by Anne Frasier
“I gave her something to eat.”
Seemed harmless. “Elaborate.”
“Nothing much. I suspected she hadn’t eaten all day, so I cut up cheese and an apple.”
“That it?”
“That’s it.”
David ended the call before Sweet could question him.
Elise stretched her hand toward the wheeled table just beyond her reach.
David pushed it closer, poured water from the pink plastic pitcher, and passed the cup to her. “Your dad says he gave you an apple and cheese. You didn’t mention that.”
She nodded, remembering now.
“Did you watch him handle the food?”
“I stayed in the living room while he was in the kitchen.” She stared, and he could see an argument forming. “You suspect Sweet of drugging me?”
“It’s fairly easy to inject fruit with drugs.”
“As much as I’d like to think it was him, no, it wasn’t Sweet.”
“Three days ago I would have been thrilled to hear you say that.”
“But not now.”
“You were fine when he arrived. Not fine when he left. And the timeline. He didn’t stick around. He gave you the food and got the hell out of there. I have to say, it looks suspicious.”
She finished off the water. “It wasn’t Sweet.”
He refilled her cup, passed it back to her. “Where did the fruit come from?” he asked. “Where did you buy it?”
She paused, the cup halfway to her mouth. “I didn’t. It was in a gift basket. From the mayor’s office.”
David called the mayor’s office. A few redirects, followed by a brief conversation with the mayor’s secretary.
“No one sent a basket,” she said. “Not from this office, anyway.”
“You sure?” David asked.
“Positive. I would have been the one to order it.”
He ended the call and shared the information with Elise. “The delivery was from an unknown person.”
“Candy from a stranger.”
He raised his eyebrows in agreement.
She leaned deeper into the pillow. “I should have known the gift was a little too generous, considering the source.” Her voice was weaker. She needed to rest.
David gave her a wry smile and slipped the half-finished water from her hand. “How about now? Have you started to remember anything else from last night?”
Despite her grogginess, she was still able to pin him with a hard gaze. “Why do you keep asking me that?”
“I’m just trying to put this together. The more information I have, the better.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Did something happen?”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
“Nothing unusual.”
Why didn’t he just tell her? She’d catch him. She always caught him. “You were in the cemetery. Someone reported a woman high on meth wandering around. The cop on patrol called me. End of story.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Five minutes later David called Sweet back. “Meet me at Elise’s house in fifteen minutes. I want you to walk me through the events of last night.”
“I’m underground.”
“This is important. Be there.” He ended the call, then told Elise, “I’ll be back later.”
In the hallway near the elevator, he ran into Strata Luna.
When Strata Luna entered a building, the world took notice. You could feel the ripple of her presence as it hit one person after the other. David always likened it to a sound wave, invisible, but you sensed it. The awe, the fear, the curiosity. She was larger than life, and the long black mourning dress that covered her from head to toe just added to the drama. Not for the first time, he wondered what she’d look like in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Would no one notice her, or would she still command attention? He was pretty sure the world would sit up, take notice, back away.
Her gaze swept past the mere mortals to land on David, one mortal she knew and recognized. “Jackson told me Elise was here.”
David cocked his head, and they moved to the side of the corridor. Trying to ignore the carts, nurses in scrubs, and furtive, wide-eyed looks, David spoke in a low voice while filling her in on everything but the nudity. He could trust Strata Luna, but it was better to keep that information close.
“I’m not surprised by any of this.” In fact, she seemed to have expected it. “It’s a spell.”
David had no patience for talk of spells right now. “This isn’t the time.”
“Someone left a spell on her doorstep the day you got back from Chicago. Did she tell you?”
“No.” Damn Elise and her secrets. Of course the spell wasn’t what concerned him. Someone lurking around her house? That did.
“A killing spell,” Strata Luna said. “That’s some dark and serious work. I told her to check the yard and foundation, look under the porch. She just laughed.” She straightened, puffed out her chest. “She’s lucky to be alive. I’m gonna make a purifying spell as soon as I get home. And speakin’ of home, where’s Elise going when she leaves here? She shouldn’t be alone, and she shouldn’t go back in that house until we know it’s clean.”
“I’m hoping the hospital will keep her a few days; then we can figure it out.”
“I have room. A lot of room. And I’ve been in your apartment. Not big enough for you and that crazy cat of yours. But then, maybe you and Elise are together now . . .” Eyebrow raised.
“We’re not together.”
“That disappoints me. What kind of man are you? Want me to put together another love spell since you can’t seem to make anything happen on your own?”
“I sure as hell don’t want another love spell. The first one got me in too much trouble.”
“Okay, but you two should be together.”
He shook his head. “That’s never going to happen, so let’s not go there.”
David was relieved by the appearance of Avery, who shot from the elevator, out of breath, frantic, most likely afraid he was losing someone else he cared about. David put him out of his misery. “She’s going to be fine.” Then he waited for a reaction or some follow-up comment on what had occurred last night. Avery seemed to know nothing. That was good. Freeman must have been keeping his mouth shut.
