Who Do, Voodoo?, page 18
Robin shook her head, slowly at first, then rapidly, holding up her hand up as if to push the words back at me. “No. No. Don’t say any more.”
“We have to talk about this, Robin, so I can help you. It’s time to stop lying.”
“Lying about what?”
“About the deal you made with Sophie. I know you bought a ‘Family Protection Spell’ from her. You knew all along she left the tarot cards.”
She looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I squeezed the receiver. “Yes, you do. I saw the spell book, Robin. It was inside the envelope Sophie left in your office. I found your initials under a ‘Family Protection Spell.’ The locket you gave Orchid is the talisman for that spell. And I know all about the alleged curse. Nick translated the French from the spell book’s cover. You lied because Sophie told you you’d die if you talked about it.”
“Are you crazy?” Robin’s face went red. “How can you sit there and talk about it so freaking casually? Do you know what you’ve done? You triggered the curse. Why? I wanted to protect my family—you wouldn’t understand that, would you? You probably think I’m guilty.” She started to get up. “I’m done. Don’t come back.”
“Wait.” I yelled into the phone, touching the glass to hold her attention. “Nick has a friend who can stop the curse.”
She fell back into the chair and hissed into the receiver, “Who?”
“His name is Osaze Moon. He’s a voodoo master. Nick and I have an appointment with him this afternoon. Robin, I know you’re not guilty. And I didn’t trigger the curse. Nick said it’s literal. You’d have to tell me you bought it, not the other way around. I know you and Sophie made some kind of deal. But Nick wants to turn the spell book over to the police. I want to avoid that until we find evidence to prove you’re innocent.”
“If they see . . .”
“Your initials in there? I know. Nick and I plan to talk to Sophie’s other clients this afternoon. If you have information about Sophie to get them to open up . . .”
“Even if Nick’s friend revokes the curse, I have nothing to tell you. You probably think that’s a lie, too.”
“What I think isn’t at issue, Robin. I’m here to help you. I understand why you lied,” I said. “But Sophie’s murderer could be tied to her spell book. Were there any other conditions on the spell you can talk about?”
“You don’t get it. Buzzy was crazy to give you information. Don’t you see? He set the curse in motion and died as a result. Damn Sophie. Damn her.” Robin slammed her hand on the ledge in front of her.
“Okay. Then tell me about your other conversations with Sophie.”
“She didn’t mention her personal life, and I didn’t care enough to pry. The first few times we talked, she asked about my family. I told her about Orchid and Josh. That’s it.”
“How did the occult come up?”
Robin didn’t answer.
“We’re not talking spells,” I said. “Who brought up the occult in general?”
“I did. I told her about the tarot reading the night before Josh died. Sophie wasn’t into the tarot. That’s the reason I didn’t think she left the cards on my door. The most I’ll say is that Sam’s girlfriends try to get chummy by bringing me little gifts, thinking their favors would grant them open access to Sam at work. Sophie’s offer was different.” Robin shrugged. “I trusted her for a moment, and I wish I hadn’t.”
I wished she hadn’t, either. “If Sophie expected you to give her free rein of Sam’s office after she gave you the spell, did she threaten you when you didn’t?”
“No. You saw her. She just tried to sidestep or bully her way in.”
“She never talked about the spell or the curse again?”
“Stop pushing, Liz.”
Robin’s eyes burned into me, but I gave it right back to her. “I’ll stop pushing when you’re cleared. One name or incident could resolve who killed Sophie and framed you. When you get home, you can smack me in the face with a cream pie if you want to.” That drew a snicker from her. “Until then, you have to ignore your superstitions. Search your memory. Buzzy’s death was a horrible accident, not the result of a curse.”
“You don’t believe. I do.”
“This is a lousy time to let the supernatural cloud your thinking.”
“I’m sorry, Liz.” Robin’s shoulders sank. “I really didn’t think Sophie left the tarot cards. My mind is spinning right now. I’ll try to think back on what she and I talked about. If something comes to mind, I’ll tell Barnes to call you. No more lies. Forgive me?”
