Fugue Macabre: Ghost Dance (Fugue Macabre Trilogy Book 1)

by C. J. Parker

  “Oh, lordy.” Bertha lifted her head with a snap. “I almost forgot dinner. You kids sit down. I’ll have it ready in a few minutes.” Bertha stood then seemed to notice Mason for the first time. “Ain’t you new? I don’t remember meeting you before.”

  Tabatha smiled. “Lieutenant Mason, this is my friend Bertha. Bertha, this is Lieutenant Mason.”

  Bertha began to sob again. “Lieutenant, it’s all my fault. I shoun’ta let her go.”

  Mason placed his hand on the black woman’s shoulder. “Now, ma’am. It’s no one’s fault.”

  She brushed away his comment with a wave of her hand.

  Derek leaned against the doorframe, staring out at the backyard. “Did she say where she was going?”

  Bertha reached into her bra and produced an embroidered handkerchief, dabbed her eyes and blew her nose. “She got a phone call from her momma, I think. Was goin’ to take Shane with her, but I wouldn’t hear of it. He was taking his nap, and you know how babies are when you wake them up before they get their nap out.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I do,” Mason said. “I have eight brothers, all younger. Does anyone know her mother’s phone number?”

  Mason and Derek looked to Tabatha. She shook her head. “She didn’t tell me, but I’m sure we can find it in the phonebook.”

  Derek moved away from the door, shutting it behind him. “Lieutenant, there are some things I’d like to show you. Rhonda’s mother left behind journals, tapes and a home movie about the Guardians before she died. I think you’d find them interesting.”

  Mason held up his hand as if asking permission to speak. “I’m a bit confused. You say Rhonda’s mother called, but then in the next breath say her mother died.”

  Tabatha answered. “Rhonda was adopted, but a few months ago she found her birth mother. That’s what we mean when we mention her mother. Her adopted mom she calls Momma.”

  “Confusing, but I think I got it.” Mason nodded once.

  The front door slammed shut. Seconds later, Bobbie walked past them and flopped onto a chair. “Hell.”

  Tabatha hurried to her side, hoping she’d have some information. “Did you find her? Did you find Rhonda?”

  Bobbie shook her head. “Her mom said Rhonda’s boss called. Said if she didn’t come to work today, he was going to fire her. I went to Coffee Joe’s and her boss said it wasn’t him who called.”

  Tabatha’s heart sank to the pit of her stomach. This wasn’t going to end well. “In fact, he’d given Rhonda three weeks vacation time she had coming to her. So the call was a set-up to get her out of the house.”

  Tabatha drew a deep breath and tried to calm her jangled nerves. “Why would she go out alone like that? Why didn’t she ask you to go with her? She knew it was dangerous.”

  “I’d say that’s why she went alone.” Bobbie glanced at Mason and held out her hand. “Hi. Bobbie Luckman.”

  He took her hand in his. “Lieutenant Mason.”

  She nodded. “Did they tell you about Rhonda’s box of evidence?” She glanced toward Derek. “What about the film? Did you get it developed?”

  Derek nodded. “I was just about to show them to the Lieutenant.”

  Bobbie huffed. “Lieutenant, hell. We’re all in this together. There’s none of this show-to-one-person bullshit. Whip them out, big boy. There could be some hint as to where they took Rhonda.”

  Bertha stood, wiping her hands on her apron as she headed for the stove. “Supper’s gonna burn if I don’t get busy. I bet you kids are hungry.”

  “Ma’am, I’m so hungry, I could eat your shoe.” Mason’s stomach grumbled as if on cue. “Now, what about these photos?”

  “I want to ask you a question, first.” Derek stood by the kitchen window and stared out at the back yard again.

  Tabatha came to his side. “What are you looking at out there?”

  “What exactly does Nyssa do around here?” Derek didn’t take his gaze away from the window.

  “Mostly yard work.” Tabatha glanced out the window and saw Nyssa pulling a garbage bag behind her before lifting it into the trunk of her car. “She tends the flower gardens, stuff like that. Why?”

  He glanced down at her. “Does she take away trash or yard debris?”

  “Sometimes. I’m not really sure what she does in that garage.” Tabatha reached up taking bowls out of the cabinet and carried them to the table. “She’s probably cleaning up from trimming bushes or something.”

