Authors: Amanda Stevens
After everything that had happened, I’d completely forgotten what he’d told me at the ball—that he was sending me something that would answer a lot of my questions.
Would it also give me a clue to his murderer’s identity?
“Christine, are you okay?”
I looked up to find Mrs. DuPrae’s brown gaze studying me closely, worriedly. The fingers of her left hand worked at the top button of her dress.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“It’s not bad news, I hope.” Her gaze dropped to the package in my hands. There was no return address, but my name and the St. Pierre’s address had been scrawled across the front with a red Magic Marker. That scarlet color made the contents seem even more ominous somehow.
I tried to smile. “Nothing like that. It’s…something I’ve been expecting.”
“Oh? Well, isn’t it lucky you were here when it was delivered?”
There was just the tiniest edge to her voice, almost like annoyance, but then, we’d all been under a great deal of strain. I imagined all our nerves were pretty well shot.
“I’ll just take this over to the guest house with me
and open it later,” I said, trying not to appear too anxious. “I did want to ask you something, though. I noticed both Reid’s and Angelique’s cars missing from the drive.”
The gold button twisted precariously in her fingers. “Yes. They both went in to work, but Rachel’s not feeling well enough to yet. She’s…very sensitive, you see.”
I wondered if Mrs. DuPrae had heard Rachel’s outburst this morning in the garden. I wanted to ask her about it, but something held me back.
Maybe, just maybe, I didn’t really want to know who Rachel had accused of murder.
Maybe you’re afraid of what you might learn.
“Do you think she would mind if I used her car? Captain Baptiste asked me to come by the station for…more questions, I guess.”
“Of course. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. I’ll get you the keys right now so you won’t have to bother coming back over. Use it as long as you like. I don’t think Rachel will be up to going in at all today. If she changes her mind, I’ll drive her myself. I’m very worried about her.”
As well she should have been. Whatever else might have been wrong with Rachel DuPrae, I had the distinct impression she was hiding something from the police. She hadn’t once mentioned her accusation to Captain Baptiste. Neither had anyone else.
I thought the same thing about Angelique. Her secretive behavior this morning had led me to believe that she, too, knew something she wasn’t telling.
Could they both be protecting the same person?
* * *
Behind safely locked doors, I opened Lawrence Crawford’s package.
My heart in my throat, I quickly scanned the letter.
Dear Christine:
Just a few days before you arrived in Columbé, your father came to me, wanting to change his will. I didn’t think he’d told anyone in the family about the changes, but now I’m beginning to wonder and worry that someone might somehow have found out.
Reid had been the sole beneficiary of the St. Pierre until then, with Angelique to receive sole ownership of the mansion and you to receive a large cash legacy. Both Mrs. DuPrae and Rachel were to be taken care of as well.
However, as I told you, Christoper became convinced that someone was out to get him. He wanted to sell both his partnership and the house, but was afraid the deal would not go through before something happened to him. That’s why he asked me to draw up a new will, naming you sole beneficiary of his partnership in the St. Pierre Hotel, of the St. Pierre mansion and of any money he might have at the time of his death.
If something has happened to your father, you are now an extremely wealthy young woman. Be careful, Christine. Be very, very careful. Reid St. Pierre has a way of getting whatever he wants, and if your father is dead—and I pray he is not—you now have something Reid wants very badly.
My fingers trembled as I refolded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope. Dear God in heaven, what had my father done? He had set me up to become the next victim. His legacy insured that I would never
leave Columbé alive…or, at least, with my sanity intact. Whoever had taken my father would make certain of that. I was a minor detail that would have to be taken care of.
But how? By driving me insane? By making me doubt my own mind? Would that be grounds enough to contest a new will? Perhaps that was why someone had been tormenting my father before he disappeared. Perhaps
his
sanity would also be challenged.
I stared down at the will in my shaking hands. The words blurred before my eyes. Names ran together: Christopher Greggory, Claudine St. Pierre Greggory, Angelique, Mrs. DuPrae, Rachel, Reid and myself. Lives all tangled together in a hopeless mire of passion and greed…and now murder.
