Who Do, Voodoo?, page 9
Waiting? For what? Robin left Beverly Hills with Carla and Dave more than an hour before I did, and I waited in the station lobby for another thirty minutes. Robin must have brought along one hell of a guest list for her interview to go on so long without finishing it.
Carla pulled a pen from her blazer pocket and clicked it open. “Let’s talk about last night in more detail. I’d like you to give me the rundown of your evening at the Greek Theater as you remember it.”
I settled back into the hard chair. “Nick Garfield and I arrived at the theater about twenty minutes before the show started. Robin and her daughter, Orchid, met us at our seats.”
“Did you see Miss Darcantel at the concert?” Carla said.
“No,” I said. “She wasn’t at the show.”
“How do you know?”
I backtracked my story to Robin’s office and explained that I heard Sophie say she planned to attend the party and not the show.
“When the concert ended, Nick and I went into the after-show party,” I said. “We saw Sophie there.”
“What time was that?”
“I think we walked in just after eleven,” I said.
“And where was Miss Darcantel the first time you saw her?”
Each answer led to another question. How often did I see Sophie during the course of the night? Did I see her with anyone in particular?
I described Sophie’s conversation with Madame Iyå, Sophie’s outburst at Robin, and Sam’s demeanor when he led Sophie out of the artist lounge.
“What did Mr. Collins say?”
“He told Buzzy Lacowsky to escort Sophie out of the party. Sophie protested, Sam ignored her, and then Buzzy led her out.”
“Where were you when Miss Darcantel left the party?” Carla said.
“Standing with Robin outside the door to the artist lounge,” I said.
“Did Miss Darcantel say anything before she left?”
“Sophie cursed Robin,” I said.
Carla raised her eyebrows. “Miss Darcantel cursed at Mrs. Bloom? As in shit or damn or go to hell?”
“No. Sophie looked at Robin and said something like, ‘Curse you—your luck just changed.’ ”
“Did Mrs. Bloom respond?”
“No. Robin went into the artist room. Sophie and Buzzy left,” I said.
“Miss Darcantel and Mr. Lacowsky left alone?”
“No.” The temperature in the interrogation room had to be eighty degrees. I pulled at the neckline of my cashmere sweater, fanning myself as I explained how Linda, Nola, Madame Iyå, and Jimmy paraded after Sophie and Buzzy.
Carla took notes, then said, “What did you do after Miss Darcantel left the party?”
“Robin invited Nick and I into the artist lounge.”
“Who else was inside?”
As I tried to picture the group, every face was a blur except Nick’s. “I know Steve Weller was there. Honestly, I didn’t know anyone except Nick, Sam, and Robin.”
“Sam Collins?” Carla said.
“Yes.”
“Mrs. Bloom was there, too?”
“Yes, I thought I just said that.”
Carla set her pen down. “Mrs. Bloom never left the artist lounge before you and Mr. Garfield departed?”
She waited for my answer, her eyes locked on mine. It was a question I didn’t anticipate. My pulse quickened.
“Robin left for a few minutes to walk her daughter to her car,” I said.
“What time was that?”
“I couldn’t say. It was soon after we went in.” I straightened to release the tension in my back.
“How long was Mrs. Bloom gone?”
I looked down at the desk. I knew damned well that Robin was gone long enough for me to finish a full glass of wine and start another. “I’m not sure,” I said.
“Take a minute to think about it, Liz. Ten minutes? Twenty? Thirty?”
“Honestly, I couldn’t say. Nick and I were talking at the bar. I didn’t see when Robin walked back in. She could have been inside awhile before she took us to meet Steve Weller,” I said.
“Then how long were you in the artist lounge before Mrs. Bloom collected you and Mr. Garfield for the introduction?” Carla said.
“Twenty minutes or so?”
“Or so?”
“You’re trying to make me commit to a time frame I don’t remember,” I said, growing irritated and uncomfortable. The air, or Carla’s persistence, was stifling. I reached my hand back to sweep my damp hair off my neck.