“Sure. But to even things up, maybe you should make two cream pies when you’re out of here.” We grinned at each other. I glanced at my watch. It was almost eleven. I wanted to see Tawny before meeting Nick. “I have to go. Are you going to be okay?”
She shrugged. “I’m trying my best. I’m happy you came. You’re the only one except for Barnes who’s been here. Sam won’t even take my calls. I wonder if I still have a job.”
“Now you’re being silly. Sam can’t run his business without you there to direct traffic. I bet he feels guilty as hell for missing your calls. I’ll come back tomorrow. Tell Barnes to find me if you need anything. I’ll make sure you get it.” I gave her a thumbs-up, something we did in high school before tests. This was our biggest test yet. She returned the gesture.
On the walk to my car, I went over what Robin said. Despite my comment, I was curious why Sam didn’t take her calls. And who was the parking-lot witness the police claimed they located? Had to be someone from the party; the rest of the theater was empty by the time Sophie was escorted out.
I slid in behind my steering wheel and dialed Tawny’s number. She answered on the first ring.
“Tawny? It’s Liz Cooper. We met at the séance last night. Do you have some time right now? I have Sophie’s sweater for you. I’d like to bring it over and talk a little.”
“Oh, sure,” she said. “I was just cleaning up the place for my date tonight if you don’t mind a little mess. I’ll make a pot of coffee and we can chat.” She gave me the directions to her rented guesthouse in the hills off Outpost Drive.
I raced down the freeway through the Valley toward Hollywood to have as much time as possible with Tawny. I exited on Cahuenga and when I turned right onto Mulholland Drive, my cell phone rang.
“Hi, honey—it’s me.” My mother’s voice was too chipper.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, cautious. “How are you?”
“Wonderful. Listen, I’m having some people over tonight . . .”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I can’t come. I have plans. If I had known sooner . . .” It wasn’t a complete lie; my aim was to spend the whole day with Nick.
“You’re not invited, dear. It’s Daddy’s and my night to host our card club. But I want to make a couple of quiches and I only have one quiche dish. Can I borrow yours?”
“Sure, except I’m not home right now.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I bother you at work?”
“No. I’m running an errand. I just left Robin at the Van Nuys jail.”
“How is she? Poor thing. I feel so bad for her. I heard on the news this morning that charges are about to be filed. Thank goodness they didn’t give her name. Robin and her poor daughter must be beside themselves with worry. I am.”
“I am, too.”
“I pulled a tarot card for Robin in my reading this morning—the Seven of Swords. Someone is deceiving her.”
No kidding. “I’ll be sure to tell her lawyer to be on the lookout.”
“Anyway, honey, that beautiful Italian porcelain pie dish Aunt Minnie gave you for your wedding would be so perfect for my table. I was going to send your father or someone over to pick it up. I won’t need it until later this afternoon.”
How did my mother keep track of my wedding gifts after fifteen years? I used the dish once, for vegetables. “Tell Daddy I’ll be home at one to meet a friend, but we’re leaving right away.”
“Good. I’ll send him over. Why so busy? Where are you going now?”
“To see someone in Hollywood. Then Nick and I have an appointment.” Oh no. I didn’t mean to blurt that out. Here it comes.
“Your brother Dave’s friend Nick Garfield? Again? Why are you running around with him? Isn’t he busy teaching school?” The edge in her voice made me feel like I was fifteen and she caught me with the neighborhood graffiti tagger.
If I told her the truth, she’d blab to Dave, who’d call Nick, who’d probably crumble and turn in the spell book. “I don’t know Nick’s schedule, Mom, only that we’re meeting later.”
“I can’t imagine what you have in common with him. It’s not that I don’t like Nick. You know I do. Remember, it was my idea to call him about the tarot cards. But really, Liz, he’s so bookish. He’s not right for you, not like Jarret.”
“You’re right. He’s nothing like Jarret. I’ll be home at one. Send Daddy over. Have fun with your card club tonight and good luck with the quiches. Got to go. Love you, Mom.”
Chapter Twenty-six
I turned left onto Outpost Drive and headed south past the Spanish- and Mediterranean-style homes that edged the tree-lined street. A quarter mile down, I found Tawny’s street and navigated my car through a lane cramped with parked cars. Between houses I caught glimpses of the canyon that swept down to the Hollywood Bowl at its base.
