by Robin Caroll
“Our contact will check it out and get back to us today if at all possible.” Marcel stood, then looked over Beau’s shoulder.
“Good.” Beau turned the page.
“What’s this?” Marcel asked.
“A peek into the mind of Kevin Muller. This guy was as scummy as Zoey said, as calculating as Sidney said, and just as much of a sexual raider as the women who filed their sexual harassment suits.” Beau shook his head and kept flipping the pages.
“Wow, this guy was a real piece of work.” Marcel lifted the folder from his desk. “Natchitoches reports this was in Muller’s personal effects in his locker at his office. They bagged up everything and sent it over. I’m guessing they didn’t even look through that.”
“I bet not, and I’d say this was probably locked up where only Muller had access until his death. Not something he’d want his wife to see.” Beau turned the page. More numbers. He paused as he read a scribbled part of a poem, the writing nearly indecipherable as if written in the dark:
Storms of life ravage
years pass
She grows older
learning
But still close to the nest
Lest she fall.
The taste of the future sits
on the tip of her tongue—
sweet, yet tangy
inviting, yet scary.
She takes a cautious step
into unknown territory
a place where her certainty is unsure
her confidence
not proven.
Beau’s thoughts on the almost-familiar prose were interrupted by his partner. “I’ve left a message for Nolan to run a search on Muller’s laptop tomorrow. He’ll be in early on Monday.”
Beau turned to another page, then stopped. It wasn’t the norm for the rest of the book. This clipping wasn’t in a pocket or a pouch, but shoved between the pages. It was more than just a clipping—it was an obituary. An obituary of a very beautiful, very young black woman with a smile so mysterious that Beau’s knee-jerk reaction was to gasp.
Marcel moved to look over his shoulder again. He let out a low, soft whistle. “Wow, she’s beautiful.”
Beau could only nod. Even in a photograph, she was mesmerizing. He glanced at her name: Jada Aubois.
“Maybe she’s one who broke his heart.” Marcel moved closer to read the fine print. “Says she died suddenly and unexpectedly. She was only eighteen.” He turned and sat on the edge of Beau’s desk.
Beau continued to read. “Jada was a freshman at Northwestern State University in Natchitoches, majoring in computer programming and technology.”
“What a waste. Beautiful and smart.”
“She is survived by her mother, Esther Aubois and her brother, Geoff, both of New Orleans.” Beau could only stare at that sentence.
“Geoff Aubois?” Marcel stood, almost bouncing.
Beau could only nod. “The chief of security at the Darkwater Inn.”
Nineteen
Dimitri
The St. Louis Cathedral’s bells rang out with an eerie echo in the fog over the Mississippi River. Sunday’s sunrise tickled the January clouds pink, a promise the fog would dissipate soon. The French Quarter still slept as the churches spilled the parishioners from early mass out into the downtown area.
Dimitri rushed to Decatur Street, hoping Elise had waited for him. The famous Café Du Monde wouldn’t be too crowded with locals on a Sunday morning, but tourists packed the place. Naturally, many were in town for Twelfth Night, and many more would come to celebrate the festival season leading up to Mardi Gras.
“Dimitri!” Elise called out, sitting at one of the tables under the green awning, closest to the black wrought iron fence.
He made his way through the crowd and joined her. “I’m sorry to be late. Mass ran a little later than I expected.”
She smiled. “It’s okay, but there’s only one beignet left for you. I ordered you an au lait, but it might be a little cool.” She pushed the cup and saucer toward him.
The Acadians from Nova Scotia had brought both the fried sweet dough concoction as well as the roasted chicory, which lent an almost chocolate flavor to the bitterness of strong coffee. Most people preferred the coffee to be prepared Au Lait—the coffee mixed half and half with steamed milk.
“Thank you.” He reached for the last beignet. The fried dough was still warm enough, and he washed it down with a sip of coffee. He wiped the ample powdered sugar from his fingers.
