Southern Curses (Max Porter Mysteries Book 6)

by Stuart Jaffe

  Southern Curses

  A Max Porter Paranormal Mystery

  Stuart Jaffe

  Table of Contents

  Southern Curses

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Copyright Information

  For my beautiful wife, Glory

  Chapter 1

  Max had a bad feeling about the party before they ever arrived. Less than five minutes inside, and he knew it would be worse.

  “Come on,” Sandra had said with her playful cajoling voice. Max had tried to back out of the night, but she wouldn’t have it. However, rather than spit out venomous words that would only make him dig in harder, Max’s sweet wife knew how to handle him. “It’s been ages since we’ve been to a party.”

  “The fact that I hate parties might have something to do with that.”

  She pushed his shoulder. “You do not hate parties.”

  “I’ve never liked going out into a big crowd of drunken people.”

  “What about college? I’ve heard stories.”

  “Most of which have been exaggerated. Besides, that was college. I did a lot of stupid stuff back then. I’m more refined now.”

  Sandra laughed. “More refined than what? A grizzly bear with gas?”

  Max pinched his waist line. “I may not be in perfect shape, but I’m no bear.”

  “You’re my bear — a teddy bear.”

  He wrapped his arms around her. “All right. I know where this is all going. I’ve already lost this argument before it started, didn’t I?”

  “Yup.” She pecked his cheek. “Try to have some fun tonight. Maria is a good person and it was kind of her to invite us.”

  They drove up into Mount Tabor, a wealthy suburban area far enough from downtown Winston-Salem to protect it from being urbanized, close enough to go in for a ballgame or a street fair, if the mood struck. Max tried to hide his distaste but wriggled in his suit and tie.

  Maria Cortez-Kane lived in a modest house — modest by Mount Tabor standards. Sitting on the top of a manicured hill, the brick house boasted a four-column entryway like a bank. Four bedrooms, three full bathrooms, and a lavish kitchen — all meticulously appointed to impress. In the backyard, an in-ground swimming pool glistened under the moonlight.

  Max leaned in a doorway with a glass of wine in his hand. He gazed around the high-ceilinged living room, hoping to catch a glimpse of his wife but seeing more sparkling diamonds and flashy gold watches than anything else. Strange, he thought. We have money and a beautiful house and everything these people have — not to the same degree, but we have it — yet somehow I still don’t feel part of this world. Not that Max wanted to be a part of such a world, but rather, he found it odd that money alone wasn’t enough to gain access to the rich.

  With the way business was going, though, he might not have to worry about such things for long. Over the last six months, a total of three clients had walked through their doors, none of whom produced much in the way of income or interest. Having a bunch of money was nice, but Max spent a lot of time calculating how many years before it all dried up. No way would it last the rest of their lives. Maybe not even ten years unless they started getting some real income.

  He wished Marshall Drummond would stop by. His partner, a ghost from the 1940s and a top-notch detective, would make the party interesting or, at least, distract him from his worries. But Sandra made Max promise to leave the ghost at home. Not that Max could have forced Drummond to come. That ghost did whatever he wanted to do and the heck with everybody else.

  “It’s Max, right?” a joyful voice said. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Brian Dorsett.”

  Brian thrust out a meaty hand and gripped Max in a vice handshake. The man looked to be in his forties, a bit overweight, and rosy with drink. His suit fit right in with the house — meticulous and expensive.

  “Nice to meet you.” Though Max wanted to go home, he knew how to be polite. “How is it you know me?”

  Brian sipped vodka from a short glass. “I don’t, really. Just your name and what you look like. Part of the deal, y’know. I’ve got to keep up with who all is doing what all and where all.”

  “The deal?”

  “Sorry. I sometimes get ahead of a conversation. I’m already in Mexico and you haven’t even hit the border yet.” He laughed and placed a hand on Max’s shoulder. “No need to look so confused. I work for one of the big families.”

  “Oh?” Three families ruled over Winston-Salem. The Reynolds family had made its name in tobacco. The Hanes family built its empire through underwear, socks, and such. Max knew little about these two. The third family, the Hull family, Max knew too much about. The Hull fortune came about through dark magic, evil curses, and worse. “Is this some kind of threat? Tucker Hull send you?”

  Brian’s mouth soured as he glared at Max. “We’re watching you.” Then he burst into laughter. “No, no, I work for the Reynolds family. Handle insurance issues and such for the estate. That’s why I got to stay on top of what goes on and who goes on in this town. You really thought I worked for Hull? I’d never go near a Hull. Those folks are freaky.” He slapped Max on the back and handed over his business card. “Boy, I had you shaking.”

  In a near-monotone, Max said, “Yeah, you got me good.”

  “Never heard of Tucker Hull, though. I thought the young one ran the family now, um, Terrance Hull.”

  “Oh, is that his name? Terrance?” Max hoped Brian was too drunk to remember any of this in the morning. Terrance had given up power to the family when the original patriarch, Tucker, was summoned back from the grave. Max shook off his thoughts — he had no need for the Hull family to be in his head during a party.

  “Will you look at that?” Brian said, lifting his pinky from his vodka glass to point across the room at their host.

