French Quarter Clues

by Eva Pohler

  “This is making me sick to my stomach,” Ellen said, fingering the gris-gris bag she still wore around her neck. “I’m not sure I believe what the priestess said about evil being a matter of perspective. This woman sounds like pure evil.”

  “Maybe she was insane,” Sue said.

  Ellen shook her head, “If she were, wouldn’t people have noticed before 1834? By then, she would have been in her late forties.”

  “People can be good at wearing masks in public,” Sue said.

  “Does it say anything more?” Tanya asked.

  “I haven’t even read the worst of it yet,” Sue said. “Listen to this: ‘Perhaps a morbid curiosity drove Delphine to experiment on her slaves. The day of the fire, they were found in the garret chained to the walls. One wore an iron collar with spikes digging into the flesh of the neck. Another had his sex organs removed and sewn onto the woman chained beside him. A fourth slave was found with her limbs sewn on at odd angles, so that she resembled a crab. A fifth slave had her skin peeled from the flesh in a spiral pattern. A seventh had her intestines removed and tied around her waist. Beside the weakened slaves, who’d been starved in addition to their torment, was a bloody bucket of organ parts. It was unclear to the rescuers that night whether the organs belonged to those still living or to slaves long dead and dumped into the swamp or buried beneath the house.’”

  Sue looked up. “And listen to this: ‘Delphine Lalaurie was also believed to have a monstrous, deformed child, known as the Devil Baby of Bourbon Street, who lived in a small, dark room at the back of the house. The child was given to Delphine by Voodoo Queen Marie Laveau, who wanted to keep the devil child alive to add to her own fearful reputation. Delphine’s motives are less clear. People suspect she found his screams and spasms amusing as she petted him and fed him raw bits of meat.’”

  Ellen clutched her stomach. “How disgusting. I don’t think I can listen to any more.”

  “I’m almost to the end,” Sue said. “‘On the morning of April 10th, neighbors spotted the smoke and rushed over to help. Instead of fleeing, Madame Lalaurie was busy saving her jewels and treasures. When someone asked about the slaves, Delphine urged them to save a valuable painting instead. Soon the fire brigade arrived, and, at the urging of Delphine’s neighbor and cousin, Montreuil, they found the locked garret door. They busted it open only to be sickened by what they discovered. The seven slaves were rescued and taken to the Cabildo Prison, where they were on display for the citizens to view. An outraged mob rushed to the Lalaurie Mansion, and Delphine, along with her children, fled with her driver, a slave named Bastien, to Bayou St. John, where she and her children boarded a boat to Paris. The mob descended upon the driver, Bastien, and beat him to death.’”

  Sue cleared her throat. “‘Delphine is believed to have been accidentally killed by a boar in a hunting accident in 1842, after which her body was secretly returned to New Orleans to St. Louis Cemetery #1.’”

  “But Lionel said she moved to the house on Chartres Street and died later,” Ellen said.

  “There are a lot of discrepancies in the articles I’ve found,” Sue said. “It’s hard to know what to believe.”

  “What a cruel, malicious woman,” Tanya said. “There’s no discrepancy about that.”

  “I’m almost afraid to find and read her diary,” Ellen added.

  “We have no choice,” Sue said.

  Ellen frowned. “I know. But still…”

  “If only we knew where to look,” Tanya muttered.

  “Why don’t we try the Ouija Board?” Sue suggested.

  “Cornelius doesn’t know where the diary is,” Tanya said. “He would have told us by now.”

  Sue wagged a finger. “But Marie Laveau does.”

  “She obviously doesn’t,” Ellen pointed out.

  “Maybe we misunderstood her,” Sue said. “It won’t hurt to ask. What do we have to lose?”

  Ellen sighed. As much as she wanted to help Tanya and Cornelius, she was terrified of Delphine Lalaurie and Marie Laveau. Yet, Tanya’s life was at stake. “Okay.” She got up from the bed and dug the board out of her suitcase.

