During the Creole Phase, Marie Laveau was a voodoo queen in New Orleans in the 1830’s. She was a free person of color and became rich selling gris-gris. She participated in the Sunday rituals at Congo Square becoming known as the Queen Marie. She remained the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans for at least 40 years. Her beauty and presence brought a popular face to voodoo.
Her legend is still the face of New Orleans voodoo. Tourists and locals visit Marie’s tomb in St. Louis Cemetery No.1 to leave gifts and ask for her help in their life matters. Marking her tomb with XXX was a visitors’ signature that they came to make a request. And people do that on a daily basis. You present your gift and knock 3 times on the tomb and make your request.
“Okay that gives you something to think about. Nothing in New Orleans is without a legend. Ask any native about Cajun spirits, vampires, and the like. The people of New Orleans are great story tellers. But for now, let’s cook.”
I looked around the room. Eyes were dilated. Excitement was thick. I had the feeling that this wasn’t the first round of stories we’d hear today. Every dish seemed to be steeped in tradition and folklore.
Chef Pierre started with the gumbo group.
“Gumbo,” Chef Pierre began, “is an excellent example of cultural blending of our people groups. This dish melds African, European, and Native American cultures. The word, gumbo, is derived from the Bantu word for okra, nkombo. Okra is a favorite in African and was brought to America by Portuguese traders. File’ (ground sassafras leaves) is a native American dish served over rice. If you want to get a Louisiana resident fired up, just debate which gumbo recipe is the best. However, today we will make a traditional version consisting of okra, file’, Andouille sausage, over rice.”
Our cooking class combined with Louisiana folklore had begun. Chef Pierre gave us the history behind Brennan’s famous Bananas Foster, how pralines came about, and shared some of the ‘new’ ways Asian restauranteurs were using crawfish in their dishes.
Chef Pierre was not only an excellent chef and instructor; he was a story teller par excellence. The group was deep into meal preparation. I mentally congratulated Howard for his selection. We were having a great time even if we weren’t on the same cooking team. Actually I believe our separation added to the fun – a little competition is always great.
I glanced at the clock and wondered if Howard and Tom were at their first stop – Silvestro’s, a family owned restaurant in Metairie. Chef Pierre caught my eye and I went back to my duty of measuring rice for the rice cooker.
Clara squealed and I looked around to see that she was holding a wriggling crawfish.
“I didn’t know we’d have to cook them alive,” she croaked.
The class was in an uproar. Eventually calm was restored. Chef Pierre explained that crawfish, much like their lobster cousins, weren’t edible if you didn’t cook them alive. The more squeamish on the team swapped positions with those of us making less animated dishes. Clara, however, remained on her team and promptly became the sous chef chopping ingredients with frenzy.
Amy and Hattie didn’t seem to face any obstacles with the soup dish and pecan pralines. Hattie served as the foreman of her team, a role which suited her skills. Suzy was ecstatic to discover the secrets behind her favorite banana dessert.
Chef Pierre related that early in the 1950’s Owen Brennan decided to name a dessert after the Metropolitan Crime Commissioner, Richard Foster. They seemed to find themselves with a surplus of bananas, so Owen asked his sister and Chef Paul Blange to make a dessert using them. The dish was the now world famous Bananas Foster originally serves at Brennan’s Vieux Carre Restaurant on Bourbon Street.
“Ooh Chef Pierre,” Suzy crooned. I love knowing all this stuff about the food. Do you do this with all your classes?”
“Yes. I relate the food we prepare with the history behind it,” Chef replied. “Our fondness for pork, corn bread barbecue, deep frying, and Tabasco is all interconnected with the ethnic groups of our culture. Of course the French added beignets, pralines, and stews while the Spanish added jambalaya and barbecued meats. We are quite an eclectic tribe when it comes to cuisine.”
My head was full of facts about New Orleans – its cuisine, its history, and its legends. But I couldn’t get rid of the nagging idea that something was wrong. I couldn’t put my finger on it and there was no need to upset anyone else with my jitters.
