"Excuse me," I said, trying to brush by her and follow my friends who were already at the bar.
"Don't be in a rush, Cheri," the woman said, her French accent deepening on the endearment, Cheri. "Sometimes you rush into things that hurt if you aren't careful."
"I guess so." I wasn't really listening to her words. I just wanted to sit down.
"How 'bout you let me read for you," she suggested, holding up a worn pack of cards. "Come on over to my table. Folks around Nola call me Madame Euralie."
"Um…I really shouldn't. My friends are--"
"Sure you should." She cut me off with a smile. "And your friends are drunk. Let them be. The tarot is calling you, sweet girl. Let's see what it has to say."
I don't know why I did it, but I followed her to a table in the back, passing my friends who were too inebriated to notice me. There were other people in the place, mostly couples, but a few men were scattered around. One of the men had hair so blonde it was almost white, and it stood out in the tiny room. He turned away from me as I passed by, his gaze on my friends at the bar.
"You sit there." Madame Euralie indicated a wooden chair across from her as she sat down at a table tucked away in the corner. The table was covered by a silk black cloth and had a candle in the middle of it surrounded by what looked to be bones and a black, beaded rosary. The candle light cast a soft glow on her brown skin as she shuffled the cards before offering them to me. "Take a deep breath, focus your mind on the cards, and the cut the deck."
I did so. Immediately, she began to lay out the Tarot, muttering softly under her breath. The words were hard to catch and had the cadence of some sort of chant. A few of the cards made her smile and nod, but then I noticed she grew still, studying one of them in particular.
"I thought so," she whispered. "I am never wrong."
"What is it?"
"I see that you have lost many people. Your parents were taken from you long ago and you've had only a few relationships that mattered." Madame Euralie looked at me. "Am I right?"
"Yeah." I tried to keep my expression neutral, telling myself she was just making a lucky guess. My parents had been killed in a car accident when I was in high school, and after that, I'd never been great about letting people get close to me.
"You've been contemplating a move," Euralie said. "But it's mostly just a day dream to you. You don't have the guts to follow through."
No guts. Unable to follow through. Yep, that sounded like me, but I said nothing.
"You are going to meet a man who will change your life."
"I bet you say that to all the people you read for," I said. "No one wants bad news."
Her gaze narrowed and I had the feeling she wasn't looking at me, but in me. I could feel her mind probing against my own. Very unsettling.
"Not one man, but two." She looked sad, and I couldn't help but notice that she was truly beautiful. It was odd that I hadn't noticed it right away, but I swear she appeared to glow. Her skin had a luminous hint to it. "There is a third man that will frighten you beyond all belief."
"Seriously? You don't think you are being a little melodramatic? I'm guessing that one represents the past, one the present, and the third one the future. I think I've heard this story already." Uncomfortable, I resorted to sarcasm, but despite my words, I had a feeling that something was about to happen. As if to prove this, a gust of wind rushed through the bar, knocking over drinks and causing cocktail napkins to fly. It lifted my hair, brushing across the back of my neck like the touch of a lover.
I turned to look behind me. A few yards away sat a man and the candle from his table cast shadows under his eyes. Even in the dim light, I could see that his hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, making me wonder what it would look like loose and free. His attention wasn't on me though. Thoughtful, he observed the boisterous girls at the bar. No. That wasn't right. He wasn't really looking at them. It was the man seated next to my friends that had caught his attention, a man who made me instinctively shudder.
"Be careful, Cher." Euralie leaned forward, capturing my attention again. "One of these men will try to kill you."
***
The memory stopped. My hands gripped the steering wheel of the car and I took a deep breath. For a moment, I'd been right back in Laveau's Lounge, could almost smell the stench of Bourbon Street. It was the first time in two years that I'd recalled anything clearly about that trip. Try as I might though, I couldn't remember what had happened next. I puzzled over it all the way home.
My cell phone chimed, letting me know I had a text message. I knew who the message would be from—Eddie.
Call me.
That's all it said, but I knew I was about to get a lecture.
Damn it! One little gun flash in the Gator Mart and suddenly you become Public Enemy No. 1.
At home I threw the pack of condoms on the table of our kitchen and reached up above the cabinets, pulling down an old, cracked cookie jar that belonged to my mom. It was one of those sentimental type things that I'd held onto for years. She stored coupons in it when I was a kid. I store my contraband cigarettes in it now. I shook one out, dialing Eddie’s number.
“It was not what you think,” I began as soon as his voice answered. No need for introductions at this point in the relationship. If you don’t recognize your spouse’s voice on the phone after a year of marriage, something’s wrong with you.
“How do you know what I think?”
“I could hear it in your text. It was filled with underlying subtext that read, ‘Uh oh, here she goes again, about to step off the deep end.”
“Elizabeth, it’s never a good idea in this day and age to flash a gun at a store clerk. They tend to interpret that as you robbing them. I know there was a blackout and the computers were down, but tough shit. You need to develop what we in the police business call patience,” Eddie told me but I thought I could hear a grin in his voice.
