Vieux Carré Voodoo (26 page)

He also stood, and shook my hand. “Benjamin often spoke of
you,” he said as he escorted me down the hall. “He thought of you as a son, you
know.”

Unexpected tears filled my eyes. So much had happened—I
hadn’t really had a chance to mourn, or even think about the fact I’d never see
Doc again. “Thanks,” I murmured again, opening my umbrella and running out into
the rain again.

I was sobbing when I got back into the car. “Scotty!” Frank
grabbed me and put his arms around me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I blubbered. I pulled away from him and wiped at
my eyes. “Sorry, it just hit me that Doc is dead…” I took a deep breath and got
my emotions under control. “Okay. Whew. Sorry. Doc e-mailed the pastor—he was a
friend—a message for me.” I pulled it out of my pocket and unfolded it.

It was another riddle. I read it out loud.

“
A president where so many were laid in their graves

Where the wings of the angel reach up for the sky

Follow the finger of the shepherd who saves

Those who gave their lives fighting the fire

Lead the way to a maiden whose own very eye

Looks where you will find what you most desire.”

I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the window.

“Lafayette Cemetery Number One,” I said after a few moments.
“
A president where so many were laid in their graves—
it’s on the corner
of Washington and Prytania.”

Frank started the car and pulled back out onto Prytania
Street. The rain hadn’t let up, and Frank had to drive slowly because the
visibility was so bad. I pushed all my sad thoughts about Doc out of my
head—there would be time to mourn him later, once we had the damned sapphire in
our hands and this was all over.

The light at Washington was green, and I told Frank to park
on Prytania. The main entrance to the cemetery was on Washington Street, but
directly across the street was Commander’s Palace. Even with this storm, parking
would be a mess on Washington. It always kind of amused me that one of the
city’s best restaurants was across the street from a cemetery.

We got out of the car and opened our umbrellas and crossed
the street, running down the brick sidewalk. The gates to the cemetery were
open. Despite the rain, which was undoubtedly keeping visitors away, it was
open. It was getting colder, and the rain continued to pour down. Lightning
flashed nearby, and the thunder was deafening. We darted through the gates. A
steady stream of water about two inches deep was flowing out of the main walkway
through the gates, and my feet were freezing. “Maybe we should wait out the
rain,” Frank shouted.

I glanced at my watch. It was almost four. I shook my head.
“They lock the gates at five,” I insisted, “and if we’re going to find the thing
we should do it now. I’d feel a lot better if it were in our hands rather than
his.”

Frank nodded as we made our way through the cemetery, and I
sighed.

This was where it got hard.

I wasn’t familiar with Lafayette Number One—it wasn’t where
either side of my family had their tombs. Originally, my Creole ancestors were
buried in St. Louis Number One, just outside the French Quarter, and there was a
Diderot mausoleum there. But about a hundred years ago, for some reason the
Diderots had started being buried in the cemetery out near Metairie, at the end
of Canal Street. The Bradleys had always used that same cemetery. This was my
first time ever setting foot in Lafayette Number One.

Legend holds that the original French settlers had tried
burying their dead below ground, but the first rains had brought the bodies up
to the surface. This was why they started building small mausoleums, with spaces
for multiple coffins to be put in at once. Once the mausoleum was full, the next
body was simply shoved into the oldest crypt, and the former occupant and their
coffin was shoved into the back, where a receptacle was built for the old bones
and decayed coffins. The cemeteries were like cities for the dead, with the
mausoleums looking like little houses and the pathways between them laid out
like streets. Lafayette was really the old American cemetery, from the olden
days when the descendants of the original French looked down their noses at
their new neighbors and refused to mix with them. The cemeteries were filled
with beautifully sculpted statuary either in front of the door or on top of the
mausoleum. The more stern Protestants simply adorned their mausoleums with a
huge cross on the top, not going in for that Catholic idolatry.

“I see at least five angels just from here,” Frank said
through chattering teeth. “Which one did he mean?”

