by Deborah Camp
Trudy shifted in the chair, feeling like a specimen under a microscope. She couldn’t argue with the woman, but she didn’t want to agree with her either. Jazeem’s sudden smile felt like a beam of sunlight falling on her from a cloudy sky.
“But you’re emerging from the shadows. It’s scary, but it’s good. Think of it as breaking out of a cocoon to spread your lovely wings. Let us see you, Trudy. No more hiding.”
Kit Kat came back into the room, glancing from one person to another. “Henri hit the road. He wasn’t happy about it, though.”
“Ah, well.” Jazeem’s hand slipped from Trudy’s. “That one is never happy.” She leaned back and crossed her arms. “I have a tale to tell you, Trudy. It is an odd tale and one that, I know, will haunt you as it has haunted me. Will you allow this telling?”
Trudy looked at Quintara from the corner of her eye. The woman was fairly glowing with excitement and anticipation. Quintara loved this spooky crap. Trudy . . . not so much. However, she gathered her courage and nodded. “Sure. Go ahead.”
“Right before Christmas I had a client in. A well-off lady. She comes to me two or three times a year. This particular time, she brought a man with her. She introduced him as her brother. He was in a wheelchair and he sat over there, by the door.” She nodded in the direction. “I did her reading. She likes the Tarot cards.” Jazeem picked up the deck and then turned over the top card. She hunched her shoulders as if she had a sudden chill.
Trudy stared at the Death card. From her basic knowledge of the Tarot meanings, this one signified change. Wait . . . was Jazeem reading her cards? She groaned inwardly, realizing she’d fallen into a trap when the cunning woman had asked her to pick up the cards and stack them, which was the first step in a Tarot reading.
Jazeem tapped the card with a long fingernail. “Changes for you. See?”
Trudy tensed in anticipation of the next card. A year ago she’d had her Tarot cards read by one of Quintara’s “students.” Since the woman was new at it, Trudy hadn’t put much stock into the reading – until the prophecies had begun to come true. The woman had said she would be given the opportunity of a lifetime that would greatly impact her professional and personal life. She’d said that Trudy would relocate and that wealth was in her future.
“Back to my time with the wealthy client . . . it was a difficult reading that day,” Jazeem said, capturing Trudy’s full attention again. “The man caused a disturbance. He had brought with him many tortured souls. They swarmed around him with open mouths as if they were crying or screaming. I couldn’t hear them. I could sense them. See them.” She looked toward Quintara. “You understand?”
“Yes. The souls were attached to him somehow?”
“Oui. That’s a good word. Attached. They could not escape, although they wanted to leave this world for the next.” She angled forward a little, her expression so serious that it chilled the blood. “I believe this man took their lives and that’s why they circled him. Until he is punished or dead, they are tethered to him. I don’t know why. Maybe they’re angry and wish to torment him more than they wish to move on.” Jazeem revealed another card. “Ah-ha! The Empress.”
Trudy shook her head. “I’m not well versed in Tarot.”
“The Empress teaches us to be kind and put your heart into your undertakings. She also predicts an impending marriage.” Jazeem smiled impishly at Trudy and then Quintara.
“Oh.” Trudy shook her head, feeling flushed and a little giddy. All the talk about marriage was getting to her. “So, back to this man with the ghosts all around him. Who is he?”
“Forté. Desmond Forté. He lives with her. I don’t know why he is in the wheelchair. I didn’t ask anything about him because I was so . . . so . . .” She made a helpless sound and looked toward Kit Kat. “How do you say secoué?”
“She was all shook up. Rattled by her vision,” Kit Kat explained, getting a nod from Jazeem.
“Yes, that.” Jazeem waved a finger at the girl. “Mrs. Jewel – my client – Mrs. Jewel Forté Chambers said he was recently retired as a teacher. Then he interrupted her, saying she should get on with her business. Later, I wondered if he didn’t want her speaking to me about him.”
“So, you believe he’s a murderer,” Trudy said.
“A many times murderer.” Jazeem’s brow puckered and she looked at Kit Kat. “What is it called, girl?”