  Derek turned away from the window. “Lieutenant, do you know John Phelps?”

  Mason frowned. “Yeah, I know him. He’s a big-mouthed entrepreneur that likes to flaunt his money. I’ve heard talk he has political big boys in his pocket, but no one’s been able to prove it. He looks clean, but I’m not so sure. Why?” The scowl on his face deepened. “You think Phelps is involved with Rhonda’s disappearance?”

  Tabatha’s frustration mounted with every wasted moment of talking. “His son and a couple of his friends took a shot at me on Bourbon Street. I’m pretty sure Phelps was behind it, and I’d be willing to bet he has Rhonda.” She waited for a moment for some reaction from Mason, but he offered none, his face remaining expressionless. “He’ll do anything to get her mother’s stash. There’s enough evidence to put a lot of people away for a long time.”

  Mason turned a chair around, straddled it and crossed his arms over the back. “Okay. I want the whole story. I’m getting bits and pieces, here and there. Start again at some semblance of a beginning.”

  “The beginning started a long time ago, Lieutenant.” Tabatha’s patience was growing thin, and she wished someone would do something. Anything. Some kind of real action to find Rhonda. “And right now we don’t have time for me to tell it. Our friend is out there waiting for us to find her.”

  He raised his brow. “What about Missy?”

  Bobbie stepped in front of him, planting her fists on her hips. “Who is Missy? Why should she come first?”

  Tabatha sighed. “The killer took another little girl. She’s dead.”

  “Well, I don’t mean to sound apathetic here, but Missy is dead. Rhonda isn’t.” Bobbie glanced at Tabatha. “Is she?”

  Tabatha lowered her shield but was greeted by silence. No Missy. No Rhonda. Blessed silence. “No. Not yet.”

  “Then the living takes precedence over the dead.” Bobbie returned to her chair and sat. “Now, let’s see those pictures.”

  Each of them gathered around as Derek laid out photographs one next to the other. “Look at the surroundings. See if you recognize anything. Maybe a landmark, or a room you’ve been in before.”

  Bertha tapped one photograph. “That’s old man Finch’s warehouse out on River Road. I think it’s an architecture recovery company now. They go in and save mantles, gates, and such when old homes are torn down.”

  Tabatha picked up the photograph and studied it. “This guy.” She placed her finger on the man’s image. “I’ve seen him before.”

  “Where?” Derek moved to her side.

  She concentrated. A vision flashed inside her mind of the man leaning against a building. It came and went before she could fully grasp it. She tried again. Sounds of tires screaming, gunshots, and yelling filled her head. “He was on the corner that Saturday we were at Frank’s. He saw the shooting.”

  “What shooting?” Mason turned an accusing glare on Derek.

  Derek held his hand in front of Mason in stop-sign fashion. “Can you think of anything else, Tabatha?”

  Tabatha leaned on the table with both hands, chin lowered to her chest. Memories twisted and righted themselves again. Why she hadn’t remembered these things before now, she wasn’t sure. “They tossed the gun from the car’s window. He snatched it up and put it in his waistband then turned the corner and vanished.”

  Derek leaned closer. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?” “I didn’t remember it until now.”

  Mason looked from one to the other, his eyes narrowed. “Will someone fill me in? Wh
at shooting?”

  Bobbie shrugged. “Last Saturday Derek and Tabatha were at Panner’s house. When they were about to leave there was a drive-by shooting. No one was hurt. No one saw anything that could help the cops find who did it.” She turned her attention to Tabatha. “Did I miss anything?”

  Tabatha shook her head. “No, not really.”

  “Detective Bainbridge, did you file a report?” Mason paused, raising his arms in the air before letting them drop. “No, of course you didn’t. Dammit, Bainbridge, one of these days I’m going to fire you.”

  “Not until I solve the Voodoo Killer case, I bet.” Derek’s tone held no disrespect or malice.

  Just the facts, ma’am. That was so Derek. Tabatha smiled.

  “Miss Bertha, do you have any aspirin in this house? And how long before we eat? I’m dying here.” Mason rubbed his head and groaned. “Tabatha, I’m sorry but there isn’t enough here for me to get a search warrant. If they have your friend at that warehouse, I’ve got to tell a judge something besides I have a hunch.”

