Mind Games

by Polly Iyer

  “Same here, Louie. What will you have, Diana?”

  “Scotch,” she said. “On the rocks.”

  “Beer for me.” Lucier crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward. “A little early in the day for the hard stuff, isn’t it?”

  “Unusual day.” She forced a smile, then sipped some water. “Aren’t you on duty?”

  “I just went off.”

  The drinks arrived and Diana took a long swallow, sighed, and relaxed in her chair.

  Lucier ordered jambalaya and cornbread for two. “Specialty of the house. This is Cajun style, not New Orleans’ Creole. No tomatoes in this recipe.”

  “Sounds great. I didn’t realize how hungry I was. But shouldn’t you be home with your family? I’m sure they don’t see enough of you, and here you are spending your down time with someone else.”

  Lucier topped off his beer. “I don’t have a family.”

  “But the photo in your office. I…I assumed―”

  “Yes, but―”

  “Divorced?”

  “No, they were killed in an accident eight years ago. Driver of a semi fell asleep at the wheel, crossed the median, and hit them head on.”

  Diana’s heart felt like it stopped. “How…how awful. I don’t know what to say.”

  He shrugged, then took several gulps of beer. “Actually, I was afraid you might have seen that when you touched my arm the other night.”

  “It doesn’t happen like that. I have to work at seeing inside people, to concentrate on what a person or something they own passes to me. Even then, things don’t always connect. If everyone told me their life story by touch, I’d be in an asylum.” But she remembered feeling his sadness. Now she knew why.

  Mountain Man placed two steaming bowls of jambalaya over rice in front of them, with a side dish of jalapeno-laced cornbread. Both ordered another drink.

  “Smells delicious, Lieutenant. Thanks for bringing me here.”

  “Wait till you taste it. Come on, eat up before your meal gets cold. Oh,” he said, spreading his napkin on his lap, “call me Ernie.”

  She looked up, caught by those eyes again. They reminded her of a tiger’s eye necklace she once owned―yellow and brown and iridescent. “Okay, Ernie.” She speared a chunk of sausage. The heat filled her mouth and the cornbread lit it on fire. “Mmm, delicious.”

  He seemed pleased and attacked his own plate.

  She struggled for the right words in between bites. “I’m sorry about your family. How does one get over something like that?”

  Lucier looked for a brief moment as if he were somewhere else. “You don’t. I started law school a few years ago to keep my mind occupied, but I couldn’t concentrate.”

  “So you work to fill up the empty hours.”

  “Uh-huh. I get home dead tired, go to sleep, wake up, and go to work. My way of coping. Then Katrina came along. That disaster changed everything. It’s been slow, but we’re getting back to normal.”

  “Awful situation. Don’t get me going.” She sipped the newly-arrived tumbler of scotch. “Don’t you date? I’m sure plenty of women would be interested.”

  “I guess I haven’t had time.”

  “You mean you haven’t made time.”

  “Look who’s talking. You’re still eyeing ring fingers.” He smiled, and the discomfort of his personal disclosure melted into normal conversation. “What does that say?”

  Diana looked down at her bare fingers. “That I work as much as you do. And you’re right. Because a man doesn’t wear a ring doesn’t mean he’s not married. Look at you. You wear a ring and you’re not married. Blows the theory to pieces, doesn’t it?”

  Lucier spread his left hand out in front of him. “I haven’t been able to take it off. Feels wrong whenever I’ve tried.”

  “You will, when the time is right.” Diana mopped her bowl with the cornbread, finished her scotch, then pushed her plate aside with a sigh of satisfaction.

  Lucier ordered coffee.

  “This is the first time since the accident I’ve eaten dinner with anyone other than another cop. Certainly the first time with a woman.”

  She spread her arms out wide. “See, how hard is this?” He grinned and Diana felt his stare bore into her like lasers.

  “Not hard at all.” He averted his eyes as if he’d been caught like a peeping Tom.

