CHAPTER 31

 EXHAUSTED, YEMAYA THREW herself on the bed and sighed. Between the practices and the show, she had pretty much depleted her energy reserves with very little to show for it. Still, she had sensed someone watching her with more than a professional interest. There was a darkness emanating from the person, almost purulent with the stench of evil and the faint scent of Ramus. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to make out the person’s face, but she could tell it was a woman, most likely his killer or someone closely associated with her.

“You look done in,” Dakota said, strolling into the bedroom wearing only a bath towel.

Eyeing her lover’s trim figure, Yemaya smiled, her eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. “That would be putting it mildly.” She held out her hand.

Dakota slipped past it and leaned down, placing her own hands on each side of Yemaya’s body. Water dripped from her hair onto Dakota’s chest, leaving dark stains on her T-shirt.

“Why don’t you take it easy today? I still have some things to check out. I met someone who could give me a little insight into this Lucretia Mordeau.”

“I might do that,” Yemaya agreed and yawned. “You are not going to do anything reckless, are you?”

“No, dear.”

Yemaya shook her head and laughed. “Okay. A few hours of sleep will do me some good. If you are not back in a couple of hours, I will look for you.”

“Good. You’ll need to rest for when I get back.”

“In that case, I definitely will take it easy.” Yemaya lowered her voice to that unique huskiness that sent shivers through Dakota’s body.

“Damn!”

Yemaya arched her left eyebrow and looked at her questioningly.

“Don’t give me that look. You know very well what you’re doing and that we don’t have time for that now.”

“You certainly cannot blame a girl for trying.”

“Says who?”

Laughing, Yemaya pulled Dakota close and kissed her. By the time they separated, both women were breathing heavily.

“Says me,” Yemaya whispered. “You sure about not having a few minutes?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

Dakota gave an exaggerated sigh. “Well, if I must.”

 

*  *  *

Two hours later, Dakota slipped from beneath the sheets and quietly dressed, making sure not to wake her exhausted lover. Leaning down, she gently kissed Yemaya on the lips and left for the waterfront.

Her inquiries over the previous two weeks had given her a lead, pointing to the Warehouse District as a possible source of information. One of her recent contacts had agreed to meet her with the promise of giving her some important information on Mambo Lucretia, the supposed high priestess with a fairly large following of voodoo initiates. If what he had told her was true, she’d make a great story even if she had nothing to do with Ramus’s disappearance.

When Dakota arrived at the rendezvous point, she looked at her watch and realized she was early. It gave her a few extra minutes to look around. Several people shuffled in and out of the various buildings, transporting large boxes and crates while going about what appeared to be routine activities.

Although a few workers glanced at her curiously, no one appeared overly interested in checking her out, giving her an opportunity to snoop around several small back alleys between the buildings. Emerging from a particularly isolated one, she heard footsteps approaching from around the corner. The large figure of a man stepped into the opening, his face shadowed by the bright daylight behind him. Dakota hesitated, then called out to him.

“Mr. Boudreau, is that you?” she asked nervously.

“Oui, Ms. Devereaux. C’est moi.”

“Well, umm, I appreciate you meeting me like this. Perhaps we could talk in a little more open place?”

“As you weesh, Ms. Devereaux.” He turned away from the entrance and walked toward another building. “I must be discreet, mamselle. Mambo Lucretia, she has many eyes.”

“Of course. Anything you tell me is confidential. I certainly don’t want to get you in trouble for talking to me.”

“Merci. Please follow me. I know where we can talk.”

Taking a set of keys from his suit pocket, he opened the side door of a small warehouse office and held it open for her. Dakota peeked inside but was unable to see anything in the darkened room. Glancing at the large black man, she hesitated.

Boudreau shrugged his broad shoulders and reached past her to switch on a light. “Eet eez quiet here.”

Shaking off her uneasiness, Dakota stepped into the small room and looked around. Dust covered an old wooden desk and chair. It was obvious no one had been in the place for a long time.

“You might say that,” she agreed, noticing the heavy layer of dust covering the floor. “Anyway, thank you for meeting with me.”

“Pas de problème. Eet eez nothing,” he replied. “What eez it you weesh to know?”

“I’m doing an article for my magazine on voodoo and other mystical practices in America. Some of my sources have recommended I include a woman named Mambo Lucretia. They say she has a following almost as big as Dr. Buzzard.”

“An exaggeration, I theenk.”

“Maybe, but I’m discovering she’s well known in these parts. Hopefully, you can tell me something about her.”

“Peut-être.”

