Who Do, Voodoo?, page 23
“Don’t worry,” Nick said to me. He turned to the guard. “Get an ambulance. She’s hurt.”
The guard disappeared into the lobby, talking into the static of his walkie-talkie. “This is station twelve.”
“Nick. We have to catch Lulu.” Didn’t he get the urgency here? Clearly, he was not an action hero or fast thinker. “She killed Sophie.”
“I heard you on the phone. How do you know?”
“Nick, stop talking and go get her.” I pointed toward the door to the garage.
Instead of obeying my demand, Nick tucked his arm under my good leg, wrapped my arm around his neck, and picked me up.
“Nick, are you insane? She’s getting away,” I said, trying to push myself out of his grasp.
He opened the lobby door. “Yeah, I don’t think so.” He carried me across the lobby toward the glass front doors. “Barney Fife back there didn’t believe me so I left the old guy to his newspaper and improvised. The police should be outside just about . . . now.”
A loud crash, breaking glass, and the sound of crushing metal coincided with our exit through the doors and the blare of police sirens in front of the building.
Lulu had sped out of the garage and slammed her car head-on into Nick’s old sedan blocking the exit.
Nick looked at me and smiled. “Parking in Beverly Hills was a nightmare.”
“Put me down,” I said. “I told you to park in the public lot.”
A fire truck and an ambulance pulled up in front. One of the firemen took a dazed Lulu out of her car and led her to the EMT and waiting patrolmen.
A young Beverly Hills patrolman came up the marble steps toward us. “Can either of you tell me what happened here?”
Nick pointed to Lulu. “I want you to arrest that girl for battery. We’ll explain after the EMT checks my girlfriend’s leg.”
Nick called me his girlfriend. In public.
“What happens to Lulu now?” I said.
“Look.” Nick pointed to the cameraman and reporter unloading equipment on the curb. “The local media are always the third responders to a Beverly Hills crime scene. Lulu will get her headlines. But the fame she bought came in the wrong flavor. I want to get you looked at, then we make a statement and get Lulu charged.”
A female EMT bandaged my bruised, not broken, knee and I signed a medical release. Nick called Dave and I called Ralph Barnes, requesting both to meet us at the Beverly Hills police station. While we waited for the tow truck and a cab, I laid out my theory to Nick.
“Sophie had Lulu leave the tarot cards at Robin’s door. When Robin confronted Sophie, Sophie thought Lulu had confessed their plan. Then, when Sophie was thrown out of the party, she cursed Lulu, not Robin.”
“So Lulu followed Sophie to the parking lot . . .” Nick said.
“Yep, fearing Robin or Sam would learn the truth and fire her. If she lost her job at the agency, she would lose her industry connections, too. Her big plans for fame go into the toilet. Lulu’s temper, which I can testify to, got out of control. She bludgeoned Sophie, left her alone to die. Then Lulu spotted Robin, walking in the lot with Orchid. If Robin were arrested for Sophie’s murder, the path would be cleared for Lulu to take Robin’s place at Collins. Sam was Lulu’s ticket to a singing career. Lulu followed Robin out of the parking lot into the ladies’ room and wiped Sophie’s’ blood on Robin’s purse.”
“You saw all of that in the tarot cards?” Nick said.
I shivered a little, remembering the whispers in the hallway on the fifth floor. “It’s the damnedest thing. I let go of logic and let my imagination guide me. The tarot cards laid out the basics and the story fell into place.”
Nick put his arm around me. “That’s how it works, Liz.”
Chapter Thirty-two
Nick and I left Dave, Carla, and Ralph Barnes behind at the Beverly Hills police station. Lulu would be transferred to jail and questioned about Sophie’s death. Monday she’d be arraigned for criminal battery on me. Carla arranged for a warrant to search Lulu’s apartment for traces of Sophie’s blood and a murder weapon. Barnes had enough in contention to release Robin into his custody.
Nick and I took a cab to my townhouse, then drove my car back into Hollywood. It was close to midnight when we parked outside Osaze’s home.
“Am I dressed appropriately for the occasion?” I looked down at my jacket and jeans. Would we be huddled inside the skull-filled sanctuary?
