He thought of what Mabel had said about Paul and the Enemy Be Gone doll. Had someone really killed Paul? Had they given him the doll as a way of marking him for death?
A chilling thought swept through Drew’s mind. Was the person who left that doll in Laura’s drawer the same person who put a similar doll in Paul’s pocket?
A ceremonial doll used to aid the spirits in finding the chosen one.
The one chosen to die?
Was that their plan for Laura? Was that why he had the vision of her death?
Anxiety twisted inside him, urging him faster.
Was that what his mother had been up to? Was his birthday party, his “awakening” actually a voodoo ceremony? Was she doing all this for him?
Why hadn’t Mary mentioned the connection between Laura’s doll and Paul’s? He had a feeling there was a lot more that she was keeping to herself. Like why his mother was making an abundance of the same ceremonial candles Mary sold in her store.
He quickened his pace.
Laura had to go back to San Francisco as soon as possible. She would go home, even if he had to take her there himself. He wouldn’t be the reason for whatever it was her malevolent stalkers had planned for her.
As Drew took the Inn’s porch steps two at a time, he was suddenly sure he’d been gone too long. He shouldn’t have left Laura alone. Rushing through the front door and up the three flights of stairs, he burst into their room.
“Laura?” he called, a slight panic in his voice when he saw the empty bed.
“In here,” she called from the bathroom.
He inhaled a relieved breath and slowly let it out. She was fine; everything was fine. He crossed the room to the small table in front of the window, removed a vase of fresh flowers and set out their food.
“That sweet lady downstairs dried my clothes just like she promised,” Laura said, as she came out of the bathroom. She was dressed and positively glowing.
“That’s too bad,” he said, and winked as he tried not to let her see his distress. “I was hoping you’d still be wrapped up in a towel.”
He picked up his shake and took a long sip, trying to decide how much, if anything, to tell her about Mabel’s tirade.
Laura sat at the table across from him and unwrapped her burger. “I’d like to get back to Lionsheart and pack my things,” she said, surprising him. “You and Mary are right. It’s time I went home. I called the airlines while you were gone and booked my return flight for ten tomorrow morning.”
Relief spread through him as thick and slow as the air moves on a hot August Louisiana afternoon.
“That would be best,” he said slowly, though he couldn’t help the small ache in his chest. He would miss her.
“Would you mind staying here with me tonight and driving me to the airport?”
“I’d love to.” And he would.
“So, I was thinking,” she said, and plopped a ketchup-smothered fry into her mouth, “that maybe after your big ‘awakening’ you could fly out to San Francisco and let me show you around for a few days.”
Her tone and actions appeared casual, but he could see apprehension in her eyes. She was worried that, like the others, he wouldn’t come back for her.
“I’d like that,” he answered.
“By the way, what is this whole ‘awakening’ thing?” Her big blue eyes held his steady.
“Before today I’d thought it was a birthday party.”
“But now you’re not so sure?”
“Those candles my mother made by the cartload this morning are ceremonial. I’m not sure what to think.”
“She did say something about a man who is turning thirty finding his true nature.”
“That’s what I was afraid of. And then there’s you,” he added. “And why you’re here.”
“You think it could have been your mother who called me, who wanted me here for some kind of ceremony?”
He wiped a hand across his chin. “All I know is that your arriving at the same time as this big ‘awakening’ can’t be a coincidence.”
“She could have just sent an invitation. I would have loved to come and meet everyone. Why the deception? Why would she get my hopes up about finding my mother?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she wanted to give you a compelling reason to stay.”
As Drew downed his burger, he tried to recall all the conversations he’d had with his mother lately, anything that would give him a clue about this party, but he came up with nothing.
It didn’t matter. Laura was going home. Soon this would all be over. “You ready to go back to Lionsheart?”
“No,” she said, but picked up her shake and stood.
Drew slowed the car as he rounded the bend in the narrow road, thankful that the rain had finally stopped and the roads were quickly drying. He forced his gaze to the top of the house even as dread squeezed his chest. There was a flicker of movement in the attic window. Paul?
Drew narrowed his eyes and stared at the dirty glass set deep beneath the steep roof. This time nothing moved behind the glass, human or otherwise.
He pulled around back and parked the car beneath long tendrils of Spanish moss. The rain has ceased, but the dark clouds left a gray pallor over the late afternoon making the house seem even more ominous.
They got out of the car and skirted the overgrown camellia bushes as they walked toward the back door. The scent of sickly sweet flowers along with an undertone of rot and decay filled Drew’s nose. He would be glad when this trip was over.
They walked through the back door and into the kitchen. Two big boxes of candles waited by the door. His mother walked into the room, surprise flickering in her eyes.
“I didn’t expect you back so soon.”
“Do you need help with these?” he asked.
“Yes, if you could put them in the back of my car, I’d appreciate it.”
Laura stepped farther into the room. “Martha, I just came by to pick up my things, but I wanted to thank you for welcoming me and letting me stay. I really appreciated it.”
