By the time the elevator arrived, Rico had disappeared into Boudreaux’s office, where he was no doubt pleading his case for going after Jade. Hopefully, between Dickhead and Boudreaux, one of them would realize how foolish that was.
Rico will come around, I thought. He’s just too close to the situation to see that I’m right. Little Allie jeered at me from the peanut gallery, wanting to know when I had become the voice of reason.
That high and mighty brain bitch thinks she has all the answers. But the truth is, when it comes to Jade, Rico tends to think with his little head, giving him the mental acuity of a radish. Someone would need to reel him in, and I was just the person for the job.
Ferris and I arrived at Mama Femi’s shortly before the lunch rush. Heavenly smells filled the air as we walked inside, making my stomach growl—an insistent reminder that I’d skipped breakfast. We grabbed a table near the entrance to the kitchen. Mama wouldn’t have much time to chat, but that was okay. I knew exactly what I needed to ask her.
Luna, Vinny’s love interest from dinner the night before, swept to our table and poured us some coffee. She glanced around the restaurant as if she were waiting, or maybe hoping, someone else would be joining us. Her smile never faded, but the gleam in her stunning green eyes dimmed as she pulled out her pen and took our order. Poor thing. To think that Vinny’s unique brand of macho-mojo had worked on her was mind-boggling.
Ferris must have been thinking the same thing. “Luna, Vinny said that he’d like to see you again, but we left in such a hurry last night, he didn’t have time to get your number. If you’d like, I’d be happy to pass it along to him—but only if you want me to.”
She bit her lip and swept a tangle of onyx curls from her eyes. Their emerald shine had returned. “Sure ‘nuff,” she said. “I’ll write it down for you.”
She sashayed away from the table with a lightness to her step.
I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Why would you give numbnuts that poor girl’s number?”
Ferris grinned and tossed me a wink. “I’m a sucker for love.”
His eyes lingered on mine, drinking them in. An unexpected shiver rippled up my spine. And then, to my absolute shame, a nervous giggle bolted from my throat before I could pull it back. Holy crap on a cracker. I’d been reduced to a silly, teenaged Luna-girl.
I pushed back my chair and stood up, pointing at Ferris. “That…that…noise I just made? Never happened. I’m going to go talk to Mama now. You just stay put.”
Ferris’s grin turned sultry and his eyes washed over me from head to toe. I headed for the kitchen with a quick glance over my shoulder, only to find his gaze still fixed on me. Damn that man and his ice-blue eyes. They could make a woman forget to breathe.
I burst through the swinging door into the kitchen, nearly knocking Mama and the large platter of appetizers she carried to the ancient hardwood floor. I grabbed her arms to steady her. A plump jumbo shrimp skittered off the edge of the tray and plopped to the floor. Mama let loose a mighty sigh, bringing back memories of her ability to dress me down without uttering a single word.
I mumbled an apology and whisked the platter from her hands. She crooked a gnarled finger toward table three, sending me on a delivery run. When I returned, Mama was waiting for me, brow furrowed, arms folded across her massive chest.
“Lawd, if you don’t flit and flutter like a mayfly.” Her eyes crinkled as she tried unsuccessfully to stifle a smile. “So, what my mayfly need today?”
“How do I reverse zombie powder?”
The gentle smile slipped from her face, and her eyes bored into mine. “Its poison comes from the puffer fish. One fish can kill thirty men.”
I nodded. “It’s called tetradotoxcin.”
“The devil’s dust,” she said, with a sniff. Crossing herself, she added, “That powder is not a toy.”
“What counteracts it, Mama?”
She closed her eyes and breathed in deep. When she exhaled, her breath filtered out slowly. For the first time since I’d returned to New Orleans, I allowed myself to see how fragile she’d become. Her face had grown gaunt. Her laugh lines and crow’s feet had deepened into crevices.
“What beats the devil?” she asked. “A magick that is stronger than evil. That, and the will of God.”
Was that all?
