“You two really have a history,” said Roxy. And Meredith was a lot more complicated than I have given her credit for.
“Yeah, but it was a long time ago…” Terah jerked her head. “Wait a minute…You don’t think I killed Meredith do you?” Her face transformed as anger and disbelief took hold of her. The lid of her good eye lowered and her skin went pink except for that around her eye patch which remained resolutely white. “You’ve not met me to question me, have you? I thought you just wanted to talk about Meredith because you were, well, upset.”
All of a sudden Roxy became keenly aware of the German Shepherds who were still pulling away from Terah and growling at other dogs as they walked by. Terah snapped the dogs’ leashes to bring them under control. Roxy took a big step backward. “I’m just trying to find out all I can about Meredith. You know, as a way to process what happened. I haven’t experienced too many murders,” she lied.
Terah turned her head to one side and squinted. She was a short, sturdy woman, and her appearance along with the struggling German Shepherds made the trio an unwelcoming proposition. People who passed gave them a wide berth.
Roxy felt an icy cold grip of fear clutch at her heart. She began to wonder if Terah’s story of the rivalry between two young women was as one-sided as Terah had made out.
“You’re playing amateur detective,” Terah spat through gritted teeth.
A confrontation like this would have sent Roxy scurrying away just a few months ago, but now she lifted her chin. “Look, I don’t know you from Adam. You don’t know me from Adam. Dr. Jack is a good friend of mine, and he’s asked me to find out who really murdered Meredith because it wasn’t him.”
“How do you know? That’s just what he’s telling you. He’s hardly going to blurt out that he did it and ask the cops to cart him off to federal prison, is he?”
“Well, no,” said Roxy. “But I believe him. I do.”
“And do you believe me?” Terah pressed, “When I say I didn’t kill Meredith?”
“Yes,” said Roxy. “But in the same vein, if you did it, you’re not going to just admit it either.” Roxy thought after she’d said it, that that might have not been the smartest thing to say.
“This is ridiculous. I don’t even know how to shoot a gun,” Terah said. “Why are you getting yourself involved in all this, anyway? The cops are handling it, surely. They are the professionals. What are you?”
“Dr. Jack asked me to look into the case to prevent a miscarriage of justice.”
Terah turned to look at her. She pursed her lips and tipped her head on one side. Her anger seemed to evaporate as she regarded the much younger woman next to her. Her outstretched arms that each held a leash bobbed up and down as they continued to walk along. “You don’t owe him that,” said Terah. “You have a job, and it’s not investigating crime. Why not just let the police do their thing while you do yours?”
Roxy didn’t reply directly. She didn’t want to say that in her experience the New Orleans Police Department wasn’t always as thorough and impartial as one would hope. “It’s not ideal, but that’s how it is.”
“I don’t know, Roxy. You’re a young woman with a bright future. I was very impressed when you turned up at the botanica. Meredith mentioned that you were the owner of a very swanky boutique hotel. Charles even showed me some pictures. I was expecting someone much older. You’re doing very well. My advice would be to stay out of all of this and focus on your own success. Don’t get caught up in other people’s troubles.”
“But—”
“You were in the wrong place at the wrong time at that spirit reading. We both were. We had to look at Meredith’s dead body, at her dead eyes…” Terah shivered. “That’s enough for either of us to deal with. There’s a reason for cops, you know. They’re trained for that sort of thing.”
“I know, but…”
“Trust me on this, Roxy. You can’t save the world. You can’t save anyone. And if you do, you won’t get thanked for it. My advice is to put blinders on and stare straight ahead. Focus on your own life and success.”
“And what about helping friends?” Roxy said. “Are we just supposed to sit by and watch them suffer?”
“Friends are overrated,” said Terah. “You put all the effort you can into helping them. Then when you’re down? They turn their backs.”
