Who Do, Voodoo?, page 11
“I love my bed.” I said it out loud on nights when I appreciated the cozy cocoon of my bedding the most. I was in cotton pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, propped up on pillows, and snuggled under my down comforter. Exhaustion seeped out of my back and neck as I sunk in between the sheets. When I reached across to the nightstand for my novel to lull me to sleep, I glanced at the tote on the chair across the room. It had been buried under the pile of clothing.
There was something about the tote that stopped me. What was I forgetting? The last time I carried it, I met Sophie at Robin’s office. I climbed out of bed, trotted over, and pulled it open. Inside was the brown envelope Sophie left behind on Robin’s desk.
Curious, I untucked the flap and shook the envelope upside down. A brown-leather eight-by-ten notebook embossed with a delicate gold-leaf border slid out. The worn leather on the cover felt soft and pliable. I carried the notebook back to bed and opened it. The symbol of a palm frond surrounded by an intricate fleur-de-lis pattern was centered on the inside front cover. I leafed through the yellowed pages filled with cramped, black script and stopped on a page at random. The heading, printed in letters across the top, read “To Break a Hex.”
A spell. I caught my breath and my pulse began to race with excitement. I had Sophie’s spell book. The book Madame Iyå claimed she had; the book Sophie thought was stolen.
Weren’t hexes and curses the same thing? Robin was troubled by the curse Sophie hissed before leaving the party. I scanned over the spell, fascinated by how a practiced seer like Sophie might invoke the supernatural and make it appear believable.
The page was laid out like a cookbook: ingredients followed by instructions. The spell called for a sketch of the person who initiated the hex, cinnamon incense, and the recitation of the accompanying incantation. Cut the sketch into eight pieces and burn a piece, along with the incense, for eight consecutive nights while reciting the incantation and envisioning the person disappearing peacefully. On the eighth night, burn the piece that pictured the hexer’s eyes. Hex removed. Happy ending.
At the bottom of the page and on the page that followed, names and dates, then initials and dates, were listed alongside dollar amounts. The first date on the page was August 1870; the last entry February 2005. Dollar amounts ranged from one hundred to five hundred.
I turned the pages, fascinated. Would Buzzy Lacowsky’s name be somewhere inside, along with the rest of Sophie’s recent clients? Was there a clue in here that might lead us to Sophie’s killer? Another title stopped me: “To Break a New Lover’s Old Relationship.”
Nick. What if my mother was right? What if he had a girlfriend? My mother guessed; she didn’t know. And where did I get off casting Nick as a cheater like my ex-husband, after only a few days and a few innocent kisses? Dating was about discovery. Whoa. Stop, Liz. I rubbed my eyes and took a deep breath to clear my thinking. Was I drunker than I thought? Something Nick said flashed through my mind: Voodoo can snake into someone’s head.
Well, this voodoo wasn’t going to snake into mine. I closed the spell book and opened it again. It fell to the same page. Weird. Not funny. I could see why Madame Iyå wanted this, I thought, squinting at the book in my hand. It was provocative.
This was Nick’s bailiwick. He needed to hear about the spell book—now. I reached for the cordless phone on the bed stand. Lightning flashed outside, followed by an earsplitting crack of thunder. The lights flickered and went out. I picked up the handset from its cradle and pressed a button. Nothing lit up. The line was dead. This was a joke, right?
Sliding out of bed and feeling my way to the window, I opened the shutters. The streetlights were out; my neighborhood was black. Another bolt of lightning flashed in the distance, illuminating the thick, gray-clouded sky. It was a rare Southern California electrical storm.
I padded back to my nightstand and fumbled for the flashlight in the drawer. Clicking it on, I crept downstairs to the kitchen to find my cell phone. I picked it up to dial; the pad didn’t light up. I forgot to plug it into the charger. Really smart, Liz.
Barefoot and without a robe, I shivered. I rubbed my arms, wondering what to do. A thud on the floor above made me jump. A jolt of nerves shot through me. What the hell? I waited, hearing nothing except thunder rumbling and the wind blowing outside.
