Stay Dead (Elise Sandburg series)

by Anne Frasier

  Yeah, she was. “I was younger than that when I put a love spell on a boy.”

  “Did it work?” he asked, humoring her, because Elise knew very well what he thought about such things.

  “Oh, it worked. That’s why I believe in them. That’s how I know you can make someone love you, and how I know mojos can create false emotions.”

  She saw that her words gave him a small blow, and she instantly wished she could take them back. For a split second, she saw that she’d hurt him.

  But in true David fashion, he shrugged it off. He got to his feet and turned to stand in front of her, hands in his pockets. And it was like the depth of field opened up and her world that had shrunk during the phone call now expanded. The sky was a brilliant blue, and the sun was warm on her face. David stood there, smelling of wool and leather, with his hair and his eyes, his calm demeanor, his presence a comfort. This is what she never wanted to lose. This feeling of absolute comfort and trust. She wished she hadn’t brought up the love spell.

  David crouched down. “Tell you what we’re going to do. I’ll go to Atlanta alone. From there, I’ll fly to Virginia.”

  “Virginia?”

  “The execution,” he reminded her.

  She’d forgotten about David’s ex-wife. How awful that she’d forgotten.

  She started to protest, but he held up a hand, stopping her. “Hear me out. Audrey is coming, and you need to be here when she arrives. You need to meet her at the airport.”

  He was right.

  “Stay here. Meet Audrey. Take care of her. Yell at her. Fight with her. Hug her. Love her. Whatever you need to do, do it. I’ll go to Atlanta. I’ll take care of Tremain.”

  His words held an ominous tone.

  “You aren’t going to kill him, are you? I want him dead as much as you do, but, David, please, please, please promise me you won’t do anything stupid. I need to know you aren’t going to kill him.”

  She could see it, read it in his eyes. That’s exactly what he was planning. And if she stayed in Savannah, she wouldn’t be there to stop him.

  “Don’t,” she said.

  “He needs to die,” David whispered. “We both know that.”

  “If you kill him, you’ll go to prison.”

  “That’s okay. I’m okay with that.”

  “I’m not okay with it. Don’t do that to me. Don’t you dare do that to me.”

  He was taken aback for a second time. His brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what she was saying. “I don’t understand.” And then his face cleared as he put it together. “Don’t feel guilty. I want to do this. I have to do it.”

  “It’s not just the guilt,” Elise said. “What will we do if you go to prison?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Me. Audrey.” Didn’t he know? Didn’t he understand? “We need you.”

  He looked surprised all over again.

  “Promise me,” she said. “Promise you won’t kill him.”

  He took her hands in both of his, and he rubbed them, as if trying to warm her up. She hadn’t realized her hands were cold, but they were. He’d known before she’d known. “Okay,” he said quietly. “I won’t kill him. I won’t kill Tremain.”

  She let out her breath in relief. But the relief was short-lived. Her phone rang. She pulled her hands from David’s and reached into her pocket.

  The call was from Medical Examiner John Casper. “Hey, Elise. Don’t know if you heard about this, but we got a body in here you and David might want to take a look at.”

  She glanced at David, who’d gotten to his feet.

  “White male, early twenties, I’d say.”

  “And?”

  “I’m not even sure,” Casper said. “You just need to come and take a look.”

  She disconnected, shared the call information with David, then stood up. “I’ll head to the morgue, and you head to Atlanta.”

  He nodded. “Call me if you discover anything new.”

  “You too.”

  “And, Elise?”

  She paused and turned back to him.

  “Don’t be too hard on Audrey. She loves you.”

  He was right. And the fact that her daughter was coming home because she was worried about her mother . . . how could Elise get mad at her for that? “She was safe over there,” Elise said. “At least safer than here.”

  “We’ll get Tremain. She’ll be safe again. You’ll both be safe again.”

  Elise’s phone signaled another call. It was Strata Luna.

