by Bailey Cates
“Plus, I bet you get a bit more of the tourist trade,” I said. I could tell she had real ability. It hummed around her like a subtle electrical current. No doubt she would have been willing to help out Franklin as long as the price was right.
Jeni nodded. “Even this far away from the historic district.” Shifting in her chair, she said eagerly, “Now, what is this information you’re looking for? I’d love to help!”
Cookie remained silent, so I dove in. “Do you know a man named Franklin Taite?”
The older woman smiled broadly, and my hopes soared. Then her brow knit, and she said, “Hmm. Gosh. I don’t think I’ve ever had the pleasure.” Her disappointment in having to disappoint us was palpable.
Still, so much for this being our voodoo queen.
“Do you offer magical talismans to your clients?” Cookie asked.
“Oh, yes!” Jeni exclaimed.
A door at one end of the room opened. I hadn’t noticed it in the dimness because it was painted the same color as the walls. Now bright light blasted in, and we could see a refrigerator and sink from our vantage point. The scents of burnt coffee and overripe bananas overlaid the dusty-incense aroma.
“Robert! I’m with clients!” Mambo Jeni called, clearly irritated.
The silhouette of a young man filled the doorway. “Whatevs, Mom. We’re out of milk.” His hair stood up on one side in a classic case of bed head, and he still wore pajama pants. No shirt.
“So get off your lazy butt, put some clothes on, and go get some,” Jeni grated out. “And shut that door.”
“God. Bite my head off.” The door closed with a force that made me jump.
Jeni took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m so very sorry. My son should know better.” She ducked her head and rubbed the back of her neck. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes—you wanted a gris gris.”
Cookie held up her hand. “Not really. We want to know if you’re aware of a missing gris gris.”
“Missing? From where?”
I sighed. “We don’t really know.”
“Well, what was this gris gris for?” Jeni asked, leaning forward with curiosity now. “Protection? To attract money? Birth control?”
“We don’t know that, either,” I said. “Wait—birth control? Really?”
“Sure. Interested?”
“Er, no, thank you.”
Cookie bit her lip to tame her smile.
“So, if you don’t know where it’s missing from or what it was for, why are you looking for it?” Mambo Jeni asked.
“Well,” I said, feeling foolish. “I think it’s important.”
“Important to whom? You?”
“To a dead man and his comatose niece.”
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“That’s okay,” I said, standing. “We need to be going, anyway. Thanks for your help.”
Mambo Jeni bolted to her feet. “Wait. I’m sure I really can help you somehow. Cast a hex, maybe a love potion? Those are my specialty.”
Cookie looked at me and shook her head.
“No, thank you,” I said as politely as I could.
“Please.”
I didn’t think she meant to say it, partly because when she heard herself practically begging for our business, her mouth clamped tight. Her shoulders straightened as she donned her pride.
Cookie was already at the door to the living room, no doubt as anxious to get out of there as I was.
“Wait,” I said.
Eagerness brightened the woman’s eyes. Maybe I could offer her some business after all.
“Mambo, can you contact the dead?” I asked.
“I . . . Like a medium, you mean?”
I nodded. “Can you reach across the veil like that?”
She hesitated, and then her shoulders slumped. “No. I’m sorry. I can’t do that.”
“I’m sorry, too. Thank you for being honest.”
Her chin lifted. “I’m a lot of things, but dishonest isn’t one of them.” She strode past me and opened the door for the waiting Cookie.
Mambo Jeni’s son was lounging on the sofa, eating dry cereal out of a bowl with his fingers. He looked even more disheveled in the light.
She went to the front door and opened it. Turning to Cookie, she grabbed her left hand, and before Cookie could pull it back, peered intently at her palm. Jeni raised her head and snagged my friend’s gaze. “You have had many lovers and fall in love easily. Your heart line tells the tale.”
Cookie’s eyes flicked to mine, full of alarm.
