Bruja Brouhaha

by Rochelle Staab

  “Want to really piss off Dave? Bring up the eighty-five championship game,” Nick said.

  “The Rams versus ‘da Bears,’” Bailey said, laughing. “McMahon was my hero, man.”

  “You’re a Bears fan?” Nick said.

  “Born and raised in South Chicago.”

  “Beverly—St. Ig.”

  “Swear?” Bailey said. “Me too. Where’d you go to college?”

  “Undergrad at Illinois in Champaign, where Dave and I were roommates,” Nick said. “I earned my PhD at Oxford. You?”

  “U of I—Chicago, then the Police Academy.”

  “The Bulls and Lakers are on TV tonight if you two decide to pop some beers and settle in,” I said, entering the living room.

  “That’s exactly what I’ll be doing at home as soon as I finish here, Liz.” Bailey grinned as he pulled out his notebook. “Thanks for meeting with me tonight. The fact that Paco Rojas’s best friend went missing has my attention. How well do you know Dr. Morales?”

  I tilted my head side to side. “Carmen Perez introduced him to my family years ago when she and Victor became partners. We socialized at parties and fund-raisers. We became closer recently, after Nick and I began having regular dinners with him, Carmen, Paco, and Lucia. Victor was very supportive when I started working at the clinic on Saturdays. He’s a wonderful man.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “Wednesday at Paco’s wake.” I settled on the edge of the sofa. “First I want to apologize if my mother and I upset Victor’s neighbor. If he was inside the house and needed help, we were prepared to do whatever it took to get to him.”

  “You don’t have to apologize,” Bailey said. “Your visit prompted the woman to file a missing persons report. What made you think Morales was missing?”

  “When Carmen Perez went into the hospital Wednesday night for emergency surgery, she tried to reach Victor. He didn’t return her calls or any of mine, didn’t go to work at the clinic, and didn’t call Lucia Rojas yesterday. When he didn’t show up again today, Mom and I decided to go to his house. His car is gone.”

  “Let me back up a few days. A few things happened at the wake after you left, Bailey.” Nick draped his arm behind me and detailed the conversations with Victor at the wake, Lucia’s breakdown, the hex, and Victor’s exit with Lucia and Cruz. “Victor wouldn’t abandon Lucia or the clinic.”

  “Or Carmen. They’re too close,” I said.

  “The timing makes me wonder if there’s a causal connection to the Rojas/Saldivar shooting,” Nick said. “Do you have any leads on the case yet?”

  Bailey shook his head. “Not much. I know Saldivar lied when he told Teresa Suarez he worked in Westlake. Saldivar was a street hustler from Boyle Heights. I don’t know what the hell he was doing in Westlake those three or four nights, but I have a feeling it was connected to the Suarez woman, Rojas, or even Morales. Save me some time—do you know if Morales and Paco Rojas were involved in business together?”

  “Not that I know of. Ask Carmen Perez. She’s closer to Victor than anyone,” I said.

  “I already spoke with her at length. I’d like to hear what you know about him. I’m curious about a business connection because Botanica Rojas trades in the occult. Some gangs are heavily involved in that scene,” Bailey said.

  “Paco refused to deal with the Santa Muerte crowd,” Nick said. “Paco and Lucia practice Santeria as their religion. There’s nothing illegal or immoral about their beliefs or their trade.”

  “Maybe Rojas’s refusal pissed off the Santa Muerte followers,” Bailey said. “Was Dr. Morales into the occult?”

  “Not at all,” I said.

  Bailey pulled at his lip, pensive. “The department views missing elderly as endangered even if they wander off voluntarily. Did Dr. Morales appear sick or disoriented to you at the wake?”

  “No,” I said.

  Nick shook his head. “The man is remarkably capable.”

  “I’ll stop at the clinic then talk to Mrs. Rojas again in the morning,” Bailey said. “She was the last person who saw him?”

  “She and her caretaker,” I said. “Be easy with Lucia. She’s still in shock from her husband’s death. She has bouts of delusion.”

  “She’s grieving and gets confused,” Nick said. “Talk to the caretaker, Cruz DeSoto. Cruz left the wake with Victor and Lucia.”

