by Robin Caroll
“No. He’s the victim,” Marcel said.
Her face went colorless just before a child’s cry sounded from inside the house.
Dimitri
“Perfect. Perfect.” Dimitri looked over the cupcakes he’d carefully crafted in green, purple, and gold, topped with handcrafted sugar masks and spun sugar for the feathers. The in-house krewe would be pleased with their dessert tonight.
He slid the last cupcake into the display and shut the refrigerator door before setting the perfect temperature to keep the treats cool enough for the sugar decorations to stay in place and well formed, but not too cold to dry out the cupcake itself. It was a delicate balance.
Like keeping Adelaide’s secret.
On one hand, he’d earned her trust and would do his best not to betray it. Doing so would cause her to hate him, and he didn’t know if he could live with himself if that happened. Yet he also knew withholding such important information from the police could cast a guilty light on her if they found out.
No, there was no if. Dimitri knew it was only a matter of time until the truth was uncovered. Detective Savoie was too good at his job not to uncover the truth.
That made Dimitri even more confused: why wouldn’t Adelaide tell Detective Savoie, who, by Adelaide’s own admission, was her friend? Why wouldn’t she trust her friend with such information? Fear? Anger?
What did she have to fear from the man now that he was dead? She had every right to be angry at what happened to her, but it was so long ago. Surely the anger and fear had lessened over the years? Or maybe he just didn’t understand. Unless she also wasn’t being truthful with Dimitri.
Or maybe she didn’t want to tell the detective because he was more than just a friend, despite her claims.
“Dimitri.”
He spun around, startled not only because he hadn’t heard her come into the kitchen, but also because he’d been thinking of her. Still, just her presence lifted his spirits. “Good evening, Adelaide.”
She smiled. “Happy Twelfth Night.”
“Same to you.” If she only knew how lovely she looked in her black slacks and off-shoulder purple blouse.
“I saw the set for the krewe tonight. You’ve outdone yourself.”
He gave a lavish bow, then chuckled. “It was nice to concentrate on recipes and sugary concoctions.”
She nodded as she grabbed a piece of celery from the cutting pile. “I know what you mean. I almost enjoyed working on the spreadsheets.” She took a bite of the celery and chewed slowly. “Almost.”
Dimitri hid his smile. He’d started leaving out little piles of her favorite finger foods when he realized she dropped by often, always wanting to grab a piece of celery or handful of almonds. “Just almost?”
“Well . . .” She laughed and popped a cherry tomato into her mouth.
“Have you heard anything new?”
He didn’t have to specify to what he was referring. She swallowed. “Geoff’s friend said that they aren’t as actively pursuing information about our prints on the knife at the moment because of the alibis, as well as there was smudging over the prints.”
“What does that mean?” Dimitri grabbed a bowl of ranch dressing from the fridge and slid it over to Adelaide.
“It means they think someone with gloves handled the knife after our prints were on it.” She dipped a tomato into the dressing.
This was great news! “The killer wore gloves.”
She nodded and swallowed. “So Geoff’s friend said that we’re still suspects, but they are looking further than just us three.”
Dimitri pulled a water bottle from the refrigerator and handed it to her. “That’s good to hear.” Although he didn’t relish someone having access and the foresight to take a knife that had their prints on it and use it to kill someone in the hotel, but he wouldn’t mention that to Adelaide. Not when she wore relief as casually as the purple blouse.
“It is. Geoff said they were concentrating on finding motives.”
Dimitri’s chest seized. If they found out about Adelaide’s past with Kevin— “Do they have any other suspects?”
“According to Geoff’s friend, right now Sidney Parsons is a suspect, as is a Zoey Naure. He did say, however, that the Natchitoches police were running down some possible leads on personal items they recovered from his home and office.” She took a long drink of water. “My friend Tracey warned me that the police might be digging around in his past.” Adelaide stared into the water bottle. “She’s concerned that there will be something that will tie me to him from back then.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“It’s my concern as well, mon chaton.” They were running out of viable suspects, and while they might not be pushing the fingerprints on the knife at the moment, if they uncovered Adelaide’s experience with the victim, they likely would come after her.
She shook her head. “I don’t think there’s anything that will connect me.”
Dimitri ground his teeth. Why couldn’t she see the dangerous game she played? “By not saying anything now—”
“Yes, I know. It will be worse for me if Beau finds out.”
He nodded. “I’m guessing that’s the same advice your friend Tracey has given you?”
“She has, but that doesn’t make it the right advice. From either of you.” She gripped the plastic bottle so tightly that it crinkled. “If it comes to that, I’ll deal with it, but for now, I’m not in a position where I should say anything.”
Dimitri did a small mock bow. “It is, of course, your call.”
She gave a curt nod. “But there’s something else I wanted to ask you.”
“Yes?”
“Have you recently found a chicken with its head cut off in your bed?”
How did she know about that?
Adelaide’s eyes grew wide. “Oh my goodness, you have! I can tell by the look on your face.”
“How do you know that?”
“I thought Tracey was talking about someone else, but it was you.”
