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  Voodoo or Die

  by

  Stephanie Bond

  Without limiting the rights under copyright(s) reserved above and below, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The scanning, uploading, and distributing of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

  Copyright 2006, 2011 by Stephanie Bond, Inc. All Rights Reserved.

  Originally published 2006 in the U.S. by HarperCollins under the title Finding Your Mojo.

  Cover by Andy Brown at clicktwicedesign.com

  eBook design by eBook Prep www.ebookprep.com

  Thank You.

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to my editor, Lyssa Keusch, for inadvertently sparking this idea with an offhand reply to my suggestion that a secondary character in a previous book have her own story. The comment went something like, "I'm not sure Gloria is the best name for a main character." To which I replied, "Well, maybe that's not her real name." Thanks to my critique partner, Rita Herron, for being my first reader as the manuscript unfolded. But most of all, thanks to those of you who read the first book in this series, In Deep Voodoo, and have emailed me through my website to say you can't wait to get back to Mojo, Louisiana. Welcome back—I hope you enjoy your stay!

  Stephanie Bond

  www.stephaniebond.com

  Chapter 1

  Gloria Dalton juggled her purse, a briefcase, and a cup of coffee as she struggled to unlock the door to her new law office. Her sweaty palm slipped on the doorknob as she questioned for the hundredth time her decision to leave New Orleans and relocate to the nearby small town of Mojo to take over the practice of a dead man.

  "I can do this," she murmured. "This time will be different."

  All signage for the not-so-dearly departed Deke Black had been replaced with gold lettering spelling out Gloria Dalton, Attorney-at-Law. Her name across the large plate-glass window facing the parking lot for the Charmed Village Shopping Center was especially satisfying, and something she had envisioned in her mind's eye since she was a teenager.

  Admittedly, she had visualized a different name... one ending with Riley. She smiled indulgently at the unbidden adolescent memory, then told herself it was only natural that she think of Zane Riley. Leaving the New Jersey town, where she'd met her first love, in the middle of the night without saying goodbye had been a traumatic event for a sixteen-year-old, and she would forever associate moving with leaving him.

  Fourteen years and over a dozen moves later, she was accustomed to picking up her life and moving it, but this was the first time she felt good about it. Meniere's syndrome of sudden vertigo and nausea, which had plagued her since she was young, had worsened in the frantic, overstimulating environment of New Orleans, where simply standing among a sea of bodies could trigger a feeling not unlike seasickness. Mojo was by far the smallest town she'd ever lived in, but the experience would be good for her, physically and mentally. She just might make friends here... make a life for herself... stop looking over her shoulder... find her own mojo.

  Her new law office shared the strip mall with other local businesses, including Primo Drycleaners, Tam's Electronics, Lewis Taxidermy, S&C Upholstery, Quinto's Sub Sandwiches, and the Looky-Loo Bookstore. Some of the storefronts were already decorated for the holidays, but none had opened yet for the Monday workday.

  Gloria jiggled the stubborn key and sloshed coffee on her new peach-colored blouse. So much for her first-day outfit, which she'd agonized over. Muttering a curse, she set down her load to free her hands.

  That was when she noticed the burgundy-colored gift box topped with a gold bow sitting on the sidewalk next to her door. She smiled, thinking how welcoming the residents of Mojo had been. She'd expected them to be more resistant to outsiders, especially an outsider taking over a local man's business—a business that meant she'd be delving into the lives of people who came to her for help. Legal issues had a way of bringing out a person's deep, dark secrets.

  Which is why she intended to stay on this side of the law desk.

  After a bit more wrangling, she managed to unlock the door and walked inside, where she was assailed immediately by the cold air. Penny Francisco, Deke's ex-wife, whom Gloria had represented in the divorce before he... er, died, had warned her that the office was infamously cold.

  Shivering, she went back to pick up her coffee, purse and briefcase, thinking she'd return for the package after she got the heat rolling. Despite the chill, though, December in Louisiana was warmer and nicer than most places she'd lived. She didn't miss the snow of Wisconsin or the rain of Washington or the wind of Kansas.

  She walked through the reception area; glancing at the desk of the paralegal she'd inherited with the office, she nursed misgivings. Steve Chasen had his own nameplate, coffee station, and reserved parking space in front of the plate-glass window, closer to the door even than her own space. The man was certainly ambitious. And a bit arrogant, although he'd proved to her he knew Deke's files and clients and could help her get up and running quickly.

  Penny had warned her that Steve was difficult, and although at one time Penny had suspected him of murdering his former boss, Deke, her fears had proved to be unfounded.

  So, with the murder suspicions put to rest, Gloria had hired him. It wasn't as if she was going to have her pick of paralegals in such a small town.

  The half-empty box of fund-raiser chocolate bars sitting open on his desk looked tempting. She hadn't had breakfast, and she was sure Steve had bought them with the office petty cash fund—the man seemed to have dipped liberally into the cash bag since his former boss's demise, but in this case, Gloria didn't mind. The chocolate bars being sold to raise money for the families of the victims of Mojo's Instruments of Death and Voodoo Museum had even made their way to New Orleans: The depravity that had gone on in the museum under the noses of good people in a small town had shaken even the residents of the big city thirty miles down the interstate, which was known for its teeming corruption.

  But she'd save the treat for later—she needed something substantial in her stomach to give her energy to get through what promised to be a long day.

  Gloria proceeded to her own office, newly decorated with light maple and glass furniture and sleek chairs to reflect her own taste. She unloaded everything on her desk and inhaled deeply in satisfaction. The first day of the rest of her life seemed a little clichéd, but somehow it seemed so appropriate today.

  She was ready for a change, and in the wake of the scandal of the voodoo museum, Mojo also seemed primed for transformation. Not to mention the fact that it would give her a chance to be near one of the largest missing persons identification efforts in history.

  She had a special affinity for the missing. Technically, she was one of them.

  On the way out of her office, she stopped to adjust the thermostat up a few degrees and headed to the bathroom to try to clean up her blouse. While she dabbed at the coffee stain with a wet paper towel, she heard the chime sound for the front door.

  "Use cold water," a female voice yelled, "or
you'll set the stain."

  Gloria frowned and stuck her head out of the bathroom. Blue-haired Marie Gaston, Penny's right-hand employee at the health food store, stood in the reception area smiling, holding the burgundy gift box in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other. "Penny sent you carrot muffins for breakfast. Welcome to Mojo!"

  "Thank you," Gloria said, walking forward to take the paper bag. "That's very kind of her to think of me, and of you to bring them. But how did you know about the?..." She gestured to the stain on her blouse, remembering that Penny had insinuated that Marie might have some ESP abilities.

  Marie's mouth rounded, as if she realized her gaffe, then she pointed to the front door. "I noticed some spilled coffee, and when I heard the water running, I put two and two together." She held up the gift box. "This was out front, too."

  "Thanks," Gloria said. "I was coming back to get it."

  "Your window looks great