Sisters of the Mist

by Eric Wilder

  “I’ll get it for you,” I said, ducking under the entrance.

  Bertram was cheap, though he didn’t serve cheap booze, or wine, in his bar. I found a nice bottle of chardonnay in the wine cooler, uncorked it and poured Abba a glass. She smiled and licked her lips after taking a sip.

  “Absolutely wonderful. Join me in a glass?”

  “Love to,” I said. “I could never stop at one, so I had to stop drinking altogether.” I tapped her glass with my own glass of lemonade. “Cheers.”

  “I love this place,” she said. “It’s so . . .”

  “Eclectic?”

  “Not exactly the word I was looking for, though close. How in the world did all those bras, panties and undergarments end up hanging over the bar?”

  “A testament to lost inhibitions; a common malady for first time French Quarter visitors.”

  “I’ve lived here all my life. It’s not just the visitors.”

  “That’s a fact,” I said. “New Orleans casts spells on people that are impossible to break.”

  “What’s your last name, Wyatt, and what’s your story?”

  “Thomas is my name, snooping my game. I’m a disbarred attorney turned private investigator.”

  “Is there big money doing that?”

  “More often than not, I’m broker than a church mouse. I won big today at the track. Right now I’m rolling in dough.”

  “Are you pulling my leg?” she asked.

  “No, but I’d like to.”

  Abba was quite handsome, her deep brown eyes matching the curly hair that draped her bare shoulders. She was at least ten years younger than me, and my comment made her grin.

  “You’re quite the flirtatious one,” she said.

  “A bad habit that gets me into trouble every time I sit beside a pretty girl.”

  “How do you know I’m not married?”

  “I don’t see a ring.”

  “Some people don’t wear rings,” she said.

  “Are you married?”

  “No. Are you?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever been?”

  “Once.”

  “What happened?”

  “Didn’t work out.”

  “Your fault or hers?”

  It was my turn to smile. “Are you in law school?” I asked.

  “Why is that?”

  “Because if you’re not, you’re missing a good bet.”

  “I’m in medical school at Tulane.”

  “A doctor,” I said. “You’ll soon be driving a Lexus.”

  “I don’t think so. I’m contemplating working at some disadvantaged hospital in Africa.”

  “Very noble of you,” I said. “A close friend and business associate teaches at Tulane.”

  “Oh, and who is that?”

  “Dr. Mulate.”

  “You know Dr. Mulate?” she asked, her gorgeous brown eyes beaming.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Then you also know she’s an honest-to-God voodoo mambo.”

  “How do you know Mama Mulate so well?” I asked.

  “I was on the track team until I graduated. I still work out every day. Mama’s one of my running buds. Neither of us has ever competed in a marathon, and we’re training to run one together.”

  “Mama was on the track team at the University of South Carolina,” I said. “She doesn’t talk about it, though I think she may have competed professionally for a while.”

  “Get out of here,” she said. “Mama never told me that.”

  “We’ve run together many times. She hates to lose.”

  “You’re a runner?” she asked.

  “Almost every day. I can still run a five-minute mile,” I said.

  “You’re bragging,” she said.

  “Nope. Lying.”

  “You’re funny,” she said as I topped up her glass. “You smoke?”

  “One vice I’ve never partaken of. You?”

  “My mother smoked herself to death. Lung cancer. I would never touch those nasty things, although I used to have to light them for my grandmother, Marlene.”

  “Your last name wouldn’t be Gigoux, would it?”

  Abba stopped sipping her wine, her eyes narrowing as she stared at me.

  “How did you know that?” she asked.

  “I was working on an investigation for Junie Bug’s husband when I met Mama Marlene. How’s your dad doing?”

  “He’s doing well, thank you.” After a pause, she said, “What else do you know about Mama Marlene and my father?”

  Abba’s smile disappeared as she drained the rest of her wine.

  “I’m disbarred though I’m still an attorney,” I said. “I promise you I haven’t discussed your family’s business with anyone.”

