Mostly Murder

by Linda Ladd

  “Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, but votes of confidence just don’t hold up in court. Especially in homicide cases. Truth is, you’ve pretty much already proven yourself to be a bald-faced liar.”

  Several beats of dead air. Probably a good thing in her present mood. He must have thought so, too, because he said, “Has Jack talked to his attorney?”

  “Would you like to speak to Mr. Holliday, sir?”

  A heavy sigh. “Yes, I’d like to speak to Jack.”

  “Thank you for your cooperation, sir. Please let us know when you plan to arrive in town. You can contact me at the Lafourche Parish Sheriff’s Office in Thibodaux, Louisiana. Number’s in the book.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Claire!”

  Maybe, but guess what, she didn’t like to be lied to, especially giant lies that had lasted over a week now. However, if what they asserted turned out to be true, Jack Holliday was pretty much off the hook. And, if that turned out to be the case, how the hell did his fingerprints get on that glass?

  Claire walked back to Holliday and handed him his phone. “Dr. Black would like to talk to you.”

  He said, “Satisfied, Detective?”

  “Not by a long shot, Mr. Holliday. I advise you not to leave town.”

  “I didn’t touch Madonna Christien. She was the one stalking me, and I can prove it. Check it out with the NOPD. They issued my restraining order against her. I’m telling you that I haven’t seen her since. That’s why I thought the whole thing was over and done with.”

  “I’ll check out your allegations. Our investigation is just getting started. The fact that your friends can alibi you will make a big difference.”

  “Jack, wait, don’t say another word!”

  Mr. Slick Lawyer was heading across the room toward them as if the seat of his expensive custom-made, pinstriped suit were on fire. Carson Lancaster himself, in the flesh. Claire had met him once, not long after they’d moved to New Orleans, at the grand opening of Black’s new pride and joy, an exclusive and pricey boutique inn inside the French Quarter that he’d christened the Hotel Crescent. She’d seen Lancaster on the local news, too, usually smiling and gloating over his latest victory in court. He was the most famous defense lawyer in Louisiana.

  “It’s okay, Carson. I’ve got a rock-solid alibi. The detective is only doing her job. We can’t fault her for that.” Holliday gave Claire a magnanimous smile.

  Claire said nothing, and Holliday kept those black eyes on her for an extra-long moment, and then he showed her his even white teeth and übercharming smile. “I bet you’re one hell of an investigator, aren’t you, Detective?”

  “I believe your friend is waiting on the telephone,” she said to him, and then looked down at her notes and ignored his question. “Well, I guess that’s it for now, Mr. Holliday. Will you be willing to talk to us again, if the need should arise?”

  “As long as I’m with him,” said Carson Lancaster, aka Suspect’s Ace Attorney.

  Holliday put his hand on Lancaster’s shoulder. “I’ll look forward to it, Detective.”

  Maybe that flirty come-on wouldn’t look so good to him once he had a heart-to-heart chat with his old bud Nicholas Black, Claire’s so-called lover/liar. “We’ll be in touch, Mr. Holliday. Thank you for your cooperation.”

  “I’m happy to help. Yannick will show you out.”

  Outside in the hallway, Yannick, aka Snooty-Nosed Butler, appeared out of nowhere and deigned to show them out with a look on his face that intimated some very strong “good-bye and good riddance, peons” vibes.

  They took their leave, and Zee trailed her to the car and didn’t speak until they were both inside. “Thank goodness he’s got alibi witnesses, Claire. And, hey, did you know he was up there with Nick the whole damn time?”

  Claire just shook her head. She did not want to talk about that, not until she had cooled off. But Holliday was not sweating it. Not if Black and Booker came through with hotel records, witnesses, and verifying flight plans. If that happened, his alibi was pretty much written in stone. Now all she had to do was figure out how his fingerprints had gotten on that hurricane glass and who had killed Madonna Christien and stitched up her mouth and eyelids and how Claire needed to deal with Black’s Blatant Big Lie. Fun, fun, and more fun.

  “Okay, Zee, how about us visiting your Mama Lulu’s shop on Bourbon Street and seeing what we can find out about that Veve thing?”

  “She’ll be there today. Let’s go. I haven’t seen her in a while.”

