“That woman!” Michael said as soon as he had gotten his breath back. “She’s crazy! Seriously, Dash and she didn’t get on. He respected her because she was his mother, he went to visit and was kind to her, but man, if she’d had her way, he’d be living his life in a prison of her making. Did you see Derek? He’s like a shell, like a ghost of a person. She dictates his whole life. She won’t even let him have a girlfriend. Dash said Derek had one once, and she sabotaged it so bad the girl left town and never came back.”
Roxy shook her head not knowing what to say. Family troubles weren’t her forte. They made her uncomfortable.
“And did you hear what she said about dreams, oh excuse me, chasing butterflies? Don’t do that, or you’ll end up dead? That was the total opposite of how we lived life. Dash and me, we lived only for chasing our dreams.”
Michael fell down onto one of the chairs in the lobby, his legs splayed, his hands dangling over the arms of the chair. “Maybe she’s right, though. If we hadn’t been following our bliss, none of this would have happened. If we’d stayed home like good little boys, gotten regular jobs, and stopped reaching for the stars, Dash might still be alive. Maybe following your dreams is dangerous.”
“I don’t think so…” said Roxy. His declaration had her thinking. If she hadn’t gone for her dreams, leaving her life behind to come to New Orleans and taking up management of the hotel, she certainly wouldn’t now be mixed up in a murder investigation. But then again, she wouldn’t be having the adventure of her life either, wouldn’t be making great new friends, wouldn’t be learning, living, and loving it. She’d be stuck in a dead-end job with a succession of dead-beat boyfriends, most likely.
Michael shook his head. “No. Dash never believed in living smaller than you dreamed. He’d have preached, ‘Go out there and get it, whatever it is!’” He thumped the arm of his chair. “I should keep his legacy alive.” But then he shook his head. “No. No, I shouldn’t. He’s dead now. Who’d take life advice from a dead guy?”
“Let me ask you a question,” said Sage.
Roxy jumped and turned around—she hadn’t realized Sage was there. She was standing in the doorway in flowing blue robes and a serene expression.
“Sure,” Michael said, his face a picture of torment.
“If you could speak to him now—to Dash,” a mystical look crossed Sage’s face, “do you think he would regret the way he lived? Do you think he would wish that he had bent to his mother’s wishes?”
Michael thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think so, not at all.”
“Do you think he’d still believe in chasing one’s dreams, spiritual expansion, achievement, and fulfillment?”
“Yes,” Michael said, his eyes brightening a little, and his face settling, more relaxed. “Yes, I do.”
Sage said nothing more. She turned and went back into the dining room without a word.
After a few moments of silence, Nat came over to Roxy and said quietly, “I think you’re going to have to help us. We’re really behind.”
“Okay,” said Roxy. “Michael, I need to help with preparing the food for our guests. They’ll be here for the wake soon. Are you okay with me doing that? Do you want me to stay with you? Is there anything you need?”
“I’ll come and help,” he said.
“Oh, you don’t have to,” said Roxy.
“I want to,” Michael insisted, and Roxy could see that it would help, so she let him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THEY SET ABOUT finishing up preparations for the wake. A buffet comprising some of the best food New Orleans had to offer—gumbos and jambalayas, rice and vegetables seasoned and spiced to Creole perfection—was laid out. Tiered cake stands were stacked high with Elijah’s pastries, and coffee stations stood at the ends of the tables along with condiments, cream, liqueurs, and spirits. To create the right atmosphere, Nat would sing some light, soulful jazz and a few of Dash’s favorite tunes accompanied by Sam on his saxophone.
“It looks fabulous,” Elijah said.
Roxy looked around. “It does, doesn’t it? We’re doing Dash proud.” She looked at Elijah and leaned in. “Look, Elijah, are you worried about Johnson investigating you? He means to look carefully at your cupcakes.”
Elijah laughed. “I’d like to see him try!”
“But seriously, Eli, Dash ate your cupcake. It was the last thing he ate.”