I double-checked the locks on both doors and crept upstairs. The flashlight flickered. I smacked the back of it until the light was steady again. I swept the beam across the bedroom floor. Face open on the carpet, next to my bed, was Sophie’s spell book. Had it slid off the bed when I got up, or was that the thud I had heard? My hand trembled as I shone the light on the open page and the spell title: “How to Imprison the Mind and Spirit of an Enemy.”
Imprison my mind? I kicked the book shut with my toe. Taking a breath to calm my now-jangled nerves, I rummaged through my closet for sweats and gym shoes. I dressed with the flashlight beam pointed at me from the bed stand and went back downstairs to the kitchen. With my car key in hand, I opened the back door to the garage.
I got in my car, plugged my cell phone charger into the lighter, and turned the ignition to accessory. When I dialed Nick’s cell number his voice message answered:
“Leave your number.”
“Nick, it’s Liz. I . . .” I hesitated. I hadn’t expected voice mail. I couldn’t just hang up, so I said, “I have something to show you. Call me.”
I rested my head on the back of the seat and winced. I had something to show him? What kind of message was that? Why didn’t I say Sophie’s spell book? Show him? What? My book collection? My breasts? I should call him back. Explain further. I started to dial, then stopped. Get a grip, Liz. It’s only a message.
I flipped on the car radio to a news station. The announcer confirmed that power was out throughout the San Fernando Valley because of a lightning strike at a power plant. Power-restoration crews were assessing the damage. Stay tuned.
There was nothing to do but wait. I sat in my car like a child, reluctant to go back into the house and nowhere to drive to. The only thing missing was my brother popping up from the backseat to scare the crap out of me like he did when we were kids. Tonight, the bogeyman was the crackpot spell book upstairs. Nope. The rational adult in me could and would go inside and back to bed. I picked up the flashlight and got out of the car. Outside, the wind whipped rain against the garage door.
On my way through the kitchen, I stopped to plug my phone into the charger. The power would return eventually. I took a candle from the drawer and put fresh batteries in the flashlight. I walked through the living room, the flashlight lighting my way. Before I started up the stairs to the bedroom, I hesitated. Nope, keep going. A stupid spell book of complete fiction wasn’t going to intimidate me in my own home. No matter what it said.
Setting the flashlight and candle on the bed stand, I picked up my watch and checked the time. Midnight. Of course it was. I put the spell book on my dresser and crawled into bed. The lights came back on. Of course they did.
Chapter Seventeen
The rain pounding on the rooftop lulled me to sleep. At five a.m. a blast of rock music from my clock radio jolted me awake. I fumbled for the off switch and flicked on the light. Sophie’s spell book was still where I left it, closed. No overnight messages from the supernatural.
Still in sweatpants and T-shirt, I slid into my workout shoes, went downstairs, and made coffee. If I had to exercise in order to meet Sophie’s friends, I needed a jolt of something to wake me up. Fresh air and cold water weren’t going to do it. I wondered if Robin got any sleep. The thought of her waking up in a jail cell was stimulus to grab my keys and head for the door.
Dawn broke as I drove through Laurel Canyon to West Hollywood. The streets were shiny from last night’s rain; the air was clear and crisp. The neon “Hissy Fitness” sign stood above a two-story building on La Cienega south of Santa Monica Boulevard. I parked and followed an arrow pointing up a flight of stairs into the combination reception area, fitness shop, and juice bar. The walls were covered with life-size black-and-white posters of Kate Hissenger posed to show off her muscle-cut body. How many classes would I have to take to look like that?
“First-timer?” The girl behind the front desk took my twenty dollars for the single class and directed me to “Studio One,” down the hall. “You can leave your things in the back against the wall. Do you need a bottle of water?”
“No, thanks.” I was still chilled from the cold morning air, and water was the last thing on my mind. Another hot coffee, maybe.
I entered the huge mirror-lined studio filled with women in workout bras, tanks, running shorts, and leggings that accented their toned frames. No cellulite anywhere in the room except the cache under my sweats. Lulu, in black crops and a “Collins Talent” tank, stood near the front of the mirror, talking with the two women I had seen follow Sophie out of the party.
