Keeping his eyes trained on the front door of the bakery, the man still on duty wondered what Piper had been looking for when she’d come outside earlier. Whatever it was, she hadn’t found it. He’d hoped then that she would pack it in for the night.
Here he was, still waiting for a girl he doubted was a threat to anybody. Why hadn’t she come out?
Spotting his replacement walking toward him now, the surveillance officer yelled, “You stay here! I’m going to run around and check the back!”
A car was backing out of the alleyway. The rear lights flashed brighter red as the driver braked before easing out onto the street. The officer hurried to the car window and held up his badge. He recognized the woman behind the wheel. She looked at him warily as she lowered the window.
“Mrs. Olivier,” he said. “Good evening, ma’am.”
“What’s wrong, Officer?” asked Marguerite.
“I don’t mean to worry you, Mrs. Olivier, and I want to offer my deepest sympathies. Your husband made the best beignets in New Orleans, and we both know that’s saying something.”
Under the lamplight the cop noticed that Marguerite seemed to relax.
“Thank you,” said Marguerite. “I hope to have the bakery open again soon. We’ll still make Bertrand’s recipes. Make sure to come in, and I’ll give you some. Good night.”
Marguerite took her foot off the brake, and the car began to move.
“Wait a minute, ma’am,” he said as he looked into the car and spotted the computer on the backseat. “Have you seen Piper Donovan, the girl who’s been working with you? I know she was in the bakery tonight. Do you know where she is now?”
Piper groggily drifted back to consciousness. Slowly she became seized by the overwhelming feeling that something was wrong. Dreadfully wrong.
Then it came to her what that was. Piper kept her eyes shut tight, as if keeping them closed would somehow block out the horror of what was happening. But the cold fright pulsed inexorably through every fiber of her body anyway.
She could hear the motor running, but the car didn’t seem to be moving. Listening closely, she heard muffled conversation.
Someone else was out there!
Summoning all the strength she had left, Piper began screaming and pounding on the roof of the trunk.
Open up the trunk, Mrs. Olivier.”
Marguerite ignored the command and pressed her foot on the accelerator. The car moved forward, quickly gathering speed.
With just seconds to react, the officer made a decision. He pulled out his weapon and began firing, focusing on the rear tires of the car as it sped away down the street. He prayed his aim would be accurate.
The car was moving now, faster and faster. As she lay cramped and in pain, Piper was terrified as she heard the shots being fired. What if a bullet hit the trunk—and hit her as she lay cowering there?
But she was also strangely relieved. No matter what happened, somebody would eventually find her. Even if Marguerite eluded capture right now and took her somewhere to kill her and dispose of her body, Piper’s DNA would still be all over the trunk. Whoever was shooting would have a description of the car and, hopefully, could get the plate number. It would be traced to Marguerite. Sooner or later the police would figure out the rest. Jack would be on their backs every step of the way.
There was comfort in knowing that her parents and Jack, as stricken and heartbroken as they would be if she didn’t make it, would know what had happened to her.
Keeping her eyes shut, Piper prayed.
“Our Father, who art in heaven—”
Her prayer was cut short. She heard a bullet whiz into the trunk at the same moment she experienced the force of impact as the car crashed.
Friday
March 21
Epilogue
A tall, dark-haired man got out of a taxi at the entrance to the Tulane Medical Center. He paid the driver and quickly walked through the soaring, skylighted lobby. He fidgeted impatiently as he waited his turn at the reception desk.
“Piper Donovan, please.”
The receptionist checked the computer and provided the room number.
“Is there a place where I can buy flowers here?” asked Jack as he took the room pass from the receptionist.
She nodded. “There’s a gift shop on the second floor of the Aron Pavilion.”
Jack hurried away, stopping briefly to buy a bouquet of pink tulips before proceeding to Piper’s room. She seemed to be sleeping when he got there. Her face was deathly pale, punctuated by an angry purple bruise on her forehead.
He pulled a chair next to her bed and sat down, reaching out to take her scratched hand in his. Piper’s long, tapering fingers wrapped weakly around his hand. Her green eyes slowly opened, and she looked at him. “Jack,” she whispered.
He leaned over and kissed her gently. “How’s my girl?” he asked.
“My head hurts,” she answered softly. She closed her eyes again.
While Piper slept, Jack went out to the nurses’ station and asked for a report.
“Are you a relative?” asked the nurse.
“I’m her fiancé,” Jack fibbed. He didn’t care that he wasn’t being exactly truthful. He had to know how Piper was, and he hoped his lie would be true someday anyway.
“She has a concussion from a blow on the back of her head,” said the nurse. “Plus, she sustained another hit on her forehead when the car crashed. Fortunately, she doesn’t seem to have broken anything, but she has multiple contusions. We’ll be watching her for a while to make sure she doesn’t have internal injuries.”
While he waited beside Piper’s bed, Jack called her parents, knowing how worried they must be about their daughter. He was the one who had called them the night before and informed them about what had happened. The Donovans immediately announced they would get the next flight down to New Orleans, but Jack had talked them out of that. He was going and would keep them updated on everything.