Elijah shrugged. “I’ve been making pastries since I was knee-high to a grasshopper. I’ve not poisoned anyone yet. And besides, everyone got one. They’d all be dead if I messed up.”
“That’s what Nat said.”
Elijah clasped Roxy firmly by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. “It’ll be fine. You don’t seriously think Nat or me interfered with his nightcap do you?”
“No, but…”
“Well, then. The police will catch the real killer and everything will go back to the way it was. You’ll see.”
Roxy wished she had as much confidence as Elijah clearly had.
“Look, I’ve got to go back across to the bakery. You can send the overflow there if you become overrun.” He drew his wiry body up to his full height and clapped his hands like a male flamenco dancer. “It’s time to partay!”
“Elijah, please. It’s a wake,” Roxy said.
“Trust me, Rox, it’ll be a party.” Elijah turned with a flourish and returned to his bakery to await the crowd.
Elijah was right. Before Roxy knew it, everyone from the church had descended on the Funky Cat, and she and the others were rushed off their feet serving guests and replenishing the buffet. They were deluged with so many people that many of them overflowed onto the cobbled street outside while others crammed into Elijah’s bakery. Weaving and bobbing through them all, Elijah carried trays of pastries high above his head, serving them to anyone who wanted one.
The light, soulful jazz Nat had planned to sing gave way to a blistering rendition of Chattanooga Choo Choo when a guest showed up with a trumpet. The crowd contributed improvised train sound effects and even a beatboxer joined in! Dancing and toasts and stories and jokes, all in memory of Dash Davies, continued into the late afternoon. “I told you,” Elijah said to Roxy afterward.
Three hours later, as the event started to wind down, Roxy noticed an empty spot on one of the couches. She took the opportunity to flop down into it, exhausted. She’d been running around with food and drinks, meeting her guests’ wide range of needs for the entire time. She had had to eject some people out of a bedroom at one point. They were admiring it, but still.
As she plopped down, she happened to sit between Sylvia Walters and Ada Okafor, who didn’t seem to be making much of an effort to talk with each other.
“Hi, Roxy,” said Sylvia. “You look exhausted.” She was wearing a navy t-shirt and khaki cargo pants. A bright orange neckerchief was tied around her head. She pointed to it, “Out of respect for Dash.”
“That’s nice. Yes, exhausted,” said Roxy. “But it’s all worth it to honor Dash.”
Ada was sitting on the couch like a movie star. She was wearing a long, vivid, pink gown that trailed to the floor, there was a glass of champagne in her hand, and again her nails were perfectly manicured to match her outfit.
“It is very sad,” she said to Roxy. She even sounded like she meant it a little.
“Yes,” Roxy said. She looked around the room. “He seems to have led a very full life, though. His message certainly spread far and wide.”
“Indeed. I was not a fan of his silly nature, but never mind.” Ada’s face was totally expressionless, and she sipped her champagne in a very serious manner.
Roxy looked at her out of the corner of her eye. She knew that Ada had felt humiliated by the dress incident even though Roxy was sure that Dash had spilled his wine by accident. Nevertheless, it had happened in front of her fans, all of his fans, and perhaps any of Nigerian high society who happened to be watching. Had Ada been unhinged enough by that to kill him?
Roxy wanted to ask a probing question but wasn’t sure whether to. She thought for a moment. “You two weren’t the best of friends, were you?”
“He spilled red wine all over my white Versace. You wouldn’t be happy, either. It was a limited edition, you know.”
“Yes, so you said.” There was a pause during which Roxy held Ada’s gaze as she wondered about the possibility of Ada being a murderer.
Ada suddenly jumped. She put her hand to her chest. “You’re not implying that I had anything to do with his death, are you?”
“No, no, of course not!”
“I am a very religious woman, Roxy,” Ada said. “Just because a person believes in Louis Vuitton it does not mean she cannot believe in God also. I am very forgiving and would never harm anyone, much less for a prank. I am medically trained, remember.”
“Sorry,” said Roxy. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I should hope not.”
The atmosphere felt so uncomfortable that Roxy had to leave. “Well, you’ll have to excuse me, I have to go check on the next crawfish boil,” she said.
