Voodoo or Die

by Stephanie Bond

  Gloria bit down on the inside of her cheek as scenarios ran through her head. Was Daniel Guess on the scene so quickly because he happened to have been in Mojo on another assignment?

  Or because he'd come to pick up an envelope of blackmail money?

  Chapter 21

  Gloria made her way back through the crowd to her car, coughing in the hazy, smoke-filled air, feeling as if she'd been run over by a truck. A body in Steve Chasen's burning house? And Zane thought she might have something to do with it?

  Granted, his finding an envelope of cash with her driver's license in the mailbox looked suspicious, but she hadn't murdered anyone. On the other hand, he didn't know her—or rather, he didn't realize that he knew her, so why wouldn't she be a suspect?

  She swung into her car with jerky movements. Getting the cat inside proved to be more challenging. After much wrangling and yowling, she held him on the passenger side seat with one hand and closed her door with the other. Then she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, trying to make sense of things. She'd come to this little town to try to make a new life for herself, and so far, all she'd made for herself was a big, fat mess. The entire town seemed to be steeped in voodoo... and regardless if she believed in it or not, the body count was rising.

  Complaining loudly at being cooped up in her car, the cat scrambled for a foothold, then clawed its way up her sweater and buried its head in the towel draped over her shoulders. It clung to her, trembling, with no apparent inclination to ever let go.

  Utterly defeated, she started her car and drove back to the hair salon wearing the cat as a neck muffler, her mind churning. How was she going to explain the money to Zane without telling him everything?

  Worse, if the blackmailer was responsible for the body in the fire, what might he do to her?

  Then another possibility slid into her head: What if the body in the fire was the blackmailer? And if that was the case, who could have killed him?

  She remembered the strange glances between Marie and Guy, as well as the fact that Brianna had mentioned Guy had withdrawn money in small bills. Had he met with the blackmailer in a rendezvous that had turned deadly?

  The notion sent a lump to her throat. Surely the man wasn't that desperate to keep his sexual orientation a secret. Such as it was—the man apparently was oblivious to the fact that he was a full-blown queen.

  What about Mona? Her file had been empty, but what secrets of hers had Steve been privy to? And there was Ziggy Hines in New Orleans, who, from the photos in his file, was having a clandestine relationship with a much younger—perhaps underage—girl. Was he involved?

  Gloria closed her eyes, conscious of the utter panic that hovered just below the surface of her self-control. How had she landed in the middle of all this craziness? She dragged herself out of the car, still wearing the cat, and slogged back into the hair salon. Jill and Melissa were the only ones there. Both women turned when the bell sounded, and it looked as if Melissa had been crying and Jill had been consoling her.

  The implication hit Gloria like a slap: Melissa had been late to work, snippy, preoccupied.

  Had she set the fire at Steve Chasen's? And if so, why? Revenge?

  Jill straightened and tried to smile. "I see you got the cat."

  Gloria tried to smile back. "I think it got me, actually. Is it too late to do something with my hair?"

  Melissa bolted from her chair and grabbed her coat. "I have to go." She shot past Gloria and ran out the door.

  Jill shrugged apologetically. "Sorry about that."

  "Is something wrong?" Gloria asked carefully.

  "Melissa hasn't been herself lately, and even though she says bad things about Steve Chasen, they spent a lot of time together. I think his death has affected her more than she wants anyone to know. And the fire..."

  "The fire?" Gloria prompted.

  Jill fidgeted. "The fire just stirred it all up again." She waved Gloria closer. "Have a seat and let me take a look at your hair."

  Gloria tried to extricate the cat, but he fought her, scratching her and tearing holes in the sweater she wore over a mock turtleneck. With Jill's help, she lifted the sweater over her head and set the entire cat-and-sweater caboodle in a corner near a floor heater, stroking the cat's fur to calm him. Then she settled into the barber's chair that Jill stood next to. "Are you sure you don't want to adopt a cat?"

  Jill winced. "Sorry—I'm a little superstitious. Why don't you take him?"

