Deja Voodoo

Chapter 6

After talking it over, the group decided they would stick together. Paul was adamant that they return to the plantation, insisting the key to discovering who took Della—and more importantly, why—lay in the dusty books on the dusty shelves of the library. Perry didn't argue the necessity, but he was dubious Paul should leave the hospital with the head injury. For the first time in ages, Paul managed to out-stubborn his friend.

By the time they had cut through the hospital's red tape, it was time to contact Captain L' Heureux to arrange for police transportation and re-entry to the property. Explaining exactly what had happened to Paul, Perry had managed to persuade the man that the excursion back to the planation was paramount. Because the young officer who had first accompanied them to Le Grange Bellemère adamantly refused to return, the captain himself drove to the hospital to collect the weary foursome. Over a quiet breakfast, they pooled their heads together, going over the facts, scant as they were, and the suppositions the morning brought. When the last of the coffee had been finished, the sun was just coloring the eastern sky in shades of pink, orange and gold.

For Tragg and Paul, the drive to the plantation was illuminating. They both had pictured the place as a worn estate, but Tragg, not one to base his ideas on movies, had expected the disrepair to be far worse. The private detective, on the other hand, had been blown away by the condition of the property. He couldn't help throwing questions at Burger about Mignon's plans to sell the plantation before their wedding.

"I don't get it, Hamilton," Paul commented as they passed yet another large live oak littered with so much moss it seemed to bend under the weight of it, "Why was it so important that Mignon sell now? Why not wait until repairs could be made? What was the rush?"

Burger shook his head. "I asked her that myself before she flew out here. But she asked me to trust her and I . . . I do. I trust her. I love her, and I trust her to know what she needs to do. But that doesn't mean I don't have eyes. I also have questions."

From the driver's seat, the captain commented, "I can understand my officer's refusal to accompany you back here. Most abandoned properties are fodder for the imagination. I think the young are subject to flights of . . . terror. Alas, I am not of the same ilk. To me, this is just a rundown house and grounds, not worthy of much more than a bulldozer."

"All of that may be true," Perry agreed, "but for now, I want to table discussing the condition of the grounds and focus on the purpose of our being here this morning. Paul, at the hospital you were positive there would be a lead to finding Della in the library. I realize this will be your first time seeing the place, but I have to remind you, there isn't much in there except covered furniture and that damned portrait."

As the car moved through the rusty gates and started its journey down the long driveway, the men fell silent. Each was consumed with his own thoughts. Perry's, of course, were on Della. The more he thought about her kidnapping, the more agitated he became. His anxiety was most visible by the way he continuously rung his hands, as though by rubbing them together, he could somehow conjure a djinn to grant him the desire of his heart: Della's safe return.

Tragg took the opportunity to study the grounds. The trees lining the drive seemed to be reaching out their bare limbs to grab the car. But beyond the tree line all he could make out were dried shrubs, patchy grass in need of attention, and fallen limbs which, from the look of them, had settled in their places on the ground from some tropical storm or hurricane from the last century. Nothing moved. There were no flights of birds, no clouds. And yet, the atmosphere around the property was gray and oppressing.

A perfect setting for a murder, he told himself. I hope to God I'm wrong. And if Paul Drake has sent us here on a false errand just to satisfy his curiosity, I'll have his butt in a sling so fast his neck will snap!

Abruptly the police captain brought the vehicle to a jolting halt, literally slamming the car into park. He leaned over the steering wheel, his mouth somewhat agape, and then turned to look at Perry. "Do you see what I'm seeing?"

Perry nodded. "Your officer secured that door before we left. Hamilton, you remember that too?"

"Yes."

"There's nothing secure about it now," Paul grunted. "The damned thing is standing wide open." He reached for the handle to open the car door.

"You'll have to wait," the captain informed him. "First, I need to check this out. And second, those of you in the back seat can't open the door from the inside." He grinned. "Just a little feature my department put into place. Can't have suspects fleeing custody when we stop at a red light, now can we?"

