Who Do, Voodoo?, page 21
He hung up and handed me the phone.
My cheeks burned with embarrassment. “What did she say?”
Nick smiled. “She threatened to have your father and brother beat the crap out of me if I took advantage of you.”
I burst into laughter, then sobered. My mother has said worse. “Did she really?”
“I’m kidding.” He chuckled. “Your mother wants to help Robin, too. She pulled a tarot card on Sophie’s killer this afternoon. She wanted to tell me because she knew I’d believe her.”
Of course she’d think that. “And?”
“And she pulled the Page of Pentacles, reversed.” Nick turned right onto Melrose Avenue. “The Page of Pentacles is someone young, could be female, and opportunistic, but the card reversed makes her lazy, a saboteur, or a rebel. Sound familiar?”
“No. Maybe Linda will know.” I stared out the window. The neon lights from the shops on Melrose glared at me. “Tell me again why turning the spell book in to the police will help Robin? I can’t think of a reason.”
“It keeps you and me out of jail. It’s better for Osaze to hand it in. Robin, Nola, and Ivalisse knew we had it—and Jimmy, which means Madame Iyå knows, too. If any one of them told the authorities, we could be charged with concealing evidence.”
“I see.”
“And the police would assume we held back the spell book to aid and abet Robin. Now, if asked, we tell them we saw it belonged to the family and returned it to Osaze without reading it.”
“I understand,” I said. “Now explain what was so funny about the DA’s reelection. Why did Osaze laugh?”
“I brought the DA up for a reason.” Nick turned onto Henry and Linda’s street. “Osaze went to college in Haiti to avoid the draft. While he lived there, two significant events occurred—he met Ivalisse, and he joined the Haitian resistance to overthrow the dictatorship. He still funds the rebels down there. Osaze doesn’t trust authority.”
“But he’s turning over the spell book.”
“Maybe.”
I whispered, “I hope you’re right. I hate this.”
Nick backed into a parking spot in front of Henry’s building. “We’re not giving up yet.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
The curtain in Henry’s front window parted and his delighted smile caught my heart as Nick and I walked up the front steps. He buzzed us in and was waiting outside his apartment door when we entered the foyer.
“Two days in a row.” He grinned.
“Can’t get enough of you.” I kissed Henry’s cheek and stepped aside. “This is Nick Garfield.”
“Your boyfriend?” Henry reached to shake Nick’s hand. “You’re a lucky man. Maybe you two want to rent an apartment from me? No vacancy, but I’ll put you first in line.”
I held up a hand to stop Henry before he had us married. “No. Thanks. Do you have a few minutes to talk?”
“Sure,” Henry said. “Come inside. I’m cooking dinner.”
Henry’s apartment smelled like a cherry tobacco–glazed pork roast. On his television, a photo of Sophie flashed above a “Suspect in Custody” caption. I moved in front of the TV so Henry wouldn’t see.
Nick strolled across the living room to the china cabinet on the far wall. Henry followed and pointed with enthusiasm at the logo-embedded china on the shelves. “Are you familiar with the Super Chief, Nick?”
“I am,” Nick said. “My grandfather was a machinist in the Chicago rail yards. Great stories.”
“I rode the Super Chief. Let me show you something.” Henry reached for his scrapbook.
I stopped behind them. “Maybe you two could swap railroad stories tonight at Osaze’s.”
Henry set down the scrapbook. “Tonight?”
“Yes,” Nick said. “We came to invite you to a—”
“Get-together,” I said.
“Not another séance, I hope.” Henry laughed. “One a year is my limit.”
“It’s not a séance, but . . . Let’s sit for a minute, okay?” I settled onto the couch.
Henry shut off the TV and sat in his armchair. He studied me; his eyes creased, his brows furrowed. “What’s this about?”
“Before she died, Sophie sold voodoo spells with a curse. Sophie’s uncle Osaze is gathering some of her friends at his home tonight to break that curse.”
“It has nothing to do with me,” Henry said.
“We saw your initials, H. M., in her spell book, beneath a spell for ‘Home Safety.’ You may be in danger,” Nick said.
