Voodoo, Lies, and Murder

by Sibel Hodge

  "Oh, she'll know."

  "How will she know?"

  "Some of the things I've seen black magic bokors do in Haiti, you wouldn't believe."

  "Well, that's the point, isn't it? Don't you have to believe in voodoo to get hexed? If I don't believe it, then she can't hex me. Right?" Well, that was what I was trying to convince myself of, anyway.

  He shook his head gravely. "It doesn't matter. I've seen people who didn't believe in it die slow, painful deaths after they were cursed by a bokor. Deaths that had no explanation for them other than voodoo. She'll know everything you're thinking and everything about you."

  I started to ask him exactly what kind of things had happened and then I clamped my mouth shut. Maybe it was better if I didn't know. Anyway, I didn't believe in all that mumbo-jumbo.

  Yeah, right, Amber. Remember Live and Let Die!

  Shut up! I don't believe in voodoo.

  Do.

  Do not.

  Do.

  Not.

  The sensible part of my brain had the last word. Zombies? Making people die of curses? Impossible.

  Still, I wasn't taking any chances, which was why I'd come up with my plan.

  I handed Hacker the notes Brad found in Chantal's apartment. "I think this is a list of people's initials. This phone number is the one you found yesterday that Chantal called the day she went missing. Liza also called the same number the day she disappeared. I've been trying it but there's no reply." I pointed to the numbers on the list. "These look like some kind of dates. Can you see if you can crack this and find out what it means?"

  "Sure. I love a good code." He rubbed his hands together and rolled up the sleeves of his purple hoodie that said Gangsta Rappers Do It Better, eager to get started.

  "And can you get me a printout of the other calls made by Chantal and Liza from their phones?"

  He handed me a stack of papers. "Already done."

  "Cool." I shoved them in my rucksack.

  "I'm still trying to get into the server with the files for the Holbrook Clinic. What kind of medical facility doesn't store any files on site? Strange, huh?"

  "Very strange." Thoughts started going through my mind as I chewed on the end of my pen. Some kind of medical research? Nope, that didn't really fit with what it said on their website. Experimental treatments that weren't approved by the medical board yet? Maybe. Cloning? Stem-cell treatment? Rehab programs for the rich and famous? Sex addiction clinic? It could be anything. And how did it tie in with what had happened to Chantal and Liza?

  "Let me know as soon as you find out what they're up to. Have you got anything else for me?"

  "You'll like this." He leaned forward on his elbows. "Langton Developments is on the verge of bankruptcy. The only thing that's going to save it is the new City Park Complex, but with all the delays in getting the plot and planning permission, it was going to be touch and go as to whether they'd be able to save the company. So, what does James Langton do in the meantime?"

  "Steals from Chantal's trust fund?"

  "Damn. How did you know that?"

  Hey, was I good, or what? I gave him a huge smile. "Because I'm a shit-hot investigator."

  "The hot part is definitely right." Brad crept up behind me. I swear in a past life he was the Invisible Man.

  "Don't creep up on me!" I play-punched his arm. "I hate it when you do that."

  "You didn't complain last night." He raised an eyebrow.

  Okay, so there was a bit of role-playing going on in the bedroom that involved creeping up on me. It was…oh, never mind, you'll just have to imagine.

  I blushed. "Let's get back to the trust fund, shall we?"

  "Out of the three million in trust fund, there's only pocket change left," Hacker said.

  I tapped my lips with a pen. "And in nine days, Chantal and Nicole would've found that out."

  "So he kills Chantal to cover it up?" Brad crossed his arms and perched on the edge of my desk.

  "Possibly. Was he the executor of the trust?" I asked Hacker.

  "Yes."

  I glanced at Brad. "I need to pay James Langton another visit."

  Tia came in with a bright red nose and streaming eyes. "Morning," she said through a blocked-up nose. She thrust a box of donuts toward me. "Want one? They're cinnamon. Apparently, cinnamon is good for a cold." Which came out more like, "Dey're (sniff) dinnamon. Apparently, dinnamon is good for a (sniff) cold."

  My eyes lit up. "I lurrrrve cinnamon donuts." I reached out to take one and then stopped, remembering my resolve to keep slim for my wedding dress. "Er…no, I'm okay, thanks."