“I’m heading to get an update on John,” Avery said. “Then I’ll look in on Elise.”
David gave the detective a pat on the shoulder and told Strata Luna to keep an eye on Elise while he was gone; then he left to meet Sweet.
He and Sweet arrived at Elise’s house close to the same time. Sweet took in David’s wrinkled clothes and unshaven jaw without comment. David noted Sweet wasn’t looking so dapper himself. His jeans were dirty, and David doubted he’d been doing any gardening lately. Sweet was no longer living at Elise’s place, but from the looks of his clothes it seemed he might not be living with Strata Luna either. When he said “underground,” he must have meant it.
“Let’s get inside,” Sweet said. “I don’t want anybody to spot me.”
They circled the house to find the back door wide open. Inside, water was running in the sink. Sweet pulled a paper towel from the holder and turned the faucet off. “Do you know zombies, real-life zombies, not the fictional kind, are often created by the transdermal delivery of tetrodotoxin?”
“TTX? Yeah, had a little run-in with that a couple of years back.”
“So you know it can be delivered in many ways. Ingestion, through the skin, and breathing the dust. And do you know the curse of Tutankhamen is thought to not be a curse at all, but the inhalation of poison deliberately left behind for any would-be tomb robbers?”
“Man, you and Elise sure are related.”
“What I’m trying to say is, don’t touch anything. I know you suspect food, but the drug, and I believe it will be found to be a drug or combination of drugs, might have been administered transdermally, which means it could have been left anywhere.” He glanced
around. “Door handles are a prime choice.”
Hands at waist, David said, “Death will come on swift pinions to those who disturb the rest of the pharaoh.”
Sweet glanced up in surprise.
“What?” David asked. “I know my history.” Actually, he’d seen it in a documentary. “It was engraved above the door to the tomb.”
They moved through the house, continuing to discuss the pharaoh’s curse as they went. In the living room, Elise’s gun and phone lay undisturbed near the couch. On the coffee table was a plate containing cheese and the remaining slices of an apple, now dark.
“So innocent looking,” Sweet said.
David gave him a sharp glance to see if he was serious. “You’re kidding, right?” He pointed. “It’s an apple. A damn apple.”
Sweet shrugged in disagreement. “Apples symbolize comfort. Home.”
“Apples symbolize evil. Haven’t you read any fairy tales?”
“If you were to plant an apple tree for your kids to climb, why would you plant it? Because it’s evil? No, because it represents the promise of the life you want for your family.”
“I’m not going to get into an argument with you about apples.” Sweet was just like Elise. “We’re both right.” David pulled out his phone, called the department, and told the dispatcher to send a crime scene team to Elise’s house. “We don’t need sirens. And there’s no body to process.”
Upstairs they moved room to room. Like the rest of the house, it appeared undisturbed.
“So far you’ve talked about a scientific explanation for all this mojo stuff,” David said. “And yet you were once known as a conjurer. I don’t get it.”
“I’ll be the first to admit there are a lot of things that simply can’t be explained by science, but I’m also not against milking a good thing. Scaring the crap out of people, especially when it comes to people who believe, can often bring about confessions. Who’s to mess with that?”
“I have nothing against an opportunistic strategy.” David headed for the stairs, thinking they’d seen enough. And he had more than one reason for asking Sweet to meet him at Elise’s. “You going to tell me what’s going on?”
It was hard for Sweet to part with anything, but once they were back downstairs he finally opened up, telling David about framing Remy, and about how he was sure the guy was back, and that he was after a sick kind of revenge.
“That’s why I’ve gone into hiding. You probably think I’m doing it to protect myself, but that’s not it.”
“I get it. Can’t have a show if nobody’s watching.”
“Thing you have to realize,” Sweet said, “everybody’s in danger. You, Elise, Strata Luna, John. John’s in grave danger.”
“Because he might be able to ID the perpetrator.”
“Right.”
“We’ve got eyes on him, but with extra guards also protecting the mayor, it’s stretching us thin.” David would pay from his own pocket if the department pulled John’s guards due to funding. “Anybody else who might be in danger that you can think of?”
The older man gave it some thought, then shook his head. “I’ll let you know if I come up with anybody.”
Sweet left, and David waited for the crime scene team to arrive. When he told them what was going on, they ordered him out of the house and scurried to their van for hazmat suits.
CHAPTER 23
Savannah Carmelite Monastery
It wasn’t unusual for days to pass without anybody seeing Loralie, the woman who lived in the cottage behind the monastery and took care of the flowers in exchange for room and board. But when the third day came and the flowers near the arched front doors were dying from lack of water, people began to wonder. And when a few of the sisters noticed an unpleasant odor coming from the backyard and the vicinity of the cottage where Loralie lived, young Sister Valentina was sent to check. When her knock went unanswered, she tested and opened the door.
A foul odor rolled over her. She gagged and pressed her wimple to her mouth and nose. After a brief hesitation, she forced herself to step inside. God didn’t like cowards.
