by Robin Caroll
Dimitri quickly checked the other rooms in the downstairs and let out a sigh of relief. It appeared nothing else had been touched. He rushed upstairs to check his father’s suite.
He froze as he entered his father’s bedroom through Claude’s private study. In the middle of the bed laid a bloody corpse of a chicken without a head. Nothing else seemed amiss.
Quickly, he checked his own suite. No dead chicken rested on his bed, and there was nothing obviously taken, but Dimitri couldn’t help the feeling of violation—that someone had touched and moved some of his personal items.
“Dimitri, are you okay?” Tilda’s voice rose up the staircase.
He couldn’t let the older woman see this. “I’m coming.” Glancing around, he looked for something to put the chicken and the bedding in to dispose of them.
“Auntie asked if—” Elise froze in the doorway to Claude’s bedroom, her stare fixed on the dead chicken.
“I’ll take care of this. Let your aunt know nothing up here is disturbed.”
“But Mr. Dimitri, that’s a dead chicken.”
“I’m well aware, but I don’t want your aunt to be afraid. I’ll get this cleaned up while you and Tilda tackle the downstairs. I can’t see that anything was taken, so I see no need to call the police.”
Barely nineteen, Elise wasn’t easily intimidated. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you sure, Mr. Dimitri?”
“Yes. Thank you. Please help your aunt, and anything that’s broken, just make a list and I’ll see that someone gets on making the repairs or replacing.” He grabbed the corners of his father’s duvet, bringing the four together and covering the dead chicken. Under his breath he mumbled, “Preferably before Father returns.”
“Mr. Dimitri, I can help you.”
He stopped and stared at her.
“You go. I’ll take care of this. I’ll also find the exact bedding to replace this. We will have it all seen to before Tuesday, if that’s soon enough?”
A day’s grace period before his father returned. “Yes. Thank you.” He relaxed his shoulders. “Thank you, Elise.”
She nodded. “Just don’t let Auntie know about this up here. She gets a bit—oh, what’s the word?—spooky over such things.”
“I understand.” He reached for the bundle. “I’ll get rid of it.”
“No.” The sharpness of Elise’s tone stopped him. She reached out and put a hand over his. “I know you probably aren’t aware of most things such as this, but it needs to be taken care of in the right way.”
“The right way?” Dimitri straightened and stared down at the young woman as she withdrew her hand from his.
“Forgive me for being so familiar.” Her smile was easy across the smoothness of her Creole-darkened skin. “But I’m concerned for you and your father. That chicken was part of a ritual against your father.”
“Come again?” He couldn’t be having such a similar conversation to the one he’d just had with Adelaide.
“Someone broke in here to perform a ritual against your father. I’m not sure exactly of the spell, which is why the chicken needs to be disposed of properly. I’ll try to find out what the hex actually was for, then work to undo it.”
Dimitri shook his head. “Voodoo again?” Adelaide had warned him. Had she been right?
“Again?”
“I found a boa constrictor in our mailbox the other day.”
“A snake?” Elise’s chocolate-colored eyes widened. “Someone is very determined to cast rituals against your father.”
“You know about this stuff?” He couldn’t believe he was actually listening and considering that this could be happening.
“Dimitri? Elise?” The old housekeeper’s voice rattled up the stairs.
“I’m on my way down, Tilda,” Dimitri called. “Go ahead and start cleaning up the den, please.” He turned back to Elise.
“I do know about things such as these. You go ahead and go back to work. I’ll help Auntie clean up and set about repairs and replacements, then I’ll see what I can find out about who is trying to cast spells on your father, and for what.”
“I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
Elise smiled and reached for his arm again. She gave it a gentle squeeze. Heat rushed up his arm and into his chest. He didn’t know who was more surprised, him or Elise, as she gave a little jump before rubbing her fingers.
“Let’s just wait to see what I can find out before you have to believe anything.”