Mama conjured the strongest magick I’d ever seen. And she was on the good side of God, to be sure. Me? I wasn’t a card-carrying, Sunday-service kind of Christian, but God had given me my gift for a reason. And I had my rules, handed down to me from my mom who was already cloud-sitting in Heaven, waiting for me. I liked to think those things put me on the right side of good and evil. But the time might come when I’d have to put that theory to the test.
Mama patted my hand and bussed my cheek with a kiss. “We never alone in these things, child. ‘Let your faith be like a shield, and you will be able to stop all the flaming arrows of the evil one.’”
Ephesians, if I remembered correctly.
Call me crazy, but the image of Toussaint shooting flaming arrows at me didn’t make me feel any better.
Mama shooed me back to my table with a promise to research the hoodoo antidote for tetrodotoxin, and after enjoying our second delicious meal at Mama Femi’s in as many days, Ferris and I returned to the office with carryout for Rico, Babs and Vinny. Rico’s included a beignet as a peace offering. I hadn’t liked the way we’d parted company that morning.
Babs and Vinny were hunkered down with Mouton, pouring over the missing person reports. I slid their carryout boxes across the desk, then peered around the office. “Where’s Rico?”
Babs gazed at me over the top of her readers. “Gone, I believe.”
“Gone?”
“I’m sorry. Was that not clear? Gone—as in no longer here.”
I hadn’t been back five minutes and she was already twerking on my last nerve. “I can see that. Any idea where he might be?”
“He burst from Agent Boudreaux’s office and exited the building into the parking lot. Last I saw, he drove away in one of the agency’s SUVs.”
“By himself?” The hair on the back of my arms stood up. I shoved Rico’s food toward Mouton. “Go for it, but save the beignet for De Palma, or I’ll kick your ass.”
Ferris was already at the door waiting for me. Together, we made our way down the hall to have a chat with Boudreaux.
“What the hell?” I yelled, barging through Boudreaux’s door without bothering to knock.
The solid oak door flew back and smashed into the wall, its knob punching a hole through the sheetrock. Crumbled bits of drywall skittered across the carpet, and a small cloud of dust curled into the air.
Dickhead, seated at Boudreaux’s desk with his phone pressed against his ear, glanced up, and beheld me in all my pissed-off glory.
“We’ll talk later,” he mumbled to the mystery caller. Not skipping a beat, he slipped the phone into his pocket and cast me a disparaging look. “Repair costs for your temper tantrums will be deducted from your paychecks.”
“Where’s Boudreaux?”
“I borrowed his office. He’ll be back momentarily.”
“Whose decision was it to let Rico go off on his own?”
“Mine.” He sat a little taller and squared his shoulders. “Why?”
“People go missing in this town every day. What were you thinking?”
“He’s a cop, Nighthawk. He can handle himself.”
“He’s an outsider who’s sticking his nose into things he doesn’t understand.”
“Maybe so,” Boudreaux said from the doorway. “But he was right. We had an open missing person’s case that needed to be worked. I sent Fairchild out with him. Figured Mouton could run down the missing persons leads himself.”
“Fairchild? The twelve-year-old with pimples?”
“Don’t test me.”
“You, of all people, know what he’s up against, or at least you should, Mr. We-Wrote-the-Book-on-the-Undead.”
> “Even my baby agents fresh from the womb kick ass. They wouldn’t be on the streets otherwise. He and De Palma will be just fine. But if you’re worried, maybe you should join them.” Boudreaux’s eyes swung toward the door-knob shaped hole in his wall. “I’ve got a long-ass memory and a decided lack of patience, Ms. Nighthawk. You’d do well to remember that.”
Agent Mouton appeared behind Boudreaux and peered into the office. “Sorry to interrupt. I thought you’d be interested in knowing there’s been a spike in the number of missing persons. In the last two months we’ve averaged seventy-five.”
“What’s normal?” Ferris asked.
Boudreaux scratched his head and whistled. “Twenty, give or take, factoring in the drunken tourists and nutjobs.”
“Interesting,” Dickhead said. “But how does that relate to our case?”