Good thing Oscar isn’t hearing this.
“Ah, but here in your life line, there is a change in lifestyle. Recently?”
Cookie glared at her and tried to pull her hand back.
But Mambo Jeni wasn’t having it and returned to scanning her hand. “Emotional trauma, early in your life, but resilient now.” She looked up. “You must not let yourself be controlled by external influences. By men, especially. This is very important to your future happiness.”
Cookie yanked her hand out of the other woman’s grasp and started down the front step. “I’m not one to be controlled.”
The mambo raised one eyebrow. “So you say.”
I smiled as I passed her. “Thanks, anyway.”
“That will be thirty dollars.”
“What?” Cookie whirled on the sidewalk.
“It’s what I charge for a palm reading,” Mambo Jeni said.
My friend made a rude noise and turned on her heel. I regarded the woman on the step. “You were telling the truth?”
“I always tell the truth.”
I fished in my tote bag and pulled out my wallet. Gave her two bills.
She gave me a dignified nod. “Thank you.” As the door closed behind her, the sound of the television from inside drifted out to where I stood.
“What were you thinking?” Cookie demanded once we were in the car. “That woman didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know, did not ask my permission to read my lines, and didn’t help with your investigation at all.”
“I know,” I said quietly. “But she needs the money. Just chalk that thirty dollars up to karma, okay?”
Cookie rolled her eyes but didn’t protest. I put the key into the ignition and pulled onto the street.
Chapter 10
The visit to Mambo Jeni had taken only half an hour of our time, but I was still surprised when Cookie suggested stopping by Marie LaFevre’s shop.
“Might as well get as much of this done as possible before Oscar expects me,” she said with a shrug.
Esoterique was tucked between a shoe-repair place and a furniture upholsterer in a tiny strip mall on the border of Savannah’s Southside and Midtown. I must have driven by it dozens of times and never noticed it. Even with the GPS on Cookie’s phone directing us, I’d nearly missed it.
“Cloaking spell of some kind?” I asked.
Cookie tipped her head to the side. “Perhaps. More likely simple discretion. This Marie LaFevre isn’t trying to entice the tourist trade like the mambo we just visited.” This seemed to cheer her.
Nonetheless, I felt more apprehension than anything else as I locked the car and turned toward the narrow doorway. The iron bars on it didn’t exactly make it feel welcoming.
We were ten feet away when the door opened and a tall figure filled the frame. All three of us stopped in our tracks.
He was over six feet tall and African-American, and after the surprise passed, he continued toward us, moving slowly and deliberately, as if with age. His face said he wasn’t yet fifty, despite his halting step. His thin frame accented his height, and even in August he wore a Windbreaker over a white button-down shirt and blue jeans. He slipped the small paper bag he carried into the pocket.
He stopped, lookin
g between us.
I smiled. “We’re looking for Marie LaFevre. Is this the place?”
“Ah. Marie.”
I nodded once. “Yes. We were hoping to talk to her.”
He eyed me with suspicion. “First time here?”
“Yes,” Cookie said. “We have not met the mambo.”
He snorted. “Best not let her hear you call her that. That mambo talk don’t sit well with her. Don’t know why, though. She sure knows her stuff.” He fingered the packet in his pocket, and I wondered what it contained. A gris gris, perhaps?
This really might be the woman who can tell us what Dawn Taite was talking about. The thought gave me a little shiver, and hope flickered again as I thought of Franklin’s niece lying in her hospital bed in the ICU.
He turned toward an older Chevy parked nearby. “Good luck, ladies.”
Cookie and I exchanged glances as he slowly moved away, muttering, “’Cuz you’re gonna need it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
She didn’t answer, but her lips pressed together as she stalked toward the barred door. Despite her hurry, I had the feeling it was more about getting the encounter over with than making the acquaintance of Marie LaFevre.