“It was actually in my father’s bed. We just found it this morning.”
“Tracey said someone was asking in the Quarter, in her circle of people, about spells and stuff with boa constrictors and headless chickens in beds.”
“What did she say?”
“Nothing, really. Just that someone had been asking around.”
Maybe it was Elise, but it could be the person responsible. “Could you ask Tracey to keep listening and let you know if she hears anything?”
“I will.” She reached out and took his hand. “I’m starting to get worried for you, Dimitri. First a snake, then our prints on the murder weapon, and now a dead chicken in your dad’s bed. I don’t know what it all means, but I don’t think it’s something good.”
“Me either.” He’d call Elise as soon as he could.
Eighteen
Adelaide
“Good, I’m glad you weren’t in your office.” Tracey burst into Adelaide’s suite at the Darkwater.
“I’m glad I gave you the code to get into my suite for emergencies.” Adelaide laid the suit jacket she was about to slip on over the back of the chair.
“Sorry, but I—” She took in Adelaide’s dress and let out a low whistle. “Wow, where are you going all dressed up?”
“It’s Twelfth Night and we have a Mardi Gras krewe in-house. Considering what’s been going on around here, I thought it might be appropriate for me to drop into their gala tonight. Just to make sure everything’s going well and there are no issues.”
And maybe she could relax, just a little. That would be really nice for a change.
“Oh. Right.”
Adelaide grinned and shook her head. Her best friend was so easily distracted. It was one of her most endearing features, just not tonight. “I would think you’d be busy at work yourself on such a festive night.”
“I have tours back-to-back, but I needed to tell you what I found out.” She slumped onto the couch.
Adelaide sat on the edge of the chair opposite the couch. “Okay, tell me.”
“When I started asking around, imagine my surprise to find there was someone else asking around about snakes and gris-gris and dead chickens.”
“Really?”
Tracey nodded. “Yes. Turns out, she’s the niece of the Pampalons’ housekeeper.”
“What’d she say?”
Tracey kicked off her heels and curled her feet under her. “Her name is Elise, and after much discussion where she could no longer avoid my powers of persuasion, she finally admitted that she’d told Dimitri she’d look into what he’d been finding.”
“There was more than the snake and chicken?”
Tracey nodded. “Apparently there was also a gris-gris with ashes and rat bones.”
Adelaide crinkled her nose. “Oh, gross.” Her stomach tightened. He hadn’t mentioned that to her. “What does that mean?”
“That’s what Elise was trying to find out. She had one of the older women look up the ingredients in the gris-gris and track it.”
“Could they tell?”
“It’s a binding hex. To bind Dimitri to whomever was casting it.”
Adelaide’s chest constricted. “I’m not sure what that means.”
“There are different types of binding. Some are for whatever one person in the spell feels, the other will as well. Another one makes the separation of the people in the binding not able to be too far apart or they’ll get ill. But this one in particular, the one on Dimitri, looks to be a hex where he will be inclined to side with the person who cast it.”
“And that involves a snake and dead chicken?”
“Oh, no. Well, the snake maybe, since it was alive. The gris-gris sachet was with the snake, the items in the amulet drawing strength from the snake’s power.”
Adelaide shook her head. This was getting crazier and crazier sounding. Maybe Dimitri was right to just give none of this any weight.
Tracey continued to explain. “But the chicken with its head cut off and left to bleed out, that’s an outright hex for harm to whomever it was left for.”
Adelaide stared at her best friend. “Someone wants harm to come to Dimitri?” Her chest tightened even more, as if it was in a vise grip.
Tracey shook her head. “The chicken was left in Dimitri’s father’s bed. The harming hex is for him.”
That was more than a little understandable. Claude Pampalon was rude, arrogant, and could be downright mean.
Adelaide’s mind raced. It was so much to take in. “So, this Elise, her aunt is the Pampalons’ housekeeper?”
Tracey nodded. “She’s really nice.”
“She’s not the one casting these things, right?”
“Right. She helped Dimitri get rid of the chicken and put things to right so his dad would never know. Now she’s been poking around, trying to find out what’s going on. She found out about the binding hex on Dimitri.”
“Why would she help Dimitri like that?” If his dad wouldn’t like it . . . Claude Pampalon was a powerful man and didn’t tolerate less than 100 percent loyalty from his employees.
Tracey smiled. “Sweetheart, that girl has a crush on Dimitri like you wouldn’t believe. Just saying his name made her pupils dilate.”
A twinge of something Adelaide didn’t quite recognize tightened her gut. She rubbed her temples. “I don’t understand why someone wouldn’t just come to Dimitri and talk to him instead of doing some type of voodoo or whatever.” She couldn’t believe she was having this ongoing conversation about voodoo, hexes, and such.
“I don’t know, but Elise seems to think she’s uncovered the woman responsible for all the hexing and binding to do with Dimitri and his father.”
“Who?”
“A woman named Lissette Bastien. Do you know her?”
Adelaide thought carefully but had never heard the name. She slowly shook her head. “Who is she?”
