Voodoo on Bayou Lafonte

by Susan C. Muller

  “Good morning.” The kid smiled as if hoping for a big tip.

  Some of the tension eased from Remy’s body. Just a kid working a crappy job. Still, he kept his hands loose, ready for anything.

  He was willing to admit he was being paranoid. But that didn’t mean someone couldn’t be after them. If those creeps from last night didn’t know who he was then, they’d had time to find out today.

  The kid rolled the trolley inside, set the breakfast dishes on the table in the corner, then looked around and wrinkled his nose.

  Yep, it’s pretty ripe in here, kid. Just keep moving and you’ll be out soon enough. Then we’ll both feel better.

  Neither Gabby nor he spoke until the kid held out the bill.

  “I’ll take that,” Gabby said. She scribbled across the bottom of the ticket and handed it back the kid, who scooted out like his coat was on fire.

  Remy stepped to the window and threw it open. That’s what he loved about these old hotels. The windows opened. You couldn’t open a window in one of those big name glass boxes.

  Gabby poured them both a cup of coffee. Between the chicory and the fresh breeze, the room already smelled better.

  With every sip of the hot, strong liquid, the spinning in his head cleared a little.

  Gabby occasionally spoke during breakfast. “Do you want some butter?” or “How about more coffee?” but that was all. He didn’t push her. She was better. That was good enough for now.

  Even her color improved as she put away a lumberjack-sized breakfast. Just watching her eat improved his appetite and they almost fought over the last beignet.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t clean up the bathroom.” She flushed. “I went in there this morning and almost got sick again.”

  “Do you remember what happened?” Hell, he was there and he wasn’t sure what happened.

  “I remember some of it.” Her eyes flicked to him and away again. “We were watching this weird ceremony with drums beating and people dancing. A woman came up to me and pulled me into the circle of dancers. At first, I didn’t want to go, but then I thought it would look bad if I didn’t. After a minute, I was proud of myself. I wasn’t just following you around. I was doing something to help find Adrienne.”

  She picked up her coffee cup and played with the handle, not drinking any. “After that my memory gets fuzzy. The drumbeat swallowed me up. Weird people danced around me, drawing me closer to the fire. Some of the dancers had faces painted like ghosts or zombies.”

  “That was to hide their masks. They were throwing marijuana on the fire. Maybe other things, too. I’m not sure. Everyone there was high, some of them before they even started dancing, but the closer to the fire you were, the higher you got.”

  “Oh, that was it.” She sighed and closed her eyes. “So I wasn’t totally crazy. Did I really drink blood?”

  “Not voluntarily. A woman poured it down your throat.” No need to tell her she’d grabbed the lady’s wrist and held it until every last drop was gone.

  “Did you slap me, or did I dream that, too?”

  Now it was his turn to avoid her eyes. “I’m sorry I slapped you, but it was the only way I could get you to come with me.”

  She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “That might have been the sweetest thing you’ve ever done for me. No telling what would have happened if I’d stayed.”

  They both sat in silence, drinking the last of their coffee, the bitter taste just what he needed after a sugar-ladened breakfast.

  “There’s still one thing I don’t understand.” Gabby hesitated.

  Only one thing? He had dozens of questions.

  “Why is one vial of Holy Water empty?”

  Chapter 21

  Gabby clutched Remy’s hand as they hunted through twisting alleys to find Sister Eva’s place. How did he remember where the shop was? All the alleys looked the same to her, although this area smelled more like spices than spilled beer.

  The sky was a uniform gray. No sun, no clouds, no color. Even the brightly painted buildings and baskets of flowers seemed dull. As if the air was so heavy the colors couldn’t escape.

  Remy had told her plenty, but not everything. She was sure of that. He wasn’t being malicious. He only wanted to protect her.

  The question was: Did she want to know more?

  A shiver ran down her spine. No, she knew all she could handle for now.

  Remy stopped abruptly and she plowed into his back.

  “Something’s wrong,” he said.

  They stood in front of a blue door, but it looked sad and faded, not the vibrant shade they had entered before. The paint was chipped and peeling.

  Nail holes indicated the spot where Sister Eva’s hand-painted sign had hung. Was that only yesterday?

  A dark curtain covered the inside of the only window and no light came through.

  A black wreath hung on the door.

  Remy tried the knob but it wouldn’t turn. He knocked several times, but no voice answered.

  He stared at the door for several seconds and sighed. “We might as well go home. We’re not going to get the answers we want now.”

  She nodded, and they turned back the way they came. As they passed a cross street something tugged at Gabby’s heart and she cut her eyes to the south.

  Tonight they would be dancing again. She could feel the drumbeat traveling up the soles of her feet to the very marrow of her bones. How she longed to join them.

  Would she ever feel so young and alive again? Like she could live forever and never grow old.

  Did the last week of May count as late spring or early summer? Remy didn’t know, but the soft twilight painted the house to its best advantage. Freshly mulched beds, flowers of pink and lavender, hanging baskets spilling tendrils of green. How did Gabby have time to do all that?