She didn’t know why, intuition perhaps, but as soon as Roxy reached the small room at the back of the kitchen, she checked Ada’s Instagram profile. She whipped out her phone and loaded the page. There was a gorgeous picture of Ada posing at her dressing table in her room at the Funky Cat. Roxy wondered how she had done it—it was so good, it looked like a professional shot. The caption simply said, ‘Condolences.’ Ada wore a grave expression, but she looked like a model posing for a designer brand rather than someone about to attend a funeral service. It seemed to Roxy to be extraordinarily inappropriate. That there was no picture or mention of Dash, merely compounded her confusion.
Roxy scrolled through the comments. Some said, RIP Dash, but many more were commenting on how beautiful Ada looked and the exquisiteness of the dress she was wearing. One even said, Condolences. Ha ha ha! He deserved what he got after what he did to you.
Roxy noticed something else too. Ada had tapped the red heart next to each and every comment. She had “loved” them all, even the nasty ones.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“PHEW, IT’S A busy day,” Roxy told Nat.
“You’re telling me,” Nat replied. They had cleared the debris from the morning’s wake and were now preparing for the evening entertainment.
Roxy had planned what she was calling an “Evening of Love and Light” for the influencers. Whenever anyone came to New Orleans, they always wanted to know about the spiritual influences and who better to introduce them to New Orleans’s mystical realm than Sage?
“Sage has persuaded Dr. Jack at the botanica to bring along a selection of magical supplies and a pile of crystals of all types,” Roxy told Nat. The Englishwoman looked up at her boss, her lips pressed into a thin line. Nat was on her hands and knees in the dining room sweeping under a corner unit with a hand brush. Nat didn’t say anything, her silence speaking for her.
“What?” Roxy cried. “I loved crystals as a little girl. I desperately wanted a ‘Grow Your Own Crystals’ kit for my birthday one year. Of course, I didn’t get it.” Roxy was laying the table for the evening’s dinner. “Did you know that if you drink the water that crystals have been in, you absorb their powers?” Nat rolled her eyes. “At least that’s what Sage said,” Roxy finished.
“I think she was having you on.”
Before the evening began, however, Roxy, Sage, Elijah, and Sam headed over to the Hyatt to check on Michael. He’d spent most of the afternoon following the memorial service sitting in a corner of the kitchen at the Funky Cat, avoiding his fans, his mood successfully repelling them for the most part. He’d gone back to the Hyatt for a nap.
“I’ll take him his very own goodie bag of botanical items,” said Sage. “The poor soul is in a bad place. He needs the spirits now more than ever.” She found a basket in the kitchen and made up a hamper of sorts with candles, an oracle deck, sparkling pastel crystals, colored stones, a notebook with ‘Magic’ written on the front, some beaded necklaces, and incense.
When they arrived at his room, Michael opened the door with groggy eyes. His face was so swollen with misery, he looked like he’d been in a boxing match. When he saw them, he pulled a robe around his body defensively, the untied belt trailing on the floor.
“Hello,” he said flatly.
“Hi there,” said Roxy kindly. “If you need some time to yourself, we can leave. We just wanted to check on you.”
Sage smiled. “And we brought you a gift, honey.”
Sam smiled too. “I have nothing to give you, but a friend in need is a friend indeed and all that. I’m here for you, buddy.”
“And I’m here in the event you wish to rock ‘n’ roll,” Elijah said, pulling a dance move. “Otherwise, I’ll shut up.”
Michael looked at them all and gave them a small smile. “Come in.”
Roxy expected the room to be a mess with clothes strewn everywhere and half-eaten room service cluttering the table-tops. If she were to face the loss of a good friend, Roxy suspected that she would descend into chaos, but the room was the opposite of what she expected—it was as neat as a pin. Even the coffee cups and sachets on the side table were in perfect alignment as if Michael had spent time arranging them to be just so.