  So off they went to Bourbon Street and its crowds and impossible parking problems. But Zee lucked out, especially after he pulled up in a loading zone and propped his POLICE OFFICIAL BUSINESS placard on the dashboard. Claire didn’t care. They were getting nowhere on this case and had no time to waste. She had a bad feeling that their voodoo psycho was making up another creepy doll and sharpening his pins as they continued to run headlong into high brick walls.

  Chapter Nine

  Mama Lulu’s voodoo shop was appropriately named Mama Lulu’s Voodoo Shop. Couldn’t get more to the point than that. It was tucked in a tiny building between a boisterous rhythm-and-blues bar with blaring music and plenty of customers and a nostalgic little old-fashioned bookstore where people could sit in easy chairs and read old classics by Charles Dickens, or somebody else nerdy like that. The patrons probably smoked pipes, too, and wore patches on the elbows of their tweed jackets like college professors. Not her thing, at least not until she was ninety years old and walked with a cane. Even then, she’d leave the elbow patches to Black.

  Out front, Mama Lulu’s shop had a rather spooky-looking skeleton dressed in a suit that faintly resembled Mr. Snooty Butler’s attire, but with a matching top hat and less meat on the bones and a friendlier expression. Said skeleton had on lots of Mardi Gras beads and gaudy jewelry around his neck, too. Claire followed Zee through the front door, where a cheerful tinkling bell greeted their arrival. Inside the establishment, however, it was rather dark and appropriately creepy with signs hanging around everywhere warning customers not to touch anything, including several large ones that read: NO PHOTOGRAPHS OF CHARMS OR AMULETS ALLOWED, NO CAMERAS OF ANY KIND ALLOWED INSIDE STORE, NO HANDLING OF MERCHANDISE BLESSED AND/OR CURSED BY VOODOO PRIEST, MANAGEMENT NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR EVIL SPIRITS ATTACHED TO INVENTORY, and last but not least, VISA, MASTERCARD, AMERICAN EXPRESS, AND DISCOVER CARD ACCEPTED. So there you go: buyer beware, but do pull out the plastic.

  Patrons were taking heed of the fear factor, too, hands stuffed in pockets, avoiding any brushing up against infected goods. There was no shoplifting going on; that went without saying. There were at least a dozen people browsing around the glass counters, admiring skulls and snake heads and wind chimes made out of fake human bones. At least Claire hoped they were fake. Otherwise, they just might have to arrest Zee’s granny for grave robbing. All the browsers looked very serious and intent on reading the small print on the labels. Claire decided to follow suit in that regard. All she needed was a bunch of clingy evil spirits going home with her to Governor Nicholls Street. A little boy sat behind the counter, one who looked amazingly like an eight-year-old, miniature Zee. He was dressed a lot like the skeleton and snooty butler, miniature top hat and all. Cute as could be, too.

  “Hey, Etienne, how’s it goin’?” Zee said, rounding the counter and doing some fancy high and low fives and bumping of hands and other bodily parts with the child.

  “We been real busy, Zee Man. Mama Lulu’s back there, makin’ up those good-luck amulets for Christmas stockings. Sellin’ lots of love potions today, too.”

  Claire could use one of each at the moment, and so could Zee. He had a hot date tonight, and Claire was just hot under the collar where Black was concerned. A lady who was obviously a tourist from New York, considering her accent, came up and demanded that they come down on the price of a jar of bat wings, which Etienne answered with calm and polite respect. “Can’t do that, ma’am. They is hard to come by.”

&n
bsp; Claire smiled to herself and followed Zee through a curtain of clicking black beads into the back of the store. There they found his granny, sitting on a tall stool at a worktable doing God knew what with what looked like lots of dead critters’ body parts. She wondered if PETA ever picketed the place.

  “Hey, Mama Lulu, Etienne says you been too busy to think.”

  “Well, now, look at dat, de big po-lice detective, come to see his grandmama at last. Where you been at, Zander? Forget about who raised you up and put de food in yo’ mouth?”

  “Nah, Mama, you know I haven’t. We got a big case that’s keepin’ us busy.”

