I looked at her from beneath my brow, wavering between hatred and hope.
"It could also represent a separation," she continued, pulling out a rag.
"You mean, like spending time apart?"
Chandra shrugged. "Yeah, or that Bradley's indulging in threesomes."
I hung my head as I tried to maintain my composure. "Meaning aside," I ground out, "is there anything that can undo the Three of Cups card?" I thought of Odette Malveaux, the mambo who'd helped me solve my last case. "Like voodoo?"
"Voodoo?" She scoffed as she dusted her crystal ball. "Don't tell me you believe in that hocus pocus."
About as much as I believe in clairvoyance, I thought.
"There's no easy way out," she said, shaking her dust rag at me. "You're going to have to tackle this problem head on."
So much for that triangle defense, I thought. "I'm already working on it," I said, resting my chin on the back of my chair. "Listen, I also wanted to talk to you about Oleander Place."
She turned up her nose and began wiping incense ashes from the card table. "I'm not going back to that haunted house of horrors, if that's what you want to know."
"I wouldn't ask you to go back after what happened," I said. "I just want to know if you can summon the spirit of Ivanna or Scarlett here in your office."
Her lips thinned. "I don't think so."
I looked her in the eyes. "Because you can't, or because you won't?"
Chandra fingered a charm on her star and moon bracelet. "I don't want anything to do with that place. Those spirits are scary."
I suppressed an eye roll. "Look, I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. There's been a surprising development in the case," I said, wishing I could tell her about the belladonna. "And I need to make sense of it if I'm going to find the killer. He could strike again, you know."
She sighed. "Even if I wanted to help, I couldn't. Lou has forbidden me from having any more to do with the investigation. I'm sorry." She began dusting a crystal.
Chandra didn't strike me as the type to go against her beloved Lou, so I knew there was no point in pressing further. I picked up my bag and rose to leave.
"Wait. There's something I need to tell you." She put down the crystal. "You know the French doors where we found Scarlett?"
I nodded.
"Something about the door on the right is off."
I sat down and crossed my arms on the back of the chair. "What is it?"
"I'm not sure."
"Is it stuck or something? I mean, maybe that's why you had a vision of the spirit tugging at it."
She shook her head. "That's not it. But I'm positive something about it isn't right."
The door opened and hit me in the behind. I turned and glared at a bug-eyed male in his mid-thirties poking his head into the room.
"I'll be right with you," Chandra said.
Somehow his eyes opened even wider, and then he closed the door.
"Don't your clients knock?" I asked, annoyed.
"It's the lunar eclipse," she said under her breath.
"Ah," I said, instantly visualizing half-men, half-werewolves. "Well, I've got to get out to the plantation, anyway. Let me know if you figure out what's wrong with that door."
"I will," she said in a soft voice. "Be careful out there, Franki."
"You be careful in here," I said, thinking of the lunar eclipse loonies. Speaking of which, when I opened the door, Chandra's client was standing to one side gnawing his nails. Noting tufts of black hair protruding from his collar, I gave him a wide birth as I headed for the exit.
Just before the main door a voodoo doll with long black hair caught my eye. I picked it up and considered buying it. If nothing else, it would feel good to stick a pin in Pauline. Now that I thought about it, I wished I could get a voodoo replica of Oleander Place too. Between Pauline and the plantation, I was nearing my wits' end. As of this moment, I could no more prove that she was a thief—of money and men—than I could identify the killer. And I was starting to question whether I was cut out to be an investigator, lead or otherwise.
Xavier appeared from below the counter. "You git better news this time?"
I looked at him, startled. "Uh, about what?"
He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "From your readin'."
"Oh, well, like you said last time, it's a war zone out there." I put the doll back on the stand. "And I'm engaged in more than one battle."
He nodded toward the voodoo doll display. "Black magic ain't gonna do ya no good."
"What about this Pat O'Brien's Hurricane cocktail mix?" I joked, holding up a package.