Henry reached for his scrapbook. He pushed the side of it with his finger, straightening the edge to align it with the table corner. “Why do you think the initials belong to me? H. M. could be a lot of people.”
“Could be, but I thought of you first,” I said.
“You could be wrong.” He looked away.
“But if I’m not . . .”
Nick sat forward. “Here’s the deal, Henry. We know Sophie’s spells came with a warning and a curse. Unfortunately, two of Sophie’s clients ignored the warning. They died in accidents.”
“What’s he saying, Liz?” Henry’s hand quivered on his knee. “Who died?”
I left the couch and crouched down at Henry’s side. With my hand resting on his, I said, gently, “One was a publicist Sophie knew and the other was Tawny—the girl you met last night.”
Henry dropped his head and sighed. “You think I ignore warnings? I don’t. Enough said.”
“I know you’re cautious, Henry. When Osaze ends the curse, no one will have to worry about what they say. But to be protected, the spell buyers have to be at the ritual. I want you there. I know you and Sophie were close, shared secrets. Please say you’ll come.” I squeezed his hand, not willing to let go until he said yes.
“Maybe I’ll drop by to give my respects to Sophie’s family but I’m not saying H. M. is me. Leave the uncle’s address, and I’ll think about it. When is it?”
“Tonight, at midnight,” Nick said.
“Midnight?” Henry laughed and waved me away. “I’ll be in bed.”
Oh, great. I pressed my lips together and looked at Nick.
“Liz told me you’re a good sport,” Nick said. “Even if you’re not the H. M. in the spell book, her uncle asked us to gather the folks dear to Sophie. The spells she sold were more powerful than she knew. Spirits were stirred up, and they’re targeting people and places closest to her. You’d be doing all of her friends a favor by being there. Linda will be there. So will Nola. Will you help us out and attend?”
Henry rubbed his chin, then nodded. “But you should tell every H. M. you know. I’m not the only one in this city.”
“We will,” Nick said. “We’ll explain more after the ritual is over.”
“Not necessary,” Henry said. “The less I know, the better.”
I pulled a notebook from my purse, wrote out Osaze’s address along with my phone number, and gave the paper to Henry. “We’ll be there at eleven.”
He led us to the door. “So late. I hope I can stay awake until then.”
I stopped on the threshold. “Henry, Sophie needs you there. Do you want us to drive you?”
“No, no. I’ll be there.” Henry saluted me and closed the door.
“‘Sophie needs you there’? That’s odd, coming from you,” Nick said as we walked down the hall together.
“Whatever works. She popped into my mind. But damn, I forgot to ask Henry about Sophie’s visitors.”
“You can quiz him tonight. After the ritual, Henry will be free to tell you whatever you ask,” Nick said.
“I just don’t know if we’re on the right track. Robin is sitting in jail while we do invites to a hex-breaker. We should be looking for suspects.”
Nick took me by the arm. “By the way, did Robin admit she bought a spell when you talked to her?”
“She didn’t deny it, but we were careful.” I searched his face. “Did I do something wrong? You told me the terms of the curse were literal.”
“No. You did nothing wrong. But one of the draws of voodoo is the effect on the mind. If Robin thinks she broke the covenant, the worry could torment her, make her unstable, open to harm.”
“Thanks for planting that in my mind. If you had let Osaze burn the damn spell book, everyone involved would be safe . . . and sane.” I twisted out of Nick’s grasp and knocked on Linda’s door.
“Where the hell have you been? It’s open.” The voice sounded like Nola.
We walked in. Nola and Linda were across the room, lifting the sofa. Linda’s face was bright red. The sofa tilted as she struggled to hold up her side.
“We stopped to talk to Henry,” I said.
“Liz.” Linda panted. “We thought you were Jimmy. He never showed up to help us move the furniture.”
Nola looked at us over her shoulder. “Hey, Uncle Nick. Can you lend a hand here? Linda’s out of gas, and I can’t move this thing myself.”
“Both of you—put the sofa down. Let me do that.” Nick darted past me toward the girls.
While he moved one side of the sofa, and then the other, to the center of the room, Nola said, “Linda, this is my uncle Nick. He and the shrink are pals.”