“Well, anything you can tell me will help. Have you ever met or talked to Mambo Lucretia?”

“Oui, a few times. She eez very private.”

“I take it she lives around here, nearby I mean.” Dakota took out her pad and pencil.

“Fifteen meenutes maybe.”

“Would you be willing to tell me or show me where?”

“If you weesh.” He shrugged. “Eez theese sometheeng you weesh to do now, mamselle?”

Looking at her watch, Dakota estimated she had some time to spare before returning to the hotel. “I have the time if you do.”

“My car eez parked a few blocks from here.”

“No disrespect, Mr. Boudreau, but perhaps you can give me the address and I’ll just catch a cab. I’ll need one anyway to take me back to the hotel, so it’ll simplify things.” Dakota tried to hide her discomfort about traveling with a stranger.

“Je comprend. I weel call one for you, yes? There are few cabs in theese part of the quarter.”

“Thanks!” Dakota said, grateful he hadn’t attempted to persuade her to go with him. Boudreau made her nervous. She wanted to spend more time asking him questions but decided discretion was a wiser choice. Granted, his quiet demeanor and manners made him appear harmless, but she had learned to rely on her instincts. At the moment, they were raising several flags.

After making a quick call, Boudreau motioned for her to leave the office and locked the door behind them. Within minutes, a taxi pulled up. Boudreau gave the driver the address and walked away without saying a word.

“It’s always the quiet ones,” Dakota mumbled, climbing into the cab. The driver, a young black man, turned to look at her and smiled brightly. “Howdy.”

“Well, howdy,” she said, returning the smile.

“Just sit back and relax, ma’am. We’ll be there shortly.”

Before she could reply, she felt herself jerked backward as the cab took off, wheels squealing.

“How about slowing it a bit so we get there in one piece?” she suggested.

“Sorry, ma’am, but time is money.”

“True and so are tips, so if you want one, slow it down.”

The driver immediately slowed to a more reasonable pace. “Better?” he teased.

“Much better. Thanks.”

 

*  *  *

The drive to Mambo Lucretia’s home was uneventful despite the cabbie’s enthusiasm for dodging around slower vehicles. Once there, Dakota saw several cars parked along the street. A small group of people was standing on the corner talking while others scurried about. Boudreau was leaning against a black limousine, his arms crossed.

“Would you mind waiting for me? It should only be about twenty minutes,” Dakota asked her driver.

“It’ll cost you extra, but I need to go buy some cigs, so how about I come back?”

“That’s fine.” She paid the fare and tip.

“See you soon.” With squealing tires, the taxi disappeared down the road.

Hope he doesn’t have an accident on the way. Dakota walked to where Boudreau was standing and waited for him to speak.

“Theese eez her home,” he said, pointing to a large two-story house protected by a five-foot-high brick fence and large wrought iron gates.

Dakota approached the gates and peered through them into a secluded garden. Huge live oak trees blocked the sunlight, making it dark and eerie. Most of the area was covered in plants and shrubbery that had been allowed to grow wild, giving it a natural look, as well as providing a visual barrier preventing the curious  from having a clear view of the house.

“Rather gloomy, isn’t it?”

“Oui! Mambo Lucretia, she likes her privacy.”

“Apparently. Does she ever do interviews?”

“Rarely, but...”

Dakota waited for him to continue. “But?” she prompted.

“Pardon, Mamselle Devereaux, but I have already asked Mambo Lucretia eef she would see you. I hope you are not angry.”

“No, not at all. I wasn’t aware you even knew her.”

“Oui, I know her. Ma grandmère... uh, you say grandmama...  know her.”

Frowning, Dakota wasn’t sure what to think. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know you. Perhaps you mean her harm. I must first learn who you are.” He shrugged.

“But I explained that I was doing a story for my magazine. I’d have thought that and my credentials were enough proof of who I am.”

“I’m sorry, mais I do not trust your kind.”

“My kind? Oh, you mean journalist. I can understand that. So do I get an interview?”

“Oui. Mambo Lucretia say she can talk to you now, eef you weesh.”

As if on cue, the iron gates opened and a tall, handsome black woman strolled toward her. Sunglasses concealed her eyes, but the slight smile was warm and friendly.

“Bonjour. You must be Mamselle Devereaux.”

“Yes, I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you. How should I address you?”

“You may call me Lucretia, of course.”

“I’m Dakota. Thank you for meeting me on such short notice. I really didn’t expect this.”

“Nor I. You are a respected journalist. I was curious why you would weesh to write about me.”