  Sue lit a candle and found a half-eaten muffin to sit beside it, since food, light, and warmth attracted ghosts. Then she moved her chair to the foot of Tanya’s bed, where Ellen and Tanya sat yoga-style, on the bedspread with the Ouija Board resting on their knees. With their fingers touching the planchette, Sue began:

  “Oh, spirits of the other realm, we mean you no harm. We are looking for Marie Laveau, the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans. Please help her to find us. Marie Laveau, we call upon your help and guidance. Look for our light and our humble offering.”

  Ellen sighed, doubting that this would work. The Voodoo queen had likely sacrificed two humans and a snake to communicate with them; if an Ouija Board was all it took, she would have spoken to them by now.

  The lights flickered, and the three women smiled.

  “Oh, spirits of the other realm,” Sue repeated. “Is anyone with us today?”

  Ellen felt a chill in the room as the planchette moved to “Yes.”

  “What is your name?” Sue asked.

  The planchette spelled out “P-H-I-L-O-M-E-N-E” before pausing and spelling out “L-E-G-E-N-D-R-E.”

  Ellen glanced with confusion at her friends before asking, “When did you die?”

  The planchette spelled out “1-8-9-7.”

  “Eighteen ninety-seven?” Sue repeated.

  The planchette flew to “Yes.”

  “Did you know Marie Laveau?” Sue asked.

  The planchette circled around and returned to “Yes.”

  One of the bedside lamps went out.

  The planchette spelled, “D-A-U-G-H-T-E-R.”

  Ellen lifted her brows. “Are you Marie Laveau’s daughter?”

  The planchette circled the board and stopped at “Yes.”

  “Do you know where Delphine Lalaurie’s diary is?” Tanya asked.

  The planchette moved to “No.”

  Tanya frowned and whispered, “Great.”

  Then Sue asked, “Can you ask your mother where it is?”

  The planchette moved to “No.”

  “Great,” Tanya whispered again.

  “Can you help us?” Sue asked.

  The planchette spelled “M-A-Y-B-E.”

  Then it spelled, “M-O-T-H-E-R-S” before continuing with “T-I-G-N-O-N.”

  “Mother’s tignon?” Ellen repeated. “What’s a tignon?”

  “Marie Laveau wore a turban,” Sue said.

  The planchette flew to “Yes” before spelling “M-U-S-E-U-M.”

  “Museum?” Tanya said. “Is your mother’s turban in a museum?”

  The planchette flew to “Yes.”

  “Which museum?” Ellen asked.

  The planchette spelled “H-I-S-T-O-R-I-C-V-O-O-D-O-O.”

  “The Historic Voodoo Museum,” Sue repeated. “What do you want us to do with the turban?”

  “S-T-E-A-L.”

  Ellen gasped. “She wants us to steal it? Why?”

  “P-O-W-E-R.”

  “It has power,” Tanya said. “Maybe with the turban, we can communicate with Marie Laveau herself.”

  The planchette flew to “Yes.”

  The flame on the candle went out.

  “How do we use the turban to communicate with your mother?” Sue asked.

  The planchette did not move.

  “Philomene, are you there?” Sue asked.

  Again, the planchette did not move.

  “She’s gone,” Tanya said, pulling her hands form the planchette and sitting back on the bed. “But, at least we got a lead.”

  “I don’t like the idea of stealing,” Ellen said, recalling the guilty feeling that had bothered her for months after taking the last can of cranberry sauce from the grocery store one Christmas eve.

  Sue glanced at Tanya, whose dark circles had returned beneath her eyes. “I’m not sure we have a choice.”

&nbs
p; Chapter Twelve: Louis Lalaurie

  The next morning, Ellen, Sue, and Tanya spent the day outside of the French Quarter shopping for beds, linens, and furniture for the guesthouse. They had agreed that Sue and Ellen would take the bedrooms upstairs, and Tanya, wanting to be close to the bathroom, would sleep on a sleeper-sofa on the main floor. This would also make it easier for Sue and Ellen to keep an eye on Tanya and the effects of Cornelius’s ghost.