  “Carmen Perez told me Morales doesn’t have family. Did Morales talk to you about any other close friends I could contact?”

  “The people at the clinic. I’d start with his nurse, Helen Leonard,” I said.

  Bailey made another note. “I don’t recall—remind me what Morales wore the day of the wake.”

  “A maroon sport coat, blue shirt, gray slacks, gray tie with black and white diamonds,” Nick said.

  “You remember his tie?” I said, impressed.

  “My Dad had a similar tie,” Nick said. “You wore a red dress, Bailey wore a black sport coat, and Carmen had on a black dress with red roses.”

  “Show-off,” I said.

  Nick grinned. “Observant.”

  “Detective Bailey, what do you think happened to Victor?” I said.

  “Most likely his absence is voluntary. But it could be medical, or—” Bailey spread his hands.

  “Violence?” Nick said.

  “What do you think?” Bailey said.

  “A responsible, reliable doctor disappears for no reason? I don’t want to, but I could suspect violence was somehow involved,” Nick said.

  “I’ll check his phone records and financials, talk to a few neighbors. If one of them has a key, we’ll check his house. I’ll get a warrant if I have to but, as I said, most adult missing persons disappear of their own accord,” Bailey said. “He might not want to be found.”

  “I can’t believe that. Not now. Not Victor,” I said.

  Bailey got up to leave. “If Morales contacts you, let me know. The missing persons report was released citywide this afternoon. Maybe we’ll get a break and hear from someone who saw him. With any luck, this will all be just a misunderstanding.”

  When he shook my hand good-bye, I noted the lack of a wedding ring on his finger. Bailey was smart, handsome, and single. Under better circumstances I would call Robin and have her drop by to meet him, casually. By accident. How could I introduce them?

  “Good guy,” Nick said as we watched Bailey walk to his car.

  “After the Chicago lovefest I heard when he came in, I expected you to invite him to dinner.”

  Nick tickled my chin. “You’re far more interesting.” He moved his hands to my ribs. “And softer.” His fingers teased the flesh at the neckline of my dress until goose bumps ran down my arms. “And tastier.” Then he dropped his hands and went into the kitchen. “Hungry?”

  I called after him. “Tease.”

  “Payback. It took me hours of pouring sweat to empty that drawer.”

  Nick took the lasagna from his stainless-steel oven while I set plates on the counter. I pulled two wineglasses from the cabinet and turned smack into Nick uncorking a bottle of red wine.

  “Are you sure this house is big enough for both of us?” I said, laughing.

  He pulled me in then kissed me. “The closer the better.”

  We sat side by side on chrome stools behind the counter. I took a bite of Nick’s lasagna, the gooey cheese, spicy meat, hint of basil, and a touch of garlic baked into homemade pasta, and I forgot about Victor, Paco, hexes, and moving for one contented moment.

  “I think I’ll drive downtown with you tomorrow and hang out with Lucia while you’re working. I came up with an idea today,” Nick said between bites.

  “Where to find Victor?”

  “No. To create positive attention for Lucia. Botanica Rojas is a cultural gem. Lucia and Paco’s history makes for a compelling human-interest story. I called Sydney Tenbrook at the Times and a friend at the Spanish daily about an article. Both were interested. If I can write the story by Mo
nday morning, the feature could run in the online editions a week from Sunday.”

  I winced. Would the article draw positive attention or invite trouble?

  “What’s with the pained look?” Nick said.

  “People are wary of Lucia. What did they call Botanica Rojas? The witch’s pantry? What if someone writes a negative response to the article and mentions the hex?”

  “With or without the hex, the history of the shop will draw positive and negative attention. That’s a given. I’m sure Lucia has been dealing with both sides for decades.”

  “Good point. By the way, I have a message for you. My mother demands that you erase the hex.”

  “Demands?” He laughed. “Ah, win Viv’s heart and put the neighborhood fears to rest. If only I could. Maybe when Bailey finds Paco’s killer, the hex will be forgotten.”