“Actually, the story is on voodoo, but while I was at the library doing some research, then in the French Quarter, I overheard your name a few times. You’re well known here, so I thought it would add more color to my article.”

Lucretia laughed. “I doubt I am eenteresting.” She motioned for Dakota to accompany her into the garden. Nodding to Boudreau, she guided Dakota down a path and onto a small, secluded porch. Dakota didn’t notice Boudreau talking to the cab driver who had returned from his errand nor the small salute the cabbie gave him as he accepted the money that was handed to him.

Leading her into a small living room, Lucretia pointed to a small settee near the fireplace.

“Please... sit. May I offer you coffee or tea? I do not keep the soft dreenk. They are bad for the health.”

“Tea would be fine, thank you.”

Lucretia smiled and left the room. Minutes later, she returned carrying a small tray containing a teapot, two small cups, creamer, and a sugar bowl. Setting it on the round coffee table, she poured Dakota a cup and handed it to her. Leaning back in her chair, she folded her hands on her lap and waited for her to take a sip.

“Is eet satisfactory?”

“Mmm. Good. Thank you.”

“Bien. Now what would you like to know?”

“I’m doing this article on voodoo, its history, and modern practices. I’m particularly interested in learning a little about your background and New Orleans voodoo.”

“There eez not much to tell about me. My family move here when I was a young woman.”

“Then you’re not Cajun?”

Lucretia laughed and shook her head. “No, I am French, but thees eez my home.”

“How did you get involved with voodoo?”

“I was chosen.”

Dakota realized Lucretia was reluctant to discuss her personal life and decided to change the subject. “I understand New Orleans voodoo is different from Haitian or African.”

“Perhaps a leetle bit, but not much. The roots are the same. The spirits are the same. We sometimes call them by different names, but that eez all. May I ask what purpose thees article?”

“Purpose?”

“Oui,” Lucretia said, motioning toward the magazines on her coffee table. “I see you write about thees Illusionist. She eez, how you say, fascinating and most beautiful.”

“Yes, she is,” Dakota agreed, assuming a nonchalance she didn’t feel. “She just finished her last performance here, and I thought I could kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. My editor will be impressed if I can give him something new to publish.”

Taking another sip of her tea, Dakota felt slightly dizzy. Hands shaking slightly, she placed the cup and dish on the table and massaged her temple.

“Are you not well?” Lucretia asked, leaning forward in her chair to stare unblinkingly at Dakota.

“No, no, I’m fine. Just felt dizzy for a moment. I probably should be going, though. I have a dinner arrangement this evening.”

“Perhaps another time then, oui?” Lucretia rose to her feet.

Smiling, Dakota nodded and stood also. “That would be great. Thank you for your time.”

As Lucretia led her toward the door, Dakota again felt the dizziness. Her legs were heavy as if her blood had turned to syrup. Placing her hand on the wall, she leaned heavily against it trying to regain her equilibrium. A warm arm circled her waist.

“Let me help you. I theenk you should lie down for a while, oui?”

Unable to refuse, Dakota could only nod as she was helped to the couch and lowered onto it. Lucretia picked up her ankles and turned her feet so Dakota was lying down, then placed a knitted comforter over her.

“Eez there anyone I should call to come and get you?”

Dakota could barely open her eyes. Frowning, she tried to think. She knew her lover would be worried and come looking for her.

“My... my friend,” she murmured, feeling worse as the waves of dizziness increased, followed by nausea. “If you could... call Ms. Lysanne...  and tell her.”

“Certainment. How weel I contact Ms. Lysanne?”

Dakota mumbled the hotel and room number before closing her eyes. Moments later, she lay unconscious on the couch.

Lucretia pulled the small medallion from Dakota’s neck. “I have no doubt your Ms. Lysanne weel be here very soon.”

Dialing the hotel’s number, Lucretia asked the receptionist to inform Yemaya that Dakota had been involved in a small accident at a warehouse near the waterfront and needed her assistance as soon as possible.

After giving the location, she hung up and called Boudreau. Ten minutes later, he arrived at her house in the black hearse. Lucretia handed him a small package and gave him his instructions. Nodding respectfully, Boudreau drove away.

Returning to the unconscious woman, Lucretia summoned several of her servants and ordered them to carry Dakota to a small room in the basement that was furnished with a bed, table, and lamp.

“Make sure she eez comfortable and guard her well,” she ordered. “Eef she eez harmed or escapes, I weel be most unhappy.”

Bowing, two of the servants picked Dakota up and hurried away. Neither of them wanted to think about the implied threat of their mistress’s words.