“Serial. A serial killer.”
Jazeem gave an emphatic nod. “That’s what he is.” She turned over another card and her eyes widened. “Ah. Look at this. Levi Wolfe makes an appearance with this King of Pentacles. He is a big influence in your life and he brings with him riches. He is at ease with his station in life and his responsibilities and he wants to share it all with you. You must allow this if you want to build a happy nest.”
Fait accompli, Trudy thought. Levi was wealthy – many millions wealthy – and that was something she was having difficulty embracing. She’d grown up being frugal and suddenly having her mortgage and student loans paid, the keys to a fancy car placed in her hand, and calling a luxurious penthouse “home” was doing a number on her.
“He’s very generous,” she said, then cleared her throat and steered the conversation away from her crazy, but good, private life. “But this man you’re talking about was in a wheelchair. So, how dangerous could he be?”
“Perhaps this is a recent thing for him. Perhaps he retired from his work because he was injured and can’t walk anymore.”
Trudy mulled it over. “Yes, that’s certainly possible.”
Jazeem turned over another card. “The Queen of Swords!” She rested a fingertip on the image’s crown. “You see the butterfly? That’s as I told you. You have experienced depression and rejection, but now you accept the truth of who you are and your destiny. Now you can fly.”
“That’s good.” Trudy examined the picture of the queen and felt some of the tension lift from her shoulders and neck.
Jazeem flipped over another card. “And the Two of Wands.”
“That has something to do with business, doesn’t it?” Trudy asked.
“It does. You are in the beginning of a new venture and it’s a good one.”
Quintara patted Trudy’s arm. “See, dear? You’re on the right track.”
“She is. You’ve already had successes and this partnership with Levi will be a prosperous and emotionally satisfying one.”
“I knew it!” Quintara beamed.
Jazeem revealed the face of another card and laughed. “The Page of Cups.”
“The psychic card,” Quintara said, also chuckling. “I’d be shocked if that one hadn’t turned up.”
“Oui. But it doesn’t always show itself. I’ve read for many spiritualists and seers and it isn’t unusual for that card not to appear. That it does for you represents the depth of your talent.”
“Levi believes she hasn’t even tapped into some of her abilities,” Quintara said.
“Oh? Interesting.” Jazeem arched a winged brow. “Let’s see. One more card to guide us.” She slipped it off the top of the deck and displayed it.
“The Moon,” Quintara whispered, sending a shiver down Trudy’s spine and tension back into her muscles.
Kit Kat moved closer, her gaze flicking from Jazeem to Trudy and back again.
“This is a most important revelation,” Jazeem said, lowering her voice to a near whisper. “Deception is ahead. You must exercise extreme caution when dealing with others because they’re wolves dressed as sheep.” She pointed to the two wolves on the card that were howling at the moon. “The truth will come to you in visions and dreams. Trust your instincts even if they seem to lead you to darkness or danger. Denying what your instincts tell you to do will only bring you chaos and pain.”
“Great,” Trudy quipped as she rolled her shoulders to relieve some of the tightness. “Are we finished with the card reading now? I’d like to get back to your mysterious tale.” And away from my future and impending doom. “D
o you think he killed people in New Orleans?” Even as she asked, the answer seemed to zip into her brain like an arrow. An arrow possibly released by Jazeem since she was staring at Trudy with a jarring intensity. “Oh! You think he’s the salvage yard murderer, don’t you?”
“You know of this?” Her brown eyes reflected the flicker of flames from the tea lights scattered around on the furniture in the room.
“Levi and I read about the discovery of the buried bodies in the Slidell salvage yard. It was in the newspaper.”
“After the recent flooding, one of the bodies floated up to the surface and was discovered. Others were also partly revealed. So many. They eventually found the remains of nineteen. All young, barely adults.” Jazeem removed her glasses and set them aside.
“Levi and I were thinking about looking into the murders, but then we had so much hit us all at once. I moved from Tulsa to Atlanta. Some of Levi’s construction projects were finishing up, and he had his big fundraiser event for his charity to stage, and then his personal assistant was married on Valentine’s Day and I had to persuade Levi to attend her wedding.”