“Let’s go back to the incident between Miss Darcantel and Mrs. Bloom on the steps. Did Mrs. Bloom tell you what the argument was about?”
“Yes.” My cell phone rang in my purse. I let it go to voice mail and said to Carla, “Robin asked Sophie about tarot cards that were tacked to Robin’s front door.”
Carla took off her glasses and set them on the table. “Do you know what Mrs. Bloom meant by that?”
“Yes. Someone left tarot cards on Robin’s door to scare her. They were unnerving. ‘I’m watching you’ was written on the back of one of them. Monday night, a photo of Robin marked with voodoo symbols was tacked on her door. We think Sophie left them.”
“What made you and Mrs. Bloom think Miss Darcantel left the cards?”
“We learned that Madame Iyå designed the tarot deck the harasser used. Her copy was intact. Sophie had the only other copy,” I said. “It must have been Sophie who left the cards.”
“You saw Miss Darcantel with the tarot cards?”
“No.”
“Did finding the tarot cards make Mrs. Bloom angry?” Carla said.
“Not angry. She was frightened and curious.”
“Why do you think Miss Darcantel would try to frighten Mrs. Bloom?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I understand Miss Darcantel was dating Robin’s boss.”
I nodded.
“Is that a yes?” Carla said.
“Yes.” Was she recording us? I glanced up to the corners of the ceiling, looking for a microphone or camera. I didn’t see one.
“How did Mrs. Bloom feel about Miss Darcantel and Mr. Collins’s relationship?”
“I don’t think Robin cared who Sam dated,” I said.
Carla sat back. “Even if Mrs. Bloom and Mr. Collins were lovers, too?”
I cocked my head. “Robin and Sam?”
“Boss and secretary? It happens,” Carla said.
“Not with them,” I said.
“Are you certain?”
I lived out of town when Robin took the job at Collins Talent. She told me about her sexy new boss over the phone. I remembered teasing her about Sam. She laughed off the joke. Robin and Josh were the happiest couple I knew. But Sam was a player. Could I swear that Robin and Sam never had a fling? Even after Josh died?
“Of course I’m certain.” My foot tapped on the floor.
“What other reason would Miss Darcantel have to taunt Robin?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “What are you getting at?”
“I’m trying to get at the truth.”
“You’re going in the wrong direction if you suspect Robin.”
“I didn’t say Mrs. Bloom was a suspect,” Carla said.
“Robin wasn’t the only person Sophie argued with. I told you, she fought with Madame Iyå, too. Madame Iyå and her son followed Sophie out of the party. From what I overheard, until last night, Madame Iyå and Sophie were partners.”
“Tell me about the rest of the evening. What did you and Mr. Garfield do after Mrs. Bloom came to introduce you to Mr. Weller?”
When I completed my story up to the moment Nick and I found Sophie in the parking lot, Carla smiled and stood. “Thank you for your help, Liz. I wish we’d had all of these details last night.”
“One more thing,” I said, ignoring the dig. “Buzzy Lacowsky told me that Sophie was selling voodoo spells. What if a dissatisfied customer attacked Sophie?”
“Thank you for the information. I’ll check it out.”
“You’re welcome,” I said.
I picked up my purse and followed Carla out. Her suit pants were dusty; her boots were caked with dirt. She must have been up all night at the theater parking lot and then worked all day. As we passed the other interrogation room, I looked through the open door to see if Robin was inside. It was empty.
“You said Robin was still here,” I said. “Where is she?”
“She’s being detained.”
I staggered, stunned. “What you mean detained? I thought you said she wasn’t a suspect?”
Carla didn’t respond.
“I want to see her,” I said. “Right now.”
“I’m sorry. Detainees aren’t allowed to have visitors,” Carla said.
My astonishment spun into a swirling anxiety. “What are the charges?”
“We’re waiting for her lawyer to arrive,” she said. “That’s all I can tell you right now.”