“You need to develop what we in the teaching business call a less condescending tone of voice or you will get a timeout,” I told him, taking a drag off my cigarette.
“Are you smoking?”
“Nooo….”
“You better not be. We talked about that—breaking old habits.”
“It’s hard and it's been a stressful day.”
"Why? What else happened?" His tone changed, got quieter, as if he didn’t want anyone standing nearby to hear him.
I hesitated. Should I tell him about thinking I saw Juan Carlos? Or that my memory was starting to come back?
"It was nothing. I just had another misunderstanding with the neighbor lady," I lied.
"Leave Ella Elderbee alone. She's a good neighbor. I don't know why you have to rile her up."
"She called me a whore that one time."
"No. She said you were a bore. You just heard her wrong."
"Whatever." I know what I heard, but it was pointless arguing with Eddie about it.
“I gotta go, Elizabeth. Just got a call I have to take care of. I may be late tonight but let’s talk then,” he said. "Oh, and take that damn gun out of your purse!"
He hung up. With a sigh, I removed the gun and placed it on the counter next the condoms. Obedient as ever, I went to the kitchen sink to drown my cigarette butt. Just as I was about to do it, I glanced out the window. Ella Elderbee, my next door neighbor, stared at me from her kitchen window, a frown on her face. She wrinkled up her nose at the sight of my cigarette and mouthed the words I'd heard her say many times before.
"Stick of death!"
Screw it and screw her. I was going to enjoy my smoke. I puffed away, blew the smoke in her general direction, and then yanked down the kitchen shade. Of course, that little move backfired on me, and the smoke hit me square in the face. Coughing, I opened the back door.
And that’s when I saw it. Placed near the stairs was a bottle. A playing card of some kind had been tied to it with red string. Butterflies of panic went off in my stomach, and I knew that I should pick up the pho
ne and call Eddie back immediately. But that would have been too easy. Instead, I walked over, and picked up the bottle.
Cassagnoles de Spain.
It was the brand I’d purchased earlier this afternoon, the wine of choice that I’d dropped, the bottle which shattered on the ground in front of me because I’d thought I’d seen a dead man. The card attached to it made my heart beat a little faster--the Tarot card representing the Devil.
Careful not to touch the card, I looked around. The wind blew through the tall cypress trees in our backyard, causing them to sway gracefully. Somewhere in the neighborhood kids were playing, their chirping voices rising and falling. A shrimping boat out on the bay honked. These were all the usual sounds of Barataria and yet, something felt off. I couldn't see anyone in the back yard, but I felt eyes were watching me.
Not knowing what to do, I went back into the house, slipping the lock behind me. I placed the bottle on the kitchen counter, next to the pack of cigarettes. The Devil on the Tarot card stared at me. Interestingly, the artist of the card had opted not to make him grotesque or frightening. Instead, it showed a shirtless man with six pack abs and long black hair. His head was lowered slightly, and there were dark circles under his eyes.
The devil in Tarot does not represent a demon. At least not in the spiritual sense. It represents addictions. Addictions can be anything from drinking and cards to…a man.
The voice in my head sounded like Madame Euralie. Was this something she'd told me? I just couldn't remember.
A sound drew my attention. It was something small, a scrape of a shoe against the wood floor of my living room. My senses sharpened as I listened. There it was again. A footstep. It couldn’t be Eddie. He was a heavier man, never light on his feet. I grabbed my gun and crept to the entryway between the living room and the kitchen. Then I sprung forward like a jack in the box out of control.
Nothing. I surveyed the empty living room and let my eyes sweep over the green couch placed with special care by Eddie in front of the massive brown entertainment center. The front door appeared locked and every shade in the small room was pulled shut. Everything as I liked it. Feeling stupid, I breathed a long sigh and set the gun down on the coffee table.
As I sat on the couch, a voice behind me said, “I thought I taught you that it doesn’t matter how safe a situation might feel. You never leave your weapon where someone can grab it.”
Instinctively, my eyes went to where I left the gun on the coffee table. It was gone. A moment later it was pressed against the back of my head. My heart pounded, but I was not afraid. No. It was the voice that was making my heart go crazy. I knew that voice.
“Juan?”
The gun moved away from my head, and with a noisy thump, was placed back on the end table. Suddenly, I was scared, scared to turn and look, scared of what I might see. What if Juan stood there, covered in seaweed, little pieces of his flesh gnawed off where sea creatures had taken a bite? What if the bone gaped through moldy skin or he was missing an eye? I knew he died. He had to be dead. He couldn’t really be standing in my living room two years after the fact.
There was movement in my peripheral vision. I drew a deep breath and turned to look.
“You’ve gone blonde.” Juan's brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail but one strand was free, doing a dance all its own as his chocolate eyes stared at me. Paler than I remembered, he still had the power to knock my senses around. His simple black t-shirt stretched across his chest showing off a muscular physique. Matching black pants gave him a faint military look, though why I thought that I don't know.
“You’re…not dead." I couldn't believe it. The man of my dreams, literally, stood in the room.
“How are you, Elizabeth?”