  Gloria looked at the black mound hunkering in the corner and sighed. "I guess I have no choice now." As if she needed another complication in her life. At the rueful noise Jill made, Gloria's gaze swung back to the mirror, where the hairdresser held up a dark hank of hair.

  Gloria sighed. "Just do the best you can."

  Jill leaned her back to wash her hair. "We, um, heard over the scanner that there was a body in the fire. Is that true?"

  Gloria nodded.

  "Do they know who it was?"

  "No."

  "Who would have been in Steve Chasen's house?"

  "I don't know—a vagrant, maybe. Or a burglar." Or a blackmailer.

  Jill's expression looked pinched, and Gloria guessed what was going through the woman's head—had her friend set a fire and accidentally killed someone?

  As Jill washed and rewashed her hair, Gloria tried to surrender to the relaxing scalp massage, but her mind continued to agitate like a washing machine, tossing around all the events of the past few days. Amidst the poisoning and the fire and the blackmail, the most unsettling incident of all had been making love with Zane last night and the suspicious way he'd looked at her today.

  The way his steely gaze had sliced through her still cut to her marrow. But he had every right to distrust her. Hadn't she been deceiving him since the minute he had walked into her office and introduced himself?

  "Okay," Jill said, wringing out Gloria's hair and turning her away from the mirror. "Let's see what color of the rainbow we have here." With apprehension wrinkling her brow, she picked up a hairdryer and diffuser and began to gently dry Gloria's hair.

  With the dryer buzzing in her ears, Gloria's mind fast-forwarded to her next meeting with Zane, how she would act, and what she would tell him. Disclosing what she suspected about Melissa's involvement in the fire might distract him from her own dirty deeds... or would it simply make her look spiteful... and more guilty?

  The dryer shut off abruptly, and Jill made a disapproving noise. "The ends are fried, so I'll have to cut off about an inch."

  Gloria nodded absently as the woman went to work with her shears.

  Jill clipped and tucked and patted and sprayed... and sprayed some more. Finally she sighed. "That's about as much as I can do for now—the dye was on for way too long. In a few weeks, when your hair has had time to recover, we might be able to adjust the color."

  Gloria held her breath. "How bad is it?"

  Jill turned Gloria around to face the mirror, and she gasped. Dark violet-hued curls bloomed riotously around her head. "I can't go out in public like this."

  "I think it's kind of cute," Jill said, angling her head. "Why don't you just have fun with it?"

  Gloria laughed, aware that it had come out sounding a bit hysterical. Wasn't this the reason she'd moved to Mojo? To try new things, to loosen up, to have fun? In truth, her hair wasn't completely awful, she thought as she touched the plum-colored curls; in fact, the color was very trendy and played up her fake green eyes. But it guaranteed that she'd get attention anywhere she went, and that went against a lifetime of training.

  She removed the baseball cap from her purse and stuffed as much of her hair under it as she could. "Thanks, Jill. What do I owe you?"

  After settling up with the woman and leaving a generous tip, Gloria sidestepped the purple hair cuttings on the floor, gathered up her cat/sweater bundle, and headed to the car. "It's just a short drive," she promised the cat, then pointed to the other end of the shopping center. "See, just down there."


  The cat looked at her as if she was crazy, and she put a hand to the bridge of her nose. "I am crazy, talking to a cat as if you can understand me." God, she was starting to act like one of those pet-crazed people she mocked.

  But at least the cat didn't freak out this time, settling instead into the passenger seat, even disentangling from the sweater and standing up to rest its paws on the dashboard as she drove across the parking lot.

  Gloria couldn't help but laugh—it was cute.

  And she needed to laugh in light of everything that had happened. She parked in front of her pitiful-looking law office. Diane Davidson's car was already there—the woman was certainly industrious. It was a shame the law practice seemed doomed.

  With a resigned sigh, Gloria pulled out her cell phone and called George. After a series of connections and beeps, she left a message. "George, it's Gloria. There's been another incident, and I'm indirectly involved. I'd like your advice, and"—she swallowed hard—"and I might need your help to get out of this. Call me as soon as you can."