A sisal mat sat in front of the door. Cookie thoroughly wiped her feet on it, though there couldn’t have been more than dust on her shoes. Her hand faltered as she reached for the handle. I stepped up, yanked it open, and stepped inside.
Brightly lit display cases marched down each side of a narrow aisle, and though the recessed lighting overhead was directed on the shelves that lined the walls, the space didn’t feel dark or cramped, like I’d expected. I heard Cookie behind me, and the door swooshed shut on its pneumatic hinge. Slowly, I walked down the aisle, drinking in the items on offer.
Candles of every imaginable color, as well as multihued combinations. Many were simple pillars; others were in the shape of people or animals or things I didn’t recognize. Crystals reflected prisms against white cloth; tiny cloth bags awaited magical contents. Books lined a few shelves, and I wondered if any would be good selections for the spellbook club. Sewn dolls filled a basket. Their eyes didn’t match, and they looked hastily stitched.
“Do you really stick pins in those things?” I whispered. We’d used a felted wool poppet in a spell to great effect once. These didn’t look nearly as sweet as that one had.
“Shh,” Cookie hissed.
There were tarot decks and teas, herbs and roots and oils, packets of glitter and mysterious powders. Spell kits, bath salts and soaps, jewelry, incense, and framed art were also available for purchase. Feathers and sticks; smudge bundles and smudge pots. A display of obviously rubber chickens and snakes made me suppress a smile. One case stopped me cold, the various bones it contained shining white and gray against deep blue velvet. On the lower shelf, small jars of what appeared to be soil or ash stood in tidy rows. I leaned down to examine them and saw the labels: BONAVENTURE, COLONIAL PARK, LINCOLN, LAUREL GROVE, BELMONT, and DRAYTON HILLS. All cemeteries, and the last one I knew had been closed to the public for years.
Graveyard dirt.
I looked up to find a woman at the rear of the store, watching me with narrowed eyes. A blue dress draped across her shoulders, brushing the floor and the red-painted toes of her bare feet. A bright blue-and-green head wrap wound above her arched eyebrows and dark, glittering eyes. Her high cheekbones and long neck added to her regal bearing.
Queenlike bearing, if you would.
Multiple bangles clustered along both arms, and rings shone from her strangely long fingers.
“Marie LaFevre?” I asked.
She considered us long and hard. “Perhaps. Who are you?”
“Petitioners,” Cookie said.
The woman stepped back, languidly waving at us to join her at the back of the shop. There we found a sofa and three chairs. “Sit.”
We sat. I looked to my right and saw the human skull sitting on an end table, leering at me with a stained grin. I quickly redirected my attention back to Marie LaFevre.
She lowered herself onto a chair across from us, her movements smooth and unhurried. “You heard of me from another? From a satisfied customer?”
“We’re here at the suggestion of Poppa Jack,” Cookie said. “He said you are the most powerful priestess in the city. That your amulets and gris gris can achieve anything.”
Not exactly. But perhaps flattery would get us what we needed.
However, the voodoo queen’s expression hardened, and her nostrils flared. “I doubt he said that. Yet here you are. Poppa Jack is free with information about me, whatever he told you. Too free.”
“Ms. LaFevre,” I broke in.
“What do you want?” Her tone was harsh, with an underlying current like electricity. With a start, I realized she was using her Voice on me! Or at least trying to.
Well, I could play that game, too. “Information,” I said, putting some oomph into the word. “You see, there’s a woman in a coma, and a dead detective and a missing gris gris, and we were hoping you might be able—”
Marie LaFevre stood in one fluid motion. “Leave.”
Cookie scrambled to her feet.
I gaped up at Marie. “What?”
She pointed at the door. “Leave. I will have nothing to do with whatever evil you have brought upon yourselves.”
“The police found a man dead yesterday, and I only want to know if he came to see you when he was alive.”
“No!” she shouted. Fear flashed from her eyes. “I don’t know anything about a dead cop.”
I held up my palms in supplication. “Please. No one thinks you did anything wrong.”