He jutted out his bottom lip. "Spirits neither. You just need to remember that the situation ain't never as bad as you think it is. Nine times out o' ten, the solution's starin' ya right in the face."
"Thanks. I really hope you're right," I said and then headed out onto Bourbon Street.
As I began weaving through the throngs of tanked tourists, I wondered whether there was some truth to what Xavier had said. I mean, I did have a tendency to exaggerate—but just the teensiest, weensiest little bit. Maybe it was time to consider the possibility that I'd been overthinking one or both of my cases.
* * *
I pulled into the Oleander Place parking lot at six thirty and switched off the engine. As I'd anticipated, the plantation was deserted, and there was still plenty of light for a plant hunt.
I started to get out of the car but then stopped. Chandra was right. It was time to take the bull by the horns, or the boyfriend by the hairs, as it were, and confront Bradley. Otherwise, I was going to stay in this miserable state of limbo.
I dialed Bradley's number and waited with baited breath.
"Hello," he answered flatly.
Following his lead, I kept it emotionless—that is, on the surface. "We need to talk about what happened at the bank. Can you meet me later?"
There was an awkward pause. "I'm sorry, but I can't. I'm in the middle of some critical negotiations here at the office."
My heart sank. "You can't spare fifteen minutes to talk about us?"
He sighed. "Franki, please understand. Some big changes are underway for the bank, and all of us in management are working twenty-four seven. We're meeting literally throughout the night. I can't just leave."
"So, what does this mean?"
"It means I need some time."
Tears stung my eyes. "I can give you all the time you need."
Without another word, I hung up and leaned my head against the headrest. I wasn't sure what was happening with Bradley and me, but I knew it wasn't good. I could understand that he was upset about finding me locked in the security room, but he was more distant every time I talked to him. I wondered whether Pauline had finally told him that my nonna was planning our engagement.
I shook my head to rid my mind of the thought. I couldn't go there, not now. Just like my pride, daylight was burning. I had to look for the belladonna plant.
I dragged myself from the car and headed for the back porch. Because the plantation had grown sugar cane, there were few opportunities for shade on the grounds. I started by making a round of the house and then searching a pecan grove behind the slave quarters. Next, I checked the area around the restaurant and headed for the little sugar mill.
When I rounded the back of the building, I noticed that sod grass had been laid out in a two-foot area against the wall. I crouched and lifted one of the squares and saw that the ground had been tilled. Of course, it was difficult to grow grass in shade. But because grass was growing along the remainder of the wall, I had to question whether something else had been planted previously in that spot. Like belladonna.
"Evenin', Miss Franki."
My head jerked up as my heart jumped in my throat. "Miles!" I exclaimed, dropping the sod square. "Wh-what are you doing here so late?"
"I'm gettin' de big mill ready for a photo shoot," he replied. He was holding what appeared to be two giant soup ladles, and he lo
oked like he had a bad taste in his mouth.
I glanced up at the ladles from my crouched position, suddenly painfully aware that I was alone on the plantation with a potential killer. I rose to my feet and casually took a step backward, trying my best to remain calm. "I didn't see your car in the parking lot."
"Dat's because I parked 'round back o' de big mill." He swung the ladles over his shoulder.
"Ah," I said, struck by the effortlessness with which he'd swung the heavy-looking objects.
Miles narrowed his eyes. "What was you doin' wit' dat patch o' grass?"
"Oh, that." I forced a laugh. "I've never seen grass planted like that before," I replied, realizing how suspicious that must have sounded. I couldn't let him know I suspected him of anything, so I had to keep talking to put him at ease. "Whatcha got there?"
"Dese are old cane syrup ladles for de kettles. We store all de old artifacts in de little mill."
"Delta said something about that," I remarked, stalling for time. I had to figure out how to ask about the belladonna, because the police still hadn't released that information. "She also said that's where you keep the Greek Revival accents that were stripped from the exterior of the house."