“Sit, please,” Michael said, gesturing at the chairs by the window. He sat down on the bed. Elijah and Sage remained standing. Elijah was too full of energy to sit down while Sage stood tall with all the poise and elegance of a statue, her light gray robes flowing around her. Sam and Roxy sat on the chairs Michael had pointed to. Sage handed Michael the basket she had brought with her. “Michael, honey, this is the least we can do for you. Remember, it is in moments of deep pain that we are the most connected to the spiritual world. Shamans, they’re spiritual doctors, will eat burning hot chili peppers without water. They incur great pain as they do, but they believe that in this way they can most securely contact the dead and any other spirit they want to connect with.” It was not an approach Roxy would have taken, but Michael was enthralled.
Sage continued. “Alchemy is the ability to turn tragedy into victory. This is a tragedy for us, but know that Dash is on the other side, laughing and playing jokes, as usual. His spirit isn’t gone. How could it be? I feel it now. Can’t you, if you think of him? He’s still around. He won’t stay long, though. He’s got to reincarnate and will soon choose where and when. He might go back to Source for a while to recharge, but then he will return in another form. But none of that technical detail matters. All I'm showing you is that his energy will go on and on. He lives forever. Like us all.”
Roxy watched Michael’s response to this carefully. She was skeptical of the idea about life after death, and she was ready to jump in if he responded poorly, but she also knew that to people who were grieving, sometimes these ideas helped.
“Thank you, Sage,” Michael mumbled tearfully, looking at his hands. “I’d like to come tonight.”
Sage’s display of crystals was something to behold. It had a shining, other-worldly aura. Sage had taken one of the trestle tables that were usually put into service in the kitchen, covered it with a soft purple velvet cloth, and laid crystals all over it. They caught the light of the lamps around the lounge and twinkled and sparkled in the early evening light.
Roxy hovered by the table, staring at the crystals for ages. One, in particular, caught her eye. There was a heart-shaped pink stone in the middle of it. Other pink and clear stones radiated from the center in beautiful swirls.
“That one’s for finding a happy romantic relationship,” said Sage, coming up behind her. “Is that something you’d like?”
Roxy was quite taken aback. “Um…well, yes…. But no! I mean, I love the stones, but I don’t want a romantic relationship right now.” She became acutely aware of where Sam was at that moment. He had just arrived and was on the other side of the room rigging up some fairy lights.
“Oh, right,” Sage
said, a little smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She flicked a glance in Sam’s direction. “I understand. Well, when you’re ready, I’ll help you make a crystal grid. It’ll help you generate one. A romantic relationship, I mean.”
“That won’t be any time soon, I can assure you!” Roxy said. “I’m much too busy.” She laughed a little too loud. “But what about doing a crystal grid to ensure justice for Dash?”
“Aha! You read my mind, honey,” Sage said. “When Michael arrives, I am planning to share it with him. Because he was close to Dash, if he’s the one to put the crystals in place, it will have a stronger effect. Also, if…” She trailed off.
“If what?”
Sage drew closer and lowered her voice. “If he’s not who he seems to be, he’ll resist making the grid. He’ll be terrified, and it’ll show. Trust me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ROXY FROWNED. “DO you think he might have…?”
“I don’t know,” said Sage. “My intuition is all over the place. Unfortunately, it picks up a lot of little things, like jealousy, or overprotectiveness, or anger, or sadness, or simple nastiness. These negative energies clog up my radar. I can’t just hear ‘Murderer! Murderer!’ loud and clear in my head. I wish I could.”
Roxy sighed. “I wish you could too…”
Just then Dr. Jack came over. Roxy had heard a lot about him, interesting anecdotes, but she had never met him before. He was the owner of the botanica, the magical supplies store that she had visited a few times with Sage.
“Hello, Roxy.”
“Dr. Jack, I’m so pleased to meet you. Thank you for closing up your botanica so you could attend this evening.”
“Oh, I haven’t closed it, my dear. My assistant, Leroy, is manning the fort. We have a commitment to stay open late. We are always open late.” He leaned in conspiratorially, “For the witches, the nocturnal ones, you know.” He winked and tapped his nose.
2 New Orleans Nightmare Page 8