The one-bedroom cottage was dark, the shades pulled down tight, and it took Sister Valentina’s eyes time to adjust after the brightness of the outdoors. As she waited, she became aware of a low hum. It was a sound that was both familiar and foreign, something she knew deep down she should recognize but had a hard time putting into context.
When the room finally lightened enough for her to make out the furniture and lamps, she froze. The sound was flies and bees. So many that the bloated face of the body on the floor seemed to move.
She forgot her vow of silence and screamed, loud and long. Then she turned and ran from the cottage, continuing to scream as she hurried to the big house, her black shoes flying across the grass, her skirt billowing behind her. A sister near the back door dropped a stack of books and stopped Sister Valentina, grasping her by both arms.
“It’s horrible!” the young sister sobbed, her cry the loudest sound the monastery had heard in over one hundred years. “Loralie is dead!”
CHAPTER 24
Sure you’re okay?” Avery asked.
For the second time in less than twenty-four hours Elise found herself trying to reassure Avery. “I’m fine.”
“What the hell happened?” His eyes were bloodshot, his face unshaven, clothes rumpled. A lot of that going around.
An hour or so earlier David had left the hospital to inspect Elise’s house, and Strata Luna was long gone, leaving in a swirl of black skirts as she announced she was going home to concoct a spell and prepare a room for Elise.
Elise hadn’t agreed to either.
Avery had shown up in her room after checking upstairs on John Casper. No change. Now the detective was anxiously pacing and letting out heavy sighs. She was about to tell him he should leave when his phone rang.
He answered, moving away from her bed to hover near the door. Moments later he hung up and announced he was leaving. “Possible homicide at the Carmelite Monastery.”
She pulled in a sharp breath. Carmelite Monastery.
Avery had delivered the news in a perfunctory manner. He didn’t realize her connection to the religious haven, and why should he? She must have reacted in some way, because he went on to explain something that needed no explanation. “You know, the place out on Coffee Bluff.”
“I’ve been there.” She peeled off the IV tape, then slipped the needle from the back of her hand, pressing the entry site with her fingers to stop the bleeding. “Shut off that IV.” She kicked the covers, got out of bed. With no free hand to hold her gown closed, she walked to the closet in the corner of the room. It was empty. “Where are my clothes? My belongings? There’s nothing here. No phone, no bag, nothing.”
She looked over her shoulder. Avery stood with his back to her, like an awkward child. She released the pressure on her hand so she could use it to clutch the back of her gown closed.
“Nurse?” Head out the door, Elise looked down the hallway. A middle-aged nurse paused in her rapid walk to somewhere else.
“Where are my clothes?”
“They should be in your room. We always give patients a labeled bag when they check in.”
“There’s nothing here.”
“I’ll look into it.” She continued down the hall. She wouldn’t be back soon. Elise was sure of that.
Avery attempted to slip from the room.
“Wait,” Elise said. “I’m coming with you.”
“You haven’t been released.” He glanced down. “And you’re barefoot.”
She grabbed him by the arm. “There’s a gift shop downstairs where they sell clothing.”
“Jesus, how does Gould deal with this?”
“He does what I say.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
Downstairs she grabbed a pair of black yoga pants and slipped them on, then tied the hem of her gown to one side so it draped across her hips instead of falling to h
er knees. A pair of black flip-flops completed the getup. At the counter she presented the bar code tags for scanning and told Avery to pay.
Then they were heading for the possible homicide.
The Carmelite Monastery was located several miles from the hospital, on a dirt road that ran from Back Street to Forest River. It was a place of seclusion, where the nuns had very little contact with the outside world. Some had even taken a vow of silence.
At the end of a flat dirt road flanked by trees and shrubs stood a two-story brick colonial Elise remembered from her previous visits. The scene wasn’t as serene this time. Police cars were parked at odd angles, and men and women in uniform moved back and forth, each with their own task in mind. The county coroner’s van was there, possibly driven by Hollis Blake, the ME who’d been shipped down from Atlanta to temporarily or not so temporarily take John Casper’s place. Elise spotted David’s black Honda.
With the vehicle still rolling, she unfastened her seat belt and grasped the door handle, jumping out as soon as the car stopped. Avery quickly followed.
She knew the way and took a path around the building to the back. The sun beat down on top of her head, and she caught a whiff of the purple petunias languishing in a cement urn.
The house was tiny. “Darling,” a word Elise wouldn’t use aloud, seemed to apply to just this kind of abode. Small cabin with a red door, white windowpanes, green planters that had been overflowing with lush red petunias last time Elise had visited. Today the containers held withered brown leaves and spindly sticks.
It was Loralie’s job to care for the flowers.
Elise had been to the cabin only twice. On both visits it had been clear she wasn’t welcome. But over the past couple of years she’d sent the occasional gift, never knowing if it had reached Loralie, or if she’d enjoyed it or thrown it away, unopened. Elise wasn’t sure why she tried. In truth, she doubted she had the capacity it would have taken to forgive or have even a slight relationship with her mother.