  “Then you know my father is really Gordon Vallee.”

  I nodded, and when she drained her wine, I poured her more. “Does Junie Bug know your real identity?”

  Abba shook her head slowly. “Dad refused to acknowledge that he was switched at birth with another baby. It’s strange, now that I think about it.”

  “What’s strange?”

  “My mom’s color wasn’t just chocolate brown. She was black as a well-used cast iron skillet. Mama Marlene could have passed as white or black. Dad has blond hair and blue eyes and is as lily white as if he’d come from Sweden.”

  She smiled when I said, “Maybe why he and your mom named you Abba.”

  “Maybe so. My skin is somewhere in between Mom’s and Dad’s. Doesn’t matter because all my life I’ve thought of myself as black. So has Dad.”

  “Your grandmother Marlene was a great lady. ‘There’s a lot of both black and white in all of us,’ she once told me.”

  Her smile turned into a grin and then she began to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  “Dad doesn’t have an ounce of black blood in his body. He’s white as the Pope.”

  “And Gordon Vallee, a black man by birth, spent his entire life pretending he was white. Are you ever going to tell Junie Bug who you really are?”

  “That was my intention when I went to her house. She thought I was there applying for a job as her assistant. I needed the job, and she pays very well. She was so sad and helpless, I just couldn’t tell her who I am.”

  “The house and everything she owns is rightfully yours and your dad’s. Mama Marlene wasn’t your blood grandmother.”

  “I know that,” she said.

  “You could do DNA and prove it.”

  “That’s what I intended to do, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  “I saw what all that money did to corrupt Mama Marlene’s real son, and how it destroyed his family. Every day, I see how happy my dad is. I decided to choose happiness.”

  “You may someday change your mind. If and when that day arrives, I’ll back you up,” I said.

  Josie and Junie Bug had finished their conversation and were holding hands as they joined us at the bar.

  “Thank you for bringing me with you,” she said. “I haven’t been out of that dreadful house in so long, I’d forgotten there are real people in the world.”

  “Our pleasure,” Eddie said.

  “Sorry the place is so dead tonight,” Bertram said. “Damn fog’s ruining my bidness.”

  “You’d complain about a sharp stick in the eye,” Eddie said.

  Bertram had no chance to reply, fog rolling through the door when someone opened it and entered. The tall man joined us at the bar. It was Rafael Romanov, a friend of mine.

  “Well look what the cat drug in,” Bertram said. “Pull up a stool and start drinking. Eddie’s buying tonight.”

  “Lucky me,” Rafael said. “What’s the occasion?”

  “Wyatt and I won a small fortune at the track today,” Eddie said.

  “Lucky you, and lucky for you to be in the company of three beautiful women. Please introduce me to these lovely damsels.”

  Rafael stood six-three or four
, his slender frame resplendent in khakis, blue blazer and gold cufflinks. His silk shirt splayed open to show his hairy chest and the heavy gold chain around his neck. Thinning hair, dark eyes, pointed nose and olive complexion did more than hint at his gypsy heritage. There were handshakes all around, and I noticed Junie Bug’s curious glance when I introduced Abba as Abba Gigoux.

  “Rafael and I were married to the same woman,” I said. “We became friends when I met him at her wake.”

  Josie patted my shoulder. “I’m so sorry about your wife,” she said.

  “We were divorced, Rafael married to her when she died.”

  Bertram had put two ice cubes in a tumbler, handing it, and a bottle of scotch, to Rafael.

  “Enough about the past,” Rafael said. “Tonight, I intend to enjoy some of Eddie’s generosity.”

  “Hot tip,” Eddie said, winking at me.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Bertram said, pouring himself a shot of Cuervo and then downing it. “I predict you two yahoos will burn through all that money before the week’s out.”

  “I’m going to try my best,” Eddie said as he topped up his own tumbler.

  Junie Bug was all smiles as she held Rafael’s hand in both of hers.