  Picking out a pretty shower curtain, soap dispenser, and towel set for the guesthouse bathroom, along with some basic dishes, pans, bakeware, and utensils for the kitchen, took Ellen’s mind off the threat to Tanya’s life. Sue, who had a flare for decorating, found an area rug that tied in perfectly with a set of drapes, linens, and other items they’d picked out together. After a morning of shopping, they celebrated their success at Antoine’s, where they found the lunch menu to be significantly less expensive than the dinner.

  Because they’re appointment with the architect wasn’t until two o’clock, after lunch they decided to stop in at the Historic Voodoo Museum.

  “There’s no way we’re stealing it,” Ellen said as they parked the car a block away.

  “Neither of us wants to do it,” Sue said in an exasperated tone. “But if it will help save Tanya’s life…”

  Tanya averted her eyes and took the lead toward the museum.

  The front room was a tiny giftshop—even smaller than the shop at the Voodoo Spiritual Temple. For seven dollars each, they were permitted to enter the museum, but the narrow hall leading to the back rooms was so small that Sue had to walk sideways, and even then, she brushed against the walls, nearly pulling off posters and photographs along the way.

  “This is ridiculous,” she complained.

  Ellen, also on the chubby side, felt claustrophobic and wished Sue could manage to speed things up. “We’re almost there.”

  But the next room offered little relief for Ellen’s feelings of claustrophobia. The eight-foot-by-eight-foot room was packed full of Voodoo relics, paintings, sculptures, candles, and other cultural artifacts—including a temple to Marie Laveau covered in offerings of dollar bills and coins. However, Ellen saw no sign of the Voodoo queen’s turban among the artifacts.

  The next room was just as small and housed African masks, musical instruments made of wood and leather, dolls in the shapes of crosses, along with paintings, photographs, and newspaper clippings on the wall. One of the photographs was of Priestess Isabel with her late husband. She was smiling jubilantly as she and her husband held a python—presumably Henry—over their shoulders.

  “There it is,” Tanya whispered.

  Tucked away in the corner was a wooden hat rack. Several brightly colored textiles draped from it, and it was crowned with an African head wrap with a label attached to it. The label read Marie Laveau’s, circa 1859.

  There were two other people in the room with them, and at least three others behind them in the other room. There was no telling how many more were around the corner, and whether one might step back in at any moment.

  “What’s the worst thing that could happen to us?” Sue whispered. “We’d be charged a fine. And guess what? We’re millionaires.”

  “We could do jail time,” Tanya said.

  Sue bent her brows at Tanya, as if to say, “You aren’t helping.”

  “What?” Tanya whispered. “We need to be prepared for the worst.”

  “There’s got to be another way,” Ellen whispered back. “This doesn’t feel right.”

  “We’ll bring it back,” Sue said. “We’re not stealing it—just borrowing it.”

  “Never mind,” Tanya said. “I don’t want you to do anything that doesn’t feel right. Just forget it.”

  Tanya left the room before Ellen or Sue could stop her.

  “Now look what you’ve done,” Sue said, before following Tanya out.

  Ellen took a deep breath and glanced around. While the other two patrons were bent over an ancient musical instrument, she lifted the turban from the coat rack and stuffed it into her purse. The label dropped to the floor. In a panic, Ellen bent over and picked it up and stuffed it into her trouser pocket before leaving the museum.

  Her friends were ahead of her at the rental by the time she made it out to the street. Ellen said nothing until Sue had pulled from the curb and had headed toward their meeting with the architect.

  “I got the turban,” Ellen finally said.

  Tanya’s mouth fell open. “You did not.”

  Ellen pulled it from her purse as proof.

  “Well, call me shocked!” Sue cried.

  Tears streamed down Tanya’s cheeks.

  “Don’t cry,” Ellen said. “Everything’s going to be okay. We’ve got your back.”

  “Thank you, Ellen.” Tanya wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I know you didn’t want to do it but thank you for doing it anyway.”

  Ellen took a deep breath and forced back tears.

  “I’m glad it was you and not me, Ellen,” Sue said with a laugh. “I think you’ll fare better in prison. Those inmates would get one look at these babies,” she glanced down at her breasts, “and they’d lose all self-control.”