~7~
The cooking lessons were followed by tasting of everyone’s creation including a few by Chef Pierre and his team, our chariot driver took us to the French Market for some shopping and ‘girl time.’ We wanted to grab a few souvenirs for our pals at Golden Palms.
“I want to get something special for Miss Meryl and Mr. Tom. And let’s not forget the lovely Elvira and Blanche,” Hattie said with a smirk.
“Glad you’re back Hattie,” I said and patted her knitted pink beanie. “I wondered where you’d been keeping yourself. Is that what Howard’s spell does for you?”
“What do you mean?” Hattie snapped back.
“The good behavior. It’s so not . . . well it’s not YOU.”
Clara and Amy laughed and spewed their spiced cider. “We were wondering when you’d get a rise out of her. We had even placed bets.”
“Oh. It’s Howard. He really wants to get married. I am putting him off big time. I can’t decide if I’m ready for that type of commitment. I’ve been my own woman so long. But on the other hand, Howard is devoted and more than that he’s nuts about me. I can’t figure out why,” Hattie smiled and straightened her hat. “Besides that he’s loaded and generous. Come on girls. We’ve got heavy duty shopping to do.”
Hattie wheeled herself into the Madam Laveaux’s Voodoo Shop.
“Roxy, what about a shrunken head for Elvira?” Clara held up a sample.
“I’d be afraid she’d recognize it as one of her relatives,” I said. Amy and Suzy giggled. They got my meaning.
“Be nice, girls,” Hattie said adding a tsk tsk.
“
How about a nice talisman to ward off evil spirits? Or candles made of something creepy?” I added. Suzy smiled. I turned and noticed that Amy and Clara were at the back of the shop where they struck up a conversation with what I supposed was the owner.
Suzy, Hattie, and I moved closed to listen in to their conversation.
“So this Queen of Voodoo is a big thing around here?” Amy asked.
“Yes. Marie Laveau was very powerful. Her gris gris is the most potent you can obtain,” the shop owner informed us.
“Chef Pierre mentioned that in class. Just what is gris gris?” I asked.
The owner pulled himself up to his full five foot height and began, “Madame Laveau was perhaps the most famous of the ones who make the talisman called gris gris. The talisman is kept for good luck or to ward off evil. Most think they were originally dolls but now they are mostly small cloth bags containing herbs, oils, stones, small bones, hair and nails, pieces of cloth soaked with perspiration and/or other personal items gathered under the directions of a god for the protection of the owner.
“Gris is used for attracting money and love, stopping gossip, protecting the home, or maintaining good health. A gris-gris is ritually made at an altar containing the four elements of earth (salt), air (incense), water and fire (a candle flame). The number of ingredients (placed in the gris-gris) is always one, three, five, seven, nine or thirteen. Ingredients are never an even number or more than thirteen. Stones and colored objects are chosen for their occult and astrological meanings corresponding to the purpose for which the gris-gris is to be used. Legends concerning the famous New Orleans Voodoo Queen Marie Laveau claim her gris-gris contained bits of bone, colored stones, graveyard dust (also called goofer dust), salt, and red pepper.
“So there you have it. That’s why those who practice voodoo value the gris gris so much and if you have one of Marie Laveau’s it is much to be treasured.”
I got the feeling that this man had given this sp
iel many times to his customers. He had it memorized with word tones and all.
“Wow that’s a lot of power. That is if you believe in that sort of stuff?” Suzy said.
“Would a gris gris ward off a vampire?”
The owner laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever been asked that before, but it’s a very good question. When you get the answer let me know.”
Hattie gave us the eye that said, “Let’s move out.”
We purchased a few Mardi Gras necklaces and made our exit. I for one was happy to end the conversation about creepy voodoo practices and vampires.
I glanced at my watch. It was the late afternoon. The plan was to meet up at the Commander’s Palace at 7:00 p.m. We had plenty of time for a little more shopping, back to the hotel for a nap, freshen up, and off to dinner.