“After everything that happened today, do you still need a dress code and a plan, Liz?” Nick helped me out of the car. “You look beautiful.”
I smiled. “What do you think Osaze will do with the spell book now?”
“As far as I’m concerned, the spell book had nothing to do with the murder, it was all about the tarot cards. The police have the tarot deck, along with the cards left at Robin’s, in evidence. I’ll explain, and Osaze will decide what he wants to do with the spell book.”
The soothing hollow timbre of a wooden flute drifted over the rhythm of steel drums and floated through the trees from the backyard. A small group of people sat on the porch steps. They nodded at us as Nick escorted me to the backyard.
Torches circled the perimeter of the yard. In the far corner, next to the sanctuary cabin, a bonfire blazed in the pit of a massive granite table. The flames flicked embers into the night sky. The yard was alive with guests talking, laughing, and drinking. Teens wore sweaters and jeans; older adults were dressed in multicolored African tunics. Henry was across the yard on a folding chair with a plate of food perched on his knees and his hat in hand. He was showing his Super Chief pins to the man at his side. Outside the back door to the house, three young men in bright flowered shirts played instruments. One beat a steel drum in a slow rhythm; another blew lightly into a wooden flute. The third man kept time, scratching on a long painted tube while he sang a bewitching African chant in a baritone voice. On the grass in front of them, men and women swayed their shoulders and hips to the beat.
A cloth-draped altar, laden with an assemblage of candles, fruit, and vegetables, was behind the fire pit. A framed photo of a stunning woman of color stood in the center of the altar. The woman’s small lips were curled in a serene smile; her delicate cheekbones and slicked wavy hair framed piercing black eyes—the same face I had seen framed in Sophie’s room. Callia.
A large, oval-shaped, tin tub filled with water and lemon and orange slices was positioned in front of the fire pit.
Food tables bordered both fences. Aluminum platters with mounds of ribs and burgers, salads, cut fruits and corn bread were spread out. A man in an apron turned slabs of ribs on a barbeque, filling the air with the aromatic scent of roasting meat. My stomach panged with hunger.
Osaze made his way through the crowd to Nick and me. “Welcome. Eat, drink, and dance. It pleases the Iwa. We must entice them to bless the ritual.”
“First, we talk. I have news, my friend,” Nick said.
Osaze smiled. “I had a feeling. Tell me.”
A round African American woman in an orange-and-red-print caftan and a ponytail of gray hair interrupted our little group with a smile. She reached out to me. “You come with me into the house, honey, and I will prepare you for the bath.”
Bath? Okay, I suspected I looked bad—it was quite the day—but I thought I was at least presentable and certain I didn’t smell. Or might I be the sacrificial near virgin? I turned to Nick and touched the cut on my cheek.
“No, Makena, this is Elizabeth. There is no cleansing bath for her tonight.” Osaze glanced at Henry across the yard, then said to us, laughing. “Mr. Marx wouldn’t let Makena bathe him until you got here. And where is Sophie’s friend—the woman cursed? Did you bring her?”
“No, we didn’t. Let’s talk,” Nick said. He turned toward me and rubbed my arm. “Would you mind if I speak with Osaze alone?”
“Of course not,” I said. “I’ll go get something to eat.”
“Yes, come, come.” Makena took my hand. “I’ll make you a plate.”
As Makena guided me through the crowd, I looked back at Nick and Osaze. The news that Sophie’s killer was in jail would be bittersweet to her uncle. Nick led Osaze to the side of the yard and put a hand on his shoulder, facing him. Osaze nodded, then stopped to look up to the sky as Nick talked. Ivalisse joined them. Osaze said something to her, and she put a hand to her mouth. Nick wrapped his arms around her. I lost sight as the dancers crossed in front of them.
Makena pulled me along toward the food tables. “Come on, Elizabeth, you skinny thing. The spirits will be insulted if you don’t join in and eat.”
The last thing I wanted to do was insult any spirits. I eyed the tub across the yard, grateful I was curse free and wouldn’t be dipped. My mouth watered from the sight and smell of food. I stacked a plate with ribs and corn bread and ate while Makena introduced me to some of the folks standing nearby. All were Vodouns who came to participate in the ritual.