  “Now who’s having lesbian fantasies?” Tanya teased.

  Ellen laughed. “Just keep your eyes on the road, will you? And get us to the architect’s office in one piece.”

  Michael Rouchell’s office was located on the other side of Highway Ninety outside of the French Quarter. Their real estate agent, Lionel Hurd, had recommended him. The architect’s website and reviews emphasized his commitment to historical preservation and traditional style, which was exactly what they were looking for.

  As soon as he entered the foyer to greet them, Ellen recognized him from HGTV.

  She shook his outstretched hand. “Weren’t you on Property Brothers Take New Orleans?”

  Michael Rouchell, who was about Ellen’s age but slightly taller and well-built, smiled, revealing dimples and perfect teeth. He had a twinkle in his dark brown eyes that mesmerized Ellen.

  “That was me,” he said. “That show brought me a lot of business.”

  “Are the brothers as nice in person as they seem on TV?” Sue asked.

  “Even nicer,” Michael said. “And just as goofy.”

  “Do you keep in touch with them?” Ellen asked, not sure whether she was more fascinated by his connection with celebrities or by his incredible good looks.

  Michael shrugged. “We meet for drinks every time they come into town, but that’s not too often.”

  “I’m impressed,” Sue said with a laugh. “You must be pretty good at what you do to warrant their trust and friendship.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. That means a lot.”

  They followed him to his office. The view of Michael Rouchell from the back was as interesting to Ellen as the one from the front. As soon as the thought had entered her head, she chastised herself. She was a married woman, after all.

  Then she chastised herself for chastising herself. For heaven’s sake. She wasn’t dead.

  Michael offered them each a chair in front of his desk before moving to the other side and taking his seat. “What can I do for you ladies?”

  “We just purchased a Creole-style mansion in the French Quarter on Chartres Street,” Ellen explained. “It was built in 1828.”

  “We’d like to convert the mansion into three condos,” Tanya said. “Do you think you can help us with that?”

  Michael clapped his hands together and smiled. “Boy, can I! That’s just the kind of project I’ve been looking for. Did you bring the house plans with you?”

  “We weren’t given any,” Sue said. “Should we have been?”

  “Only if the house had been renovated in modern times,” Michael explained.

  “I think some updates were made in the fifties,” Ellen said. “But they weren’t significant.”

  “Central heat and air were added in the eighties,” Tanya mentioned.

&nbs
p; “No problem,” he said. “I can come out, take some measurements, and draw up the plans as they are. Then I’ll create some preliminary sketches for the new plans and schedule another meeting with you, so you can look them over. Does that sound good?”

  “What kind of timeline are you thinking?” Sue asked.

  “I can take the measurements as early as tomorrow and have the original plans plus my renovation proposal ready in two weeks.”

  “That’s awesome,” Ellen said. “We’re looking forward to seeing what you come up with.”

  “As far as the exterior goes, I’ll be sure to get everything approved by the VCC before I present my plans to you.”

  “What’s the VCC?” Tanya asked.

  “The Vieux Carré Commission,” Michael explained. “They’re responsible for preserving the historical character of New Orleans. Any changes made to the exterior of a historical building must be approved by them before a building permit can be granted by the city.”

  “I see,” Sue said.

  “That’s a good thing,” Ellen said. “We care about preserving historical character, too, don’t we, girls?”

  “We do,” Tanya agreed. “That’s what we’re all about.”

  Ellen wanted to add “That and ghosts,” but she held her tongue.

  After their meeting with the architect, Sue drove them to the Voodoo Spiritual Temple. Ellen was nervous about seeing the priestess again. She wasn’t sure how they’d be received. Did Isabel blame them for what had happened to her snake, Henry? And had Julie, the quiet woman from behind the counter, been acting independently when she broke into the house on Chartres Street, or had Isabel put her up to it? There would be some awkward conversations in store for Ellen and her friends when they arrived.

  But when they pulled up in front of the shop, they saw a large group of people pouring from the door. From what Ellen could tell from the curb, the inside was also crowded.