  “Come by my place,” she said. “I have something for you.” With that cryptic message, she disconnected.

  CHAPTER 35

  Elise leaned out the car window and pushed the “Call” button. A quick “It’s me,” and the black iron gate that marked the boundary of Strata Luna’s mansion swung open, then closed behind her. Elise parked, and, like before, Javier met her at the front door.

  “She’s in the garden,” he said. “I’ll show you the way.”

  Ceiling fans silently stirred the air and their footsteps echoed across Spanish tile as they passed a massive oil painting of Strata Luna hanging on a red wall. Elise had never been in this part of the mansion, and as she followed Javier in his crisp black pants and even crisper white cotton shirt, she tried not to gawk. Then they were back outside moving down a curved passageway that opened up to fountains and massive live oaks.

  “Take the path,” Javier said, pointing. “You’ll find her.”

  Elise thanked him. Then, with the help of her cane, she ducked under branches and curtains of moss that blocked the sun. The path finally opened up, and there was Strata Luna in her signature black garb waiting on a cement bench.

  She smiled at Elise, but there was strain in her eyes. “I’m sorry to be so mysterious, but a person just doesn’t know today. We live in a time where it seems a record is left of everything, and even the walls have eyes and ears.”

  “You said—”

  Strata Luna put a finger to her lips. Shhh. “Come with me, darlin’ girl.” She took Elise’s arm and linked it in hers. Side by side, they walked down the path. After stones gave way to dirt, they continued until they reached a narrow river where a small boat was tied to the trunk of a tree.

  “Do you know how to row?” Strata Luna asked.

  “You don’t grow up in the Lowcountry without holding an oar or two,” Elise said.

  Strata Luna laughed, untied the boat, and tossed the rope aside. Then she stepped in and took the far seat, her weight lifting the bow from land. “Hurry,” she told Elise, as the skiff began to drift while Strata Luna picked up one of two sets of oars.

  Leaving her cane on the bank, Elise stepped into the boat, sat down facing the Gullah woman, grabbed an oar, and pushed off.

  “It’s so quiet out here,” Strata Luna said minutes later.

  The rowing movement stirred up pain, especially to her ribs, and Elise was forced to take it easy. Not that it really mattered, since Strata Luna seemed to know what she was doing. With each sweep of the woman’s oars, the boat shot forward until the water opened into a large lagoon, swamp trees with thick, tangled roots reaching deep into black water.

  Strata Luna stopped rowing and rested her oars inside the small craft. “You look tired, sweetie,” she said.

  “I am. And as lovely as this is, I’m really not feeling up to a boat ride. I was on my way to the morgue when you called.”

  “This won’t take long.”

  Strata Luna’s hand vanished into a fold in her skirt, then reappeared holding three small drawstring bags made of blue velvet. She gave the bags a light toss so they landed at Elise’s feet.

  “If you wonder why I brought you out here . . . I don’t trust Javier. If offered enough money, the boy would turn on me. And no one must ever know where you got these. If my na
me is associated with this I could be killed. Do you understand? No one must know.”

  Sometimes deals had to be made in order to catch a criminal. This was one of those times. Elise scooped up the bags. “I won’t tell anyone.”

  “They contain ingredients for powerful mojos,” Strata Luna explained. “Mojos that will make a person wealthy, extend a person’s life, and make a person a sexual animal. I can see you don’t think that’s unusual. The difference is that these are said to contain the ground-up brain of a business tycoon, the heart of a one-hundred-year-old man, and the penis of a twenty-year-old.”

  The very body parts taken from the first three victims murdered before Tremain captured her. Elise eased open the drawstring on one of the bags and peered inside. It looked like dirt and ashes and coffee grounds. “And you believe it?”

  “You asked for help.” Strata Luna shrugged. “I did what I could.”