“How was church?” Elise might only be nineteen, but her eyes told of a knowing beyond her years.
“Nice. You should come with me sometime.” He took another bite.
Elise’s smile widened. “I think I’d like that. I really would.” She ducked her head to take a sip of coffee. “I go with Auntie sometimes. Not as often as she’d like, but enough to keep her complaints to a minimum.”
“Tilda’s a good woman.” Dimitri took a sip of the quickly cooling coffee.
“She is.” Elise waved the waiter over. “Another coffee au lait for me, please.”
“Me as well,” Dimitri nodded.
“Another order of beignets?” the waiter asked.
Dimitri shook his head. “Just the coffees, please.”
The waiter disappeared into the line with the other waiters and waitresses.
“So—you have information?” Dimitri finished the last of the beignet and washed it down with the coffee.
Elise set down her white ceramic mug, keeping her fingertips on the rim. “I’ve made several inquiries regarding your reptile and fowl problem.”
“And?”
“There’s a girl who has cast a spell to cause your father problems. Physical pain, discomfort, and the like.”
His father could be overbearing and cruel at times, but to a girl? “Why?”
Elise shook her head. “The spell isn’t tightly cast.”
“What does that mean?”
“No specific or significant harm was tied into the spell. The best I can figure out is that she wanted to cause him trouble, but not really hurt him.”
“That doesn’t make much sense.” As if Dimitri believed in any of it, but he couldn’t ignore what Adelaide had pointed out. “Why even bother?”
Elise waited to answer until the waiter set down their coffees and rushed to the next table. “For some reason, she wants to cause him discomfort, but not real harm. My best guess is she wants to knock him off balance. Get him off his game, so to speak.”
Dimitri shook his head. “I just don’t understand.”
“Now, in regard to the snake and the gris-gris . . . that was definitely intended for you. It’s a binding hex.”
“A what?” He wasn’t even sure he wanted to know. Despite having been raised in New Orleans and hearing all the whispers about voodoo and everything else, Dimitri had never had it so close to his personal life.
“Don’t freak out, Mr. Pampalon—”
“I told you, call me Dimitri.”
Elise took a sip of coffee before answering. “The binding hex means you absolutely no harm. It looks like its intent is the opposite. From what I can tell, it’s actually to give you the inclination to agree with the girl who cast the spell.”
“Agree with her?”
Elise nodded. “That’s what the ingredients tell me.”
Dimitri had heard enough. “Who is this girl?”
“Her name is Lissette Bastien. Do you know her?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard her name before, but I’m pretty bad with names.” He lifted his mug.
Elise took out her phone, tapped the screen, then turned it to him. “Here’s her photo.”
Dimitri froze, cup midair, as he stared at her.
“You recognize her?” Elise asked.
Dimitri shook his head, unable to process what he saw.
“Then what?”
He set down the mug. “I recognize her eyes. They’re my father’s.”
<
br /> Adelaide
She still had an hour before the lasagna would be ready to come out of the oven. Adelaide relished the thought of a long, hot shower. She’d been up early to assemble the lasagna, then had to finish two reports in the office. Now she could look forward to the day with her dad, taking down the Christmas decorations.
“Addy!”
She turned to see Beau and his partner making their way across the hotel lobby. A sigh escaped before she planted on a smile. The shower would have to wait. “What are you two doing here so early on a Sunday morning?”
“We’re homicide, ma’am. We never sleep.” Beau’s partner’s attempt at a joke wasn’t impressive. Or maybe she was just really tired.
“Are you here to see me?” She had grown more than weary of police, murder, and investigations. Almost as much as voodoo, snakes, and chickens.
“No. We’re actually here to meet Geoff. He said he was on duty this morning?” Detective Taton replied.
She smiled. “Yes. He’s been working longer hours since . . . well, he’ll be here.” But why did they want to talk to him? If it was about something going on in the hotel, she should be made aware. “Did he say where he would meet you?”