Clara had recovered from her bout of crawfish trauma and purchased some pieces of Battenberg lace for her friends at the newspaper. We got a few silly items for the girls at Golden Palms and an assortment of jellies for Miss Merle and Mr. Tom.
“How about it girls? Are you ready to head back to the Hilton for a little refreshment?” Hattie was in rare form. Getting out with just the girls was the tonic she needed.
“I’m in. Shall I call for the limo?” I said.
“Already did,” Hattie answered.
~8~
The phone rang while I was applying the last of my make-up. We had enjoyed some Mojitos at the bar and parted so that Hattie could get a little rest before dinner.
“Hello Hattie. What’s up?”
“Has Tom called you? It’s almost six o’clock and I haven’t heard from Howard. That’s not like him. If he knew they were running late, he would have gotten in touch,” Hattie’s voice throbbed with concern.
“I’m sure everything’s all right. I’ll check with the concierge. Don’t worry,” I said and hoped I sounded convincing. A few moments later after checking with the front desk for messages, I still knew nothing. I didn’t want to alarm the others, but what to do? Stall.
“Amy, please round up Suzy and Clara and go to the hotel bar. I’ve ordered champagne and canapes. I’ll join you as soon as I can and explain.”
“Of course,” Amy answered. “Is everything okay?”
“Don’t know right now but if you do this for me, I’ll find out,” I assured.
Meanwhile my brain was whirling. Where were Tom and Howard? Could they be in trouble? My imagination was out of the ballpark. I have no proof and no reason to panic. Was I having a panic attack? I quickly finished dressing, put on my sapphires, and checked my make- up in the mirror. But actually I was testing my facial expression. I didn’t want to alarm the group or let on what I was really feeling. I put on my best fake smile and went downstairs to the bar.
“Hey. How is everyone? Ready for another meal straight from heaven?” I circled the table and patted Hattie as I took a seat next to hear. The maître d’ had poured the champagne and I made a toast to a wonderful evening. Again my lying expertise was stretched, but it was for a good cause.
Tony and Suzy joined us. His recounting of the day at the World War II Museum was a wonderful diversion. He expounded on the history of the Road to Tokyo and gave us so many quotes that I knew he loved the afternoon on his own.
“Where are the others?” Tony asked after his recitation ended.
“Um . . . there’ve not arrived yet,” I said and avoided Hattie’s line of sight.
Amy and Suzy began asking questions about the museum and kept the conversation going. I nodded to Clara and indicated that she meet me. I excused myself to the ladies’ room in the lobby. After a few minutes time she followed.
“What’s going on?” Clara said. “All of us are about to burst with curiosity.”
“I’m not sure,” I said but as I was leaving the concierge asked me to come by his desk. I did and he handed me this envelope. I haven’t opened it yet. I guess I was afraid of what it might contain.”
I tore the manila envelope and a ring tumbled out. A man’s ring with an onyx stone. It was accompanied by a note with a scrawled message:
TOM AND I ARE being held. REMEMBER THE ALAMO.
instructions forthcoming.
Clara gasped.
I refolded the note carefully. Perhaps there were fingerprints. Was it a hoax? Who knew where we were and how to communicate with us? What did they want? What did kidnappers always want? Money of course, that’s what all kidnappings are about.
Clara reached out for the ring.
“Don’t,” I said. “Maybe there are skin cells or something.”
“Right,” she agreed. “We’ve got to tell Hattie although I ‘m afraid of how she will react.”
“Of course,” I said but in my mind I am asking a lot of questions. Should I show it to Hattie for verification of Howard’s handwriting and if this was the ring we saw earlier? Should we go on with our plans as if nothing was unusual? I think the latter was impossible. If someone was holding Howard then they were also holding Tom? I couldn’t shovel a mouthful of food into my mouth without choking.
Did the fact that Howard was looking into businesses previously frequented by the Italian mafia have anything to do with this? If so, how? What could they possibly gain from holding Howard?
The Thursday Club must unite. As much as I hated to spoil the holiday mood, our men were in peril and it was time to show our colors.