“I think you’re being overly cynical,” Roxy said, thinking about Sam and Nat and Sage and Evangeline and Elijah. Many times when she’d been down, they had helped her back up. None of them were perfect, but they were kind, good, and decent people. She trusted them. “Why are you so bitter?”
“Experience,” Terah said. “You’re still young. You’ll learn as you get older.”
“I’ll learn no such thing.” One of the dogs snarled at Roxy, and, despite herself, she flinched.
Terah laughed. “You’re so sweet. You think life is all rainbows and fluffy bunnies. You’ve probably never come across anyone who’s betrayed you yet.”
“You know nothing about me,” said Roxy. “I’ve had my share of troubles. I just choose to believe that there are good people out there. And guess what? When I made that choice, I began to find good people.”
Terah sighed. “Ah, the innocence of youth.”
“No,” said Roxy. “It’s not that.”
“I don’t mean to be condescending,” said Terah. “You just don’t know yet. You can’t know yet. You haven’t experienced enough of life.”
This conversation was making Roxy angrier by the second. “Sorry, but I just don’t agree,” she said. “Look, if you want to talk more, call me at the Funky Cat Inn.” Roxy held out her business card. It had on it a line drawing of a cat that looked rather like Nefertiti wearing a trilby hat at a jaunty angle and holding a saxophone.
“I’m staying as far away from it all as possible,” said Terah. “And you should, too.”
“Goodbye, Terah,” said Roxy. She was so furious at the older woman’s condescension that she marched at speed to the botanica, over two miles away, and didn’t get the least bit tired.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“MADE ANY PROGRESS, Roxy?” Sage asked, bluntly.
She hadn’t looked up when the bell above the door announced Roxy’s arrival, choosing to glare instead at her laptop while fumes of incense swam around her. Eastern chime music played through the botanica’s sound system lending the place an even more mystical air than usual. How Sage knew who was standing next to her when she hadn’t even looked up was a mystery that Roxy had faced many times. It was one she had given up trying to solve, instead rating it as one of Sage’s many unfathomable spiritual gifts.
Her directness told Roxy that Sage was in “all business” mode. It was such a transformation from her more common mystical, mellow persona that it still had the power to take Roxy aback. When Roxy had first met Sage, she was genuinely intimidated by this no-nonsense behavior, and it wasn’t until Elijah had explained that when Sage was in the “real world,” this was how she was, that Roxy learned to be cool with it.
“Not much,” Roxy replied. She flopped down in a chair next to a shelf full of huge crystalline rocks of deep purple and shimmering green hues. “I went to see Terah Jones, one of the people who was at the reading. She was an old school friend of Meredith’s. She told me all kinds of stories about Meredith’s antics back then, and how they’d had a feud. Then she got mad when she realized I was digging for clues. I didn’t get any sense about whether she was involved in Meredith’s death one way or the other. What about you?”
“I’ve been doing the spiritual divination as Dr. Jack asked,” Sage said. “I’ve used all sorts of tools: Oracle cards, tarot cards, cowrie shells, tea leaves. I haven’t gotten very far, but I think I have one piece of information. I could be interpreting things wrongly, but it might just be accurate.”
“And what’s that?” Roxy asked.
“I think—remember, I think—the killer is a man. The energy I’m intuiting is male.”<
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“Okay…” Roxy said, processing, “well, that only eliminates Terah. Apart from Dr. Jack and me, that would leave Charles, George, and that businessman Royston…” Roxy struggled to remember his last name, “Lamontagne.”
“Remember, though,” said Sage, “it is just an idea at this stage. We all have both male and female energies. Our male energy causes us to be active, it leads us out into the world to achieve things. Our female energies are more nurturing, caring, more introverted. It could simply be that all I’m sensing is the male energy it requires to kill someone. I need to do more work.”
“What will you be trying next?”
“I think I’ll try smoke scrying,” said Sage. “It’s kinda difficult though. I might go see a friend of mine who is an expert. She’s been doing it for years, and her family for generations.”