Beau shook his head. “He didn’t, now that I think about it.”
“Come on, let me take you to his office.” She led the way down the business hall, past her closed office, past the employee room where the delectable aroma of freshly made coffee seeped out into the hallway, to Geoff’s office. She knocked softly on his door before pushing it open. “Geoff? Detectives Savoie and Taton are here.”
Geoff stood from behind the desk. “Y’all come on in and have a seat.”
Adelaide entered first and waved for Beau and Marcel to sit in the chairs.
Geoff motioned her to take his seat as he sat on the edge of his desk. “I’m assuming this is about the investigation, detectives?”
“It is,” Beau answered. “But it has nothing to do with the hotel.” He stared at Geoff for a long moment, then glanced at Adelaide, before looking back to Geoff.
“Oh.” She jumped to her feet. This had to be a personal interview. But what about?
“Sit.” Geoff placed his hand on her shoulder and gently eased her back into his chair before looking at Beau. “Whatever questions you have for me regarding the case, you can ask in front of Ms. Fountaine.”
Beau and Marcel exchanged looks.
She began to feel more than uncomfortable. Clearly Beau didn’t want to talk to Geoff in front of her. Technically, she was Geoff’s boss, and if they needed to ask him something personal that he might not want his boss to know— “I’ll just go so you can talk.” She started to stand, but Geoff put his hand back on her shoulder.
“Stay. I insist.” He looked at the detectives and crossed his arms over his chest. “Your questions, detectives?”
Beau paused, but Marcel had no problem diving in. “Can you think of any reason why Kevin Muller would have kept your sister’s obituary in his personal journal?”
Adelaide swallowed the gasp and relaxed back in Geoff’s chair.
Geoff’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “I couldn’t tell you why the man kept what he did.”
“Your sister was a freshman at Northwestern State University when she died, correct?” Marcel asked.
Geoff nodded.
“Do you know if she knew Kevin Muller?” Beau asked. “Maybe they were friends?”
“I couldn’t say for sure, Detective. That’s a nice-sized campus. I have no idea who she might have met there.”
Adelaide had never heard that tone from Geoff. Still, she could understand how he might feel, having to relive such a painful part of his past. It’d be only natural for him to be snappish. She could relate. There were certainly parts of her past she didn’t want to discuss.
“Did Kevin Muller attend your sister’s funeral?” Marcel asked.
Geoff shot the younger detective a glare that could melt metal. “He did not.” The roughness to his voice made Adelaide shift in the seat.
“If you don’t mind my saying, your sister was very beautiful,” Beau said.
“Thank you. She was.” Geoff’s voice hitched. “She was beautiful and funny and independent and a remarkable young woman with her whole life before her.”
“I’m so sorry. May I ask what happened?” The gentleness and concern in Beau’s voice drew a smile from Adelaide.
“She committed suicide.” Geoff’s voice was flatter than a soda left open overnight.
Adelaide reached out and took his hand.
He squeezed it back. “She had everything to live for, was so full of life and love. She was the best of us. The hope for the future.”
“I’m very sorry,” Beau said.
“Thank you. It was difficult. Her death undid us all, her family and friends.” Geoff shook his head and he looked at the wall. “Mom mourned herself to death, dying of a heart attack just two years after Jada was gone. She couldn’t bear to go on without her baby.”
Adelaide’s eyes filled with tears and she tightened her grip on Geoff’s hand, hoping to ease his pain just a little.
“I know this is hard, but do you have any idea why your sister . . .” Marcel’s question hung in the air.
“Why she took a whole bottle of sleeping pills?” Geoff shook his head. “She didn’t leave a suicide note.”
“Some kids just can’t cope once they get out of their home and into college,” Marcel said. “It’s a shock to their system.”
Geoff didn’t reply, just stared at the wall.
“Were the sleeping pills prescription or over the counter?” Beau asked.