Not wasting any more time, he flung his door open, pulled his service revolver from its holster and cautiously climbed the steps to peer inside. A moment later he disappeared from view. Tragg, who had elected to sit upfront with the policeman, reached for his own handle, but Perry's firm voice and Paul's restraining hand stopped him.

"Lieutenant, he'll be back in a moment. If anyone is still inside, he'll make quick work of him. Besides, there are no other vehicles here—no signs there ever were, in fact—so whoever broke in must have come and gone on foot."

Tragg said nothing, but he considered what Perry said and relaxed his grip. Nevertheless, all four men collectively held their breath until the man reappeared. From his position at the entry the captain motioned them to come. After opening the rear doors for his associates, Tragg was the first up the steps.

Once they had joined him in the dim foyer, it became apparent that nothing had changed from the previous day. Burger looked down, noted that there were several new footprints in the dust, and realized they came from much smaller shoes. Paul looked all around him, taking in the space for the first time. His critical eye sought, but could not find, a light source.

"It appears that some local teens wanted a look at the old place, probably on a dare. Nothing seems to have been disturbed." The captain holstered his weapon and withdrew his flashlight. "It happens. Without fail, any time even a hint of one of these abandoned plantations is scheduled to go on the market, the local punks try to scavenge for something."

Perry didn't join in the speculation. He switched on his own flashlight (courtesy of the equipment in the police car) and hurried to the library. Even in the early morning light, the room had a damp, musty smell and a permeating gloom about it. He came to a stop in front of the fireplace and raised the light. Angelique. She, at least, was still there, though there was something different about the portrait . . .

"Oh my God!"

His exclamation brought the others running to his side. Burger stared at him in consternation. "Get ahold of yourself, Perry! We know she looks like De—" He broke off as he looked at the portrait himself. "Perr . . . oh, no."

Each of the men stood frozen in place, staring as the beam of the flashlight shone on the portrait, wavering as Perry's hand shook. The portrait had undergone a surprising transformation. It was still of a woman, presumably of Angelique, but now the face resembled a skull, the face a dull white with the eyes and lips ringed in black. Della's features could still be discerned, but her beauty was no longer apparent.

"Perry, what's going on?"

Not acknowledging Paul's frantic voice, Perry continued to stare at the painting as though he were in the same sort of trance Della had experienced. He was swaying slightly from side to side, unaware of anyone else in the room.

This transformation has something to do with Della's disappearance, his mind supplied, I know it. It isn't rational, and I can't explain it, but it is true. My girl is out there, and based on this, she is changing, too. If we don't find her, what will be left of her? This can't be how it ends. Voodoo, while a powerful belief system, should not hold sway over the physical like this. And if we are dealing with something metaphysical, we need to find the right weapons to fight it.

The longer he stood in silence, the more concerned his friends and the police captain became. He was paralyzed with fears, indecision and doubt.

"Perry, did you hear me?" It was Burger, his voice almost a whisper, that broke through to Perry's befuddled mind.

Perry shook his head, but the attorney wasn't sure if that was in response to his question or an attempt to clear his mind. He managed to pry the flashlight from Perry's hand. That, more than his words, served to break the spell. But when Perry turned to look at him, his bright blue eyes were now as black as those of the face in the portrait. His usually ruddy face was deathly pale.

"Hamilton?"

"Perry?" Burger was shocked at the raspy tone in Perry's voice. He didn't sound like himself in the least. "Come, sit. Talk to us."

The words landed flat on the floor. Instead, Perry, in that same tone, said, "We have to find Della soon, or we'll never see her again. Help me."

With no warning, Perry collapsed into him. If not for Paul moving so quickly, they both would have hit the ground. Working together, Burger and the private detective eased the big man into a chair. He was staring out, seeing nothing again, and Paul was nearly beside himself. He looked around, hoping to find something, anything, to revive his friend.

