Who Do, Voodoo?, page 10
Sadness surged up from my chest and lodged in my throat. Having a stranger see through me was startling. I took a breath and pushed the feeling back.
“Don’t you trust me?” Madame Iyå narrowed her eyes.
Not one bit. But I needed to get out of there and didn’t want to argue. “Sure. I’ll try it.”
“That’ll be forty dollars.” She smiled and handed me the small bag. “Cash or credit card?”
I fingered the pouch. The inside felt grainy and rough, like it was filled with dried leaves and sand. Reaching into my purse for the cash, I said, “What do I do with it?”
“Sprinkle the gris-gris across your threshold. When the professor walks across it, he will desire only you.”
“Thank you.”
“Liz? You’ll be pleased. It’s potent.”
I nodded, dropped the velvet bag into my purse, and left. Outside, the neon lights on Hollywood Boulevard bounced off the low ceiling of clouds. The cold evening air smelled damp. As I walked to my car, I imagined Nick scooping me into his arms and carrying me up the stairs to my bed after walking over my magic dirt. Sure.
Chapter Fifteen
If there was a curse in Los Angeles, it was on me, stuck in rush hour traffic. A minor accident on the freeway turned my ten-minute drive to Studio City into a forty-five-minute nightmare. I felt helpless as my car inched along the highway. My unanswered calls to Robin’s cell intensified my apprehension that the police were targeting her as Sophie’s killer. A pleasant recollection of Nick’s kiss last night evolved into a dating anxiety I hadn’t felt since high school. Tonight, Nick and I were having dinner. It was dinner, only dinner. His kiss had been to soothe me, not to seduce me. My emotions were out of control, and I didn’t like it.
I pulled into my garage with little time to put myself together, whatever that would look like. I darted upstairs to check for messages. Nothing. Not even my mother. I tossed my purse and the black sweater and slacks I wore all day onto the pink-and-white striped chair by the bedroom window, then padded over to the closet in my bra and panties, ready to audition anything that would make me feel pretty. Two days ago I threw Dave’s sweatshirt over a crumpled skirt and didn’t give a damn what I looked like in front of Nick. Tonight, my heart did a little dance of anticipation as the clock ticked toward his arrival.
I pulled out a white blouse and my gray pencil skirt. Nope—back in the closet. Too businesslike. I know—a paisley wrap dress, black boots. No, too Barbarella-shops-at-Ann-Taylor. Seriously, it was slacks and a T-shirt because I didn’t care. Who was I kidding? I did care. I settled for a soft black jersey skirt with a gray silk blouse and black teddy and black silver-clipped pumps. I set aside a black wrap sweater for warmth. I dug out my rarely worn, sexy lingerie from the corner of the drawer. Then I headed for the shower to shave my legs. Not that I wanted or anticipated anything happening. Shaving was simply good grooming.
After the shower, I slathered my body with rose-scented lotion, put on my outfit, and finished my makeup in record time, adding a final touch of Chanel Red to my lips. I threw my head upside down to fluff out my hair. The doorbell rang. Shoes in hand, I trotted downstairs and opened the door. In black pants and a charcoal sport coat over a blue shirt, Nick looked seven feet tall from my five-foot-five barefoot viewpoint.
I tilted back my head and grinned, breathless. “Hi. You’re right on time.”
“So I am. Are you okay? You’re flushed,” he said, reaching to touch my cheek.
I ducked his gesture, bending to put on my shoes. Nick leaned against the doorjamb, watching me wobble on one foot, then the other.
“I’m fine. Robin’s not.” Pumps in place, I stepped aside to let him in. “When I left the station this afternoon, she was still being held for questioning in Sophie’s murder.”
“Held, arrested, or detained?” he said.
We walked into the living room, his hand on the small of my back, and sat on the sofa.
“Detained. Waiting for her lawyer,” I said. “That was over two hours ago, and I haven’t heard back from her yet. Detective Pratt wouldn’t let me talk to her. She wouldn’t answer when I asked about charges. The police know about Robin’s argument with Sophie at the party. Dave told me they found blood on Robin’s purse. Is that enough to hold her? It sounds shaky to me.”