Adelaide nodded at her friend. That was a good question. Kevin Muller was a pharmaceutical salesman. If he gave the prescription sleeping pills to Jada that she used to commit suicide, that’d be a reason he’d keep the obituary.
Not that Adelaide believed for a moment the man possible of feelings of guilt. But if he’d been trying to cover himself . . .
“They were over the counter.” Geoff destroyed that theory. “The autopsy found no other drugs in her system at the time of her death.”
“So you can think of no reason Kevin Muller would have kept your sister’s obituary after all these years?” Beau asked.
“I couldn’t say, Detective.”
Beau closed his notebook and slipped it into his jacket pocket.
“Don’t you think it somewhat coincidental that a man who kept your sister’s obituary from some six years ago is murdered in the hotel where you work?” Marcel asked.
“I couldn’t say, Detective, being as I just learned he had the obituary. However, since I didn’t know the man, I can’t tell you why he had the obituary. He didn’t come to Jada’s funeral, nor to the house after. He sent no flowers or card that I’m aware of, so I can’t speculate what the man’s motivations were.” Geoff eased his hand from Adelaide’s and stood. “If there’s nothing else, I have some things to attend to.”
Both Beau and Marcel were on their feet.
“Of course.” Beau reached out and shook Geoff’s hand. “Again, I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
Adelaide stood, touched Geoff’s arm, then moved around the desk. “Go ahead and do what you need to do, Geoff. I’ll see the detectives out.”
As soon as they had cleared the hallway, she confronted Beau. “That was a little pushy, don’t you think?”
“It’s our job, Addy.” Beau’s eyes pleaded with her to drop the matter.
She couldn’t. “It’s your job now to be insensitive to someone who obviously is still emotionally raw over the loss of his sister?”
“Ms. Fountaine, this is a homicide investigation.” Marcel drew up to his full height, as if that would intimidate her.
It didn’t. “Marcel, I know you’re trying to do your job, but there’s such a thing as tact and sensitivity. You’d do well to mature a little and learn both because they’re sorely missing in y
our repertoire.”
She turned back to Beau. “I know you have a job to do, but the manner in which you do it is entirely up to you. You should choose wisely.” Adelaide waved toward the front doors of the hotel. “I think you both know the way out from here.”
“Addy—”
She held up a hand. “Just go on, Beau. I’ll pass along your regrets for not joining us to Dad.” Not wanting further discussion, she turned and headed to the elevators.
It might be best for her to have that hot shower right now.
Twenty
Dimitri
This was where Lissette Bastien lived?
Dimitri knew Saint Roch Avenue wasn’t exactly the nicest neighborhood in New Orleans, but he hadn’t expected it to be this bad.
Saint Roch’s Shrine and Cemetery gave the neighborhood its name. The history was quite interesting, at least to Dimitri. Back in 1867, a yellow fever epidemic broke out. A German priest, Peter Leonard Thevis, came to New Orleans and turned to the patron of good health, St. Roch.
History went that the good priest promised that if no one in the parish died from the epidemic, he would build a chapel in honor of Saint Roch. Interestingly enough, not one person from the Holy Trinity parish died from the fever in either the epidemic of 1867 or the one of 1878.
Today, however, the neighborhood wasn’t what it once was. Streets were littered with shotgun style homes set close together, and the St. Roch Tavern stood close enough to the houses to be a problem.
Especially this particular house.
Dimitri got from behind the wheel and made his way to the house. The faint blue color of the porch, said to ward off evil spirits, had faded with years exposed to the Louisiana sun and neglect. The bowed front steps creaked under his weight. Various clumps of dried branches and herbs hung from the porch’s ceiling. Two skulls rested at the base on either side of the front door. A line of crushed white powder that looked an awful lot like salt connected the two skulls.
Dimitri shook his head and lifted his hand to knock.
The door opened with a creak, but only a sliver. Just enough to make out the shadow of a slim girl with long hair wearing a T-shirt with jeans and only socks on her feet.