  Maybe it was the scotch, maybe the release of tension, but Ernie Lucier woke some long-dormant hormonal chemistry. Old Galen would have a fit if he knew she was dining with a black man, given his small-town Southern upbringing. And her having emotional stirrings to boot.

  Lucier wore a blue shirt and camel-colored linen jacket. His tie’s geometric pattern of gold, blue and brown picked up the exotic colors of his eyes. She couldn’t resist. “I’m curious. You’re obviously African-American, but that hair color and those eyes…I have to know.”

  His expression conveyed that the question had been asked before. “My African American father came from down here. He was on scholarship at Harvard when he met my white mother, fell in love, and against her parents’ wishes, married. Her influential Boston family disowned her for marrying him. I grew up in Cambridge, near Boston. My mother died of MS when I was twelve, and my father and I moved back here.”

  Diana didn’t have to be psychic to see the pain of too many losses in his handsome face. “I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about this.”

  “Water under long-ago bridges.”

  What would she glean from reading him, or did she know everything about Lieutenant Ernie Lucier? “Did your mother’s parents ever come around?”

  “Nope, never did.”

  Growing up with Galen more than acquainted her with the feelings of Lucier’s grandparents. “And your father?”

  “He gave up a good medical practice in Cambridge. He and a boat-owner friend traveled up and down the bayous and rivers helping the sick and delivering medication. My dad died a few years ago of a strange fever.” Lucier motioned the waiter for the bill. “On the city,” he said. “I have a feeling we got away cheap.”

  “I’ll send you a bill,” she teased.

  “Uh-oh.” He signed the credit card.

  “Interesting story.”

  “Talk about an interesting story. Everyone knows about Diana Racine.”

  “You may think the story’s interesting, but I don’t. Always on the road, being dragged from one place to another. Private tutors, hotels, restaurants. We never spent much time at home.” She finished off her coffee. “I wanted to live the life of a normal kid, but normal kids didn’t want anything to do with me. Their parents called me a tool of the devil.”

  “The devil, huh? Abnormal, maybe, but the devil? That’s a stretch.”

  She lifted her brows and laughed. “Gee, thanks. So you think I’m abnormal?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I know. True’s true.”

  “No men in your life? After all, you’re not bad looking yourself. You must meet all kinds of interesting guys.”

  Diana feigned her most affronted expression. “Did I hear a compliment in there somewhere?”

  “Okay, you’re pretty. Very pretty. That better?”

  “Definitely. You catch on fast. I like that.” She answered his smile with one of her own. The man was one attractive specimen. More than attractive. “To answer your question, I’m never in one place long enough to develop a relationship. That’s not to say there haven’t been a few short ones. Someday I’ll stop this nonsense and plunk myself down near the ocean. Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to find the right person. But I’ll tell you one thing—if I ever have children, they won’t be in show biz. That’s for sure.”

  “What if they inherit your abilities?”

  “I pray they don’t.” His smile gleamed in the café au lait skin. “I’d better go. I’ve got a show in―” she checked her watch―“oh, m’gosh, in less than an hour. I’ll never make it. I bet Galen’s ready to convulse.” She put her
napkin on the table and got up. “I enjoyed the food and the company.”

  “Maybe we can do this again before you leave town.”

  She nodded. “I’d like that. We’ll be here until next week. I have a few personal readings and a couple of visits to the children’s wards at two hospitals on Friday. I do it every year. You know, a little good will.”

  “If you’ll let me, when you have some free time after all that, I’d like to show you my New Orleans.”

  “Let you? I’d like nothing better.”

  Chapter Seven

  Darkness Falls

  Diana arrived in a flurry without a minute to spare. Lucier had taken her to the hotel to change and declined a spot backstage in favor of watching from the audience. Galen followed on her heels.

  “I’ve been calling you all day,” he said.

  “I shut off my phone.”

  “Where’ve you been? I’ve been worried sick.”