“Slow down.” Nick’s voice was calm, his face serious. He held his eyes on mine, his mouth in a straight line. “Her lawyer will know what to do. Do you know who’s representing her?”
“It’s probably Ralph Barnes. That’s who Sam told her to call. Should I contact him?”
“I think you should wait. Did Dave tell you anything else?”
“No,” I said. “He rushed me off the phone.”
“I don’t like hearing that.” Nick rubbed his chin. “If Robin doesn’t call you tonight, maybe I can get more information out of Dave tomorrow. It’ll be okay, Liz.”
How could it be okay? My best friend was suspected of murder. I pinched my lips together, hoping Nick was right. He put his arm around my shoulders. His smooth, strong touch made me feel safe. I noticed a tiny cut on his clean-shaven face.
Suddenly shy, I sat back. “I’m hungry. Are you?”
“I am,” he said, smiling.
“Let me get my bag.” I got up and started upstairs for my purse. Conscious that he might watch my ascent, I swayed my hips ever so slightly and paused to look down over my shoulder. “Where are we going?”
Nick was looking out the window, not at me. “How about Italian?”
“Perfect,” I said.
One last look in the bedroom mirror, and I was on my way back down. Nick watched me descend the stairs, without the swerve. The phone rang.
I darted past him through the living room and toward the phone in the kitchen. Relieved, I said over my shoulder: “I bet it’s Robin.”
When I answered, Orchid’s voice was shaking. “Aunt Liz?”
A shiver of dread ran through me. “What’s wrong, honey?”
“My mom is in jail. I don’t know what to do,” she said. “Detectives are coming up here to question me tomorrow. They’re going to search Mom’s house, too. What’s going on? Do you know?”
While my heart thudded in my chest, I urged Orchid to be calm. I related what I knew about Sophie’s murder. I assured her that between the lawyer, Sam Collins, and me, Robin would have the support she needed. “Just answer the detectives’ questions. They’ll want to know what happened when you and your mom walked out to the parking lot last night. Tell them the truth. What did the lawyer say to you?”
“My mom has to stay in jail while the police check out her story and search the house for evidence. They couldn’t do it tonight. They didn’t get the warrant in time—something about searching only during the day. My mom doesn’t want me to worry but I can’t help it. I’m totally freaked out. The lawyer said he’d call me tomorrow. Should I come down there?”
“Listen to the lawyer. Was it Ralph Barnes?”
“Yes,” Orchid said.
“I’ll contact him in the morning and see if I can learn more.” Promising Orchid I’d stay in touch, I asked her to do the same. “We’ll get through this.”
Nick was standing behind me when I hung up with a sigh. I repeated the conversation, and then said, “What should I do?”
“Take the same advice you gave Orchid—call Robin’s lawyer in the morning and try not to worry tonight,” Nick said. “We can talk about it at the restaurant.”
We drove to Vitello’s, an Italian restaurant on Tujunga Avenue—a block tucked into the heart of Studio City and lined with quaint coffeehouses, gift shops, yoga studios, and gourmet food shops. Inside, Vitello’s décor was classic Italian, from the murals on the beige walls to the terra-cotta floors.
Mario, the maître d’, led us to the back room, where a mahogany bar stretched across the wall and ended at an upright piano. I slid into a circular red-leather booth while the pianist played and sang “That Old Black Magic” over the chatter in the full dining room. Nick settled in next to me.
“Good evening, Professor, signora,” the waiter said. “Can I get you some wine before I give you the specials?”
“Red,” I said, looking up from the menu.
Nick waved hello to the bartender, then said to the waiter, “Tell Joey to pour two glasses of the house red. Thanks, Tommy.”
I relaxed into the soft cushion, grateful for the wine that was about to be served. My palms were damp, and my nerves were jumping. And every time I looked at Nick, I pictured our kiss at my door last night, my first kiss since my divorce. Did he kiss me to calm me down? Assure me? What about the thrill I feel when I’m with him? Was I ready for a relationship? Good grief, I was projecting into the future. Probably to keep my mind off Robin’s dilemma. Stay in the moment, Liz. It was a simple kiss. Certainly something we could discuss. Then I wondered if he’d kiss me tonight.