“You came in the nick of time.” Linda moved a strand of sweaty hair from her forehead and giggled.
“Will you help me lift the entertainment unit, too?” Nola said.
“Hold it,” I said. “We need to talk to you first.”
“Can we talk while we work?” Linda said. “The painters will be here in the morning. We need to finish packing Sophie’s bedroom.”
I released a breath to keep from screaming in frustration. “No. I need your attention. I have disturbing news.”
Linda and Nola plopped onto the sofa.
“Nola already told me about Buzzy and Tawny,” Linda said. “It’s horrible, so sad.”
“There’s more to it. Buzzy and Tawny bought cursed voodoo spells from Sophie, and the curse turned on them.” I looked at Nola. “Your father created a hex-breaker to protect the rest of her clients. He’s doing the ritual tonight.”
“You have to be there, Linda. The hex-breaker will protect you,” Nick said.
Linda fingered a small cross hanging around her neck. She looked confused. “Protect me? I don’t practice the occult. I’m a Christian. I had nothing to do with Sophie’s voodoo.”
“But you lived together . . .” I searched Linda’s face.
“Sophie and I agreed to keep beliefs out of our friendship. The only voodoo I know about is the spell Sophie used on Sam,” Linda said.
My mind swam. “If you don’t believe in the occult, why did you host the séance?”
“The séance was Jimmy’s idea,” Linda said. “I agreed to host it for Sophie’s friends. I thought gathering everyone to connect with her spirit would bring us all comfort. I’m glad we did. I felt meditative, closer to Sophie last night.”
Meditative? Linda had scared the crap out of me when she was in her trance.
“But I saw your initials in Sophie’s spell book,” I said. Linda cocked her head. “In a spell book?”
“Beneath a ‘Fame’ spell,” Nick said.
“It wasn’t me. I don’t believe in the occult. The initials belong to someone else.”
Nick stood over Linda and Nola. His eyes drilled into them. “You both know Sophie’s friends. Who could L. M. be? Think.”
Linda flinched. “Um, L, okay. L-A, Laura? L-I, Lisa?”
“Oh, for crap’s sake,” Nola interrupted. “It’s probably Lulu.”
“Of course,” Linda said. “I totally forgot about her.”
Yes. The whisper brushed through my mind. “What’s Lulu’s last name?”
“Don’t have a clue.” Nola shrugged and looked at Linda.
Linda shook her head.
“You’re friends,” I said.
“Not me,” Linda said. “Sophie and I met Lulu in Hissy’s class.”
“We barely talked until Lulu intro’d Sophie to Sam at a video shoot I worked on for a Collins client,” Nola said. “After that, Lulu and Sophie became chummy. Lulu’s a goofy chick. Always claimed she’d be famous one day and would need my services for her hair and makeup. As if.”
I looked at Nick. “The ‘Fame’ spell.”
Nick nodded, then said to the girls, “We need Lulu’s last name now. If she is the L. M. in the spell book, Lulu’s at risk until Osaze conducts the hex-breaker.”
“The receptionist at Hissy Fit will know.” Nola bounded across the room for the phone. When Nola finished the call, she said, “Manchester. Her name is Lulu Manchester.”
I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Collins Talent. The call went to voice mail.
“This is Liz Cooper, I’m calling for Lulu Manchester. Lulu, if you get this message, please call me. It’s important.” I left my number, hung up, and checked my watch—close to five. “Nick, we have to get over to Collins now to warn Lulu and get her to the ritual.”
Before I slid my cell back in my pocket, Nick was at the door, keys in hand, “Let’s go.”
We rushed outside and got in the car. I redialed Collins Talent again. Voice mail.
“Call Nola. See if Hissy Fit will give her Lulu’s home number,” Nick said.
We were in the thick of West Hollywood traffic when Nola called me back. “No go. Confidential, blah, blah. She wouldn’t even call Lulu and leave a message for me. Sorry.”
I put my phone in my pocket. “Damn.”
“What if the office is empty? Then what?”
“I’ll see if I can get up there. Robin keeps a card file of numbers on her desk. Lulu’s number must be in it.”
Nick sped up.