“I don’t know.” Tracey uncurled her feet and put her shoes back on, then stood. “I didn’t have time to look into her or anything. I just wanted to come by and tell you before I headed out to work.”
“I appreciate it.” Adelaide walked Tracey to the door. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
Tracey gave her a quick hug, then held her by the shoulders and stared into her eyes. “You take caution now, do you hear me? I love you, and I want you to be careful.”
“You too, Trace. You’re the one out there in the cemetery during the crazy season.” She glanced at Tracey’s red heels. “In spikes, none the less.”
Tracey laughed, full and throaty. “Of course, my sweet. I have to look the part during festival season, you know.”
“True. Speaking of, did they ever find the kids who were vandalizing?”
Tracey sobered. “Not yet. We’re hoping the private security will detract them from doing any more damage.”
“I hope so too.”
Tracey gave her another hug. “I’m not kidding about being careful, Ads. There are a lot of crazies out there, and now that voodoo is in the mix with Dimitri, just be alert, okay?”
“I will. Promise. And you too.”
“Promise.” Tracey blew her an air kiss, then left.
Adelaide checked the time: 6:05. Dinner wouldn’t be served for the krewe until 6:30, so she had a little time. She sat down in front of her laptop and opened the browser. She typed in Lissette Bastien in the search bar and hit enter.
Only two returns. One was an older woman living in France. Adelaide felt pretty certain that wasn’t the one casting any hexes in New Orleans.
The only other match brought up a photo of a lovely young woman. Twenty-two years old. Adelaide brought up the image associated with the name. Beautiful girl with long, straight dark hair. But it was her eyes that truly stunned. So light blue they were almost reflective. They reminded Adelaide of someone else’s eyes, but for the life of her, she couldn’t think of whom at the moment.
No employment listed, but her last known address was on Saint Roch Avenue.
One of the seedier neighborhoods of New Orleans.
Beau
“What did we get from the Natchitoches police?” Beau leaned back in his chair and stared across the back-to-back desks at his partner.
Marcel opened the satchel in front of him and pulled out a folder. “Grieving wife claims no one had any beef against him. According to the officer notes, she was unaware of any infidelity.”
Beau rolled his eyes. Why was the spouse always the last one to know?
Turning the page in the file, Marcel continued. “Coworkers were aware of his affair with Parsons, but she wasn’t the first. Apparently there’d been a few others, some that didn’t end so well.”
“Do tell.” Beau pulled out his own notebook.
“Two filed sexual harassment claims to the company. They were settled in-house and the ladies were promoted, but to other office locations.”
“Real dirtbag.”
Marcel nodded. “Yeah. But his sales stats were high, so the company kept him.”
“Ode to the almighty dollar, of course.”
“Right.” Marcel flipped the page. “According to his employee file, he had a few disciplinary actions, but no specific details are listed.”
“Of course not. The company wouldn’t want a record that they were aware of his sexual predator ways but didn’t fire him because he made them too much money.”
“Probably.” Marcel flipped through more pages. “His income doesn’t support the lifestyle he and his wife were living. Mortgage over fifteen hundred a month, a car note ranging in the seven hundred range, lots of revolving credit accounts.”
“Criminal activity to bring in extra cash?”
Marcel shook his head. “Remember Zoey told us that Muller said he had to handle his wife with kid gloves?”
Beau flipped back in his notebook to the section of their interview with Zoey. “Muller told her that his wife’s father had a vested interest in the
pharmaceutical company where he worked.” Beau looked at his partner. “I’m guessing that’s the truth?”
“Yep. According to these notes, Muller’s father-in-law is one of the company’s board members.”
Beau shook his head. “Why on earth would her father put up with such behavior? As a board member, he’d know about such things. How could he let his daughter stay married to such a total jerk?”
Marcel leaned back in his chair. “We see it all the time, man. The wife doesn’t believe her husband is capable of such actions. If her father told her, she could very well have defended Muller to her father. The poor man would be between a rock and a hard place.”
“If it were my daughter, he’d be in more of a hard place than not.”
Marcel snapped his fingers and pointed at Beau. “Hey, it’s possible her dad wanted him dead, for the way Muller treated his daughter.”
“That could be something.” Beau couldn’t help but feel a surge in his gut. They were on the right track, he could feel it.
Marcel lifted the phone. “Let me call our contact in Natchitoches PD and see if he can discreetly check if her father was in town and accounted for on Thursday night.”
While his partner made the call, Beau stood and stretched over the desks. He grabbed the satchel Natchitoches officers had sent over. Inside was a laptop and what looked like a leather book, about five by seven. A traveler’s notebook. He opened the book and sat down.
It was filled with handwritten notes, clippings and memorabilia. Flipping through it, Beau felt a sense of getting to know Kevin Muller on a very personal level. Bar receipts shoved in the pockets haphazardly. Phone numbers.
Lots and lots of phone numbers with numbers beside them. Numbers ranging between two and nine. Woman rating?
Some clippings from newspapers that dated back well before he got married were tucked into the plastic zippered pouches. All of debutantes and young women who had very prestigious and important fathers.