Deja Voodoo

Chapter 2

"Della!" Perry rushed to kneel beside the inert figure of his secretary. He patted her hand, trying to elicit a response, but her eyes remained closed. Gently lifting her in his arms, he motioned for the officer to remove a dusty sheet from a chair, then eased her onto it, mindful of her head. "Della," he whispered as he stroked her pale cheek, "you have to come back to us."

He sat on the arm of the chair, slid his arm behind her neck as added support, then watched her with an intensity that compounded the shadows in his eyes. Burger stood close by, for once in his life unsure what to say or do. His concern for Mignon was temporarily forgotten.

The officer went in search of something that could possibly bring Della back around. A few minutes later he reappeared, a wet rag in hand. Passing it to Perry, he stood beside Burger, watching as the big lawyer mopped her face with the same care a mother might employ to her infant's bathtime.

After a moment, the officer felt Burger's eyes on him. Turning to face him, he saw the confusion in the district attorney's face. "You have a question, Mr. Burger?"

"Where did you . . .?" he nodded toward the rag.

"There's a pump in the kitchen. Took some hard work, but the well must still have water."

Perry laid the cloth across Della's forehead, gently applying a small amount of pressure to her temples. The action elicited a low moan. Despite the circumstances, he smiled. "Della? C'mon girl! Come back."

Her muffled response was to snuggle deeper into his side, cushioning her head more on his shoulder now than on his arm. The unconscious move made Perry gasp and Burger emit a low growl. The officer, just happy to know she was coming around, didn't notice anything amiss.

At first, all she knew was that she was safe. There was a warmth about her, as though she were wrapped in her mother's favorite quilt, but as she tried to snuggle deeper into the warmth, she noticed the fabric was different. And the smell . . . the smell was familiar, but not like the scent she had known since childhood. It was, in fact, the scent that clicked, registering the truth of where she was. She had grown to look forward to that smell every day.

Perry's aftershave. Masculine with a hint of lime. On him, it was delicious.

Ever so slowly, she opened her eyes. It took a moment, but when her vision came into focus, the first thing she saw was a pair of incredibly blue eyes, eyes that widened, then changed to a smoky blue-gray as relief shined in them.

"You have the most spectacular eyes," she said before her mental filter could stop her. She watched in fascination as his mouth curved up playfully and one of his dimples deepened in that mischievous way she always loved.

Forgetting there were spectators, he leaned toward her slightly and said, "You're one to talk, Miss Street." In an effort to control the desire to kiss her, he squeezed the rag, and she squirmed. He grimaced. "Sorry about that. Now that you've returned to the land of the living, we want to know: What made you go into that trance? And more importantly, what made you faint?"

Burger touched her shoulder. She looked up at him, saw the worry in the lines etched on his forehead, and offered a reassuring smile that didn't smooth them at all. "You scared us half to death. Are you alright?"

She nodded. "I am. I feel so silly now! And I'm so sorry to have worried you, Hamilton. You have enough on your mind." He shook his head, but she reached out a hand and clasped his, squeezing it for a moment.

Then she realized exactly where she was. Perry's arms still held her on his lap, and with her moving this way and that to make eye contact with Burger and the officer, it was obvious to her the effect it was having on her boss. A faint pink stole across her cheeks.

"I think I can stand on my own, Perry."

He didn't make a move to stop her, but his eyes were dark and his thoughts were unreadable. Burger offered her a hand as he drew back his arms. She held onto the district attorney until she felt steady on her feet. The police officer was still hovering, ready to step in again if her knees gave out.

Feeling as though she were back to normal, Della's hands landed on her hips as she stood in the semi-circle of men. Their expressions of concern and puzzlement both amused and irritated her.

"Honestly, gentlemen, I'm myself again. I'm not even sure what hap—" she broke off mid-word as the memory returned.

The painting. She turned to face the portrait, moving closer to examine the face of the woman. The oil-and-canvas mirror didn't alter her reflection by even a freckle. It was unnerving. That familiar chill that started at the base of her spine slowly began its climb again.

She choked back her unreasonable alarm and asked in a normal voice that was only partially curious, "Who is she?"

Burger walked over to stand in front of it, then withdrew a handkerchief from his coat and wiped away the dust and grime from a brass plate at the bottom of the portrait.

"According to this, her name is Angelique Bellemère. The year is 1855."

Della joined him, reaching up to trace the brushstrokes on the canvas. She felt a jolt of warmth flow through her body almost as if the painting were alive. She snatched her hand back as though she had been shocked.

What has this woman to do with me? Bellemère is the name of the house, but there's no one in my family tree with that name. And yet . . . Her face!

Perry, noticing that Della was almost in a trance again, gently touched her shoulder. She started, jumping slightly, then laughed at herself.

"Della?"

She shook her head. "Sorry, Chief."

The officer, the only one who hadn't reapproached the painting, cleared his throat. "I don't want to be a wet blanket here, but it's starting to get dark. Without any electricity, we won't be able to see anything in the way of evidence, and we need as much light as possible to get out of the plantation without hitting trees." He didn't add that he had no intention of spending so much as an hour after dark in the spooky, cobwebbed manor. "Time to head back to the station."

Perry took one last look at the portrait, the nodded to Burger. "Ready when you are, Hamilton. Maybe we can find out more about . . ." he indicated the elephant in the room, then added, "And we can learn what Paul and Tragg have come up with on their end."

Burger was a man at war with himself. He still believed the house held more clues as to Mignon's disappearance, but he also knew the value of preserving as much of the potential scene of the kidnapping as possible. And light was fading. After a momentary internal debate, he agreed with a soft grunt and followed them through the doors to the main entrance. He turned, casting one more look around, before he sighed and closed the front door behind him.

The officer secured the house, then settled behind the wheel. After making sure each of his passengers were settled and ready, he slid the car into gear and eased down the driveway in the direction they had come.

Della, still bemused and wondering about the odd coincidence of sharing a countenance with a woman from another century, leaned her head against the pillow of Perry's arm. It seemed natural and normal to snuggle into him, as though his body was especially crafted to provide her with support. Perry's watchful eyes didn't miss a thing. He saw her fear, checked into self-amusement, and he frowned. Della, as a rule, was always calm, cool and collected. But this afternoon, she was downright possessed by an unspoken connection with the woman in the portrait. Burger, to no one's surprise, was aggressively moody. Although temporarily distracted by Della's fainting spell, thoughts of Mignon were never far from his mind. The not-knowing was driving him crazy.

So it was that the group failed to notice the tall, dark figure watching their departure from behind a tree.

As the taillights disappeared down the long driveway he stepped from the shadows. His black top hat sat above a stark white face and a wide grin revealed even teeth. He looked to the house, and the grin widened still more.

"She has come back to us."

Then he threw his head back and laughed. A murder of crows took flight at the evil sound, and all across the property toads lifted their voices in alarm. Squirrels, alert to the ominous noise, secreted themselves in the hollow of trees that, if not dead, were certainly on life support. The man laughed again, and in the gathering dusk, his eyes narrowed to slits and glowed an unearthly green.