Deja Voodoo

Chapter 3

When the trio arrived at police headquarters, Perry had Della wait in the hallway while he stepped inside the captain's office for a word. Burger joined Tragg and Paul, bringing them swiftly up to date on what they did—and didn't—find at the plantation. He didn't mention Della's trance, but he did tell them about the strange portrait that dominated the library fireplace. For their part, the two detectives elected to keep their report until Perry and Della were present.

Inside the captain's office, Perry finished filling the lawman in on what he had seen and witnessed. "I realize your officer will also brief you, but I thought it would be prudent to have my take on the scene as well." He offered the captain a genuine smile.

Captain L' Heureux looked grim. "I appreciate that, Mr. Mason. In fact, I appreciate your professionalism in the matter altogether. It takes a big man to realize he doesn't know what he doesn't know, and in this case, the element of Obi culture plays a part. Not many people would admit to being out of their depth."

Perry held the man's steady gaze without blinking. Then he steepled his fingertips and leaned forward slightly. "The disappearance of Mr. Burger's fiancée is our chief concern, but we certainly don't want to step on your toes." He hesitated a moment, debating with himself, then, with the decision made, he requested, "There is one other thing; the portrait in the library there. Have you seen it?" The captain shook his head. "It had a profound, unsettling affect on my secretary. In fact, the woman in the painting could be my secretary, if she were steeped in voodoo culture and dressed for a—" he lifted a hand and let it fall, "a séance."

The captain smiled at that. "I think I understand. You'd like some information on the woman in the portrait. But why not ask the very able-bodied Paul Drake? You understand my position, don't you? I can't in good conscience ask my already overwhelmed department to spend time and resources finding out background information on a woman who has been dead for at least half a century. There are no ties to the case, apart from the painting being on the property."

Perry leaned back, absorbing the captain's very fair point. It wouldn't help anyone find Mignon any faster. And yet . . . His gut told him the late Angelique Bellemère was the linchpin. But explaining that hunch just now would be a miscalculation. He tried another tact.

"I understand your reasons. And yes, Mignon's recovery is paramount. But I can't help but feel like examining the evidence at the plantation house is a smart plan. After all, why were so many of the valuables removed, but the painting left behind? Yes, there was some old furniture covered with sheets, but by and large, the house was empty of anything of real value."

"Except for the painting. And based on the reaction your secretary had, and her resemblance to the subject, you feel it merits further investigation." The captain considered it. Drumming his fingers on the top of his desk, he mentally calculated the cost of overtime it would require against the return on results for finding the missing woman. He shook his head, but he was smiling as he said, "You made a good point, Mr. Mason. I can't allocate this to my men, but I love a good mystery. I'll look into it myself."

Perry's relief was evident. He rose, extending his hand. "Thank you. Anything you find . . . In the meantime, I'll get Mr. Burger and the rest of my party out of your hair. Would it be alright to check back with you tomorrow?"

"I would expect nothing less," the captain confirmed, standing and taking the proffered hand. "And I truly hope Mr. Burger hears from his fiancée tonight."

"So do I."

Perry collected Della from her seat in the hallway. She was pale, but her eyes were steady and her voice was soft and musical when she spoke to him. "About time, Counselor. I don't know about you, but I'm famished!"

Before they left California, Perry reserved rooms for the party at the Hotel Monteleone in the heart of the French Quarter. He had hoped the opulent atmosphere would calm frazzled nerves and tired minds, but upon registering, he learned from a bellboy that it was also one of the most haunted hotels in the country. It was one nugget of truth he fully intended to keep to himself—or at the very least, from Della.

They were taken to the Executive Suite, which, in addition to having several bedrooms, also had a large living and working area. It was perfect for setting up shop, and Della wasted no time arranging things in a logical order. He made sure her room was next to his with a connecting door, but he assured her only she could unlock it. Burger seemed mollified by that show of propriety, but both Paul and Tragg lifted eyebrows. It wasn't lost on either of them that Perry's attention to Della was more than professional.

From the common area Perry walked to elegant, old French doors and stood, looking out, but seeing little. His large hands rested on the doorknobs, and he wrestled with the decision to open them, or leave them as they were. Curiosity got the best of him; he stepped through the open doors and stood on the balcony, breathing deeply before taking in the view.