“Please no,” I whispered into the deadly silence. “Please don’t let my fears be true.”
The only answer to my prayer was my grandmother’s raspy voice whispering to me, making me listen to her even though I wanted to clap my hands over my ears and close her out. But the voice was coming from inside my head, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Over and over again she whispered to me, tortured me with her prophecy.
“When a man pursues a plain girl like you, Christine, he always has an ulterior motive.”
* * *
Later that afternoon, I walked into the police station with the copy of my father’s will, hidden inside its manila envelope, tucked beneath my arm. Somehow, I knew the contents of that will were of vital importance to finding my father. Somehow, I had to make Captain Baptiste see it, too.
But the moment I came face-to-face with the policeman,
his dark, serpentine gaze indolently scanning my imperfect features, my resolve wilted. How could I trust him? How could I give him one more reason to doubt my sanity?
“I appreciate your promptness, Miss Greggory. I only have a few questions for you.”
Our gazes met, and he smiled. I felt my skin start to crawl.
“May I ask what your activities have been today?”
“You mean my comings and goings?”
The black eyes gleamed. “Precisely.”
“I’ve been home all day, trying to get some rest. Mrs. DuPrae can vouch for me. Why? Has something else happened?”
He got up from his chair and came around the desk, then leaned against the edge as he folded his arms and stared down at me. “Lawrence Crawford’s office was broken into sometime last night or early this morning. The place was completely ransacked, as was his home. Someone was obviously looking for something.”
The envelope beneath my arm began to burn, and I could almost feel the words on my father’s will writhing and twisting against my skin. “Wh-what were they looking for, do you think?”
“Good question.” His eyes dropped to the envelope, then lifted. “I was hoping you could suggest something. He was your father’s attorney, after all. I know you’ve had contact with him since you arrived in Columbé. Does anything at all come to mind, Miss Greggory?”
Tell him,
my mind commanded.
Tell him and make him help you.
The only people who had known about my father’s new will had been my father and Lawrence Crawford. My father was missing. Lawrence Crawford was dead.
And now
I
knew.
I knew, and I could be next in line.
“You now have something Reid wants very badly.”
Tell him!
my mind screamed.
But as I opened my mouth to speak, a shaft of sunlight from the dirty window behind the desk fell across Captain Baptiste, backlighting him with a sort of perverted halo. Light sparked on the gold snake ring he wore on his left hand, making it glow with subtle inference.
Jean Marc, the driver who had abandoned me my first night in Columbé, had worn a ring like that.
Lawrence Crawford’s murderer had worn a ring like that suspended from a gold chain.
And once, long, long ago, Reid St. Pierre had worn a ring like that, too.
“Did you happen to notice anything unusual about Lawrence Crawford’s body, Miss Greggory? About his…wounds?”
My lips were dry, my throat parched. I said harshly, “I didn’t examine it closely, if that’s what you mean. But it was obvious his throat had been cut.”
“Yes, that was obvious. What might not have been so obvious to you, however, was that his tongue had been cut out. Before he died.”
I gasped. I was shaking all over. I felt sick, drained.
“Why?”
Captain Baptiste smiled thinly. “That, too, is obvious. He knew something, and he talked. The act was his punishment. Or perhaps it was meant as a warning to anyone else who might know…something….” He tapped his ring against the edge of the desk—low, measured beats that were hypnotic.
I lifted my gaze and met his.
You know,
the dark eyes seemed to be saying.
You know, and your turn is next….
“I don’t know anything.” I stood, clutching the package as though it might fly from my arms of its own accord. No one could know that I had it. No one. “I have to go now.”
Captain Baptiste merely nodded, an odd sort of glint in his dark eyes. But he didn’t try to detain me. I almost ran through the lobby, bursting through the doors into the sunlight. I paused on the sidewalk, catching my breath and wondering which way to go. Every direction seemed to hold danger for me. Danger and betrayal. There was no one on this godforsaken island I could trust. No one who could help me now.
