Deja Voodoo

Chapter 4

Della stared into the sapphire blue eyes she knew so well, looking for any sign of levity or jest. All she found was truth, concern and something else she couldn't name. Pulling her hands away, she stood and began pacing the room, her movements reminding Perry of a caged cat.

Four sets of troubled eyes followed her in silence as she completed a full circuit around the living area.

"Della?" Tragg's voice, usually gruff, had a gentle note in it. He was half out of his seat as she circled behind him.

If her name registered it didn't show. She continued to pace, unmindful of the clear concern the older man had written all over his face.

Finally, unable to take her silence and movements any longer, Paul stood in her path and waited. When she reached him, he put his hands on her shoulders. "Hey, Beautiful. C'mon, you need to talk to us. Let's sit and we'll discuss it."

"What's to discuss, Paul? A voodoo priestess from yesteryear looks just like me, and was a firm believer in reincarnation. I don't need to tell you that scares the willies out of me."

He gave her his best reassuring grin. "So there's that. But you and I—really, all of us—know that the portrait is a side detail at best. Was there any evidence Mignon had even been in the library?"

She shook her head. "I don't . . . I don't remember. Perry?"

Paul led her back to the seat beside her boss. He immediately took her hands again, but was careful to guard his feelings. "I only noticed her footprints in the foyer. The library looked like it hadn't been disturbed by human presence for a long time. Wouldn't you agree, Hamilton?"

Burger nodded. "That's true. Other than the portrait and the covered furniture, there wasn't much in there. Just a few scattered books left behind. And the curtains. Those dusty curtains!"

Paul retreated to the bar, rummaged around until he found a glass, then measured a small drink with added water and brought it back to Della. "Drink, and don't argue about it."

She accepted it gratefully, taking small sips as all four men watched her. When it was empty, she handed it back to Paul. "Thank you. I didn't realize I needed that."

She straightened in her seat. Perry had released her hands, but he was still holding her by the power of his gaze. Her eyes met his, and she forced a smile she didn't feel. He didn't buy it for a minute, but he respected that she was ready for the attention to be off her.

"So, just to clarify: the captain gave you basic background information on Angelique what's-her-name."

"Yes."

"And what you're not saying is that I'm the reincarnation of this voodoo priestess who died, when, a hundred or so years ago." Without realizing it, her voice had been steadily rising with each word, so that now it verged on hysteria. "Got it."

"Della, please—"

She put out a hand. "I don't want promises of taking care of me, of protecting me from unseen forces. I made a fool of myself today with that trance and fainting spell. I'm not some weak sister who swoons at the first hint of danger."

He couldn't help it; he smiled at that. "Of course you aren't. You've never shied away from dangerous situations."

"No thanks to you," Tragg muttered.

Paul smiled. "Let's face it, Beautiful. You're calm, cool and collected in these types of situations. He—uh, Gee! I get more rattled than you do!"

"Then would someone explain to me what happened to all that courage this afternoon? Because I can't. I wasn't in my own head. And in the blink of an eye, I somehow managed to turn the attention away from poor Mignon and onto myself." She met Burger's eyes and her own filled with shame and regret. "I'm so sorry, Hamilton."

He shook his head. "You didn't do anything, Della. And I know her concern would be the equal of ours if she knew what happened."

"There was more to the call," Perry commented quietly. That statement brought everyone's attention back to him. "The captain suggested we go to Marie Laveau's museum here in the Quarter. They may have more information on Angelique. I also want to go back to the plantation. There may be something in the library that will help."

At the mention of the museum, Della jerked her head up. Her hazel eyes darkened to a chocolate brown, and she shook her head violently. "No. I don't think any of us have any business going there. I don't need to know anything else about my ancestor. Or about voodoo. I mean it, Perry."

He put out a hand, tilting her chin to look deeply into her eyes. "There's nothing to fear, Miss Street. It's just a museum."

"NO! No Perry. I want to go home. Now. I don't care about Mignon, I don't care about voodoo. I want to go home!"

