That Old Black Magic (16 page)
Read That Old Black Magic Online
Authors: Mary Jane Clark
T
erri had already left for work, and Vin Donovan was down in his basement man cave preparing to paint the old rocking chair. It seemed like only yesterday that he was looking down first at Robert and then at Piper as they lay in his arms while he rocked them, their little mouths moving up and down as they slept. Now he was going to be a grandfather in a few months.
He'd been surprised when Robert had told him that Zara was interested in using the rocker for their baby. Vin never figured his daughter-in-law to be the sentimental type. Everything had to be the newest and the best for Zara. In Vin's opinion she spent way too muchâmoney the couple should be saving, especially now that they were expecting a baby. As he pried the lid off the can of white paint, Vin hoped perhaps now Zara was changing her priorities.
While he painted the rocker spindles, Vin listened to the reports coming from the small television set perched on his workbench. He looked up when the weather report came on. The map showed it would be in the high seventies in Louisiana today. Lucky Piper. Her trip to New Orleans meant that she was missing cold, dreary days up north.
Vin turned his attention back to the rocker as the newscaster began her report. Another showdown between the president and Congress, more fighting in the Middle East, Wall Street stock prices reaching an all-time high.
“Finally, in New Orleans this morning, police are investigating the murder of well-known pastry chef Bertrand Olivier.”
Vin stopped painting midstroke. He rested the brush on the rim of the paint can and turned his eyes to the television again.
“Olivier, award-winning baker, cookbook author, and owner of Boulangerie Bertrand in the French Quarter, is seen in this clip from an appearance on the Food Network. His body was found on the floor of his bakery last night by his wife.”
Vin's jaw dropped as he watched the video that appeared on the screen now. A vinyl body bag being wheeled out of the bakery on a stretcher. Then a woman with short dark hair was shown exiting the store. She was accompanied by a younger, taller blonde.
Piper!
Vin ran his hand through his white hair as the newscaster wrapped up.
“Details are being withheld pending investigation, but sources say police think Olivier's death may be tied to another Royal Street shopkeeper's gruesome murder last week. They are also looking at a possible voodoo connection to both crimes.”
Vin snapped off the set, ran upstairs to the kitchen, and grabbed the telephone.
P
iper was groggy with fatigue. The nightmare had left her deeply unsettled, unable to fall back into restful sleep. She'd drifted in and out all night. When she heard the muffled sound of her cell phone, at first she couldn't place it. The iPhone rang six times before she remembered she had left it in the pocket of the jeans crumpled on the floor.
The ID screen revealed that it was after nine o'clock and that the call was coming from her parents' house. It was probably her father, since her mother would be at The Icing on the Cupcake by now. For a split second, Piper considered not answering. She had to shower, dress, and meet Marguerite at the church in less than an hour. But she knew that her parents would worry if she didn't answer, especially since she hadn't spoken to them in a few days.
“Hi, Dad.” Piper made an effort to sound cheerful and alert.
She could hear the urgency in her father's voice. “What's going on down there, Piper? Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I'm fine,” she answered. “How are you?”
“Don't how-are-you me,” Vin said sternly. “I saw you on the news this morning. What have you gotten yourself into the middle of now?”
She hadn't counted on the video taken outside the bakery last night making it to the network broadcasts.
Piper recognized the inflection in her Dad's voice. When her father was truly worried about something, his anxiety translated into harsh tones.
“I don't know, Dad. I'm not sure what I'm in the middle of, but believe me, I don't like being here.”
Her voice cracked as she described what she had seen the night before. In a way it was a relief to tell her father. Even though she didn't want to worry him, she also knew he had seen a lot in his career as a New York City cop. He could take it.
“Come home, Piper,” he said when she was finished.
Piper could hear Emmett, their Jack Russell terrier, yapping in the background. She'd love to be there, petting her beloved dog, secure and safe in her parents' house.
“I want to, but I can't come home, Dad, at least not for a few more days. I have to go to the police station today and give a statement, or answer questions, or whatever they want me to do. And there are two cakes to make for a couple who are getting married. With Bertrand gone, I would really be leaving them in the lurch.”
Piper knew as she spoke that her father was going to understand her decision to stay in New Orleans for a while. He was all about cooperating with police investigations. He was also going to approve of his daughter's desire to honor commitments and not let down a bride and groom. But she also knew that her father was going to be plagued with worry until she was back home safe again.
She felt the same way herself.
A
traditional Catholic funeral Mass for Muffuletta Mike was conducted at Our Lady of Guadalupe Church. Wearing a simple black dress and clasping her rosary beads, Ellinore listened to the familiar prayers. As always when she attended a funeral, she was reminded of Ginnie. She could still remember the ripping ache in her heart as she followed her daughter's white casket up the aisle and the years of grief that followed. Even now it hurt to think about it.