"And some things from inside de house, like de original windows and French doors. Dey was gettin' ruint on account o' de humidity from de rivah."
"Yeah, with the Mississippi right in front of the property, the plantation feels like a tropical rain forest." This was a perfect segue into belladonna, so I decided to go for broke. "Do you ever try to grow any exotic plants out here?"
Miles scratched his head. "Such as?"
"I don't know, like belladonna or…venus flytraps." I mentally cursed myself for that last one, but it was the only other exotic plant I knew. Could I help it if I wasn't a botanist?
He furrowed his brow and frowned. "Nevah heard of 'em."
"Too bad. I mean, okay," I fumbled. "Anyway, I really should get going," I said. Then, as a safety precaution, I lied, "My boyfriend's waiting for me."
He nodded, stonefaced. "Have a nice evenin'."
I smiled and headed for the parking lot, half-convinced that Miles was going to launch a ladle at the back of my head. I glanced over my shoulder, and of course he was staring right at me. He looked angry too. The second I rounded the corner of the mill, I hoofed it to my car and hightailed it home.
* * *
When I pulled into my driveway an hour later, I gave a sigh of relief. After my unsettling encounter with Miles, all I wanted was to spend the night curled up safely in my apartment with Napoleon. But as I walked up the sidewalk, my stomach fell. There was a brown cardboard box beside my front door, and it was just like the one that had contained the portentous pineapple.
I took a step back and debated whether to open it. After all, it could have been a bomb or a severed head. But on the off chance it was an apology gift from Bradley, I wanted it—and how.
I grabbed a stick from the yard and pried the flaps open. Then I peered into the box. As I'd feared, this was no gift. It was a courter's candle that had been burned down to a stump. And just like last time, there was a note. But I knew what this one said before I'd even read it.
Your time is up, Miss Franki.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A loud blast rang out, like a gunshot.
In one fluid motion, I leapt from a supine sleeping position into a combat shooting stance with my knees bent and my gun drawn. Actually, after I'd had a second to wake up, I realized I was gripping my phone. Napoleon had assumed my same crouch only he'd drawn his lips.
I took a step backwards to retrieve my Ruger from beneath my pillow when another bang sounded. Then my whole body went slack. It was just Glenda slamming doors in her apartment upstairs.
I looked at the ceiling and gave a long exhale. "All clear, little buddy."
Napoleon relaxed and jumped onto the bed.
"Good idea," I said, nestling back into my pillows. But there was no way I was going to let myself fall sleep again with a death threat hanging over my head. I glanced at my phone display and was shocked to see that it was almost one o'clock. I'd been awake until sunrise, and then I must have drifted off.
"I need a double espresso to deal with my double threat," I muttered as I checked my voice mail. David had tried to call me, but there was nothing from Veronica. And given that I'd knocked on her door and texted her at least ten times since finding that creepy candle, I was starting to get worried. Then a sickening thought occurred to me—what if my aggressor had done something to Veronica?
I held my breath as I dialed David's number.
"Yo," he answered.
"Hey, have you seen Veronica this morning?" I gushed in a single breath.
"Yup."
"Yay," I snarked in keeping with the one-word y-theme. "Where the hell has she been? I've been trying to get hold of her since yesterday to tell her I got another death threat."
A paper bag crinkled on the other end of the line.
"Oh wow," he said, chewing what sounded like a mighty mouthful. "Like, are you all right?"
"Yes," I muttered, unintentionally continuing the theme. "But do you know why Veronica hasn't called me back?"
"Uh-huh." He swallowed loudly. "She lost her phone while we were staking out this lady's cheating husband at The Roosevelt Hotel. We were there until like eleven this morning, and then she had to meet the lady for brunch at The Veranda."
I was glad I'd escaped that lengthy assignment. But still, I was kind of offended that Veronica had asked David to be her partner and not me. "What are you eating, anyway?"
"Uh, Veronica bought me a bag of beignets."