Inexplicably, she dissolved into tears. Paul, never a man to handle strong female emotions, looked helplessly to his friend. Perry had no idea what to do. Not once since she had become his personal secretary had he ever seen her have such a strong reaction to a suggestion. It was as though her very spirit rebelled at the thought of them investigating the lead. Burger was stunned as well. He knew she had been upset, both at the plantation and here when the call had come, but it was shocking to hear her say she didn't care about his fiancée.

In the end, it was Tragg who rose, gathered her into his arms, and led her to a settee. She leaned into him, sobbing. When he was able, he fished out a handkerchief and pressed it into her hand, still keeping an arm around her shoulders.

"It's okay, Della. We understand. Let it out."

Her sobs shook her delicate body. As she trembled, Tragg whispered comforting words and gently rubbed her back. The others stared in silence, each holding his breath for fear of sending her into a worse condition. To Perry, it seemed an eternity before she was able to gather herself together, but in reality, only a minute had passed.

When the last of the sobs subsided, she dabbed at her wet cheeks, gracing Tragg with a weak smile. "I'm so sorry, Lieutenant."

Tragg smiled and patted her hand. "It's quite alright, Della. Over forty years of marriage to Mildred has taught me the best thing to do is to offer comfort and wait for the storm to pass."

Della gave him a genuine smile and placed a kiss on his cheek. "Mildred is one very lucky lady. Thank you again, Arthur."

The blush that crept up the man's face caused him to cough and clear his throat. "I keep telling her that."

The moment was broken by laughter from the three men and Della. She sought Perry, heard him laugh, but noted that the amusement didn't reach his eyes. He was still very concerned. For her.

"I owe you all an apology. Again. I so dislike acting like an hysterical female."

"It's okay Beautiful. We're all on edge. You just helped break the tension."

"And I know you didn't mean what you said about not caring about Mignon. I know better," Burger added.

Seeing her face flush again, Perry smoothed things over as best he could. "So . . . the museum. Tomorrow we'll try the divide-and-conquer strategy again. Some of us will hit the museum, while the others get back to the plantation. Della, I think you should stay here and rest."

The fire in her eyes told Perry he was going to have a fight on his hands if he excluded her. A moment later her temper exploded. "Oh no you don't, Mister Mason. I'm fine, just fine. And now I'm just as curious about . . . my ancestor . . . as all of you are."

Paul coughed to hide his laugh while the other two busied themselves looking around the room. Perry would have smiled, but something told him to do so would result in physical violence. And while he didn't mind getting hit by his very attractive secretary when they flirted, he did mind getting slapped when she was piqued with ire.

"Very well, Miss Street." His eyes lightened as he smiled. "Then I suggest we all get a good night's sleep."

Della smiled thinly. It was a small victory, but it was a hollow one. Despite not wanting to be left out, she still had grave misgivings about her boys delving into voodoo lore. Nevertheless, she turned and handed Tragg the handkerchief. Then placing a second quick kiss on his cheek, she entered her room through the connecting door, giving it a slight slam, and they all heard the lock turn and the sliding bolt slam home.

"'And that, said John, is that,'" Paul quoted, then looked at his friend. "Well, Perry?"

Burger and Tragg looked at him, too. Perry was standing, his feet spread slightly apart, his shoulders squared and his chin lifted. He looked like a prize fighter ready to enter the ring. If he were upset by the locked door, he didn't show it. Instead, he looked so determined to get to business that for a moment, the others thought he could will morning to come on his own schedule.

Then his muscles relaxed and the fists he hadn't realized were clenched opened. With an easy smile, he said, "As I said, a good night's sleep."

The shrill blast of the telephone next to her bed wore on Della's already frazzled nerves. She glared at the offending machine, her eyes shooting daggers in its direction. To her annoyance, it didn't stop ringing. She huffed, crossed her arms, and thought angry thoughts about the man in the adjoining room.

I know it's him. Of course he's calling to apologize. And obviously he isn't going to give up until I answer.

Finally throwing her hands up in surrender, she grabbed the receiver. "Perry, if you're calling to—"

"Miss Street?" a woman's quiet, refined voice broke in.

"Yes." Her eyes narrowed. "Who is this?"

"Miss Street, it's Mignon Germain. I need to see you."

She sat up and the sheet pooled in her lap as she snapped on the lamp. "Mignon! Where are you? Hamilton's been frantic. Just beside himself! But that's not important right now. Do you know my room number? Come up here and we'll talk."

