GODDESS OF THE MOON (A Diana Racine Psychic Suspense)

by Polly Iyer

  “I don’t know. I’ve been worried ever since she got that note. Diana, we await you. Someone wants her involved in this investigation, and they’re doing everything to draw her into it. They must know she has the curiosity of the proverbial cat.” Lucier knew, though. Diana was nothing if not predictable. “Besides, you guys have already interviewed Compton. Why would he agree to one with a New Orleans cop?”

  “Two words. Diana Racine. The man’s got a hard on for famous people. I guarantee he’ll want to meet her.”

  “Hmm. I’ll ask her, but I already know the answer. Any idea how to incorporate her into the meeting?”

  “Compton doesn’t forget anything. Just say your name clearly. He’ll know you were the cop who saved Ms. Racine’s life, and sorry, Lieutenant, but everyone in town knows you two have a thing going. He’ll ask you to bring her along.”

  Everyone in town? Had they been that obvious? “You play the ponies?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Sounds like you’re a betting man.”

  Stallings laughed.

  “Any luck tracking those two women?” Lucier asked.

  “Not a whisper. One of our agents checked back at the Sunrise Mission, but no one there has seen either one of them. Slater was upset that the girl Brigid hadn’t shown up. ’Course it’d help if we knew her real name. The one on her employment record is a phony, at least the last name is. Those places expect a number of false names from people who don’t want to be found. She stayed there for room and board. He paid her a small amount for her services out of a miscellaneous fund. I hope those girls don’t wind up like Deems.”

  “Me too.” He remembered Deems gasping for breath, the pungent almond odor sharp in his nose. “What about other properties Compton owns under the dummy corporation?”

  “Try conglomerates. We’ve got our Corporate Crimes Division untangling them, but his people are good. We’re still trying. That man has his fingers into more pies than Sara Lee, with lawyers and bankers in his pocket to protect his interests. He’s made a lot of people rich, and you can bet your pension no one’s talking.

  * * * * *

  Lucier was relieved to see that Diana had either forgotten his sharp exit the other night or she chose not to bring it up. She curled up next to him on the sofa, coffee cup in hand, legs tucked beneath her, and listened to what he learned earlier in the day. She looked like a teenager.

  “Silas Compton, huh?”

  “Stallings said when I make the appointment he’s bound to connect me with you. Hell, the story was in the news for days. Did you know that people around town think the two of us are an item?”

  She tilted her head, flaunting a half smile. “We are.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t know we were common knowledge.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  Lucier noted the edge in Diana’s voice. Better tread lightly. “Not really, but you’ve been in the public eye since you were a child; I’m not used to being common knowledge. Makes me feel like something I’m not.”

  “You had to know this would happen.”

  “Guess I didn’t think that far.” She smiled, and his heart rate ticked up. “I’ll get used to it.”

  She jabbed a playful finger in his arm. “You better, buster, cuz I’m here to stay.”

  He leaned over and kissed her. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “Good. Got that straight. Now, what else did Stallings say?”

  “That Compton’s like Francine Marigny―obsessed with famous people. If my name doesn’t ring bells, Stallings said I should say something about you finding the house from the key in Deems’s pocket. He’ll want me to bring you along.” Lucier drained his coffee and put the empty cup on the cocktail table. “That’s if you want to go.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Predictable as the sunrise. “That note you received would have spooked nearly everyone else off this case. Everyone but you. Anyone following the hunt for a vicious killer knew that.”

  * * * * *

  The next day, as Stallings predicted, the mention of Lucier’s name sparked Compton to ask about Diana. He followed up with an invitation to bring her along and to meet at his home rather than his office.

  If Compton is behind any nefarious activities, his predictability quotient will work against him. Lucier stayed at Diana’s that night, something he was doing more often, and by ten the next morning they started out for the Compton home in the French Quarter.

  “Compton has homes all over the place―New York, L.A., even Paris, but this is his in-town residence,” Lucier said. “I’ve heard it’s spectacular, so thanks for taking me along.”