  “I’ll send these to the DNA lab in Atlanta. They’ll at least be able to tell us if there’s anything human in here. And if your suspicions are right, they should be able to match the victims.” She closed the bag, then tucked all three in the pocket of her jacket. “I won’t disclose my source.”

  At the same time, Elise doubted the contents of the bags held anything human. How handy for an unscrupulous conjurer to hear the news of the murders, toss some dirt and ashes into a bag, and sell it as something real.

  “Just rest, my dear,” Strata Luna said, picking up her oars once again. “Lean back and let the sun heal you while Strata Luna takes us home.”

  Elise reached for her set of oars then stopped, leaned back on her elbows, turned her face to the sky, and closed her eyes while Strata Luna rowed.

  Too soon the bow slid up the grass bank and Elise stepped out while the boat was still moving. Strata Luna followed, tying the small craft to the tree. Together the women walked up the slope through a canopy of trees, Elise with her cane, Strata Luna with her rustling gown.

  “Would you like to come inside?” Strata Luna asked. “I could have Javier make us something. He could even give you a massage. He gives the best massages. And he could do more for you, if you have the mind. Take the bedroom upstairs at the end of the hall. I can send him to you.”

  “That’s okay,” Elise said.

  Strata Luna smiled. “I was teasing. I know you wouldn’t do that. I know you think sex is evil.”

  “I do not.”

  “Then why were you so upset about the mojo I made for David? He told me you found it and tore it up.”

  “I just don’t want a relationship that isn’t real.”

  “Oh, my dear. You should know a mojo can’t make a person do what she doesn’t want to do. Deep in your heart, you wanted him to lie down with you. I can see from your face it’s true.”

  “I can’t talk about this now.”

  “Okay, but that man is crazy about you.”

  “He’s not.”

  Strata Luna laughed and shook her head. “You don’t know nothin’ about men.”

  “Do you believe in love?” Elise asked. She was curious, because Strata Luna always surrounded herself with men who weren’t her equal, and men she could easily walk away from. Toys. Beautiful toys.

  The Gullah woman got a far-off look in her eyes. “I don’t know about love. The closest I ever came to experiencing love was with Jackson Sweet. Did I love him? I don’t know. But sometimes, when I remember him, when I think of him, I get a pain deep inside.”

  Her nostalgic words made Elise wonder anew about the man who’d shown up at the plantation. Strata Luna was talking as if Jackson Sweet were a part of her past, dead and gone. Or, if the mystery man was Jackson Sweet, then maybe Strata Luna had closed that door when he ran off years ago. Maybe he was as good as dead to her.

  After leaving Strata Luna’s, Elise swung by the police station with the mojo bags, leaving them in the care of Avery and Mason with instructions that they be hand-delivered to the DNA lab in Atlanta even though it would take over three hours to get there. “Ask them to rush it.”

  Then, finally, she was heading for the morgue on the outskirts of town. As she pulled into the parking lot, her phone went off again. Not David, not Strata Luna. A picture of Audrey filled the screen, and Elise hit the “Answer” button. They both started talking at the same time. Questions. Explanations. Excuses.

  Finally the number-one reason behind Audrey’s call: “I missed my flight, and I’m stuck in London,” she said. “I’ll text you the new flight information.”

  “Audrey, you’re fifteen.” Talk about stating the obvious.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I needed to come home. I knew you wouldn’t let me, so I decided to do it myself.”

  Elise didn’t want to argue with her over the phone. “Be careful.”

  “I’ll be okay. I’m just going to sleep at the airport. My flight leaves early in the morning London time, then I have to switch planes in New York before heading to Savannah.”

  Fifteen. Alone in London. “Don’t leave the airport, do you hear me?” Elise said.

  “I won’t. Mom?”

  “What?”

  “Are you mad?”

  “Let’s don’t talk about this now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Are you picking me up?”

  “Of course.”

  “Is my room done?”

  “No. I have no idea where we’ll stay. Maybe at the plantation, but I’ll be at the airport. I’ll even get a pass to come through the TSA checkpoint so I can meet you at the gate.”