  The old woman had to be in her eighties, and spoke in an unusual accent and cadence that appeared to be pigeon English with a lot of French patois and some kind of native Caribbean dialect thrown in, too. Very distinct and different, and it made Claire wonder where the old woman had grown up. When Mama Lulu suddenly jumped down off the stool, she appeared spry and sassy and wore some kind of a bizarre gypsy outfit that would no doubt wow tourists, especially coupled with the handsome little boy in his miniature tuxedo. Quite an outfit it was, too. A red and yellow paisley skirt, long and full. A gold shawl was knotted over a long-sleeved black silk blouse, and a fringed purple turban and huge gold hoops finished the eccentric getup. Apparently, some tourists were real suckers, but Zee said that Mama Lulu made enough off them to keep food on the table and to send Etienne to a private Catholic school in Thibodaux. So good for her. Everybody needed to find a way to make a buck these days, unless they were Black or Jack Holliday. They had plenty of cash just lying around and getting dusty.

  “Who dat? You got a pretty gal you ain’t tole us ‘bout?” Mama Lulu demanded, looking Claire up and down with a critical eye.

  “Now, Mama, she ain’t my girlfriend. She’s my partner. You know that. Claire Morgan’s her name.”

  Mama Lulu put some very dark eyes on Claire for a very long time and made Claire very uncomfortable. It seemed as if the old lady could read her mind or was implanting strange voodoo commands in her brain, but maybe it was just the vibes in the slightly sinister shop that were freaking Claire out.

  “How do you do, Mama Lulu?” Claire said, mainly to break their uncomfortable eye lock.

  “You best be careful, girl. You got dark gris-gris all ’round you.”

  Well, that was just great. Damn it. “And that means?”

  “Dat mean you better watch out for evil t’ings.”

  Double greats. “Thank you. I try to, but sometimes it just gets tough out there.”

  “I got amulets that’ll protect you. I will sell you two for one. Five bucks.”

  Claire felt a little better for a moment, thinking the gloom-and-doom prophecy was just a sales tactic. Until Mama Lulu turned, picked up two necklaces with little leather pouches on the end, and draped them around Claire’s neck. “I give you dese two. You need dem worse’n me.”

  Crap. Claire was beginning to feel sorry that they came. But she shook it off and opened the manila envelope she carried, chock-full of ugly crime scene photos. She chose the close-up shot of the Veve with the two snakes and stars. “Thanks for the amulets, Mama Lulu, but we really need you to look at this picture and tell us what it means. Would you mind doing that for us?”

  Mama Lulu looked accusingly at her grandson. Zee made nice. “It’s nothin’ evil. Just a picture of a Veve.”

  “You be wearin’ de charms I gave you, Zander?”

  Zee looked like a subdued child in his grandmama’s presence, but Claire had a feeling she looked a little hangdog herself. It had to be the shop and the peculiar smells and human skulls and snakeskins, not to mention the bat wings. They had both been fine before they’d walked in.

  “Yes, ma’am. They’re tucked inside my shirt, next to my heart, just like you told me.”

  Mama Lulu nodded sagely and looked satisfied. She took the photo of the spilled cornmeal and tracings that Claire was holding out. She laid it on the table under the hanging light. She studied it very closely, very closely, for at least three minutes. Claire wanted to drum her fingers on the table but stood still, the rather unpleasant and less than aromatic scents emanating from her necklace charms wafting up to her nose. Not exactly Estée Lauder but Estée Lauder couldn’t stop a bullet, either.

  “Dis be a Loa named Damballah-Wedo.”

  “Shit,” said Zee.

  Not a good sign, that. “Now what exactly again is a Loa?” Claire asked quickly.

  “A Loa is a voodoo deity. Damballah-Wedo is a deity in Loa family of Rada. He is male.”

  “Good or evil?” Claire thought it best to know that right off, but she had a feeling she already knew.

  “Either and neither.”

  Hocus-pocus, anyone? But then Mama Lulu suddenly became more forthcoming. She pointed to the symbols in the photograph.

  “We know him by de sign of de serpent or de snake. Humans possessed by him do not speak but dey hiss and whistle. Dey move like snakes and slither along de ground and flick de tongue and climb up de walls and writhe about on de tree limbs. He be associated with St. Patrick.”

  Zee nodded. “Yeah, makes sense. St. Patrick drove the snakes outta Ireland, didn’t he?”

  Oooookay. Yep, a hissing, slithering murder suspect writhing around on a tree limb should be quite easy to spot. “Why are there two snakes? And what do the stars mean? And is that a cross or a plus sign?”