  She socked him gently in the arm. “Wise guy.”

  “If he wasn’t anxious to meet you, I’d have met him at his office. Now I’ll see a part of New Orleans only a chosen few have seen.”

  “Why at his house and not his office?” Diana asked.

  “To impress you, my dear.”

  * * * * *

  Diana knew residential treasures existed in the French Quarter, but she’d never have noticed this gem solidly hidden behind elaborate iron gates, which parted like the Red Sea to let them enter. The guard on duty nodded to Diana and asked for Lucier’s identification, which he handed over. No impostors welcome. After checking his clipboard, the guard indicated where Lucier should park. A middle-aged man waited to open Diana’s door. The dark suit couldn’t hide the bulge of a weapon or his Mr. Olympia physique.

  “Mr. Compton is expecting you in his study,” he said. “This way.”

  Diana leaned over and whispered in Lucier’s ear. “You think? Photograph comparisons, waiting butlers, or is this hulk a bodyguard? I’m almost flattered.”

  “Maybe Compton’s panting to meet the hero cop,” Lucier teased.

  She laughed, but the tension inside didn’t ease until she stepped out of the car and into a lush tropical garden surrounding an elaborate fountain. Perfume filled the air, and the mist from the fountain felt almost therapeutic. Instead of the bronzes of gods and goddesses she expected, the sculptures were surprisingly contemporary. She felt like she’d just entered Wonderland.

  The old brick walkway led to the entrance where a maid ushered them into a large mahogany paneled room. A fancy gilt-framed landscape adorned the wall opposite a massive fireplace bordered by hand-painted Portuguese tiles, chosen, Diana assumed, to match the painting. A quick glance at Corot’s signature confirmed her suspicion of an original old master. She saw Lucier scan the room, probably searching either for cameras or some connection to the occult. A few classical bronzes of gods and goddesses were evident in the artfully arranged bookcases but nothing she’d consider satanic.

  Compton rose from an ornate desk and walked eagerly toward them with long strides. He stood as tall as Lucier, with a golf-course tan and piercing blue eyes that studied his visitors with intelligent curiosity. His features were classic and masculine: straight nose, square chin, and a broad forehead under a head of thick, graying hair, cut short. He wore knife-creased slacks and an open-collar, striped dress shirt with a monogram on one of the cuffs.

  “Lieutenant Lucier, Miss Racine, this is indeed a pleasure.”

  His pleasure clearly targeted her when he lowered his head to kiss her hand, European style. She flashed Lucier a cutesy shrug and smiled, but when she looked down, she gasped at the sight. Her hand, still in Compton’s, had morphed into a skeleton, charred as black as coal. She blinked a few times, and her hand appeared normal again. Swallowing hard, she hoped the savage drumbeat thumping in her chest wasn’t visible through her blouse. Neither man seemed to notice anything odd about her hand or strange in her behavior. Still, she couldn’t erase the memory of the vision.

  “Delighted to meet you, Mr. Compton,” Diana managed to respond with a smile. She noted Lucier returned Compton’s greeting with an energetic handshake.

  Surely the macabre sight was a hallucination, a mirage. She’d been under a lot of
stress lately. Maybe Lucier was right. It was still too soon. She hadn’t fully recovered. The satanic symbols, the incident in the rocking chair, and all the talk about cults must have had more of an effect on her than she realized. After a moment, the throbbing in her head receded and allowed Compton’s words to filter through.

  “I don’t entertain many guests, but I’m a big fan of yours, Ms. Racine. Unfortunately, I missed this year’s performance. I saw your show last year and was quite impressed. All that hoopla recently with that serial killer―my goodness, amazing. I admire that kind of fortitude, especially in a tiny package as yourself.”

  Diana forced a smile and a thank you even though she found his remark condescending, as if tiny packages were too insignificant to pack a punch. Common sense prevailed over the urge to comment. No point incurring his wrath before getting what she came for. So far the only reading she’d received had been her own.