  Maria Cortez-Kane stood amongst several women, Sandra included, with a bright smile and gracious charm. Based on the little he knew from Sandra, Max found Maria to be a fascinating balance of opposites. On one hand, she was the demure wife of Norman Kane, a successful contracts attorney. On the other hand, she was a New Age nut who flowed like a river with no banks — wherever life took her.

  Brian appeared more interested in Maria’s ample cleavage. “I’m telling you, that woman has it all. If I were her baby, I’d breast feed until I was a teen. I mean, that mama could rock me to sleep any night.”

  Max tried to hold his face still. He had no such luck with his mouth. “That’s the most disturbing thing I’ve heard all year.”

  “Oh, don’t be such a prude. Look at that body. Besides, I heard she’s into all sorts of weird, kinky stuff. She’d be right at home with your Hull friends.”

  Not wanting to embarrass Sandra, Max looked for a polite getaway. He found his solution in Brian’s near-empty glass. “How about a toast?”

  “Excellent idea.” Brian raised his glass. “To women. May they always accept a man like m
e into their beds.” He tipped the last of his vodka back and missed the fact that Max did not share the toast.

  “Looks like you’ve gone dry.”

  Brian puckered his lips as he contemplated the empty glass. “That I have.” With another slap on Max’s back, he chuckled. “I suppose I’ll have to remedy this situation. Can I get you anything?”

  “No, thanks. I’m all set.”

  As Brian weaved toward the bar, Max broke off in the opposite direction. He worked his way down a crowded hall and around a corner, hoping to find a quiet area to sit out the rest of the evening. Instead, he entered a room with an enormous flatscreen television and a dozen rowdy men watching a football game — a rerun from the 1970s. The man holding court in the center of an extra-long couch was Norman Kane. When he grew silent to watch the next play, the men around him followed suit. As the play unfolded, the men raised their voices until reaching a crescendo of excitement.

  No way would Max stay there. He spied a staircase off to the right and made his escape before anybody decided to be friendly enough to invite him over. He strolled down a perfect hallway with waxed, hardwood floors and just enough photos to be warm but not cluttered.

  A door on his left stood ajar. He peeked in and saw a desk and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Flicking on the ceiling lamp — a colorful, domed piece that brought the room a rich sense of depth — Max perused the shelves.

  Several held nothing but thick, legal reference books. These played opposite well-endowed fertility statues and a golden Buddha. Max smirked. That was the Cortez-Kane family in a nutshell.

  Sitting on one shelf, directly in front of him, Max saw a framed black-and-white photograph. It was a portrait of a young woman in formal dress. She looked sternly at the camera with eyes so dark they might have been inked in.

  Max picked up the frame and tilted it, trying to see if the impression of pen could be found on the smooth surface of the photo. Nothing. That suggested the woman’s eyes really were that dark. Strange.

  Cocking his head to the side to read the titles on the lower shelves, Max’s heart chilled. The Lore of Witchcraft. Winston-Salem Witch. The Basic Grimoire. Covens. Then on the next shelf over — Spells for Summer. Binding Spell Primer. Light Magik.

  Max straightened and scanned the rest of the room. Candles, chalk, salt, and other witchcraft paraphernalia had been neatly organized on the desk. A double-ringed circle had been painted on the floor. With that circle, a person could write a spell with chalk, cast it, and later, clear the floor for a new spell.

  Max hurried downstairs and sought Sandra. He found her in the kitchen gawking over an eight-burner stove. “We have to go now,” he said.

  She looked up at him, her scowl disappearing as she took in his appearance. “What happened?”

  “I’ll tell you in the car.”

  Sandra pushed through the crowd to give Maria a hug and an apology. From the sympathetic pout Maria made, Max guessed his wife claimed he wasn’t feeling well — or that he was being an ass and these were the crosses a wife must bear. Either way, when she finished, she grabbed her coat and stormed by Max on her way out.

  Once they were on the road, Max told her everything he had seen.

  “That’s it?” Sandra said. “That’s why we had to leave?”

  “Did you hear me? Maria’s a witch.”

  “I knew that already.”

  “Huh? You did?”

  “Yes, honey. I’ve been to that house before. I’ve seen her books and stuff. Oh, and I’m not an idiot.”

  “I never said that. Don’t start picking a fight where there isn’t one.”

  “Then don’t treat me like a child.”

  Max opened his mouth; then wisely shut it. He thought he had been saving his wife from danger. How had it all become a blunder that was his fault? “Should we go back?”

  “After I lied to her that you were ill?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, wondering how things turned around that he was apologizing.

  Though Sandra’s jaw tensed, her eyes softened. “I know you didn’t mean it like that, but you should know better. Don’t you trust me? Trust my judgment?”

  “Of course, I do. But you never said anything before about her being a witch, so I figured you didn’t know. When I saw all of that spell casting stuff, I thought we were in danger.”

  “From Maria? She’d never hurt me. She’d never hurt anybody. Look, honey, she’s my friend. We’ve been living here for years now, and I hardly know anybody. She’s the first person that’s not you who I can call a friend.”