  The grass seemed a little tall. Maybe he should mow it tomorrow. The yard was postage-stamp small, so it wouldn’t take him an hour and he’d done it many times before. After that, he might wash his car. Swarms of love-bugs had hit the front half—twak, twak, twak—all the way from New Orleans. The exercise would do him good. It felt right to get home after two long days.

  Home? Who was he kidding? This was Gabby’s house, not his, even if he’d spent the best two years of his life here.

  She was still withdrawn on the drive back from New Orleans. She answered if he spoke, and occasionally made a comment about something they passed, but she wasn’t herself.

  When they’d stopped for lunch an hour ago she’d only picked at her food. He’d tried to convince himself that she wasn’t hungry after the enormous breakfast they’d had at the hotel.

  Maybe that’s all it was. Maybe.

  The black wreath on Sister Eva’s door had to mean the old woman, Evangeline, had died, but Gabby hadn’t mentioned what she’d seen. After the way she’d hugged the priestess and thanked her, she didn’t even care?

  He started up the walk with their bags when he noticed the bougainvillea stretched above the roof line and was a riot of fuchsia blossoms. He remembered the day he’d planted it. Grand-mère had stood behind him complaining that he didn’t dig the hole deep enough.

  Thorns had pricked at his clothing and scratched his hands, but he’d dug deeper. Grand-mère must have been right; the plant was flourishing.

  What he’d give to have that old woman back. He could use one of her blessings. Gabby could, too. Could he take her to a church and ask the priest for forgiveness? What would he say? I’m not Catholic anymore, but we’ve been to a voodoo ceremony and need to be cleansed?

  They’d be laughed out of the building, if Gabby would even go with him.

  At least he felt safe bringing her back to the house. A phone call to Helen Perkins had assured him that no one from the
sheriff’s department had come around looking for them.

  Guidry might not like him, but he was hesitant to try anything against Gabby. She had too many friends in the parish. And hopefully, he considered Remy too much of a loser drunk to cause any real trouble.

  He carried the last of the bags into the house and set them in the bedroom. As he turned to lock the front door he saw his Stetson on the floor.

  What the hell?

  That hat was expensive, and he was always careful with it. He’d set it on the top of the hall tree, out of the way, for protection.

  Could he have brushed by the mahogany stand while carrying the bags in? Or had a gust of wind from the front door knocked his hat off? He blew dust off the rim and set the Stetson back in place.

  No. If he’d used the outermost hook, maybe. He ran his finger around the inside rim to smooth out any indentations the coat hook might have left. A light-colored hair came away on his finger.

  “Chère, did you try on my hat?” The strand appeared way too short to be Gabby’s, but hairs broke off, didn’t they? And, she might have hung the hat in a different spot.

  Gabby stepped around the corner and rolled her eyes. “I know better than to touch your precious hat.”

  Merde. He wasn’t that big an ass, was he?

  His heart lodged in his throat and he stopped cold as he set the hat back on the hall tree. Where was his eagle feather?

  As part Native American, his mother had been legally allowed to own that feather. She’d had two that had belonged to her grandfather. He and Marc had each taken one.

  That feather was the only thing passed down from her side of the family. Remy balled a fist. He’d secured the shaft so firmly that it wouldn’t come loose, even during a full-scale hurricane.

  “Gabby. Has anyone been in this house while we were gone?”

  She leaned around the corner with a coat hanger in her hand. “I don’t think so, why?”

  “The feather’s missing from my hat band.”

  “Let me finish putting this stuff away and check the mail, then I’ll help you look. It probably blew under the sofa.” She turned her back and disappeared.

  But they weren’t going to find anything under the sofa. He felt that in his bones.

  Remy’s heart sank. The feather wasn’t under the sofa, or in any corner, but he’d been sure of that before they started looking. The thing he didn’t know was what that meant.

  Nothing else in the house had been disturbed. He checked the front and back door and found no sign of tampering.

  “No telling how long the feather’s been gone. Someone probably stole it when you weren’t looking.”

  The way Gabby eyed him, he knew who she thought stole it. One of his girlfriends. But the feather wasn’t something you could just sell. Not unless you had proof of ownership.

  He’d check at home and at the office, just in case, but the talisman was gone. Funny how that left such a hole behind. It wasn’t much, just a feather, but he’d lost so much in his life; his mother, his father, Gabby, Adrienne, Cindy, although that wasn’t much of a loss, even Marc.

  Since Marc had moved to Alaska, following the oil, they didn’t talk more than two or three times a year. And how many years had it been since they’d actually seen each other?

  The weight of so many losses tugged on Remy’s heart. He’d planned to give that feather to Tim. Not because he loved Tim more than Adrienne. God no. But Adrienne had so much rich history and heritage. He’d had so little to offer Tim; not quite Jewish, not quite Catholic, not quite a father. Not that it mattered anymore. Tim was out of his life, too.

  Remy gave himself a mental shake. He couldn’t afford to dwell on the past with Adrienne’s future at risk.

  He pulled out his phone to check with Adam. Time to quit feeling sorry for himself and get a little work done.