“Oh, wow,” Lulu said, running to hug me. “It’s so cool that you came. You’re gonna love this class.”
“I’m ready,” I said. Not really, but how hard could it be? “I see Sophie’s friends made it this morning, too.”
“Yeah.” Lulu looked over to them. “Linda and Nola. I’ll introduce you after class. Linda’s the blonde in the pink halter and tangerine sweats. Nola’s over there in the gray shorts. I was just . . .”
A piercing blast of rock music drowned out Lulu’s words. She took a spot in the front row. I picked up a set of five-pound weights and found a space in the back.
Kate Hissenger, midforties with the lean body of an Olympic swimmer, faced the class. “I’m Hissy,” she said into a wireless headset. “For the next ninety minutes, you’re mine. Pace yourselves, drink lots of water, and have fun. Let’s warm up.” She cranked the music louder and began to jog in place.
Sixty minutes later, my five-pound weights felt like twenty; my T-shirt was soaked. Hissy pumped her hand weights and shouted encouragement. I slipped outside to find an open window for a breather.
Linda came out of the ladies’ room across the hall and stopped. “First time?”
I nodded, gulping fresh air.
“It gets easier,” she said over her shoulder and went back in.
By the time we hit the floor for sit-ups, I was so grateful to be lying down that I could have kissed the sweat-covered rubber mat. After leading us through two sets of abdominal crunches, Hissy finished with a series of stretches, and class was over. We put away our weights and mats and filed through the door into the hall. I fell into a seat at the juice bar in the lobby.
“I’ll have a strawberry smoothie, please,” I said to the boy behind the counter. Sweat rolled from my forehead into my eye.
Lulu came up behind me, dabbing moisture from the back of her neck. “Did you like the class? Doesn’t Hissy have an amazing body?”
Linda followed and ordered a banana smoothie. “Hi, again,” she said to me. “I promise you, the first time is the worst.”
“Yeah. You’ll get used to it,” Lulu said. “I thought I was gonna die the first time, but I got over it. Now it’s easy. I wish she’d beat us up harder.”
Sophie. I gritted my teeth at Lulu’s unfortunate choice of words. A pained look flashed across Linda’s face. Was she thinking the same thing? I held out my hand. “I’m Liz Cooper.”
“Linda Miller.” She returned the shake and smiled. “And this is Nola.”
Nola had bumped between us and ordered a carrot juice from the bar boy. “Hi,” she said to me.
“Liz knows my boss,” Lulu said.
“You know Sam?” Linda shook her head. “He must be a wreck. Did you talk to him yesterday?”
“I don’t know Sam that well,” I said. “His assistant, Robin, is a good friend of mine.”
Nola’s eyes flashed; her lips curled into a snarl. “Robin? The bitch who killed Sophie? That pig deserves the death penalty for what she did to my cousin.”
Her revelation surprised me. I had no idea Nola was Sophie’s relative and understood her fury. Taking a step back, I looked to Lulu for support, but she had walked away to answer her cell phone.
“I think whoever killed Sophie deserves to be caught and punished,” I said.
“I do, too,” Linda said. “And I’ll do whatever I can to help the police.”
It wasn’t much of an opening, but I didn’t have a lot of time to get to my point before Linda and Nola left. “I was at the party. I saw you walk out with Sophie. What happened when you got outside?”
Linda dropped her eyes. “Sophie insisted she was okay to drive. Our cars were on opposite sides of the theater. We separated at the curb. Sophie walked to her car alone.”
“I’m sorry.” If I had left Robin to walk to her car and never saw her again, I’d be devastated. “Did anyone follow her?”
“I didn’t look,” Linda said. “I wish I had. But I told the police about the fight Robin had with Sophie at the party. We all could see how angry Robin was. Who else would have gone after Sophie?”
“Robin was frustrated at the party, not angry. Robin and Sophie had a misunderstanding. Unfortunately, it escalated into shouting. But Robin and I have been friends for a long time. She’s like a sister to me. Robin wouldn’t physically attack Sophie. I intend to prove she didn’t.”