Tawny’s address was posted on the mailbox in front of a Tudor-style stone mansion at the top of the lane. A blue Prius and an old Volkswagen Bug were side by side in front of the iron-gated portico connecting the four-car garage to the main house. I parked at the curb, grabbed the sweater, and walked to the gate.
I didn’t see a doorbell. Tawny said she’d leave the delivery entrance unlocked, so I unlatched the iron gate and walked in. Ahead, an expanse of lawn stretched toward a small stone guesthouse. The panoramic view swept across the city from Mulholland Drive to downtown Los Angeles. A bank of clouds moved over the hills from Los Feliz toward the Cahuenga Pass.
The property felt like a park nestled on the roof of a skyscraper. Rose bushes bordered the edge and shielded the drop into the canyon beyond. A volleyball net was set up to the right, a fenced-in pool to my left. Droplets of water sparkled on the grass in the sun. My heel sank into the damp earth so I tiptoed across the lawn with my arms out for balance to avoid slipping or tripping. While I was providing morning entertainment for the people inside the house, I hoped Tawny would see me and come out. She didn’t. I continued my tightrope act all the way to the terrace of the guesthouse.
I knocked on the glass-paneled door. There were voices inside, so I knocked again, harder, and then tried the door—it was unlocked. I poked my head in.
A basket of folded laundry was on the green-velvet sofa. Magazines littered the coffee table. I scanned the empty room through to the kitchen banquette on the back wall. The voices came from a cooking show on the television.
I stepped inside. “Tawny?”
No response. Two doors on the left opened to a bathroom and small bedroom. I checked both rooms, didn’t find Tawny, and then crossed the great room to the kitchen area. Two clean mugs and a glass carafe of coffee sat on the counter near the sink. I left Sophie’s sweater on the sofa and went outside to check if Tawny went to the main house.
The property was still. No barking dogs. No curious maids, peering out of the windows. Wind rustled leaves on the trees outside the garage. A lone caw echoed from the canyon behind me. I made my way back across the lawn and knocked on the French doors to the main house.
“Hello?” I strained to hear voices or the pad of steps inside.
Nothing. Maybe she went on an errand and forgot about me. I went back to the guesthouse and dialed Tawny. A phone started to ring in the bedroom. I followed the sound. Her cell phone was on the bedroom dresser, ringing. Her purse was there, too. Where was she? I hung up and wandered to the kitchen again. An empty vase sat on the counter. Okay, maybe she was in the back, cutting flowers, and didn’t hear me. I went outside and circled the guesthouse and then began to walk the perimeter of rose bushes.
Cut red roses were piled on the ground near a broken rose bush at the edge of the canyon. A succession of loud caws from the hill below drew me closer. My heart began to pound.
I parted the bushes. The land at the edge had caved—chunks of soil and grass scattered down the embankment. Thirty feet below, Tawny lay crumpled in a heap, her back to me. Her red hair was tangled in the brush. Her powder-blue sweats were covered with dirt. Her leg was bent forward at a perverse angle. I recoiled in horror.
“Oh my God.” Then I shouted down the slope. “Tawny!”
Her left hand moved, then fell limp into the dirt.
I vaulted back from the edge, pulled my cell phone from my purse, and dialed 911. “There’s been an accident.” I gave the operator details and the address. “I’m going down to help her.”
The operator was polite but firm. “No, ma’am. Stay on the line with me. Do not go down there. Do you understand?”
I shoved the phone into my back pocket and tore off my coat, draping it over the rose bush for the paramedics to see. I got on my hands and knees and looked down the canyon to Tawny. Dried shrubbery covered the hillside. If I held the branches for leverage and support, I could climb down to her without falling.
I backed over the edge and got my footing on a rock four feet below. I turned, grabbed a sturdy branch, and eased my way down. I held my eyes on the ground in front of me. I knew if I looked out into the canyon, I’d get dizzy. I slid on my backside, going from shrub to shrub to slow my progress. Twigs clawed at my hands and face. Dust swirled around me and caught in my throat.