  I took our empty plates to the sink. “If Bailey finds the killer.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Saturday morning I rolled over and opened an eye, greeted by sunlight streaming through Nick’s bedroom shutters. Dessert plates and a wine bottle sat empty at the feet of the fertility goddess on his Mission nightstand. The strand of hair stuck to my forehead was tacky from the tiramisu Nick and I fed each other in his king-sized bed the night before. Nick shifted on his pillow, hair smushed, chin rough with stubble. He sighed in his sleep, a content smile on his face. Erzulie, nestled between our feet at the foot of the bed, perked her ears then stretched with her belly to the mattress and her butt in the air.

  I wriggled out of bed and padded to the bathroom for a long, hot shower. I dried off, tucked the towel around me, and opened the bathroom door to the aroma of coffee brewing.

  Nick, in bare feet and pajama bottoms, set two cups of coffee on the dresser. “Good morning.”

  “Is this a hard sell to convince me to move in?”

  He kissed the spot on my shoulder that made me tingle, then flicked my towel to the ground. “Yep.”

  * * *

  Despite our sexy detour and another shower, Nick and I pulled into Park Clinic’s crowded parking lot in time for me to prep for the Wellness Group. We parted with an affectionate peck before Nick crossed the street to visit Lucia. I scanned the lot for Victor’s car, hoping he was sidetracked the last two days by some mysterious task and would be at work. No car. No Victor.

  Jackson, in a disconcerting explosion of peacock blue ruffles, shook her head as I walked in the clinic. “Hon, you missed it. A police detective was here this morning talking to Dr. Torrico and Helen about Dr. Morales. Nobody knows where he is.”

  “I heard,” I said. “Do you have any ideas?”

  “All I know is somebody’s got to stop the witch across the street before her hex disappears the rest of us,” she said.

  “Come on, Jackson. Lucia wouldn’t hurt Dr. Morales. They’re friends. You don’t really believe in hexes, do you?”

  “You better believe I do.” She fingered the crucifix around her neck. “Restaurants burning down, doctors missing, people coming in here all freaked out with their babies? Girl, I won’t even cross the street near her. Hell if I want her hex getting me. I hope somebody takes her away.”

  “She’s in pain, Jackson.”

  “She’s a public nuisance. After the hex got Dr. Perez, I bet Dr. Morales skipped town to avoid being next. I would if I could,” she said.

  “Hexes are fiction. The notion of a hex can’t hurt you unless you give it power.” As I picked up the Wellness sign-in sheet, Lucia’s bracelet peeked from under the cuff of my black sweater, mocking me: Then why are you wearing me? I pulled down my sleeve. “Lucia is heartbroken. She needs compassion.”

  “You don’t know who and what you’re messing with, hon,” Jackson said.

  I knew I couldn’t change her mind in the time left before my session. “I should get the room ready for group. Any new inquiries?”

  “A couple,” Jackson said. “I don’t know who will show up, though. Don’t forget to sign court cards when you’re done.”

  Miguel unlocked the session room at the back of the clinic and flicked a switch, flooding the empty room with fluorescent lights. He opened the double storage closet and pulled out stacks of folding chairs. “Let me know if you want help putting these back when you’re done. I put fresh coffee, cups, and supplies in the overhead cabinet this morning.”

  “Thanks, Miguel.” I turned off my cell phone and put it with my purse into a gray metal locker near the door.

  “Dr. Cooper?”

  “Yes?”

  “Jackson is wrong. Mrs. Rojas, she’s a good lady.”

  “I agree, Miguel.”

  I started a pot of coffee and arranged seven chairs in a horseshoe at the center of the room. The first client to arrive was a surprise. Erica, the Realtor’s wife with the bubble hairdo I saw at Paco’s wake with her husband, breezed into the session room in an olive green sweater and slacks.

  A second surprise followed Erica—Teresa Suarez. The two women separated like opposing magnets. Teresa hiked her purse over the shoulder of her oversized black blazer and headed for the coffee. Erica crossed to the wooden benches under the high windows with her phone in hand.

  Next in was Ruby Harvey, a repeat from the week before. She had burnt almond skin and cropped black hair; her thin frame swam under her oversized gray T-shirt. The cuffs of her jeans dragged on the floor as she scuffed to the kitchenette and poured herself coffee. Ruby took the chair to my right, sipping in a continuous rhythm and tapping her flip-flop on the linoleum floor.