  “When I was a model in the New York rag trade I used to date all the drop-dead gorgeous male models. If that’s not what you do for a living, then you’re missing a good bet.”

  “Rafael’s a priest,” I said.

  “Rent-a-priest,” Rafael said. “The mother church defrocked me.”

  “What’s a rent-a-priest?” Josie asked.

  “I do weddings, special religious gigs, funerals, you name it. I also have an ongoing job on a cruise ship that sails out of New Orleans.”

  “If you were defrocked,” Josie asked. “How can you still act as a priest?”

  “Luckily for me, once a priest, always a priest,” he said.

  “Wyatt, show him the picture,” Junie Bug said. “Maybe he can shed light on what it means.”

  I handed him the old photo of Desire and Dauphine. He squinted as he held it toward the light for a better look.

  “My knowledge of the priesthood serves no benefit in interpreting this photo. My gypsy heritage does, however.”

  “You’re a gypsy?” Abba said.

  “Part of the reason I was defrocked; that and because my mother is a witch.”

  “A real witch?” Josie asked.

  “Yes, my dear, a very real witch. Are these two young twins your daughters?” he asked, looking at Junie Bug.

  “Desire and Dauphine, taken when they were five.”

  “Is it Desire with the web over her face?”

  “How did you know?” Junie Bug asked.

  Rafael squeezed her hand. “I know what happened to Dauphine. Desire is alive, though she’s in grave peril.”

  “I just changed my opinion of you,” Josie said. “Even if what you say is true, it was exceedingly mean of you to say it.”

  “No, dear,” Junie Bug said. “Wyatt and I already suspected Desire is in danger, and I’ve known about my other daughter’s death for some time now. Rafael just confirmed what we believed to be true.”

  “Did you know before answering the question?” Josie asked.

  “Being a gypsy and the son of three generations of witches, I have certain senses most people don’t possess. I knew when I first saw Junie Bug that she had a grave question that deserved an honest and direct answer.”

  “Then I’m sorry,” Josie said. “Forgive me?”

  “I could never be mad at you, my dear. Not even for a moment,” he said.

  I returned the picture to the pocket of my own sports coat. “You’ve answered a question as a gypsy. Now, we have a question about the church,” I said.

  “Hit me,” he said.”

  “When Desire decided to become a nun she was secretive about where she was going. Junie Bug was peeking through the door when two people arrived at their house to take her away. A woman dressed as a nun and a strange looking little man in an ill-fitting black suit.”

  “Do you remember their names?”

  “Yes, they introduced themselves as Father Fred and Sister Gertrude. Heard of them?”

  Rafael’s smile disappeared. “Yes.”

  “Why are you frowning?” Junie Bug asked.

  “I should clarify a few things,” he said. “The Catholic Church is more than a religion. It’s one of the largest organizations on earth. There are those that make their living off the church. Custom letterhead, for example. Quite benevolent.”

  “And?” I said.

  “There are others that feed off the church that aren’t so benevolent. Father Fred and Sister Gertrude fall into that category.”

  “You’re frightening me,” Junie Bug said.

  Eddie’s back had been to us as he sat at the bar, nursing his drink. Because of something Rafael had said, he became suddenly interested.

  “To what exactly are you referring, Padre?”

  “Some provide services for Catholics such as adoption. They attempt to place Catholic children with Catholic families.”

  “I’m still not following you,” Eddie said.

  “Catholics have faults and commit sins like everyone else. I’m saying, there’s someone out there catering to whatever whim a person might have.”

  “Like human trafficking?” Eddie said.

  “Among other things,” Rafael said.

  “I’m Catholic, and I’ve never heard anything like that,” I said. “Where are you getting your inside info.”

  “As part of the clergy, I was privy to lots of information not readily available to most members of the religion.”

  “Then tell us about Father Fred and Sister Gertrude,” Eddie said.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know any of the particulars,” Rafael said, silent for a moment to sip his drink. “I do, however, know a person that does. I can take you to see him tomorrow.”