“He didn’t want to? He didn’t want her to marry?” Kit Kat asked. She’d made herself comfortable on a black velvet love seat, her legs curled under her.
“Oh, no. Nothing like that.” Trudy paused, drawing in a breath and trying to word it as delicately and kindly as possible. “He has a church phobia.” She waved a hand in a dismissing gesture. “Long story. Anyway, I convinced him that he could attend the wedding and make his assistant and the man she married believe that he’d sat through the entire ceremony.” She smiled, recalling how they’d snuck into the church just as the final vows were being recited, taking their places in a pew near the back. She’d never forget how pleased Darla had been to see Levi, since he’d told her he probably wouldn’t be able to make it. So, no one was the wiser that Levi had sat stiffly, sweating, and breathing deeply in that church for only a couple of minutes before the happy couple were declared husband and wife.
“A church phobia?” Kit Kat repeated. “Like a vampire?”
Trudy chuckled. “Sort of, I suppose. He doesn’t hate churches or religions or anything like that. He had some bad experiences when he was a child and they scarred him.”
“Oh.” Kit Kat’s lower lip puffed out in a pout of sympathy. “That’s so sad.”
“Kit Kat thinks your man is . . . what did you call him? DDG?”
Kit Kat giggled and wrinkled her pert nose. “Yeah. I guess.”
“What’s that?” Quintara asked.
“Drop dead gorgeous,” Trudy translated.
“Oh.” Quintara gave a firm nod. “That he is, my dear. And he’s well aware of it.”
Trudy laughed in agreement. Levi wasn’t stuck up, but he did use his looks to get things he wanted and he did so without apology.
“You’ll send for Levi? You will expose this man for what he is?” Jazeem asked.
“It’s not that simple, I’m afraid. Levi’s wrapped up in some business things right now, which is why I’m here with Quintara. I decided to give him some space to get his work done. When I’m there, I . . . tend to distract him.” She sent Quintara a quelling glance when the woman laughed naughtily. “I’ll certainly discuss this with him, and once we’re both free, we can look into it. Hopefully, the serial killer will be caught by then. I’m sure the New Orleans police and FBI are all over this. Did you tell the police about this guy?”
“What’s to tell?” Jazeem flung her arms out. “That I sensed tortured spirits surrounding him?”
“But here in New Orleans, they must take the spiritual arts more seriously.”
Jazeem looked away, obviously troubled, perhaps even embarrassed. “A few years ago, I had another protégé.” She swung her gaze around to Kit Kat and smiled kindly at her. “Not like my Kit Kat, who is respectful. Ambrosia was headstrong. She took up with an older policeman who patrolled around here. She became pregnant and tried to blackmail him for money.” Jazeem pressed her hands flat against the table and stood up, suddenly agitated. “It was atroce. The police were here every day. Every day for weeks on end! They lumped me in with her like we were the same. From then on, they looked at me as their foe. That policeman resigned early and his wife divorced him. His children were mad at him. Turned out that the baby wasn’t his, after all. Quel bordel!”
“I’m used to the police not being helpful,” Trudy said. “I just thought it might be different here. New Orleans is rife with voodoo queens, black magic, white magic, all kinds of magic.”
“It is, but the police deal with facts they can bring to court,” Quintara pointed out. “It’s understandable.” She flicked open the jeweled cover of a ring on her middle finger to reveal a watch face. “While I could bask in your company all evening, dearest Jazeem, we must be getting back to the psychic fair. I promised to meet some people for drinks.”
“I understand, but I’m sorry to see you leave.” Jazeem lifted a corner of the plum table cloth and removed a rectangle of paper. “I made a sketch of the man from my memory,” she said, offering it to Trudy. “Take it.”
Staring at the paper and feeling as if it were a key that would unlock a door she wasn’t quite sure she wanted to open, Trudy finally chided herself and took the paper. She unfolded it and examined a charcoal drawing of a balding man, moon-faced, wearing glasses. “So, he’s retired, but he doesn’t look old. Maybe in his fifties?”