“You’re quiet, Liz,” Nick said. “Worried about Robin?”
I took a deep breath, considered my options, and then decided to follow my own counsel. “I am. But I was thinking about what happened later last night.”
“I understand. Finding Sophie was horrible. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too—for Sophie. But I was thinking about something else. About what happened at my door, Nick.”
Tommy came back and set two glasses of red wine in front of us. I waited for him to leave before I finished.
“You kissed me,” I said.
Nick unbuttoned his jacket and started to lean toward me. “Liz.”
I didn’t see him reach for my hand as I reached out for the wine in front of him. Our hands collided, and in a splash, the glass of red wine toppled out of my hand, and wine spread over the tablecloth toward his lap.
I jumped for a napkin. Nick leaped out of the booth while I scurried to avoid the drip off the table.
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry,” I said.
“No worries.” His light-blue shirt was spattered with red. He brushed droplets of wine from the front of his trousers. “I’ll be right back.”
Before Nick was out of sight, the waiter was at the table with a rag. He wiped down the seats, then changed the tablecloth and replaced the settings. He left and came back in a flash with two fresh glasses of red. I took a deep sip to steady my now completely shattered nerves. Breathing deep, I sat back and watched Nick across the room talking to the pianist.
As Nick sat back down next to me, the piano player began to sing “As Time Goes By.”
“Liz.” Nick put his hand on mine. “I’m glad I kissed you. Was I wrong? Nothing has to change between us unless we want it to.”
“But why did you kiss me last night?”
“I was drawn to you,” he said. “You were vulnerable, upset.”
I pulled my hand away. “And that’s how you calm women down? By kissing them?”
“Maybe.” Nick grinned. “Does every kiss have to mean something?”
“Every kiss does mean something.”
“And it’s your job to analyze each one?”
“No, just the kisses I get.” I smiled.
“Okay.” Nick sat back and folded his arms. “Here’s the analysis of last night’s kiss. You were irresistible. Despite the bad end to the party, I loved being with you last night and the night before. I knew I wanted to kiss you the moment you walked into my classroom. Does that make you nervous?”
“Yes.”
“Then I won’t kiss you anymore,” he said. “Feel better?”
“No. I liked the kiss,” I said.
“Then let’s keep kissing for a while.”
“Let’s.” I looked over to the piano player and laughed. “You made him play that silly song for me, didn’t you?”
Nick took my hand again and kissed it.
Tommy came to give us the specials. I ordered a dinner salad and eggplant parmigiana. Nick chose sausage and peppers. Our table filled up with bread, butter, and wine. I picked at my food, thinking of Robin in a stuffy interrogation room or a gray-walled cell, eating whatever the cuisine du jour was in jail. As we ate, Nick gave me a recap of his day. He had been called back for questioning also. I told Nick what happened while I was at Collins Talent and about my lunch with Buzzy, leaving out my side trip to Madame Iyå’s. I’d tell him about the visit after I got the invite to the séance from Sophie’s roommate.
“I know Robin will blame her night in jail on the curse Sophie laid on her,” I said. “She already blamed her leave of absence on it.”
“Do you believe in curses?” Nick tore a piece of bread and mopped up the last of the red sauce on his plate.
I shook my head. “I think Sophie cursed Robin as a way of coping with her anger. She wanted Robin to suffer. By putting her wish in the form of a curse, she removed her responsibility to act on the anger. Sophie used curses and voodoo as an emotional crutch.”
“Be careful, Liz. Some types of voodoo are very serious.”
I sat back in the booth. “Okay, Professor. Teach me. Tell me what you know.”
“It’s a lecture and then some.” He laughed. “Let me see if I can oversimplify. Vodou, v-o-d-o-u, is a complex monotheistic religion that reveres spirits—some good, some harmful. Its roots began in West Africa, traveled with slaves to the Caribbean, and flourished in the Haitian mountains for centuries. Haitian Vodou was so secret that its traditions are only passed orally from generation to generation.”
He leaned in. His eyes lit up as he spoke. His passion for his work was sexy, and I smiled as he went on.