  When Remy’s eyes began to burn he looked up and realized the room had grown dark. He’d set aside all the documents directly related to drug smuggling when Adam told him HPD Narcotics, The Texas Rangers, and the Louisiana State Police were on the case, but none of the suspects had made a move yet.

  He’d spent the last two hours trying to decipher the tangled web of Guidrys and who owned what property, who worked for whom, and how they were all related.

  Some of it just flat didn’t make any sense. People appeared and disappeared and new people took over their property.

  He rubbed his eyes and stacked the papers on the coffee table.

  Where was Gabby? He’d heard the shower and hair dryer. The back room was dark. She must have gone to bed. Not a bad idea. Neither of them had managed much sleep since Adrienne disappeared.

  He grabbed a quick shower and tied a towel around his waist as he stole into the darkened bedroom to find clean boxers. Gabby had carried the laundry in here, he’d seen that, but where had she put his clothes?

  He was still searching when warm hands slipped around his waist and undid his towel. Soft, warm lips caressed the fingernail marks on his back while smooth, feminine hands slid lower on his body.

  “I thought you were asleep,” he whispered as he twisted to face her.

  Gabby didn’t answer, but lifted her face to be kissed.

  Her body felt cool against the heat of his skin. She must be feeling better. This was the most emotion she’d shown since they’d left in New Orleans.

  He took her hand to lead her toward the bed.

  “No,” she insisted. “Right here, right now.”

  Where had this woman come from? Not the same shy Gabby he’d known, but he’d changed and, apparently, so had she. He didn’t want to think about who had taught her these new moves.

  She wrapped her bare legs around his waist and he gripped her bottom as she pressed herself into him.

  Hell, this was a lot more difficult than they made it look in the movies, but he was certainly willing to try. He lifted her slightly to adjust their position and she let her head hang back and licked her lips.

  Part of his brain recognized that as the same move she’d made last night while dancing, but now was not the time to worry.

  He had the most desirable, sexy woman he’d ever seen in his arms and his blood boiled with longing.

  He kicked the door closed and pressed her back against the cool wood. With every thrust, he poured his hurt and loneliness into her, his anger and despair.

  She left one leg around his waist, but dropped the other and pressed her foot against the back of his calf, giving her the ability to join his movements.

  When they finished, he found himself spent, physically and emotionally. He carried her to the bed, still wrapped around his body like a Koala Bear.

  It wasn’t until he lowered her that he felt the warm moisture trickle down his leg and realized they hadn’t used a condom.

  Only the glow from the bathroom light lit the room as he threw back the covers. Gabby didn’t utter a sound, but the whites of her eyes grew to the size of saucers as they both stared at the bloody chicken’s foot in the center of their bed.

  Chapter 22

  The mutilated chicken foot glared up at Gabby like the hand of God, pointing an accusation. She yanked the sheets off immediately and stuck them in to wash, while Remy searched the house for signs of a break-in.

  He helped her put fresh sheets on, but both of them eyed the bed and knew they wouldn’t sleep.

  Remy kept rubbing her back and saying, “Don’t worry, chère. They can’t hurt you, I’m here.”

  But she wasn’t worried. That was the problem. She felt titillated, intrigued. Was someone sending her a message, or threatening Remy?

  She still couldn’t believe the moves she’d made. Had that been that just an hour ago? She’d certainly never done anything like that before. She didn’t even know you coul
d do it that way. Well, maybe she did know. She’d seen it once on TV and thought it looked kind of hot, although at the time she’d wondered if people could really do that successfully.

  Apparently they could.

  Remy was the one she couldn’t get over. He had definitely learned a few moves over the years. She should write a thank-you note to whoever taught him.

  He was definitely worth keeping around for a while. Once Adrienne was home and settled, she could send him on his way. She had never dated anyone but him, never enjoyed her young years.

  This was her time.

  After Adrienne left for college, she could live it up. She wouldn’t have to rush home to cook supper or drive to a soccer game. She didn’t even have to live in this town.

  She could move to New Orleans if she wanted to. When she and Remy went there on their honeymoon, they’d wandered up and down Bourbon Street, but they were both too young to drink and she was pregnant. They had stayed in a cheap hotel and came home the next morning.

  This time they’d stayed in a nicer hotel and eaten in a fancy restaurant. Her nerves were jumping so she’d had one glass of wine, but Remy, the stick-in-the-mud, had claimed he needed to keep his head clear.

  She still hadn’t really experienced the Big Easy. If she went back, she’d stroll through the French Quarter, enjoy the lights, listen to the music, watch some of the shows. Laissez les bon temps rouler.

  Maybe she could join those dancers again. That event had been the best fais-do-do she’d ever been to.

  “What you looking at, chère? The people who broke in here are long gone. You don’t have to watch for them.” Remy came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders.

  “I know. I was just . . . staring at the moon, I guess.” She turned and offered him a smile.

  “You up for another little adventure?”

  Her heart quickened. What did he have in mind this time? “I’m game.” Did the catch in her voice give away how excited she was?