At least not yet.
She shook her head vehemently and raised her hands as if to ward us off.
“Just tell me if you knew a man named Franklin Taite or a woman named Dawn Taite.” I pushed harder with my own Voice, well aware that skill had seriously backfired on me more than once.
“Do not try your magic on me, girl!” Her glare held real fury. I felt myself blanch. She took a breath, obviously struggling for calm. “I do not know this man,” she said, and I felt the truth in her words. “Now you will go, or I will make you go.”
Cookie grabbed my arm and started backing toward the door. “Come on, Katie.”
I let her pull me out to the parking lot. The priestess paced after us, her long blue dress swirling around each step like a tide. Once we were outside, she slammed the door shut behind us. The sound of the lock turning was loud in the sunny afternoon air.
“Whew!” I saw Cookie was visibly trembling. “Oh, honey, it’s okay.” I put my arm around her shoulders and started walking her toward the car. “She wasn’t going to—”
“You don’t know that, Katie! Marie LaFevre would be a formidable foe. I only hope you didn’t anger her too much,” Cookie said, pulling away. “You felt her ability?”
My steps faltered as I remembered the little sewn dolls. “Of course I did.” My voice was quiet, and I felt a little shaky myself—not to mention disappointed. “Come on. Let’s get back to the bakery. I’ll buy you a zucchini basil muffin.”
She patted her tiny waist. “Perhaps that would be a good idea. A little food might settle my stomach.”
I gave her a smile, not mentioning the protective properties of basil. It might be a good time to recharge the other protective measures Lucy and I had taken at the Honeybee, too—as well as at my carriage house.
* * *
As much as I wanted to check out the third name on Poppa Jack’s list, it was getting close to five o’clock and Cookie was obviously still upset about Marie LaFevre, even after downing a muffin and a glass of mango sweet tea. I offered to take her home, as we’d originally planned, but she insisted on calling Oscar to come get her at the Honeybee. In the meantime, she offered t
o help out with the final prep for the next morning’s baking.
We hardly needed the help, but I took her up on the offer, anyway, to keep her from stewing about our encounters with the two voodoo queens. Lucy set Iris to cleaning up around the espresso counter while she began running the register tape, and Ben stopped by to chat with Martin. Usually the author was long gone by now, but he looked relaxed and satisfied, and as he put his laptop into its case, he invited Ben to sit down.
Oscar came in, dark eyes lighting with affection as soon as he saw his bride. She beamed a joyful smile that made me happy just to see. No wonder she’d wanted him to pick her up.
She waved to him. “Be right there.”
“No hurry, love.” He settled in at an empty table. Then she leaned close and murmured in my ear. “Please don’t mention what we did today. Oscar thinks we were shopping.”
I sighed. “I hate that you feel you have to keep this from him.”
“It’s better like this.”
“But you’re lying to your husband.”
She gave me a look. “I’m keeping the peace.”
“Okay, fine. It’s your marriage.”
“Thank you.”
“Where are your bags?” I asked.
She looked confused for a moment, but then her face cleared. “Ah. My purchases. We only window-shopped. Better for a newlywed’s budget, you know.”
I laughed.
“I’ll be by tomorrow morning, however, so we can go visit the spiritualist.” Her eyes darted to the left, and I saw Oscar approaching. Iris watched him with wide, appreciative eyes.
“At ten?” she whispered quickly.
I nodded.
“Are you thinking of coming back to work here?” Oscar teased.
Cookie giggled. “No, silly man.” She turned to me. “However, I’ll take two scones for our breakfast.”
“Be my guest,” I said. “And here—take a loaf of bread, too.”
“And some cookies,” Lucy said, bustling toward the office safe with a bank bag in her hand. Martin had left, and Ben was tidying the coffee counter.
Loaded up with tasty baked goods, Cookie and Oscar left. Ben locked the door behind them and returned to his task.