  Three pairs of eyes looked at me like I'd just told them I'd had a threesome with an alien and a cyborg.

  "No donuts?" Brad tilted his head. "Are you ill, too?"

  I sat up in my chair, acting nonchalant. "No. I just don't fancy one, that's all."

  "You don't fancy a donut?" Hacker snorted. "Pull the other one."

  Tia put the box down on the desk in front of me. I was good, too—I didn't even peek at them.

  "You're worried you might not be able to get into one of the wedding dresses you've seen in Dad's collection, aren't you?" Tia grinned, blowing her nose. "Awesome. That means you're going to set the date. Ooh, I can't wait to be a (sniff) bridesmaid. I've never been one before!" She leaned closer toward me conspiratorially.

  I backed away in case I got cold/flu germs.

  "Go on, tell me which dress it was (sniff). Was it the one with the diamante straps? Or…oooh, I know, don't tell me. It's the one with the fitted bodice and sheer sleeves, isn't it? Oh, that one is so you! Achooooooooo." Her hand flew to her mouth as she let out an almighty sneeze.

  I rolled my eyes at her. Okay, so maybe she was really psychic. I'd only ever got the magazine out in the privacy of my locked bathroom at Brad's, like a secret porn addict, so how could she have known I'd seen the one I wanted? "No!" I fibbed, avoiding Brad's gaze. If Brad knew I was thinking about the wedding dress, then he'd be putting even more pressure on me to set the date, and then I'd have to think about all the what-ifs again when I'd only just managed to squeeze them out of my head.

  "I told you I was psychic." Tia grinned, looking pretty pleased with herself.

  "Okay, Miss Smarty-Pants, if you're psychic, why can't you see anything useful that's going to help me solve the case?" I said, hand on hip.

  "I told you, it doesn't work like that (huge sniff). I can't control when the feelings happen and what they're about. They just come to me."

  "Right." I said in a disbelieving tone.

  "But I'm still getting the feeling that Chantal's alive." She nodded at me. "Achooooooo." She wiped her nose with a tissue.

  I wasn't so sure about that. James Langton had a three-million-pound motive to kill his daughter. And that was without all the voodoo stuff, a missing friend, a jilted boyfriend who knew more than he was saying, and a possible pregnancy thrown into the mix.

  "Are you going to see Marie?" Tia asked.

  I nodded.

  "You have to do a spell for protection. Someone's already put a bad spell or curse on me to give me flu." Tia's eyes grew wide with worry.

  "It's just a cold," I said, but the neurotic part of my brain was wondering. Did I really have a love curse?

  Brad looked at Tia with an amused smile.

  "No. I've been cursed." Tia shook her head. "Oooh, I shouldn't do that." She stopped shaking. "My head's too stuffy to shake."

  "I told you before, I'm never doing another one of your spells again."

  "Well, you didn't want to do the last one and it got you and Brad back together." Then she slapped a hand over her mouth. That was supposed to be a secret, and she'd only roped me into it because she wouldn't take no for an answer and I was humoring her. I didn't believe it was what had really got Brad and me back together. Not in the slightest. At all. Seriously, I didn't.

  "Oh, so you were doing a love spell to get back with me, were you?" Brad grinned at me.

  "Tia mad
e me do it," I said.

  "Maybe you can help me do a spell to get her to set the date," Brad said to Tia.

  "You don't believe in spells either!" I said.

  "Who says?" Brad carried on grinning, which was getting a bit annoying now.

  "She should so totally do a protection spell, shouldn't she?" Tia's head swung between Hacker and Brad, looking for their approval to her harebrained idea. "Ouch, remind me not to move my bunged-up head."

  "It's not a bad idea," Hacker said to her.

  "The trouble is, getting her to do anything she doesn't want to is a complete nightmare," Brad said to both of them.

  "Hello? I'm right here!" I threw my hands in the air. "Why are we talking about spells when we've got work to do?"

  "If you don't want to do one of my spells, get Hacker to do a voodoo one to protect you from Marie." Tia reached out and grasped my hand. "Please, for me. I don't want anything to happen to you."

