That Old Black Magic Read online

  Piper thought she noticed a tear at the corner of Falkner’s eye. She was touched by the empathy he was showing. Perhaps she had misjudged him. Maybe he was more than a wannabe player and ladies’ man. Suddenly the idea that Falkner might have the sensitivity to explore the origins and meanings of nursery rhymes didn’t seem so outlandish.

  Wuzzy came back to them, holding a glass beer mug in his hand and drying it with a dish towel. “So what’s new, Falkner?” he asked. “Hear anything interesting out on the street?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did hear something,” said Falkner. “I heard the cops think they have a solid lead in Muffuletta Mike’s murder. Apparently they found a single very clear fingerprint in the blood at the sandwich shop.”

  The mug suddenly slipped from Wuzzy’s big hand and crashed onto the floor. He stepped back quickly, trying to avoid the flying glass shards. Falkner put his hands out in front of Piper’s face, shielding her from any wayward fragments.

  “I don’t know what’s the matter with me,” said Wuzzy, his face reddening. “Nerves, I guess. That’s the third glass I’ve broken today.”

  Monday

  March 17

  St. Patrick’s Day

  Chapter 52

  Though the biggest parade had taken place on Saturday in the Garden District, the St. Patrick’s Day festivities carried through to the actual feast day. Why celebrate on just one day when you could stretch the party out over a long weekend?

  It should be easy to blend in with the drunken, green-garbed revelers in the French Quarter tonight.

  The first blood-drenched murder scene had gotten some people talking about a hoodoo connection, and Friday night’s radio show had helped spread the word. But New Orleans wasn’t really buzzing yet about Muffuletta Mike’s death and its link to hoodoo. After tonight that would change. There would be no ignoring the Hoodoo Killer on the loose.

  To make the hoodoo connection, the clues to Damballah, one of the most important loa, had to be there for all to see. A mound of flour crowned with an egg would be a sign of the simple offering to the spirit. White was Damballah’s color, and it would be well represented at the murder scene. But to make absolutely sure there would be no doubt, Damballah’s symbol, the serpent, had to be present. A snake had to be left beside the dead body.

  With no desire to care for the reptile or take the chance that anyone else would see it, the visitor to the pet shop had left the actual purchase of the snake until now. A salesclerk in the pet store pointed the way to the reptile section. Glass tanks were stacked on the back wall, showcasing a wide selection of snakes.

  So many different varieties, their skins in striking colors and patterns, their bodies slithering and coiling! Pythons, boas, king snakes, corn snakes, milk snakes. Striped snakes, spotted snakes, black snakes, orange snakes, green snakes. It was mesmerizing to see their undulating bodies and flicking tongues.

  A salesclerk strolled over. “They’re amazing, aren’t they?” he asked.

  The customer nodded. “Very.”

  “Snakes are such popular pets,” the clerk continued. “They’re easy to care for, they have minimal odor, and they tend to be quite docile. They’re fascinating to learn about, too. I can spend hours watching them.”

  The customer pointed at one of the tanks. Inside, an icy gray snake with white stripes was twisted in the corner. Beady red eyes protruded from the sides of its head.

  “Tell me about that one.”

  “That’s our albino California king snake,” said the salesclerk. “It’s a solitary snake and shouldn’t be housed with others. It usually sleeps during the day. You’ll see it move most during the night or twilight hours.”

  “What does it eat?”

  “It’s a carnivore. Strictly a meat eater. We recommend and sell frozen mice here.”

  The customer browsed the adjoining tanks, looking at the other snakes before coming back to the gray one.

  “We’re running a sale this week,” said the salesclerk. “This snake is twenty dollars less than it usually is.”

  “Okay,” answered the customer. “I’ll take it.”

  The clerk smiled. “Good. Is this your first snake? Or do you already have everything you need?”

  “Tell me what you mean.”