“What did you call it?”
“Smoke scrying. You stare at the smoke so intently that you go into a trance,” Sage said, nodding at the incense stick and the smoke that curled upward from the tip in a chaotic dance. “Then you receive messages. Or you see pictures in the smoke.”
Roxy frowned. “How does it give you messages?”
“It’s hard to explain,” said Sage. “You might hear them. Not directly, like you would if someone in the room was speaking to you, but you can hear them all the same. That’s called clairaudience. Other times, you might just know something. That’s called claircognizance.”
“Gee, I have a lot to learn. I’ve never heard of either of those.”
Sage gave a big smile. It was like the sun coming out on a cloudy day. “It’s a big deal in my world, honey. There’s a huge body of study and literature behind it.” She nodded at the bookshelf on the other side of the store. “It’s all there waiting for you, whenever you want it.”
Roxy’s head was already starting to hurt a little. She liked to think she was open-minded, but sometimes mysticism stretched her in ways she wasn’t quite flexible enough for. “Thanks, maybe some other time. I think I should go see Royston Lamontagne now. And I still have to talk to George and Charles. I’m dreading that. What if they accuse me of suspecting them too as Terah did?”
“They’ll be fine,” Sage looked at her from under her eyelashes. “If they’re innocent.”
Roxy nodded in acknowledgment of her point, but she bit her lip.
“Don’t be afraid,” said Sage, kindly. “You’ll do great. I know it.”
Roxy smiled. “Thanks. I’m certainly going to try. I used to be much more afraid of talking to someone ‘big and important,’” Roxy made air quotes, “like this businessman. Now I push through. He’s human, just like everyone else.”
Sage smiled. “Imagine him with just his underpants on if you have trouble. I find that usually helps.” She laughed, her white teeth standing out against her dark skin, strong and straight. “Shall I give you a quick blessing? Help you on your way?”
“Sure!” said Roxy. She appreciated Sage’s offer, even if she doubted it would help.
Sage came out from behind the counter, and wafted her hands back and forth in the air around Roxy’s body. She hummed a beautiful and haunting tune, and then sang, “Golden light surrounds you still…Can you do it? Yes, you will!” She stood in front of Roxy and made as if she were sprinkling invisible fairy dust all over her.
Roxy laughed happily. “That’s so weird. I feel warm and calm all of a sudden!” Perhaps her lack of belief didn’t matter all that much. Perhaps it was the love and kind thoughts of her friend that counted and that she responded to.
Sage winked as she went back behind the counter. “At your service any time, pretty girl.”
“Thanks, Sage.” Roxy almost skipped outside and, as she walked the short path to the street, quickly typed Lamontagne Promotions into her phone. She put the address straight into her maps app and found it was only a 15-minute walk. She wouldn’t call first, she’d only get brushed off. On her way, she stopped to pick up a free daily paper from a stand on the sidewalk and stuffed it in her bag. She’d read it later.
When she arrived at the address, she craned her neck to peer upwards. Lamontagne Promotions was located in a very tall, art-deco-style building. Turquoise windows and gold chevron detailing on the shining stone façade distinguished it from the chrome and mirrored glass buildings around it. Roxy pushed her way through the gold and green rotating door into the gleaming lobby, suddenly feeling nervous in her sweater, jeans, and tennis shoes. She looked very out of place among the people walking purposefully through the reception area. All the women wore skirts or pantsuits, sleek up-dos or bouncing waves, a full face of makeup and high heels. The men were just as sharp in their tailored suits and shiny brogues. It seemed no one edgy or unconventional worked for this company, and certainly no one scruffy.
But Roxy wasn’t about to fall prey to feeling awkward or bad about herself as she’d done so many times before. This was a new season. She held her chin a little higher, pulled her shoulders back, and put on a big smile as she walked toward the reception desk. She arranged her face into an expression that she hoped was nonchalant as she leaned against the high table and said casually, “I’m here to see Royston.”