  “Damballah-Wedo is deity of creation and loving father to de world. He bring peace and harmony and water and rain. Dat’s a cross. Voodoo use many Christian symbols. I do not know what dis here picture in de Veve mean with dese t’ings. Only he knows, de one who make it.”

  “Well, that peace and harmony stuff’s a lot better than hissing zombies,” Claire remarked. Zee gave her a warning look, obviously buying into all the mumbo jumbo. Somehow Claire wasn’t quite convinced yet. Maybe it was the slithering up a live oak tree thing. “Do this god’s priests ever kill and sacrifice human beings?”

  Mama Lulu stepped away from her as if Claire’s hair had suddenly burst into flame. “Do not talk such evil t’ings.”

  Well, Claire guessed that was that. She sorted through the photos until she found one depicting the highly bizarre altar. Hesitating, she looked at Zee. “What about the actual crime scene, Zee? That too much?”

  “I will look at it,” Mama Lulu answered for him.

  Claire handed it over. Again, Mama Lulu took a verrrrrrrry long look at it, and then finally said, “Dis will summon Papa Damballah. His color is white. Dat is why woman is dressed in white with de white flowers and candles. Dis is offering.”

  “Does this look like the work of a real voodoo priest or somebody trying to give that impression?”

  “Voodoo priests don’ leave dead bodies on dere altar places,” Mama Lulu told her in an accusatory and offended tone. She might’ve well as said, You stupid idiot girl, because that was what her tone clearly implied.

  “Okay, that’s what I figured.”

  “Maybe long ago in de old and bad days. Dis will disturb Papa Damballah. He will rise and be angry at de sacrilege.”

  “Well, that’s all we need. We’ve got enough trouble. Tell me, Mama Lulu, what does it mean when a picture of a person is pinned on the face of a voodoo doll, stuck on with pins, you know, in the eyes and heart and between the legs, and placed in the corpse’s hands?”

  Mama Lulu quickly crossed herself and looked frightened as all get out. “Dat means dat dey will suffer a horrible death soon.”

  Wonderful. Maybe Claire would keep wearing the smelly amulets, after all. Black would just have to get used to the less than pleasant odor. She sighed. “Do you have a book on all this stuff, Mama Lulu? I think I need to brush up and see if I can figure out some kind of motive here.”

  Mama Lulu nodded and led them out into the front of the shop, which was now even more crowded with customers. Many of them were staring at Etienne, who was holding a human skull with a burning candle stuck in
a hole in the top of its head. As it turned out, Claire found several books on voodoo and the god who liked white so much—to the tune of $57.14. She wondered if Russ Friedewald would reimburse her if she left them at the station as research materials. Her salary wasn’t exactly Paris Hilton comparable, and she did have to buy Black something nice for Christmas, not that he deserved anything at the moment. Hell, maybe she’d give him some books on voodoo and a truth-telling amulet to tuck into his shirt. But now, she was going to go home, get some sleep, and pore over all this weird stuff and figure out what their hissing, slithering voodoo murderer might do next.

  A Very Scary Man

  Malice’s dream was fast becoming a reality. He continued to pilfer building supplies from his uncle’s business and tote them out to his secret place deep in the bayous. He had started his Maze of Terror and it was going very well, but it was slow work. He had already built all sorts of metal tunnels made out of barrels and big plastic tubes for his eventual prey to crawl through so that he could hit the metal with a hammer while they were inside and terrify them. He made all sorts of trapdoors with hinges over deep pits and hidden doors and barred cages so that he could jump out and scare the devil out of his screaming captives. It was all going extremely well, and nobody suspected a thing. He was just ecstatic.

  Even at school, everything was most excellent. He had met the most wonderful girl in the world, and she loved him back. She wasn’t anything like Timid Little Dead Betsy. She was strong and smiley and smart and beautiful and a good athlete like him. He found himself downright intrigued by her, almost as fascinated with her as he was with honing his terror tactics. Strange thing was, though, he had no desire to scare her. He just wanted to look at her and be with her and breathe in her perfume that smelled like lemons, all the time, every day, and she wanted to be with him all the time, too. He even gave her his letter jacket with all its medals and chevrons and let her take it home and wear it whenever she wanted. And it only got worse. He adored her to the extent that he didn’t want to do anything else but be with her every single minute of every single day.