The Unknown Woman

by Laurie Paige

  His expression became serious and he gave a sigh that she thought he was unaware of. She suppressed the need to reach out and touch him in sympathy. Death wasn’t something either of them could shake off easily.

  At that moment, a man and woman crossed the courtyard, each pulling luggage behind them. “We’ll sue,” the man muttered to his companion. “We’ll get back every penny we’ve spent on this vacation and then some. Bunch of thieves.”

  Kerry felt very sorry for whoever was working the registration desk and had to handle the couple and their complaints. There was total silence in their wake, then the other diners began talking again, but in lower tones.

  She overheard a man say his room looked as if it had been ransacked. Nothing was missing, his wife reported, but she’d heard things were taken from other rooms.

  Matt gave her a troubled glance, “Sounds as if a lot of bad stuff happened last night.”

  Oblivious to human problems, a fat bee droned by, then circled Kerry’s head. She sat perfectly still, then smiled as it landed on a fresh lily in the delicate porcelain vase on the table. It snuggled in the trumpet for a minute, then emerged heavy with pollen.

  She and Matt chuckled together as it flew off in a rather precarious manner, as if drunk with nectar.

  Matt studied her in a way that made her feel warm and maybe a little uneasy. She envisioned those long legs, the black briefs…

  Then she remembered why she’d been in his room and her thoughts sobered.

  “Kerry,” he said. When she glanced up, he asked, “What made you sigh?”

  “Patti,” she murmured. “It’s so odd to think that a person I was talking to yesterday is…gone. She was so nice, so full of life. Although I think she was putting me on a bit with her voodoo routine and taking my picture with the python.” She paused and considered. “But it was odd that she knew things about me, things I know I didn’t tell her.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, she knew I had one nephew and two nieces. She suggested gifts for them. And this charm bracelet for me.”

  When she laid her arm on the table so he could see, he placed his large, warm hand over hers and studied each charm. “Bones, a gris-gris bag, a cross—” he began to recite.

  “She said it had been blessed with holy water and would protect me from vampires and werewolves,” Kerry told him. “I didn’t realize the city had werewolves as well as vampires and ghosts.”

  “I think the vampires came from some popular novels. I’m not sure about the werewolves. Voodoo, as a religion, pays homage to various spirits, such as the Earth, the Forest, Wisdom, Healing, those kinds of things. It originated in the Benin region of Africa hundreds of years ago, according to the book I bought.”

  “Then it was transported here with the slave trade?”

  “Right.” He pointed to the camera tucked into a pocket of her purse. “You said Patti took your picture with a python. Did she use your camera?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it a digital? Do you have pictures of your family on it?”

  “Why, yes. From Christmas.” She retrieved the camera and clicked back from the three photos of her and Queen Jolie. “Here’s one of my sister, her husband and their kids.” She held the camera out for him to see.

  “You and your sister favor each other,” he said.

  “Yes. That’s probably how she figured out the one nephew and two nieces. That info almost made me believe she really could read palms.” Kerry remembered the voodoo ceremony that night. “That reminds me, Patti gave me a ticket to a ceremony to be performed tonight by an ‘old voodoo queen.’ At least that’s what she said.” Kerry found the ticket in her purse and read the information to Matt. “I wonder if I should go.”

  Matt frowned.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “The woman at the voodoo museum I visited gave me one, too. When I got the book for my mother.”

  “Was she dressed in a purple blouse with a matching scarf and a skirt of purple, gold and green? She had really long false eyelashes and bands of purple and gold shadow on her eyelids.”

  “I don’t remember the colors, but those eyelashes were incredible. I couldn’t figure out how she held her eyes open.”

  A chill ran along every nerve in Kerry’s body as Queen Patrice’s words reverberated through her.

  …follow the shining path that begins tonight, Twelfth Night, all the way to the summer solstice or else you’ll forever change the course of your history and all who touch your life on this day.

  “Are you going?” she asked Matt.

  He shrugged. “I have a tasting this afternoon.”

  Kerry wondered what that meant.

  “Sorry,” he said as if reading her mind. “I write articles on all phases of the wine industry from growing the grapes to serving the finished product. I’m covering New Orleans for a feature article on wine clubs and famous cellars in the area.”

  “Sounds interesting,” she said sincerely. “If you don’t mind my asking, how did you get into the field?”

  “A friend who was dating the managing editor of Wines of the World magazine suggested me for a big spread they wanted to do on New York wines. Since my family has interests in a vineyard and winery there, it was a natural fit. Besides working at the vineyard in the summer, I helped my mother put on a charity auction featuring premium wines each year.”

  “I see.”

  “Once the article came out, I received an award from a New York wine growers’ association for my work. After that, I was a ‘known’ expert and a lot of assignments came my way. I liked the independence of being a freelance writer, so I quit my newspaper job and focused on writing about wines. Lucky for me, the timing worked out. Wines are just becoming hot.”

  “To take a chance like that would require more courage than I have.” Kerry confessed.

  “I don’t know about that,” Matt teased her. “It takes a lot of courage to have your picture taken with a python and come to the aid of a stranger during a blackout.” He smiled at her. “Shall we help ourselves to the buffet?”

