In Deep Voodoo

by Stephanie Bond

  A few feet inside the breached fence, among fallen leaves, she located stepping stones that were nearly hidden from years of leveling into loamy ground. The air was quiet here, except for the creak of ancient, ropy vines and the whisper of leaves overhead, which sent ghostly voices swirling around her. A cold chill skated over her arms. She might have been the only person in the vicinity, but she had the unearthly feeling that there were many souls about.

  She attributed the sensation to the spooky lore surrounding the Archambault family—that old Dr. Archambault, Troy’s great-grandfather, had conducted bizarre experiments on transients and anyone who needed extra cash … and that some reportedly never left the house to spend their hard-earned money. At least those were the stories that Hazel Means embellished for tourists who paid six dollars for the forty-minute tour, and the tales were fodder for local gossip at Caskey’s bar when a homeless person disappeared, although migration to the city was the far more likely scenario.

  The phantom moans continued as she stepped onto the footpath that ran along the side of the house and followed it to the crooked stone walkway that meandered in front.

  The Instruments of Death and Voodoo Museum had become quite the attraction since it had been added to an interstate sign a couple of years ago (Troy’s brainchild). Dark and hulking and surrounded by the same shoulder-high, iron fence that she had slipped through, the structure resembled every haunted manor in every classic horror movie. The many additions over the decades had left it looking like an architectural experiment gone wrong, with accidental arches, railed walkways, mismatched gargoyles, landings that went nowhere, and occasional stained-glass windows. The asymmetrical structure was topped with various turrets and finials and a cupola worthy of Rapunzel, except for the fact that bats had taken up residence in its ceiling and could be seen flapping around at dusk. The tourists loved it.

  In honor of the festival, a large sign had been posted near the steps announcing when voodoo rituals would take place in the main parlor—harmless fun and child friendly in comparison to the more serious rituals that would take place in a specially constructed peristil, a shelter of sorts, in the town square. For a week at least, the town would be steeped in voodoo.

  A noise startled Penny. A man dressed in a dark business suit emerged from a set of stone steps that appeared to lead to the museum’s basement, which housed, if she remembered correctly, the tools of torture display, like the chair of nails and the human stretching machine, complete with a sound track of inhuman screams.

  The man mopped at his forehead with a handkerchief, his gaze down, his movements jerky. Penny blinked in astonishment. “Deke?”

  5

  A spoonful of surprise …

  Deke lifted his head, and surprise replaced the worry lines on his forehead. “Penny … hi.”

  Emotions stabbed at her. She hadn’t seen him since the divorce papers had been finalized at a brief courthouse meeting with little eye contact. He looked lean and artificially tanned and, thanks to the hair transplant, much the way he had looked in college when they had fallen in love ten years ago. But the laid-back, smiling young man who had convinced her to sneak him into her dorm room on hot, steamy nights was long gone. These days he seemed alternately anxious and arrogant. Instead of his usual slacks and sport coat, his suit had a European cut and the tie, a funky, trendy print. His business must have picked up, she thought wryly … or maybe Sheena’s many personal injury settlements were providing extra cash flow for the designer duds.

  By comparison, she felt ugly and awkward in her overalls and wet sandals, silently wishing she’d taken the time this morning to smooth a flatiron over her curls and put on a little mascara. Feeling self-conscious under his gaze, she gestured to the building behind them. “What are you doing here?”

  “Business,” he said abruptly, tucking a blue folder under his arm.

  She knew that the museum kept him on retainer, but she couldn’t resist a jab. “Let me guess—Sheena took a tour and is suing for mental anguish?”

  “Jealousy isn’t becoming to you, Penny.”

  A flush ran up her neck, spreading over her face. She had asked for that one.

  He turned to walk away, and she shook her stick at his back in mute frustration, then followed him, blurting out what was really on her mind. “Did you have to paint the house pink, for God’s sake?”

  His shoulders drooped. “That damned house.” He turned to face her, suddenly looking tired. “It’s my house now, remember? I wanted the rental property, but you wouldn’t budge. Besides, the color isn’t that bad.”

  “Are you smoking crack? The color is revolting.”

  “It’s what she wants.”

  He sounded so protective that a lump formed in Penny’s throat. What about what I want?

  Then Deke glanced at the padlocked front gate and back to her. “How did you get in here?”

  She squirmed. “I found an opening in the fence when I staked off the garden.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Not the garden again.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, I have to warn you—Mother is rallying the city council for a zone restriction. She said a garden in the downtown area will look out of place and will attract rodents.”

  Penny frowned. “Can she do that?”

  “You know Mother.”

  Penny set her jaw, then swallowed her pride. “Deke, can’t you help me out here? I’m trying to grow my business.”

  He shook his head, as if the matter was inconsequential. “Sorry, I tried to tell you the idea wouldn’t fly.”

  Her throat closed, and she averted her eyes lest he see how his casual dismissal—again—hurt her.

  “Anyway,” he admonished, “you shouldn’t be snooping around over here. The back gate was vandalized last week. Chief Davis added an extra patrol, and I’d hate to have to bail your bony ass out of jail for trespassing.”