He remembered the little sachet that had been in the mailbox with the snake. “Hang on, I have something else to show you.” He rushed to his suite, grabbed the cloth sack from where he’d left it behind his computer, and returned to his father’s rooms across the hall.
“I found this in the mailbox with the boa constrictor.” He handed the sack to Elise.
“Ah. A gris-gris.” She carefully opened the little sachet and peered inside.
“A what?”
“A gris-gris is a charm or amulet used in voodoo to cast a hex or spell, depending on what’s in the item and what was cast.” She closed up the sachet.
“So what does mine mean?”
“I’m not entirely sure. I’ll need to check some things, consult a friend or two. I’ll let you know as soon as I get an answer.”
“I’d appreciate it.” Although he knew the blood Jesus Christ shed for him protected him, he couldn’t deny he felt unnerved by it all. Very unnerved.
“I won’t have a chance to look into this until after Auntie and I have done what we need to for the house. Probably tonight or tomorrow.”
“I understand. Anything. Thank you.”
“Of course.” Elise slipped the cloth sack into the pocket of her loose-fitting jeans.
“And if you could keep it from your aunt, I’d really appreciate it.”
Elise smiled again and reached for the bundle. “Of course. As I said, she gets spooky over voodoo.”
She wasn’t the only one.
Adelaide
“Happy Twelfth Day.”
Adelaide looked up from the spreadsheet that had her about ready to pull all her hair out to see Tracey in her office doorway, holding a baker’s box. As always, Tracey looked perfect. Hair that looked soft as silk falling over her shoulders like warm chocolate. Her makeup as flawless as her skin. Even her dress, which hugged her curves and looked so comfortable, looked as if it had been made for her. Typical Tracey.
Adelaide loved every bit of her. She smiled and waved her friend in. “Oh, you are such a sight for sore eyes. Please tell me that’s a king cake.” She stood and stretched.
“But of course.” Tracey set the box on the little table off to the side of Adelaide’s desk. “What kind of friend do you take me for?”
“The best, of course.” Adelaide lifted the cardboard top and pinched off a piece of the oozing sweetness, slipping it into her mouth and closing her eyes as her taste buds appreciated the bakery deliciousness. “Oh, I love you.”
Tracey chuckled and plopped down on the chair. “I can’t stay but a minute. I wanted to bring you the cake, but also needed to come by and give you a little heads-up.”
“Oh?” Adelaide pinched off another bite before shutting the box and joining her friend.
The noonday sun shone down on the city. From Adelaide’s window, she could see the sparkle of green, purple, and gold decorations filling the French Quarter. Tonight, the beginning of the carnival season would kick off. The streets would explode with tourists and locals alike, all out to celebrate and party.
Tracey tapped her bright red nails against each other. “A friend of a friend of a friend told someone, and it’s getting around that the man murdered here wasn’t exactly a nice guy.”
“Well, we already knew that.”
“Yeah, but there’s a girl claiming he was a little rough with her, in an intimate sort of way. Really rough, to be honest, and that’s the talk going through the Quarter.” Tracey’s dark eyes turned serious in t
he brightness of the sun’s beams bursting through the window.
Suddenly, the king cake bites seemed to grow in the back of Adelaide’s throat until she almost couldn’t breathe.
“Hey, calm down.” Tracey leaned over and took her hand. “I’m just telling you because if the police catch wind of the story, and they probably will, they might be inclined to check into his past.”
Adelaide’s stomach dropped to her toes. “But I never pressed charges.”
“No, and there’s probably nothing to connect you to him. There’s probably no reason to be concerned, but on the off chance there’s something, even a single piece of paper from the campus police’s old files that has your name, I didn’t want you to be blindsided.”
This was it. Everything was going to blow up. Right now, when the threat of Brayden had been eliminated. Her secret would get out. Her father would—
“I think you should tell Beau everything, Ads.”
She’d worked so hard to keep her secret safe. And now, once again, Brayden Colton or Kevin Muller would destroy a part of her. Piece by piece, until there was nothing left of her. Until she was just gone.