“I’ll help you, child.”
The soft, lyrical voice spoke behind me. I turned and saw Mama Vinnia standing beneath the limbs of a huge banyan tree. She wore a faded, long-sleeved black dress that dropped to her ankles and a wide-brimmed straw hat that covered her graying hair. A
gris-gris,
along with a silver cross, hung around her neck on a red cord. She touched them both as she stared at me, chanting softly in the dappled sunlight beneath the tree.
I took a step toward her. “How? How can you help me?”
“Your father has been missing for six days. Tomorrow night, on the Seventh Night, the
Dessounin
must be performed. If you do not find him before then, it will be too late.”
“But how do you know he’s not already dead?” I moved into the shade, shivering under the canopy of leaves blocking the sunlight. “How do you know it’s not already too late? How do I know I can trust you?”
The black, knowing eyes held my gaze so steady and so direct, I began to think I could see actual words forming
in the darkness. A message. But not from her eyes. From her mind. From her soul.
“I’m the only one you can trust, child. I’ve no reason to harm you.”
“And no reason to help me,” I said softly.
“The evil must be stopped. The
bokor
grows more powerful every day. More and more true believers are falling under the malevolent influence. The society is growing. The old beliefs are being blasphemed for the evil one’s selfish greed and lust for revenge. With your help we can stop the sacrilege.”
“What can I do? I don’t even believe in voodoo.”
“You are stronger than you think, child. The
bokor
fears you, else you would already have gone to join your father. You have something the evil one wants, something that cannot be tampered with until the time is right. Find out who wishes you harm. Search for the amulets and charms with which the
bokor
works the powerful magic. Search for something personal of yours that is now in the
bokor’
s possession. Find the evidence and bring it to me. Only with those items can we reverse the spell. That is your father’s only hope, my child. I fear it is yours, as well. Whose evil has been cast upon you, then shall it be cast back.”
“You know, don’t you?” I whispered, gazing into her weathered face. “You know who wishes me harm.”
“Find the evidence,” she said, her fingers slipping back to the cross.
Her dark gaze clouded as it drifted over my shoulder. Somewhere behind me, a car door slammed, and I turned to see Reid striding across the street toward the police station. He saw us then, and slowed his steps as he changed directions and came toward us.
“Here, child!” Mama Vinnia slipped something into
my hand, and I looked down at the cloth bag. “I’ve prepared you another
gris-gris.
Keep it with you night and day. Never leave it from your person.”
My fingers tingled as they closed around the
gris-gris.
Was it my imagination, or was there a strange warmth emanating from the bag?
“Christine? What are you doing here?”
“The same as you, I imagine. I came to see Captain Baptiste.” Was the glint in his eyes curiosity? Or suspicion? My fingers tightened convulsively around the
gris-gris.
I looked around to see Mama Vinnia’s reaction to Reid, but she had disappeared. Vanished into thin air, it seemed, leaving me alone to face my fears.
I turned back to Reid. He was staring down at me, his eyes glittering in the sunlight. And suddenly the night we had shared was there between us, like a shimmering illusion—so fragile one only had to touch it to shatter the beauty. And yet, like an illusion, it tempted and taunted, made me want to believe in its reality.
“Christine.” His voice softened, soothed my tortured nerves like a dark and heady wine. He only had to say my name—one word—and I wanted to melt into his arms.
And yet only this morning I had accused him of a crime so violent, so abhorrent, I couldn’t imagine that memory ever being wiped from either of our minds. It would always be there between us, reminding him of my betrayal, and reminding me of my distrust. Even now, with his gaze warming me like hot satin, I felt myself pulling back from him.
He sensed it, too. His eyes darkened, and the sensuous mouth hardened. He looked at me angrily, almost savagely, as he reached for my hand, then pulled me into his arms, right there on the street.
The heat of the sun beat down upon us. The noises from the street faded away as my heart pounded like a captured creature against my chest. His mouth was only inches from mine, but our eyes were open and we were staring at one another. His features were dark with emotion. I wondered what he was thinking, what he meant to do….