Another knife to the gut, I thought as my hand drifted to my empty belly. She never bought me any beignets after a stakeout. "So, what are you doing working on a Sunday if you've been up all night? You need to get some rest."
"Can't." He made finger-licking noises. "I have to make up some hours. Besides, I'm all right. After I dropped you off yesterday, I went back to the vassal's and shut that party doooown."
Of course, for most college students, staying until the end of a party would mean that they were hung over. But I knew David was jacked up on that hyper-caffeinated gamer drink. "Dude, you need to lay off The Dew. Otherwise, you seriously might not sleep again until you graduate from college. Now, why did you call me earlier?"
There was another telltale crinkle of the beignet bag.
"I tracked down a descendent of Beau Patterson on ancestry.com. Her name is Kristy Patterson, and luckily for us, she hasn't set many of her privacy settings on Facebook."
"What did you find out?"
"On Thursday she posted that she's in town this week for Shore Leave."
"That's fantastic," I enthused, referring both to Kristy and to the notion of thousands of muscle-bound sailors in uniform flooding the streets of New Orleans. "I guess she's with the Navy?"
"Uh," he began through a bite of beignet, "her profile says she's a jeweler in New York City."
"A jeweler? Then what's she doing on shore leave? Trying to find herself a sailor?" Not that there was anything wrong with that.
He cleared his throat. "Oh, it's not for sailors. Shore Leave is, like, a four-day pirate festival in the French Quarter. It's run by this group of women called the NOLA Wenches."
Well that stood to reason. Any women who would invite thousands of men in velvet and feathers with fake pirate accents to flood the streets where I worked were wenches in my book. "When does it end?"
"Today's the last day."
"Hm." I wrinkled my mouth. "That doesn't give me much time to find her, but I'll see what I can do. If all else fails, I'll Facebook her."
"I tried that. But if you're not her friend, the message goes to her 'Other' folder. So I doubt she'll get it."
"Okay. Is there a good picture of her on the page, at least?"
"Lots of them. She looks like she's really short, maybe in her thirties. And she's wearing something you'll be interest
ed to see."
I sighed. "Please tell me it's not pirate garb."
"Nope," he said with a lip smack. "It's an emerald-cut pink diamond ring."
I bolted upright in bed. That was something I wanted to see.
* * *
After a double espresso, a double-decker sandwich, and some Double Stuf Oreos—I was big into themes today—I peeked out the front window and spotted Veronica's car in the driveway. I dialed her number in case she'd found her phone, but the call went to voice mail.
I chewed on my pinky nail. It was two o'clock, so I figured that Veronica was out like a light after her all-night stakeout. But I had to warn her about the threat. I scribbled a quick note about my ordeal and slipped out front, keeping my eyes peeled for a killer. I pounded on Veronica's door and waited.
The door of Glenda's apartment flew open, and I caught sight of black thigh-high boots descending the stairs. Once I saw the rest of Glenda, I averted my eyes. Aside from the boots, she had a black patch on her eye, a stuffed parrot on her shoulder, and not much else.
"What is all the racket about, Miss Franki?" she asked.
"I need to talk to Veronica," I said, pretending to be engrossed in my phone. "Besides, I could ask you the same thing. Your door slamming woke me up."
"Well, I couldn't find my skull and crossbones pasties."
"I see you found them," I said, keeping my eyes glued to my phone. "You wouldn't, by any chance, be going to Shore Leave, would you?"
"When the Quarter is filled with pirates, sugar, I plunder."
I looked up—and winced. "I'm on my way there now for that case I've been working on."
Glenda eye's lit up like a lighthouse. "Oh, a treasure hunt," she squealed, wiggling her hips. "Can I help you look for the pink diamond?"
My initial thought was that I'd rather be in Davie Jones' locker than at a pirate party with Glenda. But I had to admit that it made sense to go with her. She'd know the popular pirate hangouts, which could narrow down my search. "Okay, but let's take my car."
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