“Then there’s the New Orleans variety, the v-o-o-d-o-o voodoo,” he said. “It emphasizes black magic and is practiced pretty much in the open. That’s the type of voodoo you see sensationalized in the movies and sold in occult shops. If Sophie used New Orleans voodoo, her curse, if you’ll allow me, was a mind trick on Robin, an open and believing victim. But if Sophie practiced true Haitian Vodou, the mystery, and therefore the curse, runs deeper.”
“We know Sophie had some kind of a spell book. Buzzy told me she sold voodoo spells,” I said.
“Real Vodou isn’t written down.”
“It’s a shame Sophie thought she needed the help of magic. She was a gorgeous young woman with the world open to her.” I stared at my wine glass. “One reason I chose to study psychology was to discover what drives people to do what they do and to help them.”
Nick nodded. “Spiritual belief systems play a big role in our motives and lives. That’s one of the reasons I study religions. We have something in common.”
“We agree right up to the part where you take the supernatural seriously and I don’t,” I said.
Nick waved at Tommy for the check, then put his arm across the back of the booth and turned his attention to me. “There’s one thing I haven’t told you. Dave called late this afternoon. He asked if I would take on an unofficial, advisory role in the case and look at the occult symbolism and altar in Sophie’s bedroom. The police want to know if there could be a connection between whatever she was practicing and her murder.”
“What?” My voice pitched up an octave. The waiters and busboys stopped, poised to clean up another spill. “You could have mentioned this earlier.”
Nick grinned. “I was distracted, wondering when I could kiss you again.”
“Stop it, Nick. Not now. This means the police are either considering other suspects or searching for evidence against Robin. You could help Robin get released. When are you meeting Dave?”
“After my morning class.”
“I’m going with you,” I said.
“You can’t,” he said. “You’re a witness.”
I leaned back and stared. “So are you.”
“I didn’t hear the argument between Robin and Sophie,” Nick said.
“So? You were at the party. You were—”
Nick put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m the only resource on the occult Dave could come up with when Detective Pratt asked. I told you: my going there will be an unofficial visit. If I see something there that connects Sophie to a dangerous group, someone else will have to do the official investigation.”
“I’m still going with you,” I said.
“You’re relentless,” Nick said. He sat with his eyes on mine, silent.
I waited until I couldn’t bear the quiet. “Well?”
“Actually, I could use your help,” he said. “You were savvy enough to recognize that Robin’s harasser was a woman the other night. I’d value your perspective. But letting you in the apartment will be up to Detective Pratt. It’s her investigation.”
“What about Dave? I could ask him,” I said.
“Don’t. Just come to the apartment. We’ll deal with Dave at the scene.”
Nick signed the bill. We said good-night to Tommy and Mario, then walked outside. Low clouds blanketed the sky; a crisp breeze blew my hair across my face. I brushed it back, and the flash of neon from the Gelato Bar across the street caught my eye.
Nick followed my gaze. “How about a little dessert?”
I didn’t need convincing. Inside the tiny shop, mounds of homemade gelato filled a glass-encased cooler. I chose Dolce Amaro, a creamy custard gelato filled with chocolate-covered pralines. Nick ordered fresh raspberry gelato, and I could still taste it on his lips when he kissed me good-night at my door.
“Want to analyze the kiss before I go?” he said.
“No, it was delicious,” I said. “I’ll take seconds.”
Chapter Sixteen
After Nick left, I leaned against my front door and smiled. Despite two glasses of wine at dinner, I felt clear-headed and optimistic. Nick and I may find something at Sophie’s apartment that could steer the investigation away from Robin and toward Sophie’s killer. And if that didn’t work, there was still the séance and Sophie’s friends. I went into the kitchen to check for phone messages. No calls. With a bottle of water from the refrigerator in hand, I turned off the lights and headed upstairs to bed.
If I intended to meet Sophie’s roommate at the exercise studio at six to wrangle an invite to the séance, I needed to wake early. I set my alarm on loud for five a.m. and dressed for bed. I tossed my blouse and skirt into the hamper along with the pile of clothing that had been on the chair since yesterday. Then I opened the window a crack to let in some fresh air. Fog draped the streetlights outside. The sound of thunder grumbled in the distance.