Keeping his voice low, Jack gave Terri and Vin a report on Piper’s medical status. “Everything will be all right,” he finished. “With a little luck and a lot of rest, she should be fine. Sore, but fine.”
Jack spoke as if he were sure. He had to believe.
Keeping his eyes on Piper the whole time, Jack called his New Orleans FBI contact. Investigators were already searching through the bakery computer. Snake supplies and a sales receipt for an albino California king snake had been found in the trunk of Marguerite Olivier’s car. The fingerprint discovered in the blood at the first murder scene had now been identified as belonging to Marguerite.
“Her prints weren’t in the system till she was booked last night, Jack,” said the field agent.
Piper still slept. A nurse came into the hospital room and checked her pulse.
“How is it?” asked Jack.
“Steady,” answered the nurse. “A bit slow, but nothing alarming.”
Jack got up and stretched. His stomach was grumbling. He hadn’t had anything to eat since the muffin he grabbed as he ran to catch his plane at the airport in New York early that morning.
“Do you think she’ll be all right if I run down to the coffee shop and get something to eat?” he asked the nurse.
The nurse nodded. “Sure. Go ahead.”
As Jack left the room, he bumped into a red-haired young woman and dark-haired man entering. Though the woman was wearing jeans and a blouse, it appeared she was ready for a special occasion. Her hair and makeup looked as if they had been professionally done, and sparkling earrings dangled from her ears. The man wore a navy suit and pale blue tie. They introduced themselves.
“Oh!” said Jack. “You’re the bride and groom!” He reached out, shook their hands, and gave them a quick update on Piper’s condition. “I want to thank you again for calling me back from Piper’s cell phone last night and
letting me know what happened.”
Sabrina shook her head. “I’m glad we could do it,” she said. “Arriving at the bakery to return her cell phone and finding an ambulance and all the police cars there was so incredibly scary. It was a relief to have someone to call and notify.”
The three of them went inside the hospital room and stood at the foot of the bed, watching Piper as she slept.
“Don’t you have a wedding to be at?” asked Jack.
“We’re on our way, but we wanted to check on Piper first,” said Leo. He reached into his pocket, took out the iPhone, and handed it to Jack.
Jack looked at Piper again. “When she wakes up,” he said, “I know she’s going to be worried that she didn’t finish your wedding cake.”
“Tell her that that’s the last thing she needs to be concerned about,” said Sabrina.
Leo agreed. “We have a restaurant, Jack. If I can’t figure out something, I don’t deserve my chef’s hat.”
In the hospital coffee shop, Jack paid for a chicken-salad sandwich, a bag of chips, and a bottle of iced tea. He took the elevator back upstairs and hurried down the hall to Piper’s room. He was just unwrapping his food when two men appeared at the doorway. One carried flowers, the other carried a little boy in his arms. Falkner Duchamps and Wuzzy Queen introduced themselves.
“And this is my son, Connor,” said Wuzzy.
“Well, Piper has certainly made some friends in the short time she’s been down here, hasn’t she?” asked Jack as he patted Connor on the head.
“And who are you?” asked Falkner.
“Jack Lombardi, her boyfriend,” he answered territorially.
Falkner smiled. “Lucky guy.”
“We just wanted to stop by for a minute to make sure Piper was all right,” said Wuzzy.
“And I wanted to apologize to her,” added Falkner. “I came down on her pretty hard last night on the Natchez, and I’m sorry about that now.”
Jack shot Falkner a suspicious look, just as there was movement in the bed. All of them turned to see Piper smiling wanly at them.
“Go ahead, Falkner,” said Jack. “I guess you can tell her yourself.”
For the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, Jack sat next to Piper’s bed. They talked a little about what had happened on Royal Street, but mostly they spoke about what they would do when they got back home. Piper promised she was going to see a therapist and discuss what she’d been through and the feelings she’d been having.
Piper’s parents called several times. And Gabe, her agent, rang to give Piper the positive feedback he’d gotten from the movie people. The casting director wanted to know if Piper would be available for more work sometime in New Orleans. She hesitated a moment before answering.
“Yeah, I mean, for the right role, I’d definitely be willing to come back here. It’s such a great city.” She never even mentioned to Gabe that she was lying in a hospital bed.
The lines crinkled at the corners of Jack’s eyes as he smiled down at her.
The cab dropped Jack off at the hotel on Royal Street. He checked in and dropped his small overnight bag in the room. He was overtired and not ready to sleep.
He decided to take a walk and try to see the places Piper had seen over the past week. He passed by the antique shop and the Gris-Gris Bar. He stopped at Boulangerie Bertrand and peered through the front window. It was dark inside, and he couldn’t see much, but he shuddered to think what had gone on there.
A jewelry store, a hat shop, a gift shop, a fortune-telling place. Jack traveled farther along the old lamplit street, thinking about Piper as he went. He stopped at the corner to listen to a musician wearing a porkpie hat as he played “That Old Black Magic” on his clarinet. Jack threw a five-dollar bill into the guy’s instrument case and then turned to walk back to the hotel.