Mouton shrugged. “I’m not sure that it does, but if your man Toussaint is responsible for the variance, he’s building up an army. An army of the undead. I wonder what he’s going to do with that,” Mouton mused aloud.
Little Allie had her suspicions, but neither one of us was ready to go there yet.
“One more thing,” Mouton said. “A missing person’s report was filed a few days ago on a Sherrod Wiley, the head of the governor’s advance team. He checked into the Hotel St. Marie and that’s the last anyone has seen of him.”
The brain bitch squealed so loud the fillings in my teeth vibrated. “Governor? As in Governor Andrew Thornton?”
“You’re kidding,” Mouton’s voice wavered. “We only have one, right?”
“Gimme that list,” I said, crossing the floor, and ripping it from his hands. When I began to read, bells and whistles went off, the creepy kind that made my skin crawl.
Governor Thornton used to be District Attorney Thornton, the same D.A. who refused to indict me for murder when I put down Toussaint’s wife. Why would Thornton indict me? She was already dead. No harm, no foul, no more zombie. Everybody wins, right?
Except, that case was one of those freaking Undead Lives Matter situations…the ones the ACLU digs their claws into. The courts didn’t want to touch that puppy with a ten-foot pole. So, rather than indict me and initiate a never-ending court battle nobody in power wanted to fight, Thornton’s office refused to prosecute. The ACLU threw a hissy that eventually faded away when newer, more sexy oppressions raised their ugly heads. But Toussaint, never one to keep his feelings close to the vest, had sworn he’d kill us both.
Was Toussaint finally making good on his threat?
I continued scanning the missing persons list and caught my breath when I reached the final name: Henri Abellard. Henri, the root worker who told me that Toussaint had been keeping his infected wife alive and in chains, had been reported missing yesterday—the day of the warehouse incident. It had been a while since I’d seen Henri, but I’d never forget his elbow-length dreads.
Now, I’ve never much believed in coincidence, but fate? I’ll put my money on fate any day, and I had a feeling Lady Destiny was throwing us a bone.
“Agent Mouton,” I said, “would you print Henri Abellard’s DMV photo and show it to Rip Sacca?”
24
A Bunch of Crybaby Gossips
I caught Ferris’s eye and nodded toward the door. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover. Rico could be anywhere by now.”
“Not so fast,” Boudreaux said. “The governor’s point man is missing. We’ve got a new priority.”
“Like hell I do. My partner’s missing.”
“Not missing. Working a case. Sherrod Wiley’s a high-profile target. As of now, all assets are reassigned.”
“You can’t assign me anywhere. I don’t report to you.”
“But you do report to me,” Dickhead said. “And since it appears there could be a connection between Toussaint Le Clerc and the disappearances of Henri Abellard and Mr. Wiley, I agree with Agent Boudreaux. Your time is best spent working this angle.”
“What about Ric—”
“Asked and answered. He’s not on his own, he’s with Agent Fairchild, and we have no reason to believe they’re in danger.”
Philip Mouton grimaced, backed out of the doorway, and made his escape. The sound of his shoes slapping against the Berber carpet echoed down the hallway. My mouth snapped open to launch a new assault, but the brain bitch went cray-cray in the hope of shutting me down. Screw that haughty little head hag. If anyone was going to be insolent and ill-mannered, it was me.
Ferris snatched my arm and walked us both toward the door.
“We’re on it,” he said with a quick nod to Dickhead and Boudreaux.
Oh no, he did not just man-handle me.
I broke his grip and spun on my heel. “What? What do you mean, we’re on it? I—”
Ferris bulldozed me into the hall and Boudreaux shut the door behind us.
I banged on the solid oak panel. “Hey! I’m not finished yet.”
“Oh, yes you are,” Ferris muttered, herding me down the hallway. “We can keep our eyes peeled for Rico along the way. Dickhead was right. If these cases are related, all roads will lead to Toussaint. We’ll intersect Rico along the way.”
Damn Sam. I hate when I’m pissed off and other people are right.
We wound through the corridor toward the sea of tiny beige cubicles that belonged to the not-so-senior agents. Philip Mouton was already pulling up the DMV website.