  At ten fifty-seven, a cocksure young girl in a black leather jacket, flowered sundress, and scuffed leather boots sauntered in. Her stringy blonde/brown/magenta hair looked about a month past needing a shampoo. She got coffee and sat to my left.

  The women waited in their seats, staring at the floor. Not at one another, or the walls, or their hands, or me—at the floor. I waited until the clock clicked a notch to eleven A.M. then cleared my throat from my chair at the top of the horseshoe. Time for interpersonal action to begin.

  “Good morning. I’m Dr. Elizabeth Cooper, a clinical psychologist and your session leader. You can call me Liz. I won’t spend a lot of time talking. This session is for and about you. For those of you who are new, the conversations we have in here are confidential and cannot go beyond this room. In order for us to get to know one another, let’s begin by going around the circle with introductions.”

  I gestured for Teresa, at the end to my left, to begin.

  “I’m Teresa Suarez. This is my first time.” She turned to leather jacket girl.

  The girl twiddled at the skirt of her sundress. We waited. And waited. Her manipulations tested my composure, but I let her show herself, knowing her controlling actions reflected insecurity. Erica coughed. The girl didn’t budge.

  Teresa tapped the girl’s knee. “It’s your turn.”

  “Oh. Me?” She eyed the circle then folded her arms, a protective behavior. “I’m Juanita Sharpe.”

  Ruby took a gulp of coffee, then said, “Ruby Harvey. I was here last week.”

  Erica sat erect. “It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Cooper. I’m Erica Gates. My husband and I are supporters of the clinic. This is my first visit to the group.”

  I waited with expectation, wondering which woman would be first to fill the loud silence that followed.

  Teresa broke first. “When do we talk?”

  “Anytime you like,” I said. “You can start by telling the group why you’re here, Teresa.”

  “I guess I’m here because I had a horrible week,” she said. “I can’t sleep. Last Saturday my landlord and another guy were shot and killed right in front of me. This morning I heard Dr. Perez is in the hospital and Dr. Morales is missing. I don’t feel safe.”

  “No kidding,” Ruby said. “I bet the hex got them. None of us are safe from the hex.”

  Erica rolled her eyes.

  Juanita pulled her leather jacket closed. “What hex?”

  “The b
ruja from the botanica across the street put a hex on the neighborhood. We’re all cursed,” Ruby said.

  “Her name is Lucia and she’s not a witch,” Teresa said, picking at the sleeve of her jacket. “I live in her building. She’s my friend. I don’t believe in the hex, but I’m worried about Dr. Morales. Lucia needs him and trusts him. If she gets sick or has to sell the building, I can’t afford to move out. I’m already working two jobs.”

  “You live with a witch?” Juanita snickered. “We better watch out, girls. Maybe Teresa is a hex carrier.”

  “Lucia Rojas should shut down her shop forever and come to church. The Lord will protect her. He protects all of us.” Erica gripped her hands together.

  “What do you need protection from, Erica?” I said.

  “People like Lucia Rojas and her friends try to tempt us into damnation,” Erica said.

  “Hypocrite,” Teresa said. “I saw you at Paco’s wake with all us sinners.”

  “I was there with my husband on business.” Erica glared at Teresa. “Unlike certain people who invite trouble with their loose morals and dangerous friends.”

  “Who are you talking about, Erica?” I said.

  Erica pointed at Teresa. “Her. The whiner. She made Paco Rojas’s death and Dr. Morales’s problems all about her. She needs to get outside of herself and help other people. Everybody has problems.”

  “Oh really?” Teresa said. “You have problems, Mrs. Gates? You drive your new car and parade around in new clothes. Looks like the only problem you have is where to spend your husband’s paycheck.”

  Ruby sneered. “Who cares about her clothes? Until we get rid of the bruja, life will be hell for all of us. My old man and me worked at the restaurant the bruja burned down. How are we supposed to pay our rent without jobs? Who buys my husband’s booze and drugs? You got problems?” She set her cup on the floor. “My old man told me if I don’t get a job by the end of next week, we’ll end up on the street. So brag about your church and preach redemption, Erica, but we’re doomed by the hex. I need some good luck and a job.”