I shook my head. “We could be here all night,” I replied. I
was feeling a little discouraged. I thought for a moment. “The next line has to
do with those who gave their lives fighting the fire.” My own teeth were
starting to chatter. We took shelter from the wind in the doorway of a mausoleum
marked
McQuay
. “I wonder if there’s a—” I stopped talking, and pointed
directly ahead of us.

jefferson fire station
was carved across the top of a mausoleum. Beneath the words, a horse-drawn fire
truck was carved into the marble. The mausoleum directly to the right had a
giant angel standing in front of it, carrying a sword.

“This is too damned easy,” Frank said. He was shivering. “I
mean, come on, it’s even in the same street from the damned gate.”

“I don’t know, Frank,” I snapped. “Maybe Doc just thought I
was too stupid to find it if he made it hard.”

“That isn’t what I meant, and you know it,” Frank said.

“Well, he did want me to be able to find it,” I replied.
“And he pretty much fixed it so that Mr. Sjowall wouldn’t give the last riddle
to anyone but me.”

But I was beginning to doubt myself when I got this eerie
feeling like we were being watched. I looked back to the gate, which was still
open. A car drove past on Washington Street, creeping slowly in the rain but
still splashing up a stream of water. I looked the other way, but couldn’t see
anything through the sheets of rain and the gloom. Lightning forked through the
sky nearby, so close the air smelled burnt. The deafening thunder followed
almost immediately. I was soaked through to the skin, and shivering with the
cold. But I couldn’t help but feel we weren’t alone in the cemetery.

“Frank,” I said, swiveling my head from side to side, “I’ve
got a bad feeling—”

I felt the bullet whiz past my ear and embed itself into the
stone behind me. A chip flew out and hit me in the back. Frank grabbed me and
tossed me to the ground. A geyser of water splashed up as the impact knocked the
breath out of me. The water was moving pretty fast and the dirty cold water
filled my mouth and nose. I sputtered and gasped as Frank hit the ground next to
me, throwing up yet another spray of water into my face.

“We’ve got to find cover,” he shouted over the rain.

Well, duh,
I thought, the shock wearing off. I
looked up and scanned the area. I hadn’t heard the shot, which meant whoever it
was had a silencer. There was a splash next to me as another bullet missed.
Damn it!
In a split second I figured that the shooter was in front of us,
most likely to our left and firing from above. “Come on!” I shouted at Frank and
rolled through the water to the right and slightly backward. Just as I moved,
another little geyser sprayed up as a bullet hit where I’d been just a moment
before. Frank moved back, and after what seemed like an eternity we were
shielded by the mausoleum. I grabbed Frank’s arm and pulled him down so I could
say in his ear, “Come on, babe, we’ve got to move.”

Frank nodded, his lips pressed tightly together.

I looked around the corner, and through the gloom could make
out a shadowy form leaping from the top of one mausoleum to the next, getting
closer to us. I pulled out my gun, carefully judged the speed of movement,
aimed, and fired just as the form landed on a mausoleum about ten yards from
where we were hiding. The form fell backward and vanished from view. “I think I
got him,” I shouted to Frank. He winked at me, water running in a steady stream
down his face. “Let me go be sure.”

Ducking down just in case, I ran across the flowing water to
where I’d seen the form go down. I peered around the corner of the mausoleum and
saw a body lying on its back in the water. Still crouched, I crab-walked over to
it. He was dark-skinned, and there was an eye tattooed in the center of his
forehead. His eyes were open and staring.

He was dead. But was he alone?

I stood up and looked around. I didn’t see anyone—but to be
on the safe side, I crouched down and ran back to where I left Frank.

“He’s dead,” I shouted over the rain.

Frank nodded.

I motioned to go around the back, and we made our way to the
street behind the mausoleum. I wondered again if the guy was working alone—just
as another bullet went past me. Frank ran ahead of me, splashing until he
reached a mausoleum with a door rather than drawers. The name on it read
James
. He kicked the door in and ducked inside. I jumped in behind him and
shut the door.