  She disconnected the call and groaned, leaning forward on the steering wheel. Why did life have to be so hard? She should have stayed in New Orleans, where the crowds and the hubbub had allowed her to remain relatively anonymous.

  Anonymous and bored, yes, but anonymous and alive.

  Suddenly, a warm body with a cold nose wormed its way onto her lap. The cat had stopped trembling, but it seemed intent on fitting itself into every hollow of her body. Gloria pursed her mouth and considered the abandoned pet, who was undoubtedly confused and scared and in need of human contact.

  Not so different from a lot of humans, she conceded.

  She picked him up and climbed out of the car, shouldering her purse and retrieving the pink gym bag full of Sheena Linder's contract offers.

  "Let's go in," she said, forgiving herself this one time for conversing with a cat. "I know it doesn't look like much, but you'll be safe inside."

  She juggled everything to open the door to an empty reception area. Her shouted greeting to Diane was lost in the violent eruption of barking as Henry slid into view, with a bead on the feline fire survivor. The cat yowled and clawed its way up her shoulder and cheek in an effort to wrap around her head.

  "Diane!"

  Diane emerged from Gloria's office, her eyes rounded as she lunged for Henry's collar. "Down, Henry! Down!" She dragged him to the bathroom, pushed him inside, and closed the door. Then she came back, her expression contrite, "I'm so sorry, Gloria."

  "I said one day."

  "I know, I'm sorry."

  Flinching with pain, Gloria reached up to peel the cat off her head. She knocked off her hat in the process.

  "What happened to your hair?" Diane asked with a gasp.

  "Long story." Then she sighed. "Why is that dog here?"

  "My friend Jimmy—he's still going through a tough time. He's on a mission to find the man he saw in the woods."

  "This would be the dead man?"

  Diane nodded, wringing her hands. "After today Henry is finished with his medication. I won't have to watch him anymore."

  Gloria closed her eyes briefly but she realized in the scheme of things on her radar, having Henry at the office was merely a blip. "Okay," she said, then nodded to the shaking cat. "Do you happen to have any dog food, and will a cat eat it?"

  Diane smiled and took the cat in her arms. "I'll take care of him. What's his name?"

  Gloria blinked. "I have no idea. Did you hear that Steve Chasen's house burned down this morning?"

  Diane looked up sharply. "No. I heard the sirens, though. What happened?"

  "No one knows, but a body was found in the fire."

  The woman looked stricken, nervous. "Who was it?"

  "No one knows that either." Gloria watched Diane's body language carefully, alert to the extreme apprehension the woman exhibited. Then a comment from one of the women in the hair salon came back to Gloria. "I heard that your house was vandalized again last night," she added.

  Diane looked up, then busied herself with feeding the cat a few treats from a plastic baggie. "That's right."

  "Are you okay?"

  Diane nodded. "They were teenagers. I ran outside and yelled at them. They left and I called the police—not that it'll do any good."

  "I heard that the cemetery was vandalized too."

  "Really? Maybe that'll give the police more incentive to find these kids before..."

  "Before what?"

  Diane's pale eyes suddenly went hard. "Before someone gets hurt."

  At the woman's intensity, Gloria's throat convulsed. "I hope you have a way to protect yourself."

  "I do. Do you?"

  "Pardon me?"

  "Do you have a way to protect yourself?" Diane gestured to Gloria's purse. "Do you carry some kind of weapon?"

  Gloria didn't like the direction and tone the conversation had taken—and she didn't like sharing the fact that she carried a concealed weapon. She tried to sound casual. "I guess I assumed that Mojo was a safe place to live."

  "I used to think the same thing."

  In the awkward silence, Gloria moved toward her office, then remembered Diane had been coming out of it when she'd arrived—strange, since she'd asked Diane to keep her office closed and off-limits if she wasn't there. "Diane, did you need something in my office?"

  The woman straightened, and her expression cleared. "Oh, I forgot to tell you—Goddard's Funeral Chapel called, I left the message on your desk."

  "The memorial service for Steve," Gloria murmured, feeling bad for being suspicious—people in glass houses and all that jazz. "I'll take the cat home and change out of these smoky clothes, then I'll stop at the funeral home on my way back."