Martha’s forehead crinkled with confusion, then she broke into a wide smile. “Of course, dear. You’re like family. You’re always welcome here.” She pulled Laura into a warm embrace. “I’m so sorry to see you go so soon. Promise me you won’t stay gone so long next time.”
Those had to be the exact words she’d always longed to hear. Drew only wished he could believe his mother meant them.
“I promise,” Laura said, and smiled.
“Are you sure you can’t stay for dinner?”
“No, we’ll probably eat at the Inn,” Drew said. “We want to make it an early night, since we’ll be heading out at dawn to catch Laura’s flight in the morning.”
“Oh.” Martha pouted with disappointment. “I was hoping to have you sample some new desserts I’ve prepared for tonight. Any chance you two can come by later? I won’t keep you too late, I promise. It would really mean a lot to me.”
Drew picked up a box. “We’ll see what we can do.”
“Thank you, sweetheart. It was good to see you, Laura. Please be sure to keep in touch.”
“I will,” Laura said as Drew and his mother walked out the door.
“Where are you going with all these candles?” Drew asked as he placed the box in her trunk.
“Just over to Jeanne’s to decorate the hall. I want everything to be perfect for your party. A man doesn’t turn thirty every day.”
Drew forced a smile. “You’re going through too much trouble.”
“You’re my only son. It’s never too much trouble.”
“I just drove by Jeanne’s and it didn’t look like anyone was home.”
“It doesn’t matter. I have a key.” She opened the car door and got behind the wheel. “By the way, I guess it doesn’t matter now, but I called the locksmith and he’ll be out to change the locks tomorrow afternoon.”
“Thanks, Mère.” He bent down and kissed her cheek.
She looked u
p at him and cupped the side of his face in the palm of her hand. “It’s so good to have you home, Drew. I’ve missed having you here. I hope after your party you’ll realize how much you miss everyone and you’ll be compelled to stay.”
Drew didn’t know if it was her words or the way she looked at him, but a fist of fear clenched his gut.
She smiled then started the car.
“Hold on a second while I go get the other box.” He ran back into the house. As he picked up the second box, the scent of vinegar from the candles filled his nose. These weren’t ordinary candles and, for reasons he couldn’t grasp, he didn’t believe for a second she was going to Jeanne’s to decorate the hall for his birthday party.
He turned to Laura. “I’m going to follow my mother. Will you be all right here for a little while by yourself?”
Laura nodded, and poured herself a glass of iced tea. “I’ll be fine. That will give me time to pack up. Do you want me to pack a bag for you, too?”
“That would be great,” he said and gave her a quick kiss before hurrying back out the door.
He’d only be a few minutes, he told himself as he carried the box of candles out to his mother’s car. Only long enough to make sure she was actually going to Jeanne’s as she’d said. He placed the second box of candles into the trunk and slammed the lid. Then waved as his mother drove down the drive. He watched her car disappear and tried to ignore the foreboding skipping down his spine.
He didn’t believe his mother was as fine with Laura’s leaving as she pretended to be, nor did he think she was on her way to Jeanne’s house.
So what, exactly, was she up to?
Chapter 13
The door banged shut behind Drew as he left the house. The sound echoed through the kitchen, leaving a deafening silence in its wake. Laura stood still, listening, feeling the oppressive weight of the empty house bear down on her. She couldn’t stay here alone! She ran to the door to call Drew back, and watched his car disappear from view.
She was too late.
She shut the door then turned back to face the empty room. She was alone in this house. She set her glass of tea in the sink and hurried upstairs to pack. Heart beating too fast, she rushed down the hallways and into her room.
She flung open her closet door and pulled out her suitcase, trying not to think about the voodoo shrine in the attic or the way she’d been mysteriously locked in the darkened stairwell. Nothing was going to happen to her while Drew was gone. The house couldn’t hurt her she assured herself then thought of the phantom burn on her hand after she’d touched her mother’s doorknob.
It hadn’t been real.
She threw her clothes from the closet into her opened suitcase then turned and faced the dresser. She hesitated, her hand hovering over the top drawer. Her blood raced. Sweat dampened her palms. There’s nothing in the drawer. No snakes or gris-gris, jujus or disfigured dolls.
Nothing.
She sucked in a breath and pulled open the drawer. Relief swept through her as she stared at her pajamas and underwear.
“See,” she said out loud. “Nothing to be afraid of.”
Tension seeped out of her as she emptied the drawer. Systematically, she finished packing her things. She picked up the small doll she’d found in the bin in the attic and placed it in her bag. The doll would be a nice accompaniment to the pocket doll she had at home and something she could remember her mother by.
She thought of her mother’s photos hanging in the hall and knew the perfect spot for them in her condo back home. She’d have to stop by Jeanne’s house on the way back to the Inn and ask Martha if it was okay to take them.
She gave the bath and bedroom one last check then walked down the hall to Drew’s room, pulling her bag behind her. As she walked through the door, her gaze immediately went to the rumpled bed. Had it only been last night when, terrified over the snake, she’d asked Drew if he would stay with her? Now she didn’t want to sleep without him.
How had he become such a big part of her world so fast?