  “Well, you need a terrarium, of course. A water dish, lighting and heating elements, a thermometer. That snake likes to burrow, so I’d recommend some aspen bedding.”

  The customer considered the information before agreeing to the extra purchases. It was better to seem like someone who was serious about maintaining the snake long-term. Not someone who was using it for one night only. If the details about tonight’s murder were reported in the news and the clerk saw or heard about the snake at the crime scene, he might recall the customer who had bought only the snake but nothing with which to sustain it.

  The salesclerk gathered the paraphernalia and the frozen mice, packed it all up, and slid a brochure about proper handling of snakes into one of the bags. The customer paid for everything with cash.

  Chapter 53

  Nettie waited until she saw Miss Ellinore back her car down the driveway. Once the car was out of sight, she emerged from behind the massive azalea bush and let herself into the house. She was putting on her apron when she heard the crunch of footsteps on the pea-gravel path.

  Nettie peeked out of the kitchen window. Miss Ellinore was back and walking up to the door!

  Before Nettie could turn and run down the basement steps to hide, Ellinore entered the room.

  “Oh, Miss Ellinore, you scared me,” said Nettie as she put her hand over her heart. She quickly thought of an explanation for her presence in the house. “I hope you don’t mind if I work today instead of Wednesday. I got a doctor appointment Wednesday. I was gonna leave you a note.”

  “No, I don’t mind, Nettie,” Ellinore said coolly. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Everything fine. I just has a little checkup, that’s all. Did you forget something, Miss Ellinore? Is that why you came back?”

  “No, Nettie. I didn’t forget anything.” Ellinore sighed heavily. “I guess I just wanted to catch you off your guard.”

  Nettie looked uncertainly at her boss. “Why’d you want to do that, Miss Ellinore?”

  “I know what you’ve been doing, Nettie.”

  Casting her eyes to the floor, Nettie felt her heart beat faster. “What you mean, Miss Ellinore?”

  “You know what I mean, Nettie,” said Ellinore. “I’ll admit I’ve known that you’ve been staying in the house, helping me even though you weren’t getting paid for most of your work. I’ve taken advantage of your loyalty and allowed it. I liked having this place kept up the way you do. So I’ve been wrong, too. Wrong and selfish. I’m sorry.”

  Nettie looked up and met Ellinore’s gaze. “That’s all right, Miss Ellinore. I want to be here with you. I want to help you. I feel more at home here than I do at Rhonda’s house. That husband of hers is no good, and he barely puts up with me. I’d rather be here with you.”

  Ellinore shook her head ruefully. “You can’t,” she said. “I can’t have you here anymore. At all.”

  Nettie recoiled as if struck. “I don’t understand,” she stuttered.

  “I can’t have voodoo practiced in my house. I won’t stand for it.”

  “But, Miss Ellinore—”

  “Don’t insult me by denying it, Nettie,” Ellinore said firmly as she crossed her arms over her chest. “We both know very well what you’ve been doing in the cellar.”

  Nettie’s eyes filled with tears. “I promise, ma’am. I won’t ever do it again. Never. I give my word.”

  “No, Nettie. You have to leave.”

  “But, Miss Ellinore, I spent my life helping you and your family.”

  “I know you have, Nettie, but no more. Please, leave this
house now and don’t ever come back.”

  Chapter 54

  We need more green beignets out front,” called Piper as she hurried into the kitchen. “They’re selling like hotcakes.” She paused and smiled. “Literally.”

  Bertrand pointed to a large tray of the square, holeless doughnuts on the worktable. “And I have more frying now, Piper. Don’t worry. We’re used to this.” He reached over and put his hand on her shoulder, holding on a little too long for it to be merely a reassuring gesture.

  Through the morning and into the afternoon, the customers continued to come into the bakery, buying boxes and bags of green alligator bread, leprechaun-hat cookies, shamrock-shaped coffee cakes, Irish soda bread, and hot cross buns. Piper helped out in the front of the store, filling and ringing up orders. She found herself avoiding Bertrand as much as possible.