  Suddenly animated, Abba grabbed my hand. “I’m going with you.”

  Chapter 7

  Former N.O.P.D. homicide detective Tony Nicosia always slept with his cell phone and his handgun on the nightstand beside his bed. When his phone rang at three A.M., he answered it without even thinking twice. Old habits die hard.

  “Lieutenant Nicosia here. What’s up?”

  It was Tommy Blackburn, Tony’s old partner on the force. Tommy was still with the N.O.P.D.

  “You awake?” Tommy asked.

  “I sure as hell am now,” Tony said, glancing at his watch. “Why are you calling me at three in the morning.”

  “I got promoted.”

  “Congratulations. Couldn’t you have waited until daylight to tell me?”

  “I’m on my first homicide as Chief Detective.”

  “Is this important?”

  “Kinda,” Tommy said.

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “You’ll know when you get here. Can you come look at this one for me?”

  “You’ve seen hundreds of murder scenes. Why is this one any different, and why do I need to see it? You don’t need me to hold your hand.”

  “I got my reasons. Can you come?”

  When Tony switched on the nightstand lamp, his little white dog bounded off the foot of the bed where he always slept.

  “Come on, Patchy boy. No rest for the wicked. We got work to do.”

  Tony was pulling on his trousers when his wife Lil awoke.

  “Where you going?” she asked.

  “A murder scene.”

  “Have you lost your mind, Tony? You’re not a homicide detective anymore. Come back to bed and go to sleep.”

  “Maybe I’m retired from the force. Don’t matter cause tonight, I’m a homicide detective,” he said.

  “You sleepwalking again? Please come back to bed.”

  “Tommy just called. He’s on his first case as Chief Homicide Detective and needs my help.”

  “Call him back and tell him no. It’s three in the morning
, and he’s a big boy.”

  “And it’ll be four before I get there unless I leave now.”

  Lil got out of bed, pulling on her robe as she headed for their little kitchen. Tony was coming out of the bathroom when the aroma of bacon and eggs caused his stomach to growl. Lil was putting breakfast on the table for him when he entered the kitchen.

  “This is just a one-time deal,” he said. “You didn’t have to make me breakfast.”

  “Lord knows, I don’t have to do anything, Tony. No matter how much I hate this, I can’t let you start the day hungry.”

  Tony kissed her, and then pinched her butt. “You’re a wonderful woman, Lil,” he said.

  “No, I’m not. If you’re going out in the middle of the night, then keep your hands off my ass.”

  Tony grinned and kissed her again.

  ***

  When Tony had left the police force, he’d bought a Mustang convertible with the severance money he’d received. The sleek, red car remained his all-time favorite possession. He usually drove it with the top down and his dog Patch in the front seat beside him. Tonight was different, thick ground fog making visibility almost nil.

  As always, Patch occupied the passenger seat, wanting to stick his head out the window though restrained because Tony wouldn’t open it. Tony reached across the console and gave his head a rub.

  “You excited, boy? Feels like old times for me,” he said.

  Tommy had called from City Park, the sprawling public recreational area within the city limits of New Orleans. Left in a state of disarray after Hurricane Katrina, the scenic park had been reclaimed by the diligent work of volunteers and citizens of the city. Now, it was again the showplace that it had been before the killer hurricane had devastated New Orleans.

  Happy that he’d had fog lights installed the previous spring, Tony entered the park, driving cautiously through the damp mist. Tommy had given him the coordinates of the murder scene, and he’d programmed them into his car’s GPS. A good thing because once inside the park, the visibility had become almost negligible.

  Tony couldn’t see what was beneath the wheels of the car though he could tell it wasn’t pavement. He hoped he’d make it to the murder scene and out again without becoming mired in the mud. On a couple of occasions, he wasn’t sure that it was in the cards. His fingers finally relaxed on the wheel when he saw rays of ghostly light piercing the cloud of fog in front of him. Tony parked the car, got out and stretched.