Ellinore doubted she would have been able to survive her daughter's death without Nettie. Her steady, loving presence in the house had provided Ellinore with comfort. When Ellinore lay unable to move in her bed, Nettie quietly came in and covered her. When Ellinore could barely eat, Nettie made soothing broths and soups, sometimes sitting on the edge of Ellinore's bed and spooning the nourishment into her mouth. When Ellinore wept, Nettie held her.
It was unbelievable to think that Nettie wasn't going to be with her anymore. But it was another heartache that must be borne. The idea that voodoo had been practiced in her house absolutely repulsed Ellinore. Nettie had defiled her home and destroyed the trust Ellinore had in her.
As Muffuletta Mike's casket was carried out, Ellinore stood with a heavy heart and watched his wife and son walking behind it. The son supported his mother, faces etched with grief. Once they passed, other mourners started streaming from the pews behind them.
Ellinore was touched to see that so many of the Royal Street family had shown up. The haberdasher, the jeweler, the candy-store owner, even the fortune-tellerâall of them were there. Ellinore was impressed as she observed Marguerite Olivier, only the day after her own husband was killed. She was accompanied by a tall, pretty blonde whom Ellinore didn't know.
Her nephew, Falkner, barely nodded to her as he passed. So did the owner of the bar next to her shop. Ellinore suspected that both men might be wishing they were attending
her
funeral today. Having her out of the picture would leave her antique shop wide open for Wuzzy Queen's bar expansion. And Falkner had been livid when she told him he wasn't going to inherit her estate. He demanded to know who was, but Ellinore hadn't told him. There would be time enough for Falkner to resent Sabrina after Ellinore was gone.
Sabrina and Leo stopped when they saw Ellinore and escorted her out of the church. The music from the pipe organ inside was replaced by the slow, somber strains of “The Old Rugged Cross” played by the jazz musicians gathered on the sidewalk. Ellinore watched as pallbearers slid the casket into the back of the black hearse that would carry the body the short distance around the block to the cemetery. Mourners gathered behind the hearse to follow on foot, escorting Muffuletta Mike to his final resting place.
The sound of banjos, horns, and drums filled the air. Ellinore went by the jazz musicians on her way to join the other walkers. As she passed the clarinetist in the porkpie hat, she thought that he looked familiar.
She shivered when she realized who he was. Nettie's brother Cecil was glaring at her over his clarinet.
T
he sign beside the front door of the church proclaimed that confessions were offered a half hour before every Mass. How welcome it would be to lay down this awful burden in the confessional, do penance, and be forgiven. If only it were that simple.
As if telling a priest could actually cleanse the soul and make things right again. Nice in theory for the sinner. Not so comforting for the person sinned against. Shouldn't the victim of the sin have some say about whether the sinner was forgiven?
And wasn't one of the tenets of the sacrament to “go and sin no more”? If the sinner went into the confessional knowing full well that there was another deadly sin planned for the immediate future, God would be aware of that, too. He'd know that the sinner wasn't acting in good faith.
Maybe after the last murder was finished, maybe then it would be worth it to cover all bets and go to confession. But no matter what penance was assigned, it was hard to actually believe that God would ever forgive the bloody atrocities committed in the name of voodoo.
T
he jazz musicians finished playing “The Old Rugged Cross” and began “Just a Closer Walk with Thee” as the mourners marched closer to the cemetery. Piper was amazed at the procession. While she was solemn and worried about the terrible events of the last week, she was also aware that she was witnessing something that few people other than New Orleans residents ever experienced.
“These songs are so moving,” Piper said into Marguerite's ear as they followed the band.
“The funeral dirges help remind us of the ups and downs of life,” said Marguerite, holding a tissue to the corner of her eye. “But wait till later. They'll be playing âWhen the Saints Go Marching In' or âLi'l Liza Jane,' and people will be dancing under decorated umbrellas and waving white handkerchiefs with the idea that life isn't over at death. The jazz funeral celebrates the fact that the person who died is free now to dance on the other side. I'm trying to remember that.”
Piper reached over and patted the woman's shoulder. “I really admire how you're handling this, Marguerite. You're incredibly brave.”
“Not really,” said Marguerite. “I'm just trying to do the best I can. I'm determined to carry on, Piper.”
Reaching the cemetery entrance, the pallbearers pulled the casket from the back of the hearse and rocked the coffin to the beat of the music.
“What are they doing?” asked Piper, incredulous.
“They are making sure Muffuletta Mike has one last dance,” answered Marguerite.
Hoisting the coffin up on their shoulders, the pallbearers passed under the tall iron cross that topped the gate. Piper and Marguerite followed with the rest of the mourners.