Quintara leaned closer to look at the drawing. “There is something about his eyes . . .” She shook her head and sat straight again. “I don’t like him. The likeness of him gives off bad vibes.”
That’s when Trudy felt the first stirrings like the rustle of dried leaves rattling about in a corner of her mind. A shadow passed behind her eyes, dimming everything for a split-second, but it was long enough for her to recognize the telltale signs.
Someone evil was knocking at the door to her psyche. Eventually, she’d have to unlock it and let him in. It had begun and she was helpless to stop it.
Chapter 2
“This is creepy. We shouldn’t have come here.” Trudy shivered uncontrollably. She wished she hadn’t agreed to this excursion that Quintara had suggested after they’d left Jazeem’s place. She felt exposed, even though they were in a car and they hadn’t even entered the Slidell salvage yard where more murder victims had been buried.
“Do you feel something, dear?” Quintara placed a hand on her arm.
“Yes, of course I do. This might not be a murder scene, but it’s where the murderer stashed his victims.”
“You know what I meant.” Quintra pursed her lips in a gentle recrimination. “Do you feel anything from him. The murderer.”
“No.” And that was mostly true. She had experienced a small disturbance while they’d been at Jazeem’s, but had managed to stuff it back into the farthest corner of her mind. “Let’s go.”
“Don’t you want to go into the yard now that we’re here? You might pick up on something.”
“No.” She put the rented Ford Fusion in reverse. “If we decide to work on this, I’ll come back with Levi.”
“You feel safer with him?”
Trudy heard the hurt in Quintara’s tone and saw it in her slight frown. “I do, but it’s no reflection on you. He knows how to handle my weirdness.”
“Weirdness.” Quintara laughed. “You’ve always called it that. You aren’t weird, dear. You’re blessed.” She adjusted the four strings of colored beads and polished stones hanging around her neck and puffed out a sound of regret. “Very well. If you aren’t in the mood for exploring, I suppose we should get back to the conference. I did promise to meet a few people in the hotel bar and my next panel is at seven.”
Trudy glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Five o’clock. She wanted to get away from the salvage yard, but she wasn’t eager to return to the hotel where the NOLA Ghosts and Spirits Facts and Fiction Fair was being held. Quintara was one of the guest speakers and Trudy h
ad enjoyed her presentation yesterday on “Ghostbusting for Real.” What she didn’t enjoy was being approached by people for autographs or to have her picture taken over and over again with “fans.” That she had “fans” made her feel panicky. Levi had fans. Levi could handle being fawned over. In fact, he excelled in it. But she didn’t. It sent her back to the bad, old days when she felt like a freak and was treated that way by people she had hoped were friends.
Steering the car onto the street that would take them to the I-10 and back across Lake Pontchartrain, Trudy braked at a light and tried to banish the uneasiness, but it persisted. On a whim, she pulled into a McDonald’s drive-through.
“Why are we stopping here?” Quintara asked.
“I could use a Dr Pepper. How about you?
“Definitely!” Quintara’s eyes lit up. “Diet Dr Pepper for me, dear.”
Trudy placed the order and drove around the other side to pay and get the iced drinks. She parked in the shade and took long pull on the straw. The liquid cooled her mouth and throat and she closed her eyes and tipped her head back on the padded rest.
“What is it?” Quintara sounded worried.
“I don’t know. I’m just . . . jittery. I think it’s the conference. I’ve never been comfortable in crowds and now that strangers recognize me, it’s jarring.”
“You’re gaining notice from your work as a psychic and people are curious about you.”
“Let’s be honest.” Trudy looked sideways at Quintara and smirked. “They’re more curious about Levi and how I managed to land him.”
Quintara chuckled. “Perhaps.” She took another sip from the straw. “When are you coming back to the Roundtable? Not as a participant, but as a guest. Like Levi.”
A guest. At the Psychic Roundtable where she’d studied how to embrace her abilities instead of trying to hide from them. Quintara guided her fledgling soothsayers and clairvoyants with a gentle and steady hand and she’d saved Trudy from herself. To return as a guest? She shook her head.