I left the station with my head spinning. I leaned against my car door and let the late afternoon breeze cool me off. I slid into the driver’s seat, took out my phone, and picked up my message. It was my mother with the rest of her shopping list for Botanica Mystica. I erased the message and called Dave.
“It’s me,” I said when he answered. “Where are you?”
“On my way downtown,” he said. “What do you need?”
“I need you to tell me what’s going on.”
“About what?”
“Carla Pratt is detaining Robin at the station,” I said. “Can she do that?”
“Yep.”
“Based on what?”
“Your friend had blood on her purse when she got into the car with us.”
I dropped my head and closed my eyes to ward off the piercing pain that shot into my forehead. “Blood on a purse doesn’t mean anything,” I said, trying to convince myself as much as him. “It could be anyone’s blood. It could be her blood.”
“On top of the fight she and the victim had at the party, the blood is enough to detain your friend until they can run the DNA,” Dave said.
“That’s crazy. I don’t believe it,” I said. “They can’t hold her while they wait for a DNA test. That could take days, weeks.”
“Did you forget that your friend’s boss called the chief and riled everyone up? We’re moving fast. The press is all over this case. Trust me, the DNA test will get done before Pratt has to let your friend go.”
Good. The test would come back negative. I said, “What about other suspects? Who else are you questioning?”
“That’s all I can tell you,” he said. “Pratt is the lead detective on the case. I’m not going to interfere. Ask your friend or her lawyer, okay?”
“Robin. Why are you acting like you don’t know her name?” I said. “You have to tell Carla that she’s on the wrong track.”
“Pratt will follow the leads she has. If you have other information, I hope you gave it to her,” he said. “Did you finish your statement?”
“Yes.”
“Then let it rest. Let Pratt do her job.”
I shouted into the mouthpiece. “Do her job? She’s holding Robin. There had to be a hundred people at that party. Why not interview everyone else who was there before jumping to conclusions?”
“I won’t talk to you about this anymore. Leave the investigation up to the detectives and the lawyers, Liz. I have to go. I have another call.” Dave hung up.
Furious, I pulled out of the lot and drove toward Hollywood. Thanks to my mother, I had an excuse to stop at Botanica Mystica and do my own investigating.
Chapter Fourteen
Daylight faded into dusk as I drove into Hollywood. My anger masked the worry churning inside me: What blood on Robin’s purse? Impossible. Even with the godawful suggestion that Robin might have killed Sophie, Robin wasn’t stupid enough to march into the scene at the parking lot last night with a blood-soaked purse on her shoulder. And what criminal carries a bloodstained purse to work the next morning? Was Robin close enough to Sophie’s killer last night to brush against blood? Or was it planted?
The blast of air from my car heater dried the perspiration that had dampened my sweater during my interview. I probably smelled like a gym locker and needed a hot shower and change of clothes before dinner with Nick. Maybe I would wear something sexy. Wait. Robin was sitting in a holding cell. Why was I worrying about my evening attire?
I parked in front of the entrance to Artisans Patio and walked through the sconce-lit alley of shops toward Botanica Mystica. The bells above the door jingled as I entered. Madame Iyå stood in the aisle, stacking books on a shelf.
Her brows arched, she tilted her head and forced a smile. “You came for the tarot deck for the professor?”
Damn. I forgot that Nick told her he was coming back with a check. There goes my incense story. “Oh. No. I came to apologize. Professor Garfield couldn’t come in this morning. His lecture on the tarot was this afternoon. He decided to forfeit the display,” I said. “We received horrible news about a friend and were up very late. I think you knew her. I saw you talking to her last night—Sophie Darcantel?”
Madame Iyå placed the last book on the shelf and wiped her hands on her black tunic. She studied me. “Yes. You knew Sophie?”
Her stare unsettled me. Fortune-tellers were adept at reading face and body language, and I didn’t want her to catch me in a lie. I said, “She dated a friend of a friend. I spoke with her yesterday afternoon, before the concert. So tragic.”
Madame Iyå settled on the stool behind the counter and rubbed both hands over her face. “Sophie was like a daughter to me.”