I heard sirens wailing.
As I inched toward Tawny, I talked, hoping she could hear me. “Hang on. I’m coming. It’ll be okay. I called for help. Don’t move. It’s me, Liz.”
My foot slipped on a rock. I began to tumble. I lashed my arms and grasped at a branch to stop myself. A trickle of blood rolled down my cheek. My hands burned from grasping the dried branches and twigs.
Then a loud male voice. “Ma’am, stop. Don’t move. We’re coming down to you.”
Three firemen in yellow jackets and gear tied to their bodies dropped over the ledge into the canyon. Two men rappelled past me toward Tawny.
Another stopped at my side and took my arm. “Stay still, ma’am. Are you hurt?”
“No. I’m okay.” I watched the men below with Tawny, and then looked up at the young man with me. “She fell.”
“Let’s make sure you’re okay. I’m Kris. What’s your name?”
“I’m Liz. And really, I’m okay. I’m more worried about her.”
“Humor me, and let me check your limbs to be sure.” He gently felt my arms, legs, and ribs. “Does this hurt?”
“No.”
“This?”
“No.” I looked up at his face, half hidden by a fireman’s cap. When he turned to unhook his equipment, I saw the name on the back of his hat: Bage.
“We’ll get that cut cleaned out after I take you up. First, we have to wait until my team transports your friend on a stretcher.”
Kris Bage and I watched as the men below attended to Tawny. When they eased her over, I flinched. Shear handles protruded from her chest. Blood drenched the front of her clothing. One of the firemen swaddled bandages around the shears and over the wound. They lifted her onto a metal stretcher, secured her with straps, and then nodded to the team above. My stomach clenched as her form passed me on the stretcher. Her face was covered with an oxygen mask. She didn’t move.
Kris strapped me into a body harness. He gave a signal, and I was raised up the hill. At the top, I pulled out of the gear and started toward Tawny.
The EMT at her side removed the oxygen mask and shook his head at his partner. “No BP. No pulse. Multiple rib fractures. The shears pierced through to her heart. She bled out.”
My knees buckled.
Kris caught my elbow and steadied me. “I’m sorry, Liz. C’mon, let’s get that wound on your cheek attended to.”
An EMT checked me over again, then cleaned and bandaged my cheek. Two LAPD patrolmen led me to a patio table under the portico. They logged my identification and took a detailed statement. Although the coroner was responsible for determining if Tawny’s death was an accident, the senior officer on scene decided not to hold me.
“You won’t release my name on the scanner or to the press, will you?” I said when we finished.
The patrolmen glanced at each other, then back at me.
I realized how guilty I sounded. “I don’t want my family to worry about me. I’d rather tell them myself,” I said, in a half-truth covered by a hopeful grin. Real truth—I didn’t want Dave to hear I found another body, pitch a fit, call Nick, and hinder our investigation.
“No, ma’am. We don’t put witness names on the scanner,” said the senior officer.
Captain Pinney, from the LAFD, stopped at the table and introduced himself to me. “You took a risk going down into the canyon, Miss Cooper. I admire your courage and compassion, but you were smart to call for help first.”
I looked away, and the vision of Tawny alone in the canyon flashed through my mind. How could I think of myself when a life had been lost? Tears welled. “I wish I had found her sooner.”
As Tawny’s body was loaded into the ambulance, a fifty-something couple in tennis gear entered the yard. They introduced themselves as the owners of the house. The woman buried her face in her hands when she learned what happened. Her husband gave the police contact information for Tawny’s family. When I could leave, I walked with my head down through the gawking crowd outside. All I wanted was to get into my car, shut the door, and feel safe. My hands and face stung; my clothes were coated with dirt. I was nauseous from shock. I needed to be alone to get my bearings.
A crow, perched on the fence next to my car, flapped its wings and took flight, following the ambulance with Tawny’s body down the lane. The caws from the canyon echoed in my head. I thought of the crow on Robin’s lawn the day Josh died. The crow in the lot when we found Sophie. The murder of crows that woke me this morning. And Callia’s curse. I vomited into the gutter.