Chapter Thirty
Beverly Hills was strained with street and sidewalk traffic. Streams of Mercedes-Benz sedans, BMW convertibles, and Range Rovers nudged ahead of us up Camden Drive. When we passed the “Guest Parking Full” sign at the entrance to the Collins Talent garage, Nick winced.
“Drop me off and circle the block,” I said. “There’s a public lot across the street. You can park there or wait in front. If Lulu’s not here, it won’t take me long to search Robin’s file for her home number.”
Nick pulled to the curb and rubbed my shoulder. “Call me when you get upstairs.”
I left him and ran up the rose marble steps, then through the glass doors. A silver-haired old man in a blue security uniform was reading a newspaper behind the security desk. He looked up as I crossed the lobby.
“Hi. I’m Liz Cooper. I’m here to see Lulu Manchester at Collins Talent.” I signed the guest register.
“We already locked the elevators. Is she expecting you?”
I straightened my shoulders and raised my chin. “Yes.”
“Let me call up there. I’m not supposed to let visitors up unannounced.” He dialed, then said, “This is security. There’s a visitor waiting in the lobby for Miss Manchester.” The guard looked at me. “I left a message. No answer.”
I bit my lip. Now what? I slipped a hand into my pocket, pulled out my cell phone, and held it up. “Sam Collins left his cell phone at my office today. He’s waiting for me to return it. He needs it tonight.”
“You said you’re here for Miss Manchester.”
“She’s his assistant. Maybe they’re in a meeting. I’m sorry, but my friend is waiting for me out front in his car. Can you possibly escort me up?”
The guard looked me over. “I can’t leave my post. But you look honest, and I don’t want Mr. Collins to get angry. I’ll unlock the elevator for you.” He ambled to the bank of elevators near the back of the lobby and turned a key next to the fifth-floor button in the waiting car. “Call me on extension three-four-three when you’re done. I’ll send the car back for you. Or you can take the stairs if you want some exercise. Have a good evening, miss.”
The elevator opened on the fifth floor. The overhead lights were dimmed, the corridor was empty, but the lava lamp on Lulu’s desk was still on. I heard someone talking and followed the sound, coughing to announce myself.
The voice came from Robin’s office. Robin’s family photos and her favorite Bodega vase lay on top of a box of colored files outside the door. I peeked in. Lulu was on the phone, sitting behind the desk in a faded “Lou Reed” T-shirt; her sneaker-clad feet rested on the desktop. Her hair was wild, her lips painted a deathly gray-mauve. An array of laminated passes on multicolored lanyards hung from the corner of the computer screen. A vintage Janis Joplin poster was taped to the back wall. Empty paper cups were piled in the wastebasket. The office looked like the backroom office of a repair shop.
“I’m positive, Sam. You told me six o’clock, not five. I’ll call the messenger back and make it a rush. I’ll fix it . . . shit.” Lulu moved her feet to the floor, hung up, and buried her head in her arms on a stack of papers.
I wanted to hug her out of sheer joy at the sight of her. A pile of boxes and files on the floor blocked my path. “Thank God.”
Lulu looked up and grimaced. “What are you doing here?” She pulled Robin’s Rolodex file toward her and rifled through it. “Wait, one sec. I have to call the damned messenger service before . . . Crap. Why doesn’t she keep her numbers in the computer like everyone else in the world does?”
The phone rang. Lulu peered at the number on the screen, then picked up. “Hello?” She held up a finger for me to wait as she talked. “Sound check is at eight. I go on at ten. Okay, cool. Make sure the engineer has my new set list. See ya then. Bye.” She hung up and raised an eyebrow at me. “Hi?”
“I thought you weren’t here. I called several times. Didn’t you get my messages?”
“Messages?” She glanced at the blinking red message light on the phone. “Noooo. I’ve been too busy. I’ve been trapped in this room all day, moving my stuff in. It’s been nuts since Robin’s been, um, gone. Not that I’m not happy to see you, but why are you here again? You’re looking for me?” She played with a frame on top of the desk, sliding it back and forth until she was satisfied with the placement.
“I have to talk to you,” I said. “But weren’t you about to make a call? I can wait.”