  “I’m a big girl, Galen. No need to worry.” She filled him in on her day with Lucier, while sponging on stage makeup that wouldn’t fade under the harsh lights. She wished she had time for a shower, but she didn’t have time. A new coat of lipstick, some fresh eyeliner, and she was ready. She heard the announcer’s introduction and hurried onto the stage to the sound of applause.

  The show’s routine followed a basic formula. First, she relaxed the audience with amusing anecdotes, then impressed them by delivering insightful, on-target readings to the chosen participants. She’d finely tuned her act over the years, but she possessed the ability to make everything seem fresh. Tonight, audience enthusiasm exceeded expectations.

  The last selected audience member left her seat next to an identical twin who wore the only touch of individuality: a pink scarf draped around her neck. Diana hoped she chose the right sister, though Jason furnished information on both. She rarely needed his input to fill the time. Often, people were reluctant to go on stage, fearing a negative forecast, but this woman reveled in her fifteen minutes of fame. She showed no apprehension as Diana chatted one-on-one for a moment to confirm she addressed the right twin.

  The twin chose not to give her name, which seemed out of character, given her uninhibited personality. Diana asked a few questions about being a twin, then motioned her to the chair. They clasped hands. After a few minor disclosures, an eerie feeling entered Diana’s body unlike anything she’d ever felt. Unlike the enervation that occurred during her recent visions, this was an invasion of darkness so strong that for a moment she pulled away her hands to break the link. Masking her uneasiness, she continued the routine, imparting the gathered information plus a few bits from her own observations and insights. But she couldn’t shake the foreboding emanating from this woman and was relieved she was the final participant of the evening.

  When she completed the reading, Diana uncharacteristically rushed from the stage toward her dressing room. She doubled back, surrendering an encore bow because the crowd begged for more. A quick acknowledgment, a smile and wave, and she withdrew from the stage. Galen followed her to the dressing room but collided with a locked door when she slammed it in his face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, I need some time by myself.”

  “Let me in,” he demanded.

  She looked at her shaking hands. “I can’t right now.”

  He banged his fist on the door. “Open the damn door, Diana.”

  “Goddamn it, go away.”

  She stood with her back to the door. She’d never spoken to her father like that and could picture him standing outside with his jaw hanging open in disbelief at her behavior. But she couldn’t talk to him now because she couldn’t explain what happened that put her in such a state. She heard Blanche and Galen’s voices filter through the door.

  Another knock and Diana cupped her hands over her ears to block out the sound. “I told you, Galen, not now.”

  Then Galen’s voice rose. “Who are you?”

  “Lieutenant Ernie Lucier, NOPD.”

  “Well, you can’t go in there. Diana’s not letting anyone in.”

  More tapping on the door. “It’s Ernie, Diana.”

  “I told you she won’t let anyone in,” Galen repeated. “Not even me.”

  Diana opened the dressing room door and yanked Lucier inside, then shut it behind him.

  Galen pounded on the door. “Diana, let me in right now.”

  She ignored her father and beckoned to Lucier. “Come here, away from the door.”

  “I saw you run off the stage. What’s wrong?”

  Diana paced the floor. “I’m not sure, but whatever it was spooked the hell out of me.” She tossed a few cubes from the ice bucket into a tumbler and poured scotch into a glass. Just to calm my nerves. She sipped the drink and collapsed onto the chaise. Lucier sat beside her.

  “You know the last woman I read? Well, something happened with her. Something I can’t explain.” She clutched Lucier’s arm. “She spoke to me.”

  He looked perplexed. “Well, um, yes, I saw that.”

  “No, no, not like that,” Diana said. “Something’s going to happen to her. I felt it. Something bad.”

  “Like what?”

  “Don’t you think I’d tell you if I knew? That’s the point―I don’t know, but I felt an ominous sensation emanating from her.”

  Lucier took the glass from her shaking hand and put it on the table next to him. “Do you want to tell me why you really stopped helping the police years ago?”

  “I can’t talk about that.” She rose, picked up the glass again, and drained it. She poured another shot. “Too complicated.”