  They were mostly silent as they ate. Kerry noticed a family heading for the registration desk with their bags and wondered if a lot of the guests were checking out. The blackout had been disturbing, even without the death.

  She glanced at Matt and realized she was drawn to him, not only because of their shared experience, but in other ways, too.

  There was more to him than good looks, she realized. He seemed thoughtful, with a candidness that she liked. He’d taken a chance and gone out on his own, making a success of his career. That had taken confidence and courage, and lots of hard work.

  Over fresh cups of coffee and warm beignets from the buffet, they spoke of Patti again.

  “I wonder who she really was,” Kerry said. “The friendly waitress, the voodoo queen, the punk or ghost or whatever she was supposed to be last night.”

  “After finally going to bed I couldn’t sleep,” Matt said grimly. “Every time I closed my eyes I saw that white face and the black eyes. She looked ghastly, in my opinion.”

  “She was really quite lovely, one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. Really,” she added at his skeptical frown. “She looked like a movie star.”

  “I called the detective this morning,” Matt told her.

  “One of the two who came last night? I didn’t think of that. I was curious about her and wondered if they’d discovered the cause of death. What did he say? Did they contact her family?”

  Matt shook his head. “She wrote that she had no next-of-kin on the employment forms she filled out for the restaurant.”

  “Oh. What about the museum?”

  “The detective didn’t mention it.”

  Kerry blinked the sting of tears from her eyes. “She was so nice to me. She seemed to know I was alone and lonely.” Her voice sounded shaky, but she hurried on, “Anyway, she sort of took me under her wing and advised me on what to do in the city. I guess she
recognized a small-town gal when she saw one.” Kerry managed a brief laugh at the description.

  “A Florence Nightingale,” Matt corrected softly. “That’s what I thought of last night when you came to my door, lantern in hand. I was grateful for your offer of help. I didn’t realize the seriousness of the situation at the moment. I thought the woman had passed out.”

  “It’s difficult to get over the shock of a death like that,” she murmured, “even when it’s someone you don’t really know. But if she has no family, what will happen to her?”

  “The detective said the medical examiner would have to perform an autopsy to discover the cause of death. My guess is she overdosed on something. She may have gotten hold of a bad mix. Then…I don’t know…I suppose they have public cemeteries for cases like this.”

  “That’s so sad, not to have anyone who cares if you live or die.”

  His hand touched hers again. “Don’t cry,” he said in a tone that flowed around her like a gentle breeze and nearly made her lose it.

  She managed to keep the tears at bay. “It’s just that I had this cousin who…” Kerry had to stop and swallow. She sucked in a harsh breath. “She committed suicide.”

  He looked concerned. “When did this happen?”

  “Three years ago. The terrible thing was that I’d seen her that morning and asked if things were okay. She said they were, and I believed her. Then she rowed out to the middle of the lake and jumped in. She was a good swimmer but she drowned anyway. The water was icy cold and her clothing weighed her down.”

  “My God,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’ve never understood it. We were best friends. How could a person go off without a word to anyone and do that?” She stared at him in entreaty, as if he could explain it so she would understand and the aching hurt would go away.

  “I don’t know.” He hesitated, then added, “I think your situation was worse than what happened to my sister. At least my family knew how she died and that it wasn’t her intention.”

  “Oh, Matt, I’m so sorry for making you remember something terrible in your life.”

  “It’s been sixteen years,” he said. “I was twenty-one, a senior in college. She was in Africa with a charity group. A rare virus broke out in the area where they were working, but before the doctors could identify and control it, fifty villagers and five volunteers were dead.”

  Kerry felt his pain in spite of the calm way he reported the facts and the time that had passed since the tragedy.

  “There was a civil war going on. It took weeks to find out that she died, and months to retrieve her body. That was hard on my mother. When we finally had the burial in our family graveyard, it gave us closure.”

  “But it still hurt,” Kerry said softly.

  “Yes, it still hurt.”

  They fell silent, staring into each other’s eyes, and Kerry realized that they were holding hands, their fingers tightly clasped as if each saw the other as a lifeline in a world of sadness and grief.

  “Fresh coffee?” a familiar voice inquired.

  The tension of the moment broke, and she withdrew her hand from Matt’s.

  “Henri,” Kerry said, glad for the diversion. She was slightly unnerved by the deep connection she’d felt with Matt. “Do you work day and night?”

  He chuckled, a rich joyful sound that seemed to offset the unease she’d experienced, and shook his head. “I’ve been here long enough that I can choose my own schedule. I like working a couple of hours during lunch, then four or five hours in the evening. That way, I have my afternoons free for gardening, which is my hobby and my obsession, according to my wife.”

  Kerry realized it was after eleven. She and Matt had talked well over an hour.

  After Henri left them with a fresh pot of coffee, she absently ran her finger around the rim of her cup while she thought of the afternoon ahead.

  “What are you going to do today?” Matt asked.

  “I don’t know.” She glanced down at her purse.

  “One thing I know. I’m going to the ceremony tonight.

  The ticket describes it as a tribute to the Spirit of Healing. I think I could use some help in that department.