As she walked along the path made of sand, gravel, and crushed shells, Piper could see why New Orleans cemeteries were called “Cities of the Dead.” The aboveground monuments and crypts looked like buildings and houses lined up along narrow streets. The taller wall vaults, housing dozens of tombs, were the city's skyscrapers. Walking deeper into the maze of the crammed cemetery, Piper began to feel squeamish and claustrophobic.
Piper stopped. “Marguerite?” she asked. “Would you mind going on without me? I'm going to wait for a bit.”
Marguerite searched Piper's face. “Are you all right, Piper? You're flushed.”
“I'll be fine, really. I just need to take a break. Go ahead. I'll catch up with you.”
“All right. But if you don't show up in a few minutes, I'm coming back to get you.”
The morning sun had risen in the sky and was shining down strongly, attracted by the whiteness of the tombs. Piper cursed herself for failing to wear her wide-brimmed straw hat. She separated herself from the other mourners and looked for a shady place, finding an area where a tall wall vault blocked the burning rays. She welcomed the noticeably cooler air there.
From her sheltered spot, she could still see the people filing along the path on their way to watch Muffuletta Mike's interment. She noticed Aaron Kane at the same time he turned his head and noticed her. Piper groaned inwardly as she saw him break from the group and walk over. The last thing she needed right now was the sloppy smoocher from the St. Patrick's Day parade.
“Don't worry. I have no intention of kissing you,” he said, as if reading her mind.
“That's a relief,” said Piper.
“What's the matter? Aren't you feeling well?” Aaron asked with concern in his voice as he mopped his own brow. “I have a bottle of water with me, if you'd like it. I've been to some funerals here before, and these cemeteries can feel like rotisseries.”
Piper hesitated, not wanting to take anything from the man, but she decided to accept the water. She was overheated and feeling weak. It would be stupid not to take the unopened bottle just because she had an uneasy feeling about the man offering it.
“I fear we got off to a bad start, Piper,” said Aaron as he watched her drink. “I hope I didn't offend you. The kissing cane is one of our St. Patrick's Day traditions.”
Piper took the bottle from her mouth and nodded, softening a little. “No harm done,” she said. She pointed deeper into the cemetery. “How long do you think this will take?”
“Not too long,” said Aaron. “They'll say some prayers and file by the tomb, and that will be it.”
Piper took another swallow and looked around at the nearby vaults. “Each one is marked with one family's name, but they don't look large enough to hold entire families.”
“Ah, that's the ingenious part. One body at a time is deposited in the vault. Then the sun does the rest, beating down on what is essentially a brick-and-concrete oven. Over a year's time, the remains disintegrate to almost nothing.”
“Like cremation,” said Piper.
“Pretty much, except there are no flames and it takes longer. But it's a very efficient system. Before we got here today, the closure tablet was removed from the front of Mike's tomb and the vault inside was cleaned out of what might be left of past coffins. Any human remains in there were bagged, tagged, and put in the lower section of the vault to make room for Mike.”
Piper's imagination wandered, from Muffuletta Mike's body going into a small, dark, hot place to memories of her panicked experience inside the tomb on the movie set to her terrifying paralysis after being poisoned. Suddenly she couldn't catch her breath, everything started to swim around her, and she sank to the ground.
S
omeone was shaking her. She heard her name.
“Piper. Piper!”
Slowly, so slowly, she opened her eyes. The light hurt, and she closed them again. Her hand was being rubbed, and something wet and cool was on her forehead. The voice was gentler this time.
“Piper,
please,
wake up.”
She raised her eyelids and tried to focus. There were dark figures looming over her. The first one she recognized was Falkner. He stood above herâprotectively, she felt.
“There you go,” he said. “You're going to be all right.”
Piper turned her head and saw Marguerite kneeling beside her. She was the one stroking her hand. Piper tried to smile at her, but she couldn't.
“I'm all right,” she whispered. “I don't know what happened.”
“You fainted and were out for a bit,” Marguerite said. “What matters is that you're okay.”
“You shouldn't be worrying about me,” said Piper, her voice growing stronger. “You have enough to worry about already.”
“Never mind that,” said Marguerite. “We're going to get you to a doctor. Do you think you can get up?”
“I think I can,” said Piper. “And really, I don't need a doctor.”
Falkner and Wuzzy helped lift her. She wobbled at first, but after taking a few steps she began to feel steadier on her feet. She noticed Aaron Kane smiling at her encouragingly.
As they got closer to the cemetery gates, the jazz music grew louder.
“When the Saints Go Marching In.”
The former mourners were now dancers, twisting and twirling in the bright sunshine, the living celebrating the eternal life of Muffuletta Mike.
Marguerite and the others stood with her as Falkner tried to hail a cab. Piper noticed that Sabrina and Leo were nearby, talking to an older woman Piper didn't recognize. But she heard the woman speaking loudly over the music.
“All right, come in today, but I won't have you coming in the rest of the week, Sabrina. A bride has too much to do. I'm only going to be open from noon till five this week anyway.”