  Compton directed his two visitors to a sofa in his office, and he took a nearby chair. “I think it’s a shame you’re giving up the entertainment business. Not many like you around.”

  “We all have to retire sometime.”

  “Not me. I’ll die behind my desk. Can’t help it. There’s too much going on, and I’m having way too much fun.”

  He crossed his leg and relaxed his shoulders, gestures of nonchalance, but Diana detected the movements were calculated. Silas Compton was about at ease as a coiled rattler, ready to strike.

  “Now, what can I do for you?” he said. “You mentioned you had some more questions about my house in Audubon Park, Lieutenant. I don’t know what I can add to what I told Agent Stallings, but I’d be happy to go over it again.” Then a change in attitude confirmed that Compton was no fool. “I’m curious, Ms. Racine, did you accept my invitation just to see if you could get a reading on me? Maybe tell if I was lying or not?”

  Diana raised an eyebrow. “I get sensations about people through psychic readings, Mr. Compton. I’m not a mind reader, and I certainly couldn’t tell if you’re lying. I’m sorry if you think I came here as a tool of the police department, but you extended the invitation to me. I was honored you asked me to accompany Lieutenant Lucier, pleased that you wanted to meet me.” Diana tilted up her chin. “Now I feel unwelcome.”

  Compton’s face reddened, and he bowed his head to his visitors. “I sincerely apologize to both of you. I’m embarrassed. The world has turned me into a cynic.” He focused on Diana. “Let me be clear. I did want to meet you. Very much. Reading anything else into your acceptance is ungracious of me. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  “Of course.” Diana decided to return the compliment. “Who wouldn’t crave the opportunity to meet one of the world’s most famous men? As I said, I’m honored.”

  Compton smiled, but everyone in the room knew the game being played.

  “Now,” he said, “if apologies are accepted, down to business. No one understands that better than I. Ask your questions, Lieutenant.”

  “Ridley Deems, Mr. Compton,” Lucier said.

  Compton sat up straight, squared his shoulders, but his eyes rarely left Diana. Hard and intense and penetrating. His words said one thing, but she sensed his objective was something else.

  “I didn’t know him, other than by the name Ridley Deems. I assumed my rental agency did the necessary checks on the man. I didn’t know he had any connection to the Sunrise Mission.”

  “How could someone like that afford to rent a house at, what was the rental fee?”

  Compton, a smile twitching his lips, answered without hesitation. “Three thousand dollars a month.” He turned to Lucier. “I have no idea, but he paid the agency six months in advance, plus the same amount in a security deposit. I’m a businessman, Lieutenant. That was good enough for me. Wouldn’t it be for you?”

  “Yes, sir, it would.”

  “I recognized his name when I read the article in the paper. Other than losing a tenant, I had no feelings about it one way or the other. I was glad the article didn’t mention the alleged goings-on in the house. It’d make renting it again harder.” Compton shrugged. “Like I said, I’m a businessman. Even if I’d noticed him at the mission, I’d never have made the connection, because I never saw the man who rented the house.”

  “I see,” Lucier said. “Who else had access to the house?”

  “The agency, of course, Fernando Reyes, and myself. We found the situation disconcerting. Imagine, satanic symbols in one of my properties. As soon as we get the all-clear from the authorities, the management company will have a cleaning service in there to scour the place down, then repaint. Good thing Mr. Deems paid in advance. His money will help defray the costs of repairs.”

  Businessman, indeed. Or was that part of the act?

  “Your prints and the prints of Mr. Reyes were all over the house.”

  “We checked out the house thoroughly before we purchased it. Even at foreclosure prices, a million is a lot of money. Fernando and I purchased it with his wife in mind. She’s an interior designer, and he thought an exclusive bed and breakfast would be an interesting project for her. The property is on a cul-de-sac, making it a perfect location. But shortly after we bought it, she contracted a huge project that would keep her busy for quite a while. So we rented it out. Besides, property is a good investment right now. We considered the house was a bargain.”