Ferris grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “One more favor. After you’ve shown Abellard’s photo to Rip, how ’bout running Wiley’s phone records and credit cards? And put a BOLO out on his car.”
The fifteen-minute trip to the Hotel St. Marie would give me a few minutes to check on the terrible twins. I climbed into the passenger seat of the SUV and punched in Nonnie’s number.
“Oh, Miss Allie,” she moaned. “When you come home?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Is Kulu.”
“What did she do now?”
“She lay egg in your…lady pads.”
“In my what?”
“In box of lady pads…the ones with wings, on bathroom sink.”
“Eww. Gross.” I stared at my phone, trying to process the visual. “Get that egg thingie out of there.”
“Is her nest!”
“Yeah? Well, they’re my maxi-pads, and I’m not sharing.”
That freeloading feather duster. Let her poop out her eggs somewhere else.
“Stick the egg in a wad of toilet paper,” I suggested. “Shove it into a paper towel. Plop it into crumpled newspaper. Something. Anything.”
The fully-developed visual registered, making me shudder.
“On second thought, throw the box away.”
“But the baby…”
“Unless you’ve been letting boy birdies in the house, there won’t be a baby.”
“Is miracle!” Nonnie gushed.
“Nope. No miracle. No baby,” I sighed. “The egg is unfertilized. Never mind. Just leave the box where it is. When Kulu gets tired of sitting on the egg, we can throw the box away.”
“Feh. Miss Smarty-pants-know-it-all. You so smart, how you pay back taxes? Huh?”
“I’m not worried. I’ll figure it out.”
“Good thing Nonnie worried. We open business. You raise the corpses—for peoples like Lucia.”
“Yeah. ’Cause that turned out so well.”
“You got monies, didn’t you?” She giggled like a school girl. “I even have name: American Corpse Management Executives. ACME.”
“ACME, like in…Wile E. Coyote ACME?”
“I be office manager.”
My temples started to throb. “We’ll talk later.”
“I work your house. At kitchen table. No…how they say…over-the-heads.”
“Sorry, gotta run. Zombies everywhere. Bye now.” I clicked end and stared out the window.
Sweet baby cheeses. I’d just lied to Nonnie. Was it too much to ask for a freaking deadhead when you needed o
ne?
The wrought iron balcony of room 411—Sherrod Wiley’s room at the Hotel St. Marie—overlooked a torchlit tropical courtyard. Interesting choice, I thought. While most guests opted for street-side rooms with a view of The Quarter, Wiley choose a room on the opposite side. Why? Maybe working with the governor’s office had brought him to the city a time or two…or ten. Maybe the twenty-four-hour party in the streets had grown old. Maybe he was simply tired and wanted a good night’s sleep. Or maybe his mission required privacy.
Wiley’s suitcase lay atop the luggage rack beside his bed, its contents still neatly folded and strapped inside. A single change of clothes and a dopp kit. He wasn’t planning on a long stay, which begged the question: what exactly was he doing here? A better question still: what did Sherrod Wiley have that was worth kidnapping, or perhaps, killing for? Sex? No way. The guy was uglier than a mud fence. Money? Not likely. He was a glorified civil servant at best. Power? Too low on the totem pole.
Ding, ding, ding. Little Allie slammed the golden buzzer in my brain. What he had was information.
The point man would know the governor’s schedule. Where he’d be, and when he’d be there. If Toussaint really was going for revenge, that info was worth its weight in gold.
Ferris listened to my theory and awarded it a grudging nod. “That sounds right, but a guy like Wiley could know a lot of things, that would be valuable to all kinds of people. Let’s keep an open mind.”
A quick look in Wiley’s closet found it empty, so I ducked into the bathroom and nosed around. The sink was bone dry. Towels folded. Sanitary wrapper still circled around the toilet lid. Nothing.
Ferris’s phone rang. He listened for a few seconds and then said, “Good job, Mouton.”
I stepped out of the john so Ferris could fill me in, but he was already headed for the door.
Corpse Whisperer Sworn Page 16