The hot shower helped to relax him, but Jack still didn’t fall asleep right away. He turned on his side, reached over to the bedside table, and switched on the radio. He listened as a series of callers praised the show’s host.
“Aaron, the police should hire you, man. You were way ahead of the curve. You called it before anyone else.”
“I thought you were crazy, Aaron, when you came up with the hoodoo thing. I thought you were another one of those ego-driven radio hosts, willing to say any outrageous thing just to pump up the ratings. I was wrong.”
“I only started listening to your show when I heard about your Hoodoo Killer theory from a friend of mine. I’m hooked, Aaron, and you’ll have another faithful listener from now on. You can count on it.”
Jack’s phone rang. He turned down the sound on the radio and answered.
“It’s me, Jack.”
“Hey, you. Everything okay?”
“I can’t sleep,” answered Piper.
“Me neither,” said Jack.
“Thanks for coming down here, Jack,” she said softly. “That really means a lot to me.”
“And where else would I be? I love you, Pipe.”
“I love you, too,” Piper whispered. “I can’t wait to see you in the morning.”
Boulangerie Bertrand Beignets
2 teaspoons dried yeast
½ cup warm water
½ cup granulated sugar
½ teaspoon salt
2 eggs, beaten
2 tablespoons butter, melted and cooled
¾ cup evaporated milk
3 cups all-purpose flour (approximately)
Oil for deep frying
Confectioners’ sugar
Makes about three dozen beignets
In a mixing bowl, dissolve the yeast in the warm water. Add the granulated sugar, salt, eggs, butter, and evaporated milk. Mix in enough flour to make a soft but not sticky dough. Knead until smooth and elastic. Leave dough to rise in a warm place until it doubles in bulk.
Punch the dough down and knead again briefly. Roll out to a ¼-inch-thick rectangle. Cut into 3 x 2-inch diamonds. Lay them on a lightly oiled baking sheet, cover, and leave to rise until doubled in height.
Deep-fry in oil heated to 365 degrees Fahrenheit until puffed and golden brown. Drain on paper towels. Serve fresh and warm, sprinkled generously with confectioners’ sugar.
Ooh la la!
Acknowledgments
Magic. Luck. Providence. I’ve come to believe that it’s the last concept which has influenced the course of my life. Providence defined as God’s protective care.
Mostly I’ve seen examples of Providence in the human beings who have crossed my path at critical junctures. People who provided what I needed when I needed it. People who helped me keep going. People who pointed the way.
Providential creatures have also influenced each book I’ve written. I’ve seen them at work again in That Old Black Magic.
Father Paul Holmes was there every step of the journey, providing support throughout the writing process and sharing his many creative talents. Paul stands, loyal and steadfast. If his is not divine care, I don’t know what is.
Elizabeth Higgins Clark, my thespian daughter, provided Piper’s voice and acting realism. From across the continent, Elizabeth cheered me on.
I’m indebted to Daniel Baum for his reportage in Nine Lives: Mystery, Magic, Death, and Life in New Orleans. His vivid and memorable account of inhabitants of the dazzling, tortured, heroic Crescent City made me even more eager to set my own book there.
For firsthand experience with parenthood and cerebral palsy I turned to my cousin, Colleen Lyons. Thank you, Colleen, for being so open and willing to help me.
Joni Evans gave freely of her formidable talent and precious time: reading, commenting, and suggesting. Her generosity astounds me. It was Joni who led me years ago to agent extraordinaire and now good friend Jennifer Rudolph Walsh
. Wow, that was providential!
The team at William Morrow/HarperCollins supplied the necessary provisions. Editor Carrie Feron, pro that she is, offered her savvy ideas to improve the story. Maureen Sugden’s fine and expert copyedits were a delight to review. Sharyn Rosenblum and Abigail Tyson are my hardworking and amazing publicity team. Many thanks also to Kimberly Chocolaad, Nicole Fischer, Lynn Grady, Tavia Kowalchuk, Shawn Nicholls, Virginia Stanley, Liate Stehlik, and the many others, unnamed here, who contributed their talents to usher That Old Black Magic out into the world.
About the Author
MARY JANE CLARK worked at CBS News for nearly three decades. Her twelve KEY News media thrillers were inspired by that experience. Envisioning the Piper Donovan/Wedding Cake mystery series, Mary Jane enrolled in cake-decorating classes and researched unique wedding locations. The daughter of an FBI agent and a mother who customized cakes for the neighborhood kids when she was growing up, Mary Jane has two grown children and splits her time between New Jersey and Florida. She is currently concocting her next novel.
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Also by Mary Jane Clark
Footprints in the Sand
“The Friend: A Short Story”
The Look of Love
“The Bracelet: A Short Story”
To Have and to Kill
Dying for Mercy
It Only Takes a Moment
When Day Breaks
Lights Out Tonight
That Old Black Magic Page 21