  Elise wanted to watch the plane land. She wanted to watch it pull up to the walkway. “I have to go,” Elise said. “Text me when you wake up. Text me when you board. Text me when you land.”

  “Okay. I will.”

  “I love you,” Elise said.

  “Me too.”

  They disconnected, and Elise stared at the picture of Audrey on her cell-phone screen. Then she slipped the phone into her pocket and got out of the car.

  John Casper was waiting for her in the morgue. He seemed a little more wired than usual. Nervous, excited, smiling, and jumpy. He sure did like his dead people.

  “Mara’s out of town,” he said, explaining his lack of girlfriend and assistant. “She went to Texas to pick up the last of her stuff she had in storage.” Then he asked about David.

  The new development was confidential, so Elise simply told him David couldn’t make it. They didn’t want anyone knowing about Tremain since the element of surprise was crucial to catching him.

  “Here’s the deal,” John said. “This body was pulled from the Ogeechee River last night. At first they thought it was a drowning. You know how it is with bodies and water and current and nibbling fish . . . It’s just hard to tell what’s going on. So anyway, it didn’t seem that strange.”

  “Are any organs gone?” She’d normally let him talk and talk until he finally got to the point, but she had too much in her head to wait. And she was having trouble concentrating.

  “You okay?” John asked, looking at her a little more closely.

  “A tough day.”

  “You have pain lines. Between your eyes. Headache? Need something? Tylenol? A glass of water? Coffee? I just got this latte machine, and I can make you a latte. Some caffeine might be just what you need.”

  “That’s okay.” She’d forgotten her cane in the car, and her ankle and ribs were killing her. She would take a pain pill when they were done. “The body—does it have anything that leads you to think it might be connected to Atticus Tremain? The more murders we can pin on him the better, and the more likely he’ll be to get a death sentence.”

  “Nothing similar.” They continued down the hall, toward the autopsy suite. “I just thought you and Detective Gould would want to see this.”

  What he meant was that he needed to share his enthusiasm.
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  In the center of the autopsy suite was a metal gurney and a body covered in a sheet. She’d seen the scene a million times.

  “So,” John Casper said. “We get this body, and I come in here today expecting the usual kind of water death. I prepare to start the autopsy and quickly realize this guy didn’t die recently.” He pulled back the sheet to reveal what, at first glance, looked fairly typical of a body that had been submerged for a length of time. Male. Hard to tell the age. Skin that had turned white, tissue sliding from bone, fingers and toes nibbled off by fish.

  “Do we have an ID?”

  “No. I have to get some statistics to your office in hopes that they can pull something together. But like I was saying, the weird thing? This guy has been dead awhile.”

  “What’s awhile? Are you talking weeks? Longer? It could be a Tremain murder. Maybe it happened before his coma.”

  “No, I’m talking a long time ago.”

  Casper liked to drag things out. “How long?”

  “Years.”

  “Care to take a stab at how many?”

  “I can’t really tell from my preliminary and cursory exam.”

  “John, give me an educated guess. I won’t hold you to it.”

  He nodded. “Okay. Keep in mind that we’re talking pre-autopsy . . . but I’m going to say he’s been dead twenty years or so.”

  “How can that be? How can a body last so long in water?”

  “That’s the weird thing. I don’t think he was in the water that long. Maybe forty-eight hours, max.”

  “So are we talking grave robbery?”

  “I don’t think so. Again, I can’t say, but this doesn’t look like an embalmed body to me.”

  “White male. Dead twenty years. No embalming.” She didn’t like where this was going. “Were there any clothes on the body?” she asked.

  “That’s another thing,” Casper said, his voice rising with renewed enthusiasm. “I mean, the clothes could have come from a vintage shop, but they were definitely old. Everything on him was old, and everything on him looked to be from the same time period. The jeans, the belt, the shirt . . .”