  Anger pinged through her chest. “I wasn’t snooping. I was dropping off mail that landed in my box by mistake.” She held it up, and the tire imprints across the envelopes reminded her of the incident with Sheena and how close she’d come to having to call Deke to bail her bony ass out of jail for murdering his fat-ass hussy.

  Folding the letters into her hand, she forced a smile. “I understand congratulations are in order.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Congratulations?”

  “I, um, ran into Sheena. She told me that the two of you are going to be married.”

  “She did, did she?” He gave her a pitying look. “You’re going to have to get used to the idea of me being with another woman, Penny.”

  She gritted her teeth at his conceit, but the thought that Sheena might already be fooling around on Deke flashed through her mind. Deke was going to get his … eventually. She leaned forward, invading his personal space and catching a whiff of noxious cologne. “I was trying to be nice, but forget it. By the way, I’m having a party at Caskey’s tonight to celebrate our divorce. I’m over you, Deke.” She wheeled and walked toward the front entrance of the museum.

  “Penny!” he called.

  She had one foot on the bottom step, but something in his voice made her turn around.

  “You were too good for me,” he said, his expression suspiciously sincere.

  His words were nirvana to her ears, the closest he’d come to saying that he was sorry for the way he’d behaved, for the misery he’d put her through. For a split second, something in his eyes reminded her of the old Deke, the Deke she’d quizzed for exams while he’d been in law school, the Deke who had defied his mother’s plans for a big wedding in favor of the private ceremony that Penny had wanted, the Deke who had promised to find a way to buy and help her renovate the Victorian house on Charm Street that she adored. Penny’s throat tightened in profound sadness for what he’d thrown away as carelessly as a toy that had fallen out of favor. She opened her mouth to respond, but he had turned on his heel and was striding away from her.

  “No, I wasn’t,” she whi
spered to his retreating back, acknowledging that as hurt and humiliated as she’d been by their breakup, some very small part of her was relieved that she no longer had to feel guilty about the secrets she’d kept from Deke during their marriage. She inhaled a cleansing breath and realized suddenly that she was looking forward to the divorce party Marie was throwing tonight in her honor. What had Marie said it would be—liberating?

  God, she hoped so.

  She turned back to the museum and was seized by a sudden bout of vertigo as she stood at the bottom of the steep flagstone stairs, the gloomy house towering over her. A low, moaning sound floated on the wind, seeming to come from the house itself. For the span of two heartbeats, she was paralyzed with the crazy sensation that the house was alive and might consume her. Her pulse echoed in her head, while her gaze bounced around. She took a half-step backward, leaning on the stick she held to keep from falling. The moaning sounded again, but just when she was ready to bolt, she looked up and saw a large tree branch rubbing against an eave, scraping paint and making the noise that had spooked her.

  Feeling foolish, she laughed at herself and climbed the steps, crossed the creaky porch boards, and stood before the ten-foot-tall wooden door stained blood red—another of Hazel’s wild tales, that the door had been stained crimson with blood from tortured victims. Penny lifted the brass mail chute in the door and dropped the envelopes through.

  From the rear of the house came the sound of a sports car leaving in a big hurry—Deke, driving like a teenager in his penis-extending red convertible. Penny walked back down the steps, replaying what he’d said just before he’d left, wondering why she was still willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, why she wanted to believe that he harbored some amount of remorse for what he’d put her through: Because she wanted not to doubt her judgment for falling for him in the first place, or because she was so starved for love that she was willing to accept crumbs?

  A movement in the window on the third floor of the museum caught her eye, sending a zing of alarm through her chest. Was it a flash of a cape? A curtain? She had assumed that the house was empty, that Deke had simply dropped by to pick up a file, but perhaps he’d been meeting with someone. Or maybe Hazel had arrived early to clean and had heard Penny and Deke talking. Penny stared at the window but saw nothing; she dismissed it as sun glare … or her overactive imagination. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched as she trespassed her way back to the opening in the fence and across the tangled field next to her shop.

  She tossed down the impromptu walking stick, then spotted a police car on Charm Street turning onto Voodoo Street—Chief Allyson Davis, no doubt, cruising for troublemakers like Penny, according to Deke. As if the woman had anything better to do. The only crime in Mojo was the occasional bar fight at Caskey’s and misdemeanor mischief like the recent breakin at Primo Dry Cleaners during which a roll of quarters had gone missing.

  The Charm Farm parking lot was full of cars, so Penny picked up the pace to give Marie and Guy a hand. Yet at the corner of the lot, Penny was unable to resist one glance back at the Archambault mansion. From this vantage point, only the turrets and the cupola were visible … and a person standing in the cupola?

  Penny blinked to focus, then pulled out her binoculars, but whatever she thought she’d seen was gone. She shook herself and wondered if Marie had put something in that so-called love potion to make her paranoid.

  She wet her lips and acknowledged that she was feeling … self-aware. Maybe tonight at Caskey’s she’d run into a stranger who wasn’t too strange.