“I thought the spell book was an old wives’ tale,” said Michael, a tall, elegant man of about fifty, with cocoa skin and a black goatee. “The book with a curse so powerful that just knowing about it could kill you.”
His wife, Belinda, a striking beauty with a shaved head and a nose ring, smiled. “We were going to spend the night at home, but Osaze said Callia’s spirit needed our encouragement and support. And when Osaze puts out the call, we answer.”
“And Sophie’s spirit, too.” Michael shook his head. “We’re here to help Sophie find peace in the other world.”
I saw a shock of jet-black hair over Michael’s shoulder.
“Shrink.” Nola sidled in between Belinda and Makena. “You look like someone beat the crap out of you again. What happened?”
I lowered my voice and leaned in, away from Makena’s searching stare. “I ran into a flying purse, a runaway chair, and a steep stairwell. I’m fine. How did the move go?”
“All of Sophie’s things are here, in the spare room. But that punk Jimmy up and disappeared. Linda and I had to finish the whole damn cleanup alone,” Nola said.
“I had the impression that your father didn’t . . .”
“Like Jimmy?” Nola broke into a mischievous grin. “My father hates him. But we needed the extra help. Jerk bailed on me anyway. Did you bring Lulu?”
Something brushed against my leg. I looked down. The taupe kitten peered up at me. I waved at it with two fingers and winked, and she wove a figure eight through my legs. Michael, Belinda, and Makena drifted back into the crowd. I steered Nola behind the table for privacy. “Lulu’s in jail. She confessed to Sophie’s murder. It’s over.”
Nola glanced across the yard toward Osaze, then to the altar. I expected shock, but Nola’s face opened in a broad smile. In the moonlight, standing tall in a silk tunic of turquoise and black, a silver pendant at her throat, Nola looked regal.
“Wow,” Nola said. “So Robin is innocent after all. I knew I felt Sophie’s presence when you came in. I don’t know why her spirit is hanging around with you, but you brought her here tonight.”
I thought about the presence I had felt and grinned. The kitten at my feet let out a tiny howl. I reached down to pick her up. She looked at me and howled again. I patted her little head and cupped her to my chest. She began to purr.
“See? Erzulie knows.” Nola gave the kitten a scratch behind her ear.
“Erzulie?”
“Yeah. Sophie named her Erzulie when she was born,” Nola said. “That’s her little darling. Sophie was going to take her home as soon as the kitten could leave her mother. Check out her eyes.”
I looked at the little kitten nestled in the crook of my elbow. Erzulie stared up at me. Her left eye was a light crystal blue; her right eye was golden amber. She opened her mouth and yawned and then jumped out of my arm and ran through the crowd.
“Cats are sensitive to spirits and demons. They’re very aware,” Nola said as Erzulie darted away. “But I guarantee you that if Callia’s spell book is around, you won’t see any dogs. They don’t trust spirits.”
The band stopped playing. Nick joined us at the side of the yard. “Osaze’s ready to begin.”
Conversations subsided. All eyes followed Osaze as he walked toward the altar. His gold ankle-length robe, threaded with black embroidery, swished from side to side as he moved.
I grasped Nick’s arm—Osaze held the spell book pressed against his chest, both hands crossed over it. Nick smiled at me, his eyes twinkling.
As Osaze passed, the crowd casually sat on the grass in front of the fire. Nick and I found an open spot between the sanctuary wall and the altar. Henry joined us.
“Thank you for coming.” I hugged him hard.
“You didn’t tell me about the bath,” he said, eyeing Makena across the yard. “I’m not taking my clothes off in front of her.”
I smiled. “You won’t have to. Just watch and listen.”
The crackle and smell of fire filled the air. Osaze placed the spell book in front of Callia’s picture on the altar and circled it with burning black candles. He rang a small bell.
“To summon the spirits,” Nick whispered.
Osaze sprinkled liquid to each of the altar’s four corners, then faced the crowd. “Tonight we are here to honor and celebrate the mo of my revered ancestor Callia. Her legacy, the book of her spells, is on the altar charged with Callia’s memories and the memories of all the women who carried on her bloodline: her daughters, Marie and Renee. Her granddaughters Luce and Laure. My mother, Florence, my half sister Juliette, and dear young Sophie. All tutored to cast and protect the power that Callia brought from the mountains in Haiti. Now that the female-to-female lineage has ended”—Osaze locked eyes with Nola, who was sitting in front of him—“a new generation of women will honor Callia’s spirit with their own power. It is a new day for Callia’s family. Her book of spells will be released to the fire, and we respectfully ask the Iwa to remove the curse Callia enlisted for protection.”