  “Screw a search warrant.” Bobbie stood so quickly, her chair turned over. “I’m going to get Rhonda out of there. I can get in and look around without anyone seeing me.”

  Bertha handed Mason two aspirin and a glass of water.

  “How do you plan on doing that?” Mason tossed the pills into his mouth and drained the glass.

  Bobbie’s body slowly crumpled toward the floor as if her bones had turned to putty. Tabatha knew instantly what Bobbie was about to do. Her breath lodged in her throat. She locked her gaze on Mason and waited for the fireworks.

  Bobbie’s joints popped and re-shaped. Her skin changed from her usual cinnamon hue to gray-green, her eyes narrowed, her face blended with her neck, her neck into her lengthening body. Clothing fell away, and she slunk toward a slacked-mouthed Mason before pulling her neck into her new body—a snake. Mason jumped from his chair, shaking his head. “No. No. This is wrong. I can’t be seeing this.” He looked toward Derek. “What the hell is going on here, Bainbridge?” He stumbled over the chair, landing on the floor right in front of the snake.

  Bobbie’s tongue lashed out as if to taste him. Mason did a crab crawl away from her.

  Mason’s complexion grayed. “Mother of God. What the hell? Shit!” He drew his gun, but his hand shook so badly the gun slipped from his grasp.

  Tabatha rushed forward to kick the gun away from his grasp. “It’s okay, Lieutenant. I can explain.” He looked at her as if she’d grown horns and spewed fire from her nostrils. She’d seen that look before. What people didn’t understand, they feared. Mason feared her. He probably blamed her for this. As he should.

  His lips turned a frightening shade of blue, and his eyes rolled back into his head. A second later he crumpled to the floor.

  A clatter of chairs scraping the floor and Bertha’s shouts broke the

  stunned silence. Tabatha rushed to Mason’s side taking his wrist between her first two fingers and thumb. His pulse, though fast, was strong and slowing. He’d just fainted.

  Bertha slid her arm under his shoulders. “Oh, lordy. You didn’t give the poor boy a heart attack, did you?”

  Bobbie’s snake form slithered into her clothing. Her body thickened, her tail split and formed legs. Arms coiled from newly shaped shoulders. Bones popped as a human face sprang from the flattened head of the cobra.

  “He’ll be all right.” Tabatha raised Mason’s lids and checked his pupils.

  Derek snorted. “Yeah. Guess we should’ve warned him about Miss Cobra’s bag of tricks. He’ll never let me forget this.”

  Mason groaned and opened his eyes. His face, wild with what Tabatha could only describe as terror. Slowly he began to regain some color. She gently touched his hand and whispered a soothing chant her grandfather had taught her long ago. If she did it right, his memory would blur, and what had happened would seem more like a dream than reality. “Actuality to dream, today to yesterday. Sequence will falter. Time will alter. Relax and breathe. No worries do you have.”

  His breathing slowed, and the muscles in his body relaxed. Mason pulled in a deep breath, released it slowly and drew in another. He glanced around the room, before rubbing his face. “I told you I was hungry. Can’t go without eating all day. I know better.”

  Bertha winked at Tabatha and then patted Mason’s cheek. “Come on, son. You’re gonna lie down while I fill a big bowl with gumbo for you. You’re gonna eat every bite. You hear me?” She glanced at Bobbie and shook her head. “Little girl, you do that in my kitchen again, I’ll take a broom to you.”

  Mason helped them lift him from the floor. “What were we talking about? Oh. Oh, yes. Rhonda. We were going to find your missing friend.” He froze for a long moment, and if it were possible, his face paled even more, before his eyes shot to Bobbie.

  She smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “Look, Dude, I’m sorry I scared the shit out of you, but this is kind of an emergency. Talk just didn’t seem the right way to explain how I could accomplish getting in and out of the warehouse without being caught.”

  Tabatha looked at Bobbie and shook her head. “Drop it. Let’s get something in his stomach.”

  He gave his head a severe shake. “Yes, that’s right. It’s lack of food. Blood sugar’s too low.”

  Bobbie’s eyebrows rose sharply. “Shall I show you again?”

  Mason’s hands flew out in front of him. “No. No, I’ve had enough for one night.”

  Tabatha stepped between them. “That’s enough, Bobbie.”

  She shrugged. “Worked didn’t it?”