  The day passed quickly because business was hopping. The Voodoo Festival brought out three types of people: tourists who wanted to buy souvenirs and have their palms read, the cautious believers who came with cash and hopes of learning black magic tricks, and the hard-core vodou crowd who came from New Orleans and beyond to ensure that the festival maintained a level of authenticity. Robes and costumes abounded, along with headwraps, charm pouches, and colorful language—a mixture of English, Cajun, and voodoo speak. The smoothie machine ran constantly, herbs flew off the shelves, and, just as Marie had predicted, several customers asked for voodoo dolls and various bizarre items.

  “Do you have tarantulas?”

  “Um, no.”

  “Powdered bones?”

  “No.”

  “Goat blood?”

  “No.”

  “We should start giving classes on voodoo potions and spells,” Marie said. “We’d make a killing.”

  “Please stop saying that,” Penny said, bagging a handful of dried nasturtiums. “You’re giving me the creeps. Besides, you heard what Jules said—that voodoo isn’t for amateurs.” She walked over to the smoothie bar and smiled at the next customer. “May I help you?”

  The woman nodded. “I’ll have the hot voodoo sex.”

  Penny blinked. “Pardon me?”

  Marie leaned in and whispered, “That’s what I named the new juice—Hot Voodoo Sex. It’s selling like mad.”

  Penny gave her a withering look, then put a glass under the dispenser and pulled the lever for Marie’s love potion. She shook her head at the woman’s nonsense, but when some of the yellow juice splashed onto Penny’s hand, she licked it off when no one was looking … just in case.

  Foot traffic had begun to slow just before closing when Ziggy Hines arrived, larger than life, wearing his chef’s hat.

  “Chère, Penny!” he cried, turning on the charm and the accent for the customers. “Ziggy has arrived.”

  “I see,” Penny observed with a smile.

  The dimpled, black-haired man walked over and kissed her on both cheeks, then angled his head close to her ear. “Where are the little treasures you told me about?”

  “Follow me.” She went into her office and closed the door, then unlocked the file cabinet and withdrew the bag of truffles.

  “Mon Dieu,” he muttered when he opened the bag. He lifted a truffle and scrutinized it under the light, then inhaled its pungent odor and rolled his eyes in ecstasy.

  Penny laughed. “So do these Mojo truffles pass muster?”

  He nodded, then stroked his chin. “I am amazed. Are there more where these came from?”

  “So he says.”

  “How does this man grow them? I must meet him.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she said. “He’s a very private person.” Plus she had the feeling that Ziggy was trying to cut out the middleman—her. She didn’t mind, but she would have to talk to Jimmy first.

  “Does he use a pig to sniff them out?”

  “A dog, actually.”

  “Ah. Dogs are preferable because they won’t eat the truffle when they dig it up, but they are difficult to train.” He sighed. “Now … how much?”

  “Four hundred for the pound.”

  “Two hundred,” he countered.

  “Three hundred.”

  “Two hundred fifty.”

  “Three hundred,” Penny repeated firmly. “And you know that’s a great price.”

  “That’s a great price for imported French black truffles,” Ziggy corrected. “We do not yet know what the market will be for Mojo black truffles.”

  Penny crossed her arms. “Perhaps I should find out.”

  “Three hundred,” he agreed, then removed his wallet with a sigh. “And as many more as he and his wonderdog can find.” He counted out one-hundred-dollar bills into her palm. “And this is our little secret?”

  “I can’t make any promises on the part of my woodsman.”

  Ziggy frowned. “Your woodsman had better be quiet for his own safety. The minute the word gets out that he’s sitting on black truffles, he will be descended upon.”

  Penny gave a little laugh. “You’re joking.”

  “No, I’m not. If he and his dog can forage a pound of truffles a day for the season, that’s excellent money—especially if he can avoid the tax man.”

  She nodded solemnly. In an area like Mojo, wher
e jobs were scarce, it was the equivalent of drug money, without the risk of jail time.

  Penny led Ziggy back out into the store, and he nodded approvingly at the customers milling around. “I see the festival is bringing in the tourists.”

  “Yes, it’s been very good for business.”

  His gaze latched onto a couple of fetching young women who were looking through the magazines but glancing at him under their lashes. “Hm. I might find somewhere to get a drink before I return to the city.”

  “Try Caskey’s,” Penny said. “It’s right on the square.” She hesitated, then added, “We’re having a little party there tonight if you want to stop by.”

  His eyebrows went up. “And what are we celebrating?”

  Warmth crept up her face. “My divorce.”

  “Oh? I didn’t know. I’ve talked to Deke a couple of times and he didn’t mention it.”

  Penny blinked. “I remember the two of you meeting here once, but I didn’t realize that you … were friends.”

  Ziggy’s face reddened. “I was having a little personal problem, and I needed an out-of-town attorney to handle it.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m sorry to hear your marriage didn’t work out.”

  She still didn’t know what to say when people told her that. That she was sorry too? That she wished she’d never met Deke Black? That she had lost faith in marriage as an institution and in the idea that she would ever trust someone again? “Thanks.”

  “I might see you at Caskey’s,” Ziggy said, then hurried to open the door for the women he’d been ogling.

  “I’ll lock up,” Marie said, then gave Penny a pointed glance. “So you can go home and change into something more … festive.”