  "Take your time," Diane said, comfortable with her role as office administrator. "The only other call you've had is from that reporter."

  Gloria's pulse jumped. "Daniel Guess? What did he want?"

  "He said he needed to talk to you personally, and that he'd call you on your cell phone."

  "He doesn't have my number," she said, even as moisture gathered around her hairline.

  Diane gave her a little smile. "Then you don't have to worry about him calling."

  "Right." Gloria jerked a thumb toward her office. "I'm just going to drop off these contracts."

  "I'll take them in for you," Diane said, reaching for the bag. "You go ahead."

  Gloria hesitated, once again struck by the sense that the woman was trying to get close to her. But whether it was because of everything that had already happened or simply because the woman was invading her personal space, warning flags went up in Gloria's mind. She pulled the bag out of Diane's grasp. "I've got it... thanks."

  She walked into her office and set the bag in one of her visitor chairs. She felt compelled to glance around her office, although nothing seemed amiss.

  "I made coffee," Diane said from the doorway.

  Gloria turned. At Diane's eager-to-please demeanor, Gloria felt a rush of remorse for her earlier misgivings about the woman. "That actually sounds very good. I'll take a cup to go."

  Diane held up a travel mug and smiled. "I thought you might."

  Gloria took the mug gratefully, moving toward the front door. She whistled for the no-name cat, who seemed eager to leave the place where a canine sniffed and scratched at a nearby door. It followed her on foot to the car, collar jingling, and when she opened the door, it sprang up into the passenger seat.

  "You're smart," she said with a frown, then closed the door.

  She did not need a smart cat with humanlike qualities that made her feel less lonely. It was... pathetic.

  When she swung into the driver's seat, she glanced over at the cat, who sat there calmly looking straight ahead.

  "What, no seat belt?" she asked dryly, fastening her own. She caught sight of herself in the hat, which did little to hide her purple curls; she poked her tongue into her cheek and started the car. As crazy as it sounded, not looking like herself actuall
y made it easier to feel as if all the weird things that had happened since she'd entered the city limits of Mojo had happened to someone else—to a purple-haired, sexually aggressive lady who mixed it up with blackmailers.

  Not to Lorey Lawson, ingénue.

  And certainly not to Gloria Dalton, conservative, law-abiding attorney, whose wardrobe colors ran to browns and beiges, and whose life was an exercise in understatement.

  She realized with a start that over the years, the personas she'd adopted had been progressively conservative, that she had covered the spectrum of female attorney archetypes. In her early twenties, she'd been a feisty corporate attorney named Stacy Kinner. In her mid-twenties, she'd been a vigilant government attorney named Benita Lance. There had been a brief stint as an entertainment attorney named Candace Meldon, and then she'd moved into family law as Gloria Dalton.

  She was now the polar opposite of Lorey Lawson, and she wondered whether she had been subconsciously moving farther and farther away from that girl all of these years. No wonder the reappearance of Zane was wreaking havoc with her psyche; half of her strained to morph back into Lorey, and half of her resisted.

  Half of her was exhilarated at the thought of recapturing love, and half of her was scared to death.

  When she arrived at the house, the cat followed her inside with aplomb, as if it was resigned to being relocated into a new home with new smells and new views from new windows. Gloria studied the feline with begrudged respect—she could relate to being unexpectedly displaced.

  "I hope you like eggs," she said, walking into the kitchen. "That's all you'll get in this house... at least until I have time to go to the grocery and buy kibble, or whatever you eat." After scrambling an egg and blowing on it until it was cool, she lowered the saucer to the floor. The cat dove into the fluffy meal but kept looking up at her while he ate, as if he was afraid she might leave.

  "Just don't expect much from me, okay? I don't know how to do this." She set a bowl of water next to the saucer, then made her way toward her bedroom.

  The sight of the strewn living room warmed her cheeks—and other places. All morning her sore muscles and tender erogenous zones had reminded her of the physical satisfaction she'd shared with Zane, but based on the way they had parted this morning, their one-night stand would remain just that.