~9~
I returned to our table first. Before I was even seated, Hattie twirled to face me.
“I wasn’t born yesterday, Roxy. What’s up with our menfolk?” she asked.
“Hattie, dear. What makes you think that I know anything more than the rest of you?” I asked and wished that I could see my face to see if I was flushed.
Clara sat down and picked up her champagne flute.
“The jig is up ladies. I saw the little bulge in your pocket, Roxy. And Clara was none to discrete about following you to the ladies’ room. So give. What do you know?”
Clara choked and began a coughing fit, but no one noticed or even gave her a pat on the back.
“Okay. Here’s what I know. . .” and I spilled the whole pitiful story. I showed Hattie the note and the ring. She dabbed her eyes.
“It’s Howard’s,” Hattie confirmed. “I gave it to him.”
“What does the phrase ‘remember the Alamo mean’?” Suzy said.
“I’m not sure. Perhaps it’s a code. Mean anything to you Hattie?” I said.
Hattie shook her head.
“What do we do now?” Amy asked.
“Call in the troops,” I said.
“I already have,” Hattie said. “My nephew, Neal, will be here posthaste. Now let’s change into some comfy clothes and come up with a plan to get back Howard and Tom.”
Never one to pussyfoot around, Hattie meant what she said and wheeled herself to the elevator before we had time to notify the servers that we were leaving. Our entourage boarded the elevator and within a few minutes we had gone to our rooms and changed clothes. Hattie’s room was to be Operation Central.
Neal arrived around midnight. He was greeted with a cadre of women who were in need of direction as they plotted mayhem on the kidnappers. We gave he and Hattie a few minute to catch up and then it was down to business. Tony had clearly seen that there was nothing for him to do so he retired to his hotel room.
Hattie ordered up room service. I took one bite of a chicken salad sandwich and it seemed to stick in my throat. All I could imagine was Tom and Howard in some horrible place, tied up, hungry and thirsty. Maybe they had even been tortured – who knows? But why? That’s what I couldn’t get around why?
Neal spent the bulk of his time with Hattie. He asked questions about Howard’s business ventures, his background, family, and any connection that he might have to the New Orleans area, specifically the Sicilian Mafiosi, the Provenzano or the Matranga families in particular.
“It seems these two families have been feuding for years, sort of a real li
ve Romeo and Juliet scenario with sweethearts, marriages, and other liaisons intermingled in their history. Some other families like the Marcellos aided by Al Capone and Sam Carolla joined in the underworld struggle for power. Meanwhile, prostitution, gambling, drugs, and illegal alcohol made all of the families rich in their particular areas. The families laundered their money through restaurants, bars, and other legal establishments.”
Neal continued, “The story goes that after Robert Kennedy cleaned up organized crime the malefactors either went to jail or were deported. Officially, the mob was stripped of power. But I’m not convinced. I’m afraid that Howard may have stumbled onto something that he shouldn’t have.”
We offered up suggestions and listened to Neal as he put his team into place. Finally around 2 a.m. those of us who weren’t already asleep decided it was time to retreat to our rooms. Hattie sat twisting a handkerchief and staring out the window.
“I will never forgive myself if something happens to Howard,” she repeated.
“Aunt Hattie. I have my best men in place. We’ll get to the bottom of this. Don’t worry,” Neal said in his best consoling voice.
We wanted to believe him but honestly didn’t know what to think. I retreated to our room but Tom’s cologne permeated the air. All I could do was weep into the pillow and pray. Tom got caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Whatever Howard had gotten himself into, he must have been unaware. He was not the kind of man to involve innocent people.
Neal had gotten us out of tight spots before. He spared no one not even his twin when it came to rooting out the truth. We were all going on adrenaline but I think with Neal it’s as natural as red blood cells. If anyone could find Howard, it would be him. I wonder if Hattie had let Neal know that there was a good chance of Howard being his uncle. Probably not. She was pretty cagey when it came to personal details.
Thursday Club Mysteries: All 7 stories Page 29