"Chief?"

He looked over at Della, who had quietly joined him. "I'm fine," he assured her. "Just a little tired from the flight and the plantation. I didn't realize how tired I was until I saw the bed in there."

She gave a small, deep-throated chuckle at that, and his eyes lightened. "Don't tell me you're going to spend our first night in the Big Easy sleeping!"

He shook his head. "More likely I'll spend it brooding."

"There's the man I know." She leaned in, then covered his right hand with her left one. "Don't worry so much, Perry. Mignon isn't dead; I can't explain how I know that, but I do."

He sighed. "I agree with you. But this whole business with that plantation! I just don't know how Mignon expected to sell it in its present state, and what's more, I can't make head nor tail of the conflicting reports about that real estate agent." He was careful not to mention what was really weighing on his mind. Instead, he lapsed into a companionable silence.

Who on earth is that woman in the portrait and what is her connection to Della? Della was born and raised in a little town outside Chicago. She can't possibly have relatives here. How am I going to protect her and still do my job? If anything happens to her, I don't know how I'll go on. I lo—

"Oh Perry, this view is magnificent." She was looking in the opposite direction.

He jumped at the sound of her voice but hoped she hadn't noticed. He should know better.

"My, but you startle easily! Try to turn off the worries, at least for a little while."

"Della, I wanted to tell you that—" He broke off, flushed, then said something completely different. "I'm just trying to organize my thoughts and plan next steps."

Della's raised eyebrow told him she didn't believe his excuse but she smiled that knowing smile. She understood all too well the importance of guarding one's thoughts.

After a delicious dinner and some relaxing cocktails the group strolled back to the hotel, settling into Perry's suite to discuss their findings. Paul pulled out his notebook and began with what he had learned at the station.

"Turns out Mignon did meet with the real estate agent. The guy's name is Cézar Beltrán, and he's legit. Been an agent here for about 10 years. He met Mignon at 10 o'clock, toured the house and left an hour later. According to his statement, Mignon was still there. He saw no one hanging around the house, suspicious or otherwise. He suggested she just walked away or went to meet someone else."

Burger's face turned red and he started to rise from his chair. Della, sensing a battle in the making, laid a firm hand on his arm.

"Paul, I'm sure that wasn't the case. Why don't you finish your report."

He looked over at the very worried man and softened his glib tone. "Don't shoot the messenger, Hamilton. I didn't say she walked away. That was the realtor's supposition." Seeing the fire in Della's eyes, he dropped his defensive argument. He gave her a sheepish grin and flipped another page of his notebook and continued. "The police checked her hotel room. All her belongings are there—at least, they think they are—and undisturbed. None of the hotel staff have seen her. Captain L' Heureux has a man posted there in case she shows up."

At this last piece of information, Hamilton's face paled. He stood and walked out onto the balcony. Perry was half out of his seat when Della placed a hand on his arm. He met her eyes, saw her shake her head, then watched as she rose herself. Stopping at the small bar, she poured a healthy shot of scotch into a glass and took it to the balcony with her.

"Hamilton?"

"I'm okay Della."

She pushed the drink into his hand. He actually smiled in gratitude, taking a long drink. The sting and burn didn't register. His thoughts were still miles away.

"She wouldn't just walk away. I know her, Della. Something has happened to her."

Della slipped her hand into his, giving a comforting squeeze. "Listen to me: you know Perry and Paul won't stop until they find her. And with Arthur using his influence with the police, that's a triple threat." She waited until she had his full attention. "And don't count me out, either. I'm going to push all three of those guys until Mignon is here with us."

Burger graced her with a warm smile. He studied her, noted the confidence radiating from her, and felt his spirit buoyed. Bending, he placed a kiss on her cheek. "Thank you, Della."

"Of course. Now let's get back to Paul's report."

Neither of them noticed the grim expression on Perry's face, nor his clenched fists. He was standing now, watching the pair as they turned back from the view and headed toward him.

Get a grip on yourself, Mason! Hamilton is a gentleman, and that kiss was nothing more than a way to thank Della for her kindness. There's no room for possessiveness and petty jealousy here. And anyway, she deserves so much more than a peck on the cheek for everything she's done to smooth ruffled feelings today. She deserves . . .