How am I? How am I? The dead guy in the living room is asking me how I am? My thoughts raced, but I struggled to stay calm.
“I’ve been better Juan.”
“I know what you mean.”
“I'll bet. Where have you been?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got the time.”
He moved to sit on the couch. I couldn’t help myself. I shrank away, sniffing the air for the smell of the sea or death. Slowly, he sat, eyes never leaving mine, hands held up in an "I have nothing to hide" fashion. I reached out and touched his shoulder. It felt solid. Real. I touched his chest above his heart. I could feel the steady beat. That's when my feelings betrayed me and tears welled in my eyes. He pulled me to him, and for a few minutes, I let the anguish of the past out.
There has never been anyone to share the pain of two years ago with. My husband does not fully comprehend or understand everything that occurred, and I was not as forthcoming with the police about some things that were personal in nature. Crying with Juan was cathartic. And even more importantly, he felt so alive, so sturdy, not a figment of paranoia.
Not dead.
His masculine smell surrounded me, like a comforting blanket and I reveled in the feel of his hands stroking my hair. Tentatively, I pressed myself closer to his chest, wanting…more. He tensed and I could hear his heartbeat pick up. Not sure what to make of that, I drew back and attempted to stop crying. Juan handed me a Kleenex from the box I kept on the end table. As I wiped my eyes, I noticed that his eyes darted everywhere, taking me in, the surroundings, and the noises of my house.
He’s the paranoid one now.
“Where have you been?” I asked.
After a long deep breath he answered, “Well, Elizabeth, there’s no easy way to tell you this. I should just leave you in peace but the truth is you have something I need. Something a lot of people want, actually.”
I knew what he was talking about. The map. It was the very thing he had been looking for the night I met him. The night my life changed. But that map was gone, lost in the depths of the bayou. I remembered that much. It was the question that every Federal agent I'd ever encountered the past few years asked me about.
“You're kidding, right?" I gave a small laugh. "That map is destroyed."
“Yes, that one was."
“That one? You mean there's another?"
“Sort of. At the last minute, I did something, something I don’t think you saw.”
“What?”
"I gave you the key to finding the treasure." Juan stared at me, the apology in his face etched into lines that showed how tired he was. It reminded me of the Devil tarot card I'd left in the kitchen.
“Federal agents questioned me over and over about that damn treasure! I told them nothing, which was easy since I knew nothing. I must have hit my head during the helicopter explosion, because I can't remember anything about that stuff. All I could say was that you and your friend had found some pirate treasure map and were killing people who got in the way of you finding it. Like my friends." I stopped for a moment, the anger bubbling up. "Do you know that the Feds thought I killed them? They thought I had murdered my best friends in the world over some guy. Ridiculous! They almost didn't believe me until Diego Martes showed up, spouting crazy stories about ghosts and pirate treasure. After he showed them a gold coin that could be traced to the early 1800's, the Feds began to change their tune."
“Diego never could keep his mouth shut.” Juan smiled, and I tried to ignore how sexy it made him look.
“A good thing in this case or I would have been charged with murder. Luckily, they pinned the crime on him.”
“Elizabeth.” Juan’s voice was soft, mesmerizing. “I’m here for a reason. To help you. You are still in danger. You have the key to the treasure, even if you don’t realize it quite yet. I know a lot of things about you.”
“How? Have you been spying on me? Watching but not letting me know? Do you have any idea how upset I was? How ripped apart?” The anger reared again and I let it out. “How guilty I felt? I thought you were dead because of me. And now, to see you like this…alive.”
He winced at the word.
“Elizabeth, what happened out in the Gulf was not your fault
.”
“I let go of you. I couldn’t pull you up.”
“It was not your fault.”
“I thought I killed you.”
“No, that’s not what happened.”
“Obviously not since you’re here in my living room! Tell me then. What happened? And where the hell have you been?”
For a long moment Juan was silent. I could hear the house creaking as it settled, the tick of the clock, the hum of my refrigerator as I waited. He was stalling, though I couldn’t think of why. After all, at this point, we were bound together by our past adventure. What could he tell me that would stop the danger? But of course, he surprised me. He always had an ace in the hole.
“I want you to do something for me, Elizabeth.” Juan touched my hand and turned it so that the palm faced up. He placed a gold coin there, tracing a small circle around it. I could feel a tingling sensation beginning. “I want you to revisit the past. I can help you remember, can help you see things differently.”
“I don’t understand.”
He reached forward and touched a strand of my hair, letting it slip through his fingers before shaking his head. Like a puzzle piece, it came back to me that he'd liked my hair brown. In fact, I think he'd once said that blondes were nothing but trouble and given his reputation with women, he would know!
“Close your eyes, Elizabeth.”
I did as he asked. My mind became clouded with pictures. The tingling sensation in my hand spread through me, making me slightly dizzy. After a moment, it was as if my conscious mind dissolved into the images, re-living the past even as I heard the words from the present that made my heart stop.
Voodoo Love (And the Curse of Jean Lafitte’s Treasure) Page 2