  “What about Drummond?”

  “Fine. She’s the first living person. And tonight meant a lot to me. She invited us to that party. All we had to do was have a good time.”

  “And I ruined it.”

  Sandra lowered her head into her hands and rubbed her temples. “It wasn’t you. I mean, not directly. It’s all this Hull business. Ever since we moved to North Carolina, we’ve had to live under their shadow. That’s why Maria is so special. She’s not part of any of that.”

  “She’s a witch. That kind of means Hull, at the least, knows about her.”

  “I doubt it. She’s not a powerful player or anything like that. Most of the spells she’s ever tried to cast have fizzled out. She even told me her mentor is considering dropping her as a student.”

  Max glanced in his rearview mirror. A car had pulled out behind them and sped up. “Crap,” he said. “I think I’m about to get a ticket.” The car continued to accelerate. Its high-beams popped on, blinding Max. “This is ridiculous. Is he going to pull me over or not?”

  Sandra leaned back to look out the rear window. “I don’t think that’s a cop.”

  The car gunned its engine and rammed them. Max gripped the steering wheel as the car behind them hit again. With his brain rattling around his skull, he tried to focus on the road. He pressed hard on the gas, but their attacker matched him, then sped up and smashed them a third time.

  They were on local roads with forests and fields, homes and churches lining the way. He pressed on, hoping he’d reach the on-ramp for US-40 — a major highway that would allow him to floor the gas without hurting anybody. He never got the chance.

  The car behind pulled into the oncoming lane and zoomed up beside him. Max looked over and saw the driver looking back. A pale-skinned man with a deep scar running from the corner of his eye down to his jaw. He grinned at Max, revealing a silver incisor, before he wrenched the wheel over.

  The man’s car slammed into Max’s. Max had been so distracted by the man’s appearance that he lost control of the car. Sandra screamed as they busted through a guard rail and over the side. They bounced down, straight for a tree. Max had time enough to spin the car to the right, protecting Sandra’s side from the main impact.

  He heard the crumpling door. He heard the shattering glass. He saw nothing.

  It all went dark.

  Chapter 2

  Before he opened his eyes, Max heard the quiet murmurs, the low television sounds, and the steady beeps that clued him in to his location — a hospital. He could smell it, too — that off-putting, antiseptic odor, a concoction of disinfectants and illness. Peeking through one eye confirmed his suspicion. Yeah, I’m in a hospital.

  He sat up, surprised that his head did not ring nor did his muscles complain, and swung his legs off the bed. No broken bones. If he had managed to escape serious injury, then Sandra must be okay, too. With a sigh, he got to his feet and crossed the room to look out the window.

  Hanes Mall spread out before him along with numerous restaurants and box stores as well as plenty of traffic. “Guess I’m at Forsyth Medical.” The other major hospital in the area was Wake Forest Baptist, but his view would have been of homes and trees as well as plenty of traffic.

  “You’re finally up,” Marshall Drummond said as he floated next to Max. He wore the same clothes he had died in — an everyday suit with a long coat and a Fedora. That constant attire now covered M
ax with a bit of comfort. Drummond gave Max an awkward wink. “Enjoying the view?”

  “Sure. I love to look out at a shopping Mecca. Or did you mean your fine self?”

  Drummond chuckled — which was odd because he didn’t return with a jibe. “How are you feeling?”

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “Really? Completely normal?”

  “Anxious to get out of here. Sandra’s okay, right?”

  “She’s perfectly fine.”

  “Then will you go tell her I’m awake and ... what’s with that look?”

  Drummond tilted his Fedora over his eyes. “I ain’t got any kind of look. You sure you don’t feel any different or anything?”

  Max went to slap the window but halted when he heard a gasp from behind. Sandra stood in the doorway. She had dropped a cup of coffee and it had formed a brown puddle in front of her. Her eyes glistened, but there was no joy in her face. Instead, her chin quivered as she gazed at the hospital bed.

  Max followed her eyes. He was still in the bed. That is, his body was in the bed.

  Reality spun out with a chill across his heart. He looked to Drummond, but the ghost averted his eyes. “Am I? I mean, did I ...”

  Sandra covered her mouth as she rushed to the bedside. “Max? Can you hear me?”

  “You know I can. I’m right here.”

  She glowered at him before turning back to the body. “Max. Wake up.”

  “What is this?” Max asked Drummond. “Am I dead?”

  Drummond reached out and clasped Max by the shoulder. His ghostly hands didn’t go through Max nor did Max feel the usual cold whenever accidentally passing through a ghost. Drummond’s hands simply rested on Max’s shoulders — solid and without cold or pain. “I’m sorry, pal.”

  “No,” Max said, wriggling away from Drummond. “Sandra, come on. This isn’t right. I’m not dead. I can’t be dead. It was a stupid car wreck. We didn’t flip or anything. We didn’t explode. We just hit a tree. I can’t be dead from that.”

  Sandra kissed the forehead of the Max in the hospital bed. Then she looked at Max’s ghost. “Honey,” she said. “I love you. But you need to accept what has happened. It’s important, so that you can move on. Otherwise, you’ll be stuck here.”