Nola downed her carrot juice and said to me, “Let the police figure it out.”
“You must want to know the truth,” I said. “The police are trying to pin the murder on Robin. Sophie’s real killer will go unpunished. If you were unjustly accused, wouldn’t you want your friends to support you? Maybe you can help me find the real killer.”
“I know who the killer is: your pal,” Nola said. “The witch wanted to break up Sophie and Sam. When Robin found out Sam was going to propose to Sophie that night, she went berserk.”
“You’re wrong,” I said.
Lulu returned and set her bag on an empty stool.
“You think so?” Nola said. “She was probably banging her boss until someone younger and prettier came along. She was jealous. Sophie told us that Robin called Sam’s house at night with pathetic stories to get him to make Sophie leave.”
“Whoa.” I held up both hands. “Sam told Robin to phone. He even prearranged the time with her. He wanted the interruption as an excuse to send Sophie home. I was at Robin’s house for one of those calls. It was business, nothing else.”
“Yeah, right.” Nola looked away.
“It’s true,” Lulu said. “One time he even made me call his house when Sophie was there. He pulled that phone-emergency trick on all of his girlfriends. Even the one he was dating when I started working there. What was her name? I forget. But I know for sure that Sam didn’t like sleepovers at his house. His old girlfriend—what was her name? Ginny, I think—told me the only time she stayed overnight with him was when they were out of town in a hotel.” Lulu slapped her hand over her mouth and looked at me. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be talking about Sam. He’s my boss. Whoops.”
“I don’t believe it,” Linda said. “Sophie adored Sam. She was positive he was going to propose to her. He bought her a car.”
I shook my head. “He was going to break up with her. The car was his going-away gift.”
“I don’t believe that, either,” Linda said.
“Lulu, did Ginny mention that Sam gave her a car when they broke up?” I said.
“Oh, yeah, a VW convertible,” Lulu said. “Cream-colored.”
Linda looked at Nola, then at me. “Sophie was in love. She did everything she could for Sam.”
“Everything?” I said.
“She dressed to please him, showed up when he called, dropped everything to meet him. Everything,” Linda said.
“Including using voodoo? Sophie was a voodoo princess,” I said, lowering my voice.
Nola narrowed her eyes. “Who told you that?”
“Madame Iyå.” I turned back to Linda. “It’s sad Sophie didn’t know about Sam’s reputation before they got involved. She had no reason to hate Robin. I wish Sophie could tell us what really happened in the parking lot Tuesday night.”
“Her friends think she will,” Linda said. “There’s a séance tonight. In fact, Madame Iyå is running it. You should come.”
Nola threw her gym bag onto her shoulder and edged between us. “Linda, I think we already have enough people. The apartment is small.”
“No, I think Liz should be there. She can tell everyone what a rat Sam is.”
“I’d like to pay my respects to Sophie,” I said.
“Good.” Linda smiled and turned. “Lulu? Will you come to the séance tonight, too? You knew Sophie.”
“No, I can’t. I have rehearsals. I’m playing a gig this weekend. A solo show. Some record label guys might show up. I can’t miss rehearsal. It’ll be all night. Sorry. I’d like to, but I already made plans. In fact,” Lulu said, looking at the clock on the wall, “I have to go home to change. I can’t be late for work today. Sam needs me there to handle the calls. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” She picked up her things and left.
Nola shrugged. “There are already too many people coming. I thought the séance was only for close friends, not just anyone.”
“More people will add more positive energy,” Linda said. “We’ll have a loving celebration.”
“I think the séance is a great idea,” I said.
“It was Jimmy’s idea—Madame Iyå’s son,” Linda said. “He called Nola yesterday morning. Jimmy and Sophie dated a little before she met Sam. They were friends.”
Interesting. Jimmy was an ex-boyfriend. I doubted the police had made that connection yet. I needed to pass that tidbit along to Robin’s lawyer.
“The séance will be healing for everyone,” I said. “It’ll help to bring closure.”