It was dark inside, and as my eyes grew accustomed to the
gloom, I saw that we were inside a narrow room that ran the length of the tomb.
The wall behind me was where the drawers for the coffins were located. I
shuddered and knelt down, putting my head down and taking deep breaths.

“We can’t stay in here forever,” Frank whispered, moving to
the door and peering around the corner. Lightning lit up the inside of the room,
followed by the ubiquitous thunder. “I don’t see anyone—do you have your phone?”

“Yeah.” I fumbled for it inside my jacket pocket, and
flipped it open. I scrolled through the stored numbers and pressed Call when I
reached Venus’s. The phone started ringing, and just as she answered, Frank
fired.

“Venus, this is Scotty Bradley,” I said. “Frank and I are in
Lafayette Number One and we’re being shot at.” Frank fired again.

“On my way,” she said and hung up.

That was one thing I loved about her—she didn’t waste time.

“I got him!” Frank exulted.

I breathed out a sigh of relief and pushed past him. I gave
him a big kiss on the cheek. “I wonder if there’s anyone else out there?” I
looked out and saw another body lying in the water about four yards away. He was
face down in the water. Frank grabbed me by both shoulders and dragged me back
inside.

“Are you crazy?” he hissed at me. “You don’t know if there’s
anyone else out there.”

“I’m going to go look for the Eye,” I replied. “I don’t feel
like there’s anyone else out there—and once the cops get here, we’re going to be
tied up for hours, and we can’t risk someone else finding it.”

I shook his hands off and boldly walked back out into the
rain. I scanned in every direction and didn’t see anyone. And that creepy
feeling of being watched was gone, too. I splashed through the rising water and
walked back around to the main alley.

“Those who gave their lives fighting the fire lead the
way to a maiden whose own very eye points the way to find what you most desire,”
I muttered to myself. I stared at the firefighters’ tomb. Lead the way? How—

I looked at the engraved carving of the horse-drawn fire
truck. The team of horses all faced forward, except for the one in the lead. His
head was turned slightly and looked out into the alleyway at about a forty-five
degree angle. I turned and followed the direction of his head. It pointed to a
passageway between the Fontenot and Delahaye tombs. I splashed over. The rain
was starting to lessen a little and the sky was lightening. I heard Frank behind
me. Once I was out into the alley behind those two tombs, I saw it.

A statue of a young woman was standing in front of a tomb.
Her arms were spread wide, and she was wearing a long, diaphanous gown. Her head
was tilted to her left, her head looking down at the bottom of the structure. It
took everything I had not to scream out in delight.

The name carved at the top of the building was Garrett.

I dashed across to the front and looked at the stone in the
lower left corner and caught my breath.

BENJAMIN GARRETT

APRIL 28, 1947–AUGUST 3, 1968

Underneath the dates were carved the words
He gave his
life for his country.

I closed my eyes. Larry Moon had taken the name of a New
Orleans soldier who’d been killed over there. What better identity to assume
than that of a dead man?

I knelt down and felt around the edges of the stone. It was
loose. “Frank!” I yelled as I shoved my fingers into the small crevice. Frank
knelt down beside me and we pulled.

The stone came out.

And just in front of the coffin was a small metal box.

My hands shaking, I reached forward and pulled it out. There
was a lock on the front—but that wasn’t a big deal. It would be easy enough to
cut that off—

“Please to hand me the box,” a voice said from behind us.

I turned. Two dark-skinned men in long trench coats with
hats pulled down over their foreheads were standing there. Each held a gun in
their right hands.

“Please to hand me the box.” The one on the left gestured
with his gun. “I will shoot you.”

“How do I know you won’t shoot anyway?”

“By the name of Kali I pledge not,” he replied.

“Give it to him,” Frank said.

I held it out to him. Keeping his gun still pointed at me,
he stepped forward and took the box, slipping it under his arm.

“Kali thanks you,” he said. “Now, please, go back to tomb
where you hid?” He gestured in the direction of the James tomb.

Glumly, Frank and I put our hands up and walked back inside
the tomb. The door shut behind us. I heard something snap shut, and then hurried
splashing. I tried the door.