  “It’s important, Diana. I don’t believe in coincidence. I also think that whatever went on out there is somehow connected to Buffy Tyler’s murder.”

  Diana felt ill. She swallowed more of her drink. “I’ll tell you this. Whatever people said, whatever they surmised, I never lost the abilities I had as a child, and that’s all I’m saying.”

  “Then I’ll ask again. Why did you stop?”

  “And I’ll tell you again. I can’t talk about it.”

  Lucier’s tone changed. This time he spoke like a cop. “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Whichever,” she said. “The answer’s still the same.”

  “Then why did you pull me in here?”

  “Because this time I can’t look the other way.”

  Galen interrupted the conversation with another attempt to force Diana to open the door. She ignored him.

  “We need to get out of here,” Lucier said, “before your father breaks down the door.”

  “What should I tell them?”

  “Tell them to come with us if you want.”

  She shook her head. “Better not. I don’t feel like answering his questions about tonight.” Nor did she want to expose Lucier to her father’s rarely-disguised prejudices.

  “Then tell them I have police business to discuss, and you’ll speak to them tomorrow. Tell them you have a reading with the pope. Tell them anything you want, but let’s go.”

  “Just don’t ask me any more questions until I’m ready to tell you. I need time to think.”

  “Deal, as long as you tell me tonight. I have a feeling, and this is one time I don’t want to be right.”

  Chapter Eight

  The Chicken Wing from Hell

  The spotlight bathed the jazz trio performing on the small stage with a hazy glow. Lucier held Diana’s arm as they waited. A dark-skinned man with a warm smile led them to an unoccupied booth in the far corner. He wore what looked like an expensive designer suit, lavender shirt and tie, and something not many people have seen other than in old movies: spats, which gave the place its name.

  “Good to see you out, Lieutenant, and with a lovely lady. Makes it a double pleasure.”

  “Diana Racine, meet Antoine Desenioux. Antoine’s an old buddy. Serves watered-down booze, hot wings that’ll clean out your sinuses in a hurry, and employs the best jazz trio in New Orlea
ns.”

  “Not the Diana Racine?” Antoine said.

  “That’s the one. How about your best scotch for the lady and an Abita Amber for me. Oh and Antoine, scotch from the bottle, okay?”

  “Nothing but the best for the lady tonight. From the bottle, Lieutenant.” He winked at Diana and hurried away as if he were about to serve Satchmo himself.

  “What was that all about?”

  “Antoine and I have a history. I needed some information about one of his regular customers. He didn’t want to share.” Lucier flashed a wicked smile. “I got it.”

  “You threatened to close down his bar because of watered-down liquor.”

  “On the nose.” Lucier made an admiring sweep of the room. “I’d’ve hated to close this place down.”

  He ordered Cajun hot wings when the drinks came. “You have to try these.”

  “I don’t know if I want my sinuses cleared out. They’re doing fine as they are, thank you very much.”

  “You’ll hear better, trust me.” He drank half his beer and turned serious. “I’m not going to ask you anything; I’m going to tell you.”

  “Huh?”

  “From what you’ve told me the last couple of days, I’m going to tell you all about yourself.” The wings came, and as the fiery hot sauce filled his mouth, Lucier started sucking air. “Mmmm. Hot. Hot. Hot.”

  Diana broke up. “You’re a masochist.”

  He licked the thick red sauce off his fingers. “Come on, try one.”

  “Okay, if you’re forcing me.”

  She bit into a drumstick. Nothing. No reaction whatsoever.

  “Delicious. You’re right,” she said taking a bigger bite. “These are great.”

  He stared in amazement. “You’re kidding. I have to drink this beer to cool the volcano inside my mouth. You don’t think that’s the hottest wing you’ve ever eaten?”

  “Naw, I’ve had hotter.” She tossed a naked bone onto the plate and picked up another wing. “You’re a wuss.”

  “I can’t believe you. Every passage in my head is open. I’ll be damned.” He watched her bite into the second wing, leaned back, and shook his head. “Incredible.”