Tracey squeezed her hand tighter. “Please, tell him. He’ll understand. He’s your friend. He’ll listen and understand.”
Adelaide pressed her lips together and shook her head. She remembered Beau’s questions. Remembered him telling her it wasn’t personal, that it was his job and he had a job to do. “I can’t, Trace. Trust me, he’s not my friend right now. He’s the detective working the case. If I tell him, I give myself a motive for murder to go hand-in-hand with my fingerprints being on the murder weapon.”
“I think you’re misjudging him.” Tracey gave her hand a final squeeze, then stood. “When push comes to shove, I think Beau will have your back.”
Adelaide pushed to her feet as well. “I don’t. He’s questioned me, Trace. Treated me like any other suspect. It would be a mistake to tell him now.”
A big mistake that could break her heart into a million little pieces that would never fit back together again.
“One other thing.” Tracey stopped at Adelaide’s office door. “Has Dimitri mentioned anything about a headless chicken in his bed?”
“What?”
Tracey grinned. “Just something I heard. Someone was asking about spells with boa constrictors, gris-gris with ashes and rat bones, and a headless chicken in the bed.”
“And you automatically thought of Dimitri?”
“The boa. Guess someone else is getting even more hexed than him.” Trace waggled her fingers. “I’ll talk to you tonight. Think about what I said.” She disappeared out the door.
Now Adelaide couldn’t get snakes and headless chickens out of her mind.
Seventeen
Beau
“New Orleans police.” Beau held his shield up to the keyhole. “I’m Detective Savoie and this is my partner, Detective Taton. We need to speak to Zoey Naure.” He stood on a porch that needed more than a couple of planks replaced, under the midday sun sprinkling in through holes in the porch’s roof.
There was only a slight hesitation before the click of the deadbolt echoed. The door with peeling paint opened a couple of inches to reveal a very attractive redhead. Richard Norris, little eavesdropper and future menace to womankind that he was, hadn’t exaggerated Zoey Naure’s natural appeal.
Dark red hair that was straight as a board but looked soft as satin; big, round, dark eyes that drew the attention from her almost transparent skin; and a lithe physique with curves in all the right places gave her an ethereal effect. Stunning.
“I’m Zoey, what’s this about? She leaned against the doorjamb, her body language clear that she wasn’t going to invite him inside.
“We have a few questions for you.” Marcel would start while Beau observed.
“I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“I didn’t say you had. I just have a couple of questions in an ongoing homicide investigation.”
“Homicide?” Those eyes of hers widened even more.
“Yes, ma’am.” Marcel paused. “May we come inside?”
She glanced over her shoulder, then stepped onto the porch and shut her front door behind her. “I can answer any questions out here, officers.” Bare feet stuck out from the bottom of her faded jeans. She pulled the arms of the hole-filled sweatshirt she wore down to cover her hands.
Marcel didn’t correct her on their titles. “As you wish, ma’am.”
Beau pulled out his notebook and photo, then checked the stability of the supporting beam before leaning against it. He showed her Muller’s photo. “Do you know this man?”
Her eyelid twitched. “I’ve seen him once, so I don’t think that qualifies as really knowing him.”
Coy, how evasive. He could be cute too. “Tell me about your encounter with him, please.” He flashed her the smile Addy said could calm raging seas.
It didn’t seem to have that effect on Zoey. Her lips curled into a pout as she handed the photo back to him. “I met him in a bar on Thursday night.”
“That’s it? You just met him? Did you dance? Share drinks? Talk?” Marcel let his voice trail off, but the implication was clear.
Her face reddened and she crossed her arms over her chest. She leaned against the doorjamb, as if willing herself to disappear into the weathered wood. “He approached me, introduced himself and asked if he could buy me a drink. I let him.”
Beau wrote, keeping his eyes on his notebook. He didn’t want to embarrass her, but he needed the truth. “Then what?”
“He was an attractive man, so when he tried to kiss me, I let him.”