There was a pause on the line and Della thought she could hear a man's voice in the background. She frowned. Something wasn't quite right.

"No, Miss Street. You must come to me. And you must come alone. My life is in danger if you don't."

That decided her. "Tell me where you are."

"Meet me on the corner of Basin and Conti streets. And do come alone."

"Just as soon as I can," she assured her. "Mignon, can you—"

The line went dead.

This isn't good, she admitted to herself. I've seen this play out on the big screen time and time again. The mark gets lured into an ambush, all because she falls for the old 'come alone' routine. Well, I'm no idiot. Before I set one foot out of this hotel room, I'm going to inform Perry. Who knows what kind of trouble Mignon is in?

Then she thought about how Mignon had sounded, and how she thought she had heard a man's voice in the background of the call, as though he were some sort of puppet master pulling the woman's strings.

She debated with herself as she dressed quickly. Then, deciding on a compromise, she unlocked the door and knocked softly on Perry's. No answer. She tried again, a little louder, but the only sound she could make out was a whiffle. He wasn't snoring, but he was in the preliminary stages of REM sleep. She didn't have the heart to knock again.

Taking the time to hastily write a note, she left it on the table in the general living area before dashing downstairs. The night manager looked up but wasn't fast enough to catch her as she streaked outside to hail a passing cab.

As soon as she climbed inside the first cab she flagged, she gave the address, then settled back in her seat.

The man behind the wheel, dark and handsome with serious brown eyes and graying hair, studied her reflection. He noted how ladylike and classy she was, and his eyes filled with concern.

"Miss if y'all excuse me, that ain't no place for a lady to be this time of night. Now, if you was wanting to see a little of the quarter, I could take you to—"

"Please, just drive."

He shook his head. Sometimes people just didn't want to take good advice.

So intent was she on getting to her destination, Della didn't see Paul exit the hotel and grab a cab right behind hers.

Perry's going to be fit to be tied when he finds out. Good thing I couldn't sleep and that cute receptionist was still on duty. Where on earth can Della be going at this time of night?

He instructed his driver to stay a block behind the one carrying Della. When her cab stopped his driver let out a low whistle.

"Man, you best get to that lady fast."

"Why? Where are we?"

"That's the old St. Louis cemetery. Ole Marie Laveau is buried there."

"You okay to wait here?"

"How's about I give you ten minutes. On accounta the lady. But no more than that. I don't do spirits, man. This is they place, and the living don't have no business messing around with them."

Paul patted the driver's shoulder, then passed him several bills. "That's the fare, and to cover the wait. Ten minutes. I hope to God it won't take that long."

The driver shook his head as the tall man left the cab and followed the woman on foot. "Tourists."

Della stood on the corner looking at her surroundings. A thick fog obscured most of the landscape, but Della could see the sign over a stone and iron gate that read St. Louis Cemetery #1.

This is just great. Why didn't I try harder to wake Perry or call Paul? I've worked with them long enough to recognize a trap. And I didn't even ask the cabbie to wait! Not very smart, Della Street.

"Miss Street?"

Mignon's sudden appearance out of the fog caused Della to emit a small shriek. She was almost ethereal, as though the mists of time had composed her expressly for this moment. Della threw out the idea and stepped toward her.

"You must be freezing out here. Take my coat," she offered, but as she came closer to the no longer missing woman, she fell silent. There was something wrong—something very wrong—about her eyes. They were completely white, no color at all. And when she moved toward Della, she shuffled.

"Mignon! What . . ."

And then, from the shadows, he materialized. Della's face blanched. He was tall, taller than Perry by several inches, and dressed in very strange, albeit formal attire. Top hat and tails emphasized his height, but it was his face that held her attention. His face was ghastly white, and his eyes . . . his eyes appeared to be on fire.

"Della, don't!" Paul's warning was cut off.

She turned in time to see Paul struck from behind and fall to the pavement. Before she could take a step in his direction, hands grabbed her arms. She stared up into those fiery eyes, eyes that smoldered and scorched her soul. The last she remembered was a maniacal laugh and his words.

"You've come back to us, Angelique."