  “Take him into the living room, Derek.” Tabatha rubbed her finger over her eyebrow. “He’s better sitting up than lying down. Bertha, bring the gumbo with you.”

  Derek guided Mason through the hallway to the living room. Tabatha and Bobbie followed closely behind, Bertha brought up the rear with a large mixing bowl filled to the rim.

  Tabatha chuckled. “I hope you don’t expect him to eat all of that.” “He’s gonna eat all I can get down his gullet. Son, you scared the wits out of me, fainting like that.”

  “Ma’am, I did tell you I was hungry.”

  “My girls tell me they’re hungry, but they don’t make a point of it by keeling over.”

  Tabatha placed a TV table in front of him and gestured for Bobbie to follow her out of the room. As they returned to the kitchen she glanced back to make sure Derek wasn’t following them. She didn’t want him hearing what she had in mind.

  “Now’s our chance. Let’s go find Rhonda.” Tabatha grabbed her Lenin jacket and car keys from a hook by the door, and they slipped out into the night. “Hope you don’t mind being seen in my car. I haven’t had a chance to get it repainted since someone used it as a notepad.”

  Bertha stood in the doorway and tossed Tabatha the keys to her junk-heap. “Take mine. I’ll keep them busy. Now, hurry.” She rushed back into the house.

  “Maybe we should push it to the street first. Derek will hear the engine if we don’t.” Tabatha hoped they could push the heavier older model car. Tabatha slid into the car and maneuvered it into neutral. She glanced to Bobbie who leaned in the passenger side window. “Ready?”

  Bobbie nodded.

  Tabatha stepped out and grasped the steering wheel. “Once we get it moving, jump in. The drive slants enough that we’ll keep going once we get it rolling.”

  Tabatha took a deep breath and pushed. The Oldsmobile was slow to move at first, but once they cleared the flat section of the drive the car steadily increased in speed. Tabatha jumped in and glanced toward the windows of the living room. No one looked out at them.

  Bobbie jumped in beside her.

  Tabatha braked when they reached the end of the drive. Once she saw the street was clear of oncoming traffic, she popped it into park and turned the ignition. The engine roared to life. Once again she looked toward the house expecting Derek to come tearing out of the door for her. She didn’t give him time to do that, but jammed the
car into gear and, as the saying goes, put metal to the floor, or something like that. He was going to be one pissed off cop.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Tabatha drove down St. Charles, turning right on Leak Avenue. A few minutes later, at the Jefferson Parish line, Leak became River Road. The outdated streetlamps did little to light the area and clouds hid the moon’s glow. She’d seen no other cars since turning off St. Charles, giving the area a deserted or abandoned atmosphere. The air hung heavy with scents of the muddy riverbank, oil and creosote from the passing ships, and seafood shells left to rot.

  The River Road scenery had changed little since she was a girl. The levee to her left was all that protected the businesses and middle class homes on the right that lined the narrow road, from the Mississippi River. Her thoughts returned to peaceful days, horseback riding on the hillside while watching ships lumber past. The camaraderie between her and one particular horse had been strong. Strider would neigh as soon as Tabatha stepped from Bertha’s car and took off for the stables. She’d spent many hours sitting on the embankment, telling Strider her dreams with the certainty that he wouldn’t laugh or belittle her. Even in the darkness she could see the stables were gone now. A few new businesses had cropped up along the roadway, in accompaniment to shrimp and vegetable stands. Each structure formed its own shadow in the moonlight, moving, twisting, and forming ghostly shapes.

  “How much farther?” Bobbie’s quiet question drew Tabatha out of her reverie.

  Tabatha rolled her shoulders trying to loosen her tense muscles. She ached. Every nerve in her body stood at attention. Derek was right—this was crazy. What could two women do?

  “Not far. If it hasn’t changed since I was there last, we’ll have to find a place to ditch the car. The building has a large, but open, parking area—nowhere to hide.” She pointed to her right. “There. At least this hasn’t changed.”

  The warehouse loomed before them, a white goliath sitting in a sea of blacktop. A light glowed dimly in one lone window, while the rest of the building slumbered in darkness.

  An uneasy feeling of being watched washed over Tabatha in a frigid bath of fear. Her skin turned to gooseflesh, and cold adrenaline rushed through her veins.