Osaze spread open his arms and ceremonially embraced the crowd, and then he looked up to the waning moon. “We honor the Iwa with offerings of food and drink to please them.”
I leaned close to whisper to Nick. “Who are the Iwa again?”
He cupped his hand to my ear. “The spirits who carry the power in the other world. Callia is an ancestral spirit, mo. Her powers are different.”
Osaze turned to the altar and held up a small bag. Candlelight reflected in the sequins as he circled the satin bag above the leather-covered spell book. Then he put the bag aside and picked up the spell book. “Callia, honored ancestor, with your permission and the blessings of the Iwa, I will send this spell book and the curse that it carries to the flame.”
Osaze stood in front of the blazing fire pit. My body pulsed with anticipation. A breeze, drifting above us, wrestled the rose bushes and filled the air with the scent of burning wood and roses. A crow landed on the block concrete wall behind the altar and cawed.
Little Erzulie jumped into my lap and settled in with her head up and ears alert.
Nick was right. Some things are beyond science or logic. He put his arm around me and squeezed. I rested my head on Nick’s shoulder, hypnotized by the flames and Osaze’s slow, melodic chant.
Osaze tore the spell book into the fire, page by page. Embers of burning paper floated into the sky. The crowd picked up the chant in a language I could neither make out nor follow. Nick and I swayed to the rhythm. And then, with a final incantation, Osaze reached for the satin bag behind him and shook the contents onto the burning pages. The fire flashed into an enormous golden blaze that reflected onto Osaze’s upturned face and arms. The crowd lifted their arms with him.
The spell book was in ashes and its curse along with it.
A slow drumbeat began. The rest of the band picked up the rhythm. Men and women rose to their feet to drink and dance again. Osaze, Ivalisse, and Nola came to the corner where Nick, Henry, and I sat.
“Thank you. My family is grateful.” Osaze looked down at us and beamed. “And I see that Erzulie has found her charge.”
I stroked the kitten, asleep in my lap. “She’s adorable.”
“Adorable? That hellfire?” Ivalisse laughed and rolled her eyes. “She only came out from chasing mice under the house for two people—you and Sophie. I think she’s staked a claim on you. She’ll be angry if you leave without her.” Erzulie purred so hard she made my thigh vibrate.
“Do you think so? I love cats. I’d love to adopt her.” I scratched the top of Erzulie’s head.
It was settled. After we said our good-nights, Nick carried the empty cat carrier to the car. Erzulie insisted on riding in my arms on the way home. Or I insisted on holding her. Whichever it was, we agreed.
As Nick drove toward Studio City, my phone rang. “Hi, Liz, this is Ralph Barnes. I’m at the Van Nuys jail with someone who wants to talk to you.”
Robin came on the line. “I’m going home. Barnes told me what you did. Thank you.” She let out a long, shaky breath somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Thank you so much for always being on my side and believing in me. Since we were kids, when Josh died, and now this—I’d never have made it through without you. I owe you so much.”
“You’re my friend, Robin. That’s what we do for each other.” I smiled. “But no more lies, promise?”
“No more lies,” Robin said.
“No more voodoo?”
“But the curse . . .”
“Osaze burned the curse with Sophie’s spell book. No more magical shortcuts, right?”
“Right. I’ll even bake you that pie to smash in my face.”
“And waste a perfectly good freedom pie? Hell, no. We’re eating it.”
She laughed. “Thank you, and please thank Nick, too. I love you, Liz.”
“Love you, too,” I said.
Thirty minutes later, Nick and I walked into my townhouse. Erzulie jumped from my arms and disappeared to explore her new home, while I set up her food dishes and Nick filled the litter box we picked up at the all-night drugstore.
When all was put in order, I opened a bottle of wine and plopped down on the sofa next to Nick. Erzulie found the empty pouch from Madame Iyå’s lust gris-gris and batted it across the rug.