The receptionist who was groomed to within an inch of her life looked at her closely. Roxy was glad there was a desk between them. The woman couldn’t see how beat up her tennis shoes were. “Yes, madam. And you are…?”
“Roxy Reinhardt. I’m the owner of the Funky Cat Inn. Royston and I are involved in some business.” Technically, this was true. Murder was a business alright.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“OKAY, LET ME call his office.” The receptionist carefully pressed the numbers on her phone with the pads of her manicured fingers. Despite her efforts to protect them, her long nails made clicking sounds against the phone’s glass surface. She listened in to the receiver. Her perfectly symmetrical, tattooed eyebrows drew closer together just a smidgeon, and her long false eyelashes batted like exotic fans as she blinked before speaking to Roxy once more. “He’s in a meeting at the moment.” She eyed Roxy, considering. Roxy held her gaze almost, but not quite. The woman’s oversized eyelashes were extremely distracting. “Go upstairs. You can wait in the lobby there. He might finish up and agree to see you when he’s done,” the receptionist finished. Roxy took off before the woman could change her mind.
“The elevators are over there,” the receptionist called after her, pointing in the opposite direction. “He’s on the top floor.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Roxy, feeling silly, caught sight of the golden pair of elevators a little way down from the reception desk. She walked over with as much dignity as she could muster and waited for the elevator to arrive. There was a ping, and the doors opened. Roxy got in and scanned the buttons. There were 10 floors. She hit the button on the elevator panel and began her ascent.
As soon as the elevator doors opened, Roxy was startled to find that she was in full view of another receptionist who sat behind a big desk, facing her. The woman, who had a bottle-blonde, topknot hairdo, stared at her with shrewd and unfriendly blue eyes. Roxy strode toward her appearing much more confident than she felt.
“I’m here to see Royston. We are involved in a business.”
“I am Mr. Lamontagne’s assistant, and you don’t have an appointment,” the woman snapped. “Who are you?”
“I am Roxy Reinhardt,” Roxy said holding this woman’s gaze much more easily. Her eyelashes were her own. “Owner of the Funky Cat Inn.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” the woman said snootily. “And if I haven’t, Mr. Lamontagne won’t have, either.”
The woman radiated aggression. Roxy clenched her fists, summoning her courage, and tried again. “I’m a friend of a friend.”
“Mr. Lamontagne doesn’t much believe in friends. In fact, he doesn’t have any. Business associates, only.” The woman folded her arms. “Listen, I need you to be very clear. Explain to me why you are here. Am I meant to disturb Mr. Lamonta
gne because you’re here to sell him Girl Scout cookies or something? If you have a demo, you can just leave it in that box, and I’ll give it to him.” She pointed to a box on the desk. Roxy looked at it. Royston Lamontagne either received a lot of music demos or his secretary didn’t empty the box very often. It was full of thumb drives.
Roxy itched to give this rude, officious woman a piece of her mind, but she managed to hold her tongue. “I’m here about the murder of Meredith Romanoff.”
“What murder? Oh, that….” The assistant frowned and peered at Roxy. “You’re not the police?” Roxy stared back at her, neither confirming nor denying her question. “I think I’d better call the legal department,” the woman said picking up her phone.
“No,” said Roxy quickly. “I just want two minutes of Mr. Lamontagne’s time.”
“He doesn’t have two minutes. Every minute of his day is accounted for and scheduled.” The receptionist leaned on her desk, her arms still crossed. She looked incredibly pleased with herself as if she’d got Roxy in a “gotcha” like the cat who got all the cream.
“Okay, one minute then. Please. It’s important.”
“You’re rather persistent, aren’t you? You show up here uninvited, without an appointment, you lie about being a friend of Mr. Lamontagne, and you are connected to the murder of a medium. You sound like the last person to whom I should offer Mr. Lamontagne’s invaluable time.”
3 Louisiana Lies Page 9