  At four o’clock Marguerite asked Piper if she would mind carrying some boxes of baked goods for that evening’s fund-raiser over to the Gris-Gris Bar.

  “Of course not,” said Piper. “I’d be glad to.”

  “Great,” said Marguerite. “I appreciate that, Piper. And after you drop those off, you’re finished here for the day. Go upstairs, rest, and get ready for tonight. We’ll see you at the fund-raiser later.”

  Piper didn’t protest. She welcomed the chance to knock off early. The bakery wasn’t a comfortable place for her anymore.

  As she crossed the street to the Gris-Gris Bar, Piper spotted a white van parked out front. The sign on the side announced that the van belonged to a local radio station.

  Carrying the bakery boxes inside and resting them on a table, she scanned the bar. There were only a few customers at the counter, but she noticed other people busily moving around in the rest of the space. A woman was stringing green crepe paper and tiny white lights from the ceiling. One man carried electrical equipment to a spot at the side of the room, while another unwound some cables. A third man, wearing headphones, sat at a table with a microphone and a laptop computer positioned in front of him. Piper thought he looked somewhat familiar, but she was distracted by something else. A blond-haired little boy with a cherubic face lay on his stomach in a playpen in the middle of the floor. He had propped himself on his elbows while holding a dish towel in his hand and rubbing the playpen floor with it.

  “Hiya, handsome,” Piper cooed as she bent down to get closer. “Whatcha doing?”

  “Wub-a-dub. Wub-a-dub.” The child smiled, his blue eyes twinkling from behind the glasses perched on his small nose.

  “You’re cleaning up, huh?” asked Piper. “You’re good at that.”

  She talked to the boy for a while longer. He talked back, but Piper could understand almost nothing of what he said. She noticed that his young body was really too large for the limited playpen space. His feet pushed against the mesh wall, while the top of his head pushed against the opposite one. But the boy seemed unconcerned and comfortable enough, while Piper supposed that his father’s main concern was limiting the child from crawling away and getting hurt.

  Piper knew that she wanted to have kids someday. Friends of hers had already started having babies. It awed her to see how much time infants demanded, how many details had to be attended to. And as they grew, so did the responsibilities. Once the baby started crawling, toddling, and walking, there was no end to the new things that could lead to trouble. Her friends with children hardly ever wanted to go out at night anymore. They were too tired after a day of child care and always cognizant of the fact that there would be more of the same the following day. They wanted to go to bed early because they would be getting up early and starting all over again.

  Now, as she considered the child in the playpen, Piper was acutely aware that her exhausted friends were so fortunate. They had kids who were meeting all the developmental milestones. They were sitting up and walking and talking clearly. Piper didn’t even want to imagine what it would be like to have a child who didn’t, couldn’t, progress as he should.

  “I see you’ve met my son.”

  Piper looked up to see Wuzzy towering above her. She stood to face him, noticing the lines on the bartender’s forehead and around his eyes and mouth. Piper suspected that Wuzzy spent much of his time fretting about his son’s problems, his face set in a worried frown.

  “We’ve been having a nice conversation,” said Piper. “He seems like such a happy little guy.”

  Wuzzy nodded. “Connor is a pretty cheerful kid, thank goodness. So far he doesn’t show much frustration at his limitations.”

  They both looked on as Connor continued to move the towel in a circular motion on the playpen floor.

  “Wub-a-dub. Wub-a-dub.”

  As Piper turned to leave the bar to go home to bathe and dress, she glanced over again at the table covered with microphones and audio equipment. A banner had been attached to the edge: NOLA RADIO 666.

  Wuzzy followed her gaze. “I know,” he said. “Go figure. The Aaron Kane Show is broadcasting live from here tonight. I couldn’t believe it when Aaron came in and told me he wanted to bring attention to Connor and help raise more money for his care.”

  “That was very nice of him,” said Piper.