Was she as important to him? She wished she could be sure. But once she went back to San Francisco, chances were she’d never see him again. The thought brought a deep ache to her heart, but if Drew truly cared for her, if they really did have a chance at a future together, then he’d come for her.
And if he didn’t? She pushed away the painful doubts. She didn’t need to live with doubts any longer. People could surprise her. She hadn’t been abandoned. There was no reason to believe she couldn’t be happy. Her mother hadn’t left her. She hadn’t been able to come back for her.
She was dead.
Laura’s throat tightened and tears burned behind her eyes. She had come to this house with high hopes and expectations that she’d find her mother, that they’d get to know one another again and Laura would no longer be alone.
Instead all she’d found was death and misery.
And love?
She sighed. She hoped so.
She walked over to Drew’s closet to pack his things and opened the door. An old baseball glove and ball sat on the top shelf. As she stared at the ball, she felt certain it was the same ball that had scared her in the attic stairwell.
Had Drew picked up the ball and brought it back here? She tried to remember, but couldn’t. A duffel bag sat on the floor. She picked it up and quickly packed his things then shut the closet door behind her and swung the full bag over her shoulder.
There. Done. The sooner she got out of this house, the better. A loud thump hit the closet door. Laura jumped and turned. A muffled thud reverberated behind the door. Had the ball fallen? A lump of dread lodged in her throat as she waited, half expecting the closet door to creak open.
She turned and quickly left the room, pulling her suitcase behind her as she hurried down the hall. She hated this house. The swamp. Everything about this place and she couldn’t wait to get back home.
But there was still one thing she needed to do.
Taking a deep breath to strengthen her resolve, she walked down the hall toward her mother’s room. She might not get to see her mother, but this was her last chance to see what she might have left behind.
The room drew closer. There was nothing to be afraid of. It was only a room. Nothing more. Yet, every instinct within her screamed to keep going, to pass it by, to grab her mother’s pictures off the wall and say goodbye.
Her mother was dead. Whatever had happened to her, whatever secrets were buried in Laura’s head, happened a long time ago. Too long ago now to make a difference.
Go. Get out!
The door to her mother’s room loomed before her.
Don’t go in there.
The voice in her mind grew stronger and more urgent with each passing step.
No!
She stopped in front of the door.
This was it. Her last chance.
I’ve kept it just how it was when she left, waiting for her to return. Martha’s words whispered through her mind.
Through that door was a window into the past, a chance to see her mother’s things, a snapshot into the life they’d both lost.
Fingers trembling, Laura reached for the knob.
Drew stayed far enough behind his mother that he could barely see her car in front of him. He hated to admit it, but he wasn’t surprised when she turned left down a barely used road instead of following the bend toward Devil’s Walk Bridge and the Larames’ house on the other side of it.
He knew his mother was up to something. As much as he wanted to ignore it or forget what he’d seen, people didn’t make an abundance of voodoo ceremonial candles unless they were planning a voodoo ceremony.
But why hide it? And why lie about going to Jeanne’s? The road narrowed to the point that he had to slow to a crawl. Tree branches scraped along the side of the car. He turned a corner then stopped.
The road ended in a small clearing at the edge of the bayou. He was surprised to see several parked cars and pulled in alongside them. He kept t
o the trees trying to stay out of sight as he hurried toward an array of wooden structures at the water’s edge. What was this place? He searched for his mother, his gaze moving through one enclosure after another.
Something was wrong here.
He felt it in the tightening of his gut. There were people everywhere, some in bright jewel-toned robes, others in everyday clothes just like him, making it easier for him to blend in.
Sweat dampened his shirt and his heart kicked up a beat as he moved among people bustling about tending to goats, sheep and chickens kept in wire cages. Under a thatched roof with a tall center pole, a long bench held statues of saints, dried flowers, candles and incense and looked a lot like the altar he and Laura had found in the attic.
So similar, in fact, that it was clear whose altar this was.
He stepped into the structure and approached the long wooden table. There was a picture of him propped up against a candle. His stomach lurched, turning as if something foul was moving through him.
What looked like a curly lock of his hair was draped over the frame. He stiffened, rubbing his sweaty palms on his pants. He reached out to grab the hair, then pulled back as he noticed the bones, shiny and worn from too much handling lying beneath the picture.
He had to do it. He couldn’t let them have a piece of him to use in whatever sick games they were playing. He tried again, reaching out. Hesitating. It is just hair. In a swift movement, he knocked the hair off the frame and onto the ground.
He contemplated turning and running, but knew he couldn’t leave it there. He kicked at it with his foot, covering it with dirt. Then scooped up the dirt with the hair in it and clenched it tight in his hand. Whatever spell they’d planned to use on him wouldn’t work. He hoped. He closed his eyes and cringed. He was buying into their hysteria.
Revolted, he turned from the altar and left the enclosure. He saw his mother standing near the water and quickly stepped into the shadows behind a thick thatch of trees. He dropped the hair onto the ground and kicked dirt on top of it, burying it as he watched her pull one of the large ceremonial candles from a bag and place it inside the tall iron holder at the swamp’s edge.
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