"Earth to Perry," Paul teased, watching his friend slip into a brown study. "Are you planning to sit, or should I do this next part without you?"

He turned to look at the silver-haired detective and laughed. "I'm coming. Carry on, Gumshoe."

Once they were all seated again, Lt. Tragg went over his portion of the afternoon. Although he managed to read the witness statement, just as Paul had, he had gleaned little else to help them find breadcrumbs that would lead to Mignon's whereabouts. When he finished, he turned to Perry.

"Your turn, Counselor. What did you discover at the plantation?"

Beside him Perry felt Della stiffen slightly. He stole a look at her, noticed she blanched at the question, and frowned. Burger leaned forward, started to say something, then caught the warning look in his eyes. Tragg didn't miss a thing.

"There were footprints of two people, one obviously female. We assumed they were Mignon's. Nothing to suggest anything out of the norm."

Paul looked from Perry to Della and finally to Hamilton. "Nothing?"

Perry growled at his friend. "Nothing related to her disappearance, no."

"Forgive me, Perry, but that's hardly fair. You can't possibly know what is and isn't related to Mignon after a few hours. You're the one always telling me to consider things from every angle."

He scowled. "Not this. Let it go."

Paul's eyes hardened. "This is important, and Tragg and I shouldn't be out of the loop, damn it!" He heard the smallest of sighs from Della. "Sorry, Beautiful."

"You might as well tell them, Perry. We both know he's like a dog with a bone when he's onto something. Tell them."

Before anyone could stop her, she was out of her seat and across the room, busying herself at the makeshift bar. While she mixed four drinks Perry sighed in resignation and started the account of her finding the portrait, and of her scream.

"I don't have to tell you that Hamilton and I came running," he added, casting another look at her. "She ended up going into a kind of transfixion, and then she swooned. We got her settled on one of the chairs that had been covered by the dusty sheets, and . . ."

Della returned just as he concluded the account. She handed each man a fresh drink, then took her seat, waiting for any questions or reactions.

"What did the captain make of that?" Tragg asked. His weary eyes were on Della, but the question was for Perry.

"I asked Captain L' Heureux to dig up any information he can on this woman."

"And he agreed?" he sounded dubious. "I must say, Perry. . . You really can be persuasive when you set your mind to it."

Paul looked from his friend's set face to Della's pale one. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but before he could pose it the shrill sound of the telephone caused them all to jump.

Perry was the first to react, racing to where the phone sat on the desk and snatching the receiver. Tempering his voice to a neutral level, he said, "Mason speaking."

All eyes were on him as he held onto the phone with a grip that turned his knuckles white. He listened intently, tried to break into the conversation, then fell silent again. After a long minute of waiting, looked over his shoulder at the others, then turned away to focus on the speaker before sighing.

"And you're sure? Nothing more? Is there someplace else you could— I realize that you did this against your better judgment and on your own time, but— I understand. You do? That would be perfect." He reached for a pencil and the hotel stationary, then urged, "Okay, give me the address. Uh-huh, I have that. I really do appreciate this, Captain. Please, let me know if you find any further developments . . . Yes, we'll touch bases tomorrow. Goodnight."

Cradling the phone, he tore off the paper with the information, folded it, and stuffed it in his pants pocket before facing the room. Four pairs of eyes bore holes into him. Instead of speaking, he locked eyes with his secretary—and with her alone. He stared deeply into her hazel eyes, his emotions flickering unchecked across his features. They ranged from concern to tenderness, and in her face he read trust and fear. The trust filled him with relief. The fear he vowed to banish. And then he blinked and the connection was broken.

Paul was beside himself with questions, but it was Tragg who demanded, "Well? What the hell did he say?"

Perry perched on the edge of the desk, completely at ease and unbothered by the gruff question. "Angelique Bellemère was a voodoo high priestess."

"A voodoo high . . ." Della shot a hand through her chestnut curls and laughed. "Of course she was."

Crossing to take his seat beside her, Perry took one of her hands in his, tracing the palm with his thumb. "She was a true believer in reincarnation."