  My spirits are pretty low at the moment.”

  Matt nodded. “I know the feeling.” He shook his head slightly. “But I’m not sure it’s such a good idea for us to attend some voodoo rite.”

  “Why?”

  “Just a gut feeling,” he admitted with a self-deprecating grimace. “Maybe we’ve been through enough. Last night was one hell of an experience.”

  Kerry couldn’t deny that. “When the blackout happened, I thought it was romantic. I was soaking in the bathtub with candles all around, sipping champagne like some decadent, pampered princess. That illusion was soon dispelled.”

  He leaned forward in an earnest manner. “I’m sorry I spoiled your night and pulled you into my problems.”

  She assumed a lighter tone. “Hey, what are friends—or neighbors—for? You’re right. It was a strange night.” She considered a moment, “I still would like to go to the ceremony. It sounds interesting.”

  His eyes were on her, his expression thoughtful.

  “Tell you what—since we both have tickets, let’s go together. I should be finished with the wine tasting and back here by six. Shall we have dinner first?”

  She nodded, trying hard to ignore the little flutter of anticipation at the thought of spending an evening with Matt.

  FOR THE FIRST TIME in a long time, Matt had trouble following the conversation about the excellence of the various wines at this very exclusive wine club, made up of a dozen of the city’s oldest, most prominent families. The wine purchaser was a senior member of the group, which had been founded by their ancestors five generations ago.

  Roots.

  To Matt, they meant obligations and expectations that had nothing to do with his own talents or wishes.

  Across the dark walnut table, a young man stared into his wine goblet, then poured the excellent vintage down his throat without bothering with the niceties of aroma, palette and finish. Their host, Claude Pichante, glared at him.

  Matt sorted through the earlier introductions. The young man was Jason Pichante. The tasting was taking place in the Pichante home, an elegant mansion in the Garden District, which fortunately had seen only light damage in the flooding after Hurricane Katrina.

  Angry father. Resentful son.

  Now where had he seen a similar scenario played out? he asked himself facetiously. His sympathy went at once to the son, but he admitted he could be mistaken.

  For some reason, he thought of Kerry. There seemed to be no anger in her, just goodwill and warmth. She was talkative, until the shock of Patti Ruoui’s death—the detective had told Matt the dead woman’s name—reasserted itself, then those luminous eyes dimmed with sorrow and she fell silent. It obviously bothered her that Patti had no one to mourn her passing, and the death seemed to remind Kerry of her cousin’s suicide.

  Odd, but whenever Kerry seemed sad, he found he wanted to hold her until the brightness returned to her face.

  “A blend of blackberries with a finish of vanilla,” Claude Pichante was saying.

  Matt forced his mind to attention. He ate a plain cracker to clear his palate, then took a tiny sip from the fresh goblet the white-coated waiter handed him.

  He inhaled slowly, letting the flavors flow over and under his tongue. This gave him a clear assessment of the wine’s present veracity and its future promise.

  “Matt, your thoughts,” Pichante said.

  “Blackberry and vanilla, yes.” Matt agreed with the host’s assessment. “A little strong on the tannin, but balance should be restored by aging. Five years, and this wine will be excellent.”

  “Ah, my thoughts exactly,” the older Pichante said.

  Across the table, his son gave a soft, but audible snort. Again he downed the wine.

  “Jason, if you have an appointment, you may
leave us,” his father said, steel undercoating every word.

  The other five club members, all elderly gentlemen, continued with the tasting as if they hadn’t heard a word.

  Matt did the same.

  He checked the clock over the mantel. It was nearly time to leave. He was looking forward to dinner with Kerry. As for the healing ceremony, he wasn’t so sure.

  Jason Pichante suddenly stood up, slammed the exquisitely carved chair backward against the elaborate sideboard and left the room.

  Claude sighed. “Children,” he murmured. “Jason thinks he’s in love. The young woman’s most unsuitable, as his mother and I have pointed out.”

  The guests, Matt included, chuckled over the father-son dilemma, but Matt’s sympathies sided more firmly with the son. He could remember more than one society deb being paraded before him as marriage material. At the time, he would have scorned the goddess of love herself if his family had brought her to the house for a weekend gathering.

  Not that he’d done so great on his own. Working in New York City, he’d met a buyer for an expensive boutique and fallen hard. When she found out he mostly avoided his family and they wouldn’t be spending weekends and holidays at the upstate family compound surrounded by rich relatives and friends, she’d dropped him for a shipping heir from East Hampton.

  After that experience, he’d learned to avoid any mention of his connection to the well-known Andersons. His family’s law firm handled contracts for film and music celebrities, and some women had wanted to use him as a springboard for their own careers. He could handle that as long as they were up front about it. Most weren’t.

  For a second, he wondered what his high-society family would think of a small-town dental hygienist. Kerry was obviously close to her family and had a tender heart where others were concerned. Or so it seemed. He’d been fooled once before by a sweet act that covered a calculating nature. He was doubly on guard now.

  Hearing a door slam in another part of the grand mansion, he felt glad to no longer be twenty-something and defiant as only the young can be.