  "Oh, for God's sake, okay!" Giving in seemed the only way to get them off the subject.

  * * *

  Two candles alight, one chicken's foot being waved around, a few stones placed on the desk, and lots of mumbling in French later, Hacker's spell was complete, and Brad and I were on our way to Marie's house.

  "Let me do the talking," I said as we pulled up outside her terraced three-bedroom house in Brad's Hummer.

  "Why do you get to have all the fun?" He raised an eyebrow.

  "Because I have a plan." I gave him a smug grin.

  "If she's really psychic like Nicole, she'll see through your plan, anyway."

  "I don't believe in psychics," I said, studying Marie's house: paint peeling from the doors and windows, rough end of town, overgrown garden. Nicole had said the lure of money and power had got Marie into left-handed voodoo, but judging by her house and the area of town she lived in, obviously the black magic voodoo didn't pay as well as the good voodoo. Maybe she did it because she was just genuinely evil. I shuddered at the thought.

  "Don't let Tia hear you say you don't believe in psychics."

  "I've told her loads of times, but she always ignores me." I snorted. "Are you sure you want to leave the Hummer here?" I spied a gang of teenage boys with spiky hair and multiple ear and face piercings farther up the street. One of them had a tattoo of a spider's web on his neck. Even though the spider was just on a tattoo, it still creeped me out. The gang were kicking a bottle around and eyeing the Hummer like it was the best thing since the hoodie was invented.

  We opened the doors and got out.

  "Wait here." Brad walked toward the boys as I leaned against the cool black metal, arms folded, watching.

  As he approached, the boys puffed their chests out, oozing cockiness. Spider's Web jutted his chin in the air. He was obviously the leader. Since Brad had his back to me, I couldn't see what he was doing, but after a few minutes, the boys' demeanor became more wary. Scared, almost. They glanced at each other with worried eyes. Spider's Web's lips moved quickly, like he was dying to say something and get out of there quick. Five minutes went by and Brad came back, grinning.

  "What did you say?" I asked.

  "I just politely asked them to keep an eye on the Hummer for me." Brad's eyes danced with amusement.

  "Or what?" I tilted my head. I had a pretty good idea. Brad was trained to kill with his bare hands, and he was pretty protective of his possessions and his friends. He'd killed someone to save my life a while back. I was sure the boys got the message loud and clear about what would go down if anything happened to his Hummer.

  Brad shrugged. "Let's go and see Marie."

  We walked up her narrow path covered with moss and weeds and knocked on the door. The house would've been painted white at one time, now it was a kind of grayish-brown.

  I half expected the door to swing open on its own and loud, suspenseful music to start playing, like in the horror films.

  "Yes. I'm coming," a croaky voice yelled from inside.

  I glanced at Brad, feeling nervous. He glanced at me, not giving anything away, as usual. Cue suspenseful music.

  The door swung open and I jumped.

  For God's sake, Amber, get a grip, girl. There's no such thing as voodoo black magic. You don't believe in it.

  Marie was the opposite of Nicole in every way. She looked like she'd taken a nosedive from the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down. Hunched shoulders; wrinkles galore that gave her skin a sundried tomato appearance, only not quite as red; wispy black hair with a thick streak of white at the front that made her look like a malting badger; narrow eyes so dark they looked almost black. She looked at least two hundred years old, possibly three. Maybe she'd been a hot babe when she was younger, but I seriously doubted it.

  "Er…hi. I booked an appointment for a voodoo reading," I said, not wanting to stare at a big, hairy mole on her cheek but finding it impossible to tear my eyes away. It was huge. A mouse could be hiding in all that undergrowth and no one would notice.

  Her penetrating gaze went from me to Brad and back to me again. Then she clicked her tongue and said, "You'd better come in."

  We entered a depressingly dingy and dark hallway where books and boxes were piled up either side. A white cat sat at the end of the hall, watching us as if trying to work out if we were friend or foe. Even the cat looked ugly and scary. Its head was too big for its body, and if I didn't know better, I'd think it had an evil glint in its eyes.