"Perhaps I can be of assistance." With everyone having completely forgotten the police captain's presence, the sound of his cultured southern accent brought a small shock to the others. Stepping forward and reaching into his jacket pocket, he produced an intricately detailed silver flask, flipping the lid back. He held it out, then chuckled, "Just, uh, save some for the rest of us."

While Burger took the proffered flask, Paul clapped the man on the back. "Captain, you, sir, are a man after my own heart."

"Then I think it's time you call me Henri."

Paul threw back his head in a loud laugh. "Very well, Henri it is."

Burger had managed to get a few sips of whiskey into Perry, which seemed to bring the lawyer around. He swiveled his head and his eyes, blue daggers of intensity, landed on his friend's face.

"Perry?"

He focused on the worried blue-gray eyes staring back at him. Rubbing a hand over his face, he managed to clear away the mental fog and his attention narrowed. "Hamilton, what's going on?"

Giving a deep sigh of relief, the attorney gave Perry the edited version of the events since they had entered the library. Perry once again looked at the strange portrait and its drastic change. Then he looked away, unwilling to be drawn back into the dark magic of the piece.

"Paul is right, Hamilton," he said clearly, the rasp gone as well, "there must be something in this godforsaken house that will help us find her—and Mignon."

"Gentlemen, if I might have your attention for a moment, I believe I've found some pertinent information."

All of them jumped at the voice. From his seat in a high-backed armchair, Tragg snickered. Sometimes even he loved a little dramatic timing. When he was sure he had their attention, he gestured to the large open book on his lap.

"While you've been on a mental vacation, I managed to get several candles going, and then I picked up this hefty tome." He waited for them to gather around him. "Yes, the pages have yellowed and crinkled, but the information might be apropos." As he turned each page, it crackled as though the movement would crumble the paper into dust. Then he lifted the book and angled it for his companions to read the title.

Livre des Arts Occultes

"Oh, non!"

Now they all looked at the ashen face of the police captain. He seemed to want to say something else, but no words were spoken. His usually unruffled attitude was gone, and in its place was a nonplussed fear. Perspiration appeared on his upper lip, and his hands started to sweat.

"Okay, I'm not shy. What is it, Henri?" Paul was watching him, willing him to respond.

It was Burger who spoke instead. "Book of the Occult Arts."

Four sets of eyes landed on him and he took an involuntary step back. Then he flushed and shrugged. "Mignon has been teaching me some French. It's for when we, uh, when we're . . ."

"Um, yep," Tragg grunted, his eyes sparkling in amusement.

"Got it in one," Perry grinned.

"Don't draw me a picture, please," the captain mumbled, but he was starting to come around.

Paul held his hands up, "Don't go there, please."

Tragg's amusement deepened. "Really, Drake? I thought you, of all people, would want details! Don't tell me you've given up peeping through keyholes!"

Paul gave him a withering look. "Very funny, Tragg. Instead of casting dispersions, maybe you can get to the point."

"There's reference in here to fifteen actual voodoo queens, although I suppose Marie Laveau got all the attention in the myths. But Drake, there's something I want you to see."

Paul bent to look at what Tragg indicated. It was a cracked and faded picture, but the image gave him cold chills. "He's the man who took Della."

Now Perry and Burger leaned over the chair for a look. The man was drawn very tall and thin. His black top hat and tails seemed incongruous to the gaunt, white face and heinous grin. The script below the picture identified him as Baron Samedi—Loa of Death and Afterlife.

"What's a Loa?" Perry looked up and fastened his gaze on the captain, who was sitting in the chair he had just vacated, his head in his hands. "Captain?"

"He's a god in the voodoo religion. The main male god, actually." Raising his head, he looked directly at Perry. "I know I was dismissive of the voodoo element to this case, but those who still practice the dark arts take it very seriously. If some man has elevated himself into the position of Baron Samedi, and if he has Miss Street . . ."

Perry crossed to him and grasped his shoulders. "What? If he has Della, what?" His eyes were both gray and blue fire as they bore speculatively into the policeman.

He lifted his head and met the demand for truth squarely, his own eyes level and sharp. "Then she is lost to you."