“And then?” Beau caught a glimpse of her microexpressions. Eyes shooting to one side. Quick, inaudible intake of breath.
Her eyes narrowed. “A woman came up and told him that perhaps it was time he called his pregnant wife. She shoved him, told him she wished she’d never met him and wished that he was dead, then stormed off.”
She wished he were dead? That was something Sidney Parsons hadn’t admitted to in her statement. A barely veiled threat. He might need to revisit with the pharmaceutical company’s event planner.
For now, he needed to get more information. Beau turned his attention back to the young woman in front of him. “And what did you do?”
She shrugged. “It caught me off guard that the woman he was clearly cheating on his wife with was jealous of his flirting with me. I laughed it off.”
He didn’t say anything, just stared at her.
“Look, I know that makes me kind of a bad person, but I wasn’t cheating on anyone. I don’t know his wife. I didn’t set my eye on him, he came on to me.”
“We’re not judging.” Marcel’s tone was lower, but Beau could tell his partner was, in fact, judging Zoey.
And she knew it too. “Yes, you are. You’re sitting there, already knowing about my past arrests and thinking I’m just some woman who’ll let some poor sap cheat on his pregnant wife with me for money. Well, we all have to make a living. You may have my record and think you know me, but you don’t. You don’t know my obligations. You don’t know what I have to do to survive.” Tears mixed with regret in her eyes.
Beau knew all too well that time was unrefundable. As much as people, and he personally, would love to go back in time and take just one moment, one decision back, that wasn’t possible. Maybe Zoey had reasons to protect her secrets just as much as he did. “Look, we’re not here to judge you now or for what you’ve done before. We’re just here to investigate a homicide and get to the truth.”
“The truth? The guy was a jerk. A blood-sucking leech. He had to handle his pregnant wife with kid gloves because her father has a vested interest in the company he works for. And he likes things rough, that he says his delicate wife can’t take.” She blinked away the tears. “After one hour with him, I understand what she means.”
“How’s that?” Marcel asked.
She jerked her attention to him,
as if she’d been talking to herself and his question reminded her she had an audience.
“I understand what you mean generally, but specifically?” Marcel pushed on.
Zoey frowned and tightened her arms, hugging herself. “He liked to take charge, liked his way. I think he wanted me to be scared of him, of what he was doing. He ripped my dress right off of me, grabbed me by the arms. Tried to slap me. I told him that wouldn’t fly with me and slapped him back. He seemed to try to decide if he liked that turn or not, but I was done. I grabbed my sweater and left him.” She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her sweatshirt.
Beau wrote furiously. “He just let you leave?” Didn’t sound like the Muller he’d been learning about.
“Well, he tried to block me from leaving. Grabbed my hair and tried to yank me back. I punched him square in the gut.”
Beau raised his brows at her.
“Yeah, I know. Not my smartest move. He raised his fist and I grabbed my can of mace from my purse. Told him if he came near me again, I’d kill him.”
A threat—and less than an hour later Muller had been murdered.
Zoey sniffed. “Did he go out and hurt someone after I left?”
He glanced up to see her widened eyes full of regret. He shook his head. “No. About what time did you leave his room?” He already knew, but needed to make sure everything matched up.
“A little before eleven, because he complained I didn’t give him the full hour—um, attention he wanted.”
So, she had been paid. Beau swallowed the sigh. He could charge her with prostitution again: she had admitted to threatening to kill him.
“I passed his girlfriend from the bar in the hallway. She called me a name under her breath. I figured those two deserved each other. He didn’t hurt her, did he? I didn’t really want to cause a problem between them, but I needed some quick cash and he had seemed okay enough until we got into his room.”
Beau stopped writing and stared at her, recalling what the elevator attendant had said about Muller slapping her and her giggling.
“Look, some guys are jerks like that because some women like that. Maybe his girlfriend was that way. She sure came across that way in the bar, the way she shoved him and all. Maybe that was just how it was between them.” Zoey shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Did he kill her?”