  “Would the agency have a photocopy of Mr. Deems’s canceled check so we could see what bank it was drawn on? If we could track the account, we might find out who financed the rental.”

  “Good point. I’ll ask them to send it over to you. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He rose. So did Lucier and Diana.

  The two men shook hands. “I appreciate your time, sir,” Lucier said.

  “No problem.” Compton turned to Diana with a fawning smile. “It’s been a pleasure, Ms. Racine.”

  He took her hand again. She held her breath, but her hand didn’t transform into an atrophied claw, black with foreboding. “I’m sorry we met under these circumstances.”

  “Maybe we’ll meet again,” he said.

  “Thank you for inviting me,” she said as a reminder. “In spite of the situation, I enjoyed the opportunity to see your beautiful home. The Lieutenant said it was rumored to be one of New Orleans’s showplaces. From what I’ve seen that wasn’t an exaggeration. It’s magnificent, and incredibly large. How many of your family live here?”

  Compton, his smile in place, answered, “All of them.” His outstretched arm moved them toward the door. “I’d like to invite you back and show you around. You too, Lieutenant. Would you consider giving me a private reading, Ms. Racine, if you still do that sort of thing. I’d be happy to pay double your professional rate.”

  “That’s not necessary. A tour of your lovely home would be fair exchange.”

  Compton’s smile cracked, and he missed a beat, imperceptible to most, but not to Diana, who’d spent a good part of her life studying people’s nuances.

  “Settled then. I’ll be in town for the next two weeks. Give me a day or two to check my schedule and I’ll call you, if that’s all right.”

  Diana wrote her number on a card she pulled from her purse. “This is my cell phone, or you can always get Ernie at his office. Either way, I look forward to seeing you again.”

  “And I you,” he said.

  Compton saw them to the door, and the two men shook hands again. The doorman waited by the car and opened the passenger door. When they both got inside and closed the doors, Lucier asked, “Well, what do you think?”

  Diana recalled the black handshake, and the memory made her queasy. “Drive out of here first.” She didn’t know why, but she wanted to get as far away from the house before revealing her experience. She spoke when they were into French Quarter traffic and out of sight of the house. “When we first got there and I shook his hand, did you notice anything strange?”

  “No, why?”

  “Because for a fraction of a second, my hand turned black and
skeletal.”

  Lucier started to laugh but stopped cold when he glanced at Diana. “That’s―”

  “Go ahead. Say it. Sounds crazy, I know. But he offered his hand to see if I’d pick up any vibrations from him, and he must have seen I did. I tried not to react, but I couldn’t help it. It’s not every day I see my hand a charred mirage before my eyes.” She held her hand up in front of her face. “Silas Compton lives on the edge.”

  “So you’re saying what?”

  “I’m saying he’s evil.” Lucier didn’t say anything. He probably thought that stress had finally tipped her over the edge, and she needed a month in an ashram to restore her sanity.

  He drove her home and planted a chaste kiss on her cheek before they got out of the car. Yup. He thinks I’m losing it. At the door he picked up the newspaper. A slip of paper fell from its pages. On it were written five words: Diana, we still await you.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A Question of Genes

  Ralph Stallings knocked on Lucier’s office door. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  “No, no. Come in. Good to see you again, Agent Stallings.”

  “Call me Ralph. We’ve talked to each other on the phone and met enough times to dispense with formalities.”

  “My experience with your coworkers hasn’t always been as pleasant,” Lucier said. Stallings frowned. “Sorry, but that’s been the case.”

  “It happens. Can’t seem to get through to some of our guys that working with local law enforcement has advantages.”

  “What’ve you got on the note?”

  Stallings scanned the room. “No coffee?”

  “How do you take it?” Lucier asked.

  “Black.”

  “Be right back.” Lucier left the office and returned a few minutes later with a mug he set down before the agent.

  “What, no one to fetch?” Stallings said, blowing on the liquid before sipping.