  “You’re not kidding.” Wuzzy leaned closer to Piper and lowered his voice. “I always thought Kane was sorta pompous and full of himself, if you know what I mean. But I guess he has a kind, altruistic side after all. Just goes to show you never know about people, do you?”

  “No, I guess not,’’ answered Piper. But as she regarded Aaron Kane one more time, she realized why he looked familiar to her. He was the man with the flowered kissing cane who had planted the sloppy smooch on her lips at the parade in the Garden District.

  Chapter 55

  The front door was locked, and the Closed sign was hanging in the bakery window. Marguerite had gone home to shower and change before meeting up with Bertrand at the fund-raiser later. Bertrand was relieved to have some time all alone in the shop. There was a phone conversation he wanted to have while he had a little privacy.

  He made the call but got voice mail.

  “Hello. It is Bertrand. Give me a call. I am afraid we may have a small problem. It is not insurmountable, but I want to talk to you about one of the provisions in the contract. I will be here at the bakery for another hour or so.”

  Bertrand cleaned his work area, wiping down the long, wooden table and placing bowls, measuring cups, spoons, and mixing paddles in the industrial dishwasher. He didn’t want to turn the machine on until just before he left for the fund-raiser. The thing made such a racket.

  There would be a light repast after Muffuletta Mike’s funeral tomorrow morning. Boulangerie Bertrand was supplying pastries, which were already made and packed in boxes tied with twine. Between making those along with the desserts for tonight’s fund-raiser and the St. Patrick’s Day goodies for the regular customers, Bertrand had kept the ovens and mixers running all day.

  As he carried the pastries to the walk-in refrigerator, Bertrand thought he heard a noise. He stopped. Was someone in the corridor? Was someone in the display and sales area?

  Standing still, he strained to hear. He could feel heat rise in his face, adrenaline in response to a perceived threat. But the only sound he heard was footsteps coming from the floor above.

  He calculated where exactly the footsteps were falling in the upstairs apartment and decided that Piper was in the bathroom. His supposition was confirmed when he heard the sound of water beginning to flow through the old iron pipes. Piper was drawing a bath.

  Did he dare?

  Could he use the dumbwaiter and go up? Could he catch a glimpse of her as she bathed, unaware that he was peeking at her from around the corner? The thought of it left him terribly excited. But it was very dangerous. It was one thing to sneak up there and watch Piper in the middle of the night while she slept. It was quite another to venture into the apartment
while she was wide awake.

  He knew he was taking an incredible chance, yet that only made it more thrilling. Bertrand began to breathe faster and more heavily, knowing that if he was going to do it, he should get into the dumbwaiter and start up there now, while the water was still running.

  He kicked off his shoes, ripped away his baker’s jacket, and headed for the corridor. He silently opened the door to the dumbwaiter and began to climb inside. He faced into the dark compartment, his back to the hallway. He didn’t sense the stealthy movement behind him or feel anything until the steel point of the flower nail jammed with deadly force into the side of his neck.

  Chapter 56

  The tub was filling. Piper lifted her foot, stuck her toe over the edge, and tested the water. Not hot enough. She turned the handle and adjusted the temperature upward.

  As she twisted her blond hair into a bun and fastened it to the back of her head, Piper thought she heard a heavy thud come from below. She imagined that a giant bag of flour or sugar could have fallen onto the floor in the bakery kitchen. She paid little attention.

  Sinking gratefully into the soothing bath, she let out a long, deep sigh. She wished she could stay right here. A leisurely soak followed by ordering in some dinner and an evening watching TV would suit her just fine. But she had committed to attending the fund-raiser, and she wanted to support Wuzzy and Connor. She didn’t have to stay late, but she did have to go.

  She leaned her head against the back of the tub and closed her eyes.

  Piper realized she had dozed off. The water in the tub was decidedly cooler, and ridges had developed on the skin of her fingers and toes. She rose from the bath and dried herself off.

  What to wear?