks happen more than you think and not to just the elderly. I need to go to my condo before we disappear to wherever.” He climbed inside and closed the door.
Ciarra got into the car and started it. “Again, that would mean the deaths of Judge Reynolds and Leon along with Solicitor Baker’s sudden illness are coincidences. There is no way.”
As they drove down Main Street, they were approached on Ciarra’s side of the car at a red light. The ragged woman tapped on the glass, and Ciarra rolled her window down.
Trent whispered, “Are you nuts?” Why in the hell would she open her window like that? It was apparent to Trent this person was homeless or a drug user. Maybe both. With scraggly unwashed hair and a streak of dirt smeared across her cheek.
“Crystal, make it fast.”
“Detective, I need some cash.”
“Now, you know—”
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