I walked over and touched her arm. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” she said. “My son and I are still in shock.”
“Does this affect the book of spells you were writing with her?”
“Not at all. Sophie gave me her spell book to use.” She looked away.
Buzzy told me that Sophie accused Robin of stealing the spell book. Madame Iyå was either lying or she stole the spell book from Sophie.
Madame Iyå said, “How did you know Sophie was my partner?”
“You told us yesterday you were writing your book with a voodoo princess from New Orleans. I guessed Sophie was your partner when I saw you together last night. I know someone who bought a spell from her. He claimed she was the real thing.” I looked around the shop, fixating on the jars of herbs lined on a shelf. “You were both given the gift so it was a natural assumption.”
“Then you believe,” she said.
“Yes,” I said. Dodging the truth was getting simpler as the day progressed. “I’m curious. How does Sophie’s death affect the spells or curses she put in motion while she was alive? What happens to the clients who bought spells from her?”
“Once a spell is put in motion, only the spirits can stop it.” Madame Iyå shifted on the stool, the movement jangling the bracelets on her arms.
“What if one of the spells was purchased by her murderer?”
Madame Iyå laughed softly. She looked down at the amulets in the glass case that separated us. “The hoodoo would be stirred up. Sophie’s ancestors were powerful voodoo women. Their spirits would ensure the spell turns on the murderer so he or she would pay dearly—in this world, in the afterlife, or in both.”
The early evening darkness crept into the nooks of the shop. Small lamps at the end of each counter shed a pool of amber onto the glass. Smoke from the sandalwood incense burning in a bowl circled in the air.
“I wonder what happened to Sophie last night, don’t you?” I said.
She crooked her finger for me to lean in. “Maybe Sophie will tell us the answer. Are you a true believer?”
I lowered my voice to punctuate the lie. “Yes, of course.”
“Sophie’s roommate, Linda, is hosting a séance tomorrow night to summon Sophie’s spirit before she crosses over. Familiar faces will be there to send her off. If Sophie knew her killer, maybe her spirit will give us the name.”
My pulse thrummed. I took a calming breath to shield my excitement. I couldn’t sit and do nothing. My friend was being detained for murder. The séance would be my opportunity to meet Sophie’s friends and maybe her clients. And if Madame Iyå was Sophie’s killer, the séance might prove telling.
“I’d love to attend,” I said. How could I pull off an invite? Sophie’s friends exercised with Lulu in the morning. Meeting them at class was a long shot but worth a try. “I’ll see Linda at class in the morning. Is she hosting the séance here at the shop?”
“Not here. We’re doing it at Sophie’s apartment. Linda and my son, Jimmy, will prepare the setting. I need to be surrounded by Sophie’s energy,” she said.
“Thank you for telling me. I’ll try to be there.” I forced a smile and hoped that Nick and Osaze would understand.
Madame Iyå bowed her head. “The spirits do all the talking. I’m only the vessel.”
“You have a gift.” The gift of salesmanship. I couldn’t wait to see how Madame Iyå hustled a crowd.
“Yes. I’ve been an intuitive all of my life.”
I’ll bet. I glanced at the incense display on the shelf behind her and remembered my mother. “Do you carry Mystic Bouquets Incense?”
“No. I don’t know the brand,” she said. “I could look it up and order it for you.”
“Don’t worry about it. I must have mistaken the name,” I said.
She reached under the counter and pulled out a blank index card. “Write your name and address on here. I’ll put you on my special customer list. I teach classes and do readings. Tell everyone you know.”
I filled out the card with my office address and started to leave. “I hope to see you at the séance.”
“Wait. Yesterday I told you I’d fix a special gris-gris to drive your professor crazy with lust for you.” She reached to the shelf above the incense and set a small bag on the counter in front of me. “Here you go. Guaranteed to work.”
“I really don’t need it. We’re just friends.”
Madame Iyå leaned back and stared hard. “You have a broken heart, Liz. You need the help of the spirits to let the professor in.”