  She led us past a few closed doors. A painting on the wall made the hallway seem even more disturbing. It had a black canvas with patterns of red and white that looked like hundreds of bloody skulls. In the center, a young, beautiful woman danced around a bonfire. In her hands she held what looked like human bones.

  The hairs on the back of my neck rose.

  Yikes! Don't look at the picture. Don't look at it. It might curse you!

  At the end of the hallway was a cluttered, dated kitchen. Every surface was covered with stuff. I mean, don't get me wrong—as you know, I like stuff and clutter, but this was way over the top. The kitchen worktops had rows upon rows of jars containing what looked like bits of dead animals, rotten leaves, stones, sticks, and various funny-colored potions. Something foul smelling bubbled away on the hob—a cloying scent of things decaying and rotten.

  "Have a seat." Marie nodded toward a small wooden table covered with a red cloth in the corner of the room. Four rickety wooden chairs surrounded it. In the center of the table were a pack of cards, stones, and half burnt-down candles.

  Next to the table were French doors that opened into an equally overgrown back garden. They were ajar, but they didn't do anything to disperse the smell of…God, what was it? It smelled like road kill with a hint of infected dog's ear and rotting rubbish.

  We sat down opposite Marie.

  "You want some tea?" she asked.

  "No thanks," Brad and I said in unison.

  If that was what she was boiling up on the hob, I'd rather drink liquefied fish eyeballs.

  Marie sat back in her chair, eyes narrowed. "Why not? I make it special. Special tea for a special couple." She grinned, revealing crooked teeth. "What's wrong with my tea?"

  "Er…nothing. I'm sure it's lovely," I said. I didn't want to piss her off by refusing her tea, but who knew what the hell would be in it? What if it was some weird kind of potion that turned me into some kind of half-human, half-chicken woman?

  "Everyone who has a reading must have tea. It's part of the ritual so I can tune into you better." She stood up, went to the boiling pan, and gave it a quick stir. Then she poured it into two teacups. As she carried them toward us, some of the dirty green liquid sploshed onto the saucers. "Here." She set them down in front of us.

  It looked like iguana piss. I stared at it, then picked up the cup as she watched me. It smelled even worse close up. I tried hard not to heave, and quickly placed it back on the table out of sniffing range. No way was I drinking that.

  "Something wrong with the tea?" She tilted her head.r />
  "Looks lovely," Brad said.

  "Lovely." I nodded my head in agreement. "It's probably a bit hot. I'll wait for it to cool down." I gave her my best smile.

  "So, you want to know what the future holds for you?" Marie asked, sitting back and studying us both carefully like she could see into our souls.

  I nodded. "We want to get married soon, but we've both been married before and we want to make sure we're doing the right thing."

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Brad glance up at me sharply at that little fib.

  "Give me your hand," Marie said to me, holding out her callused one.

  I obliged and she stared at my palm for a few minutes.

  "You will have a long and happy life." She roughly dropped mine and took Brad's. "You will travel and have good fortune," she said to him.

  What? Wasn't that what all supposedly psychic people said? She was definitely a fake. What had I been so worried about?

  Marie stood. "Let me get my cards. I'll be back in a minute."

  As she shuffled out of the room, I looked around for somewhere to pour the foul-smelling tea. The kitchen sink was out of bounds as it was already piled high with clothes, soaking in washing powder, so I sprang over to the French doors, yanked one open, and swiftly poured the contents of mine and Brad's cups into a nearby giant rhododendron bush. The bush made a loud screeching sound as Marie's cat shot out of its depths, dripping from whiskers to tail in green liquid.

  My eyelids flipped open in surprise.

  The cat flew into the kitchen like Concorde, closely pursued by me. I put the empty cups back on the saucers and looked around frantically for a cloth to wipe the cat, and then spied some kitchen roll.

  "Foxy," Brad hissed. "What the fuck are you doing?"

  "Shush!" I undid a whole bundle of kitchen roll and crept toward the cat that was now crouched under the table. A loud, throaty growl stopped me in my tracks.

  "Here we are." Marie wandered back in the room. "Oh! Snowy, what's happened to you?" She bent down, picked up the cat and sniffed its fur. Then her eyes flickered slowly in my direction. "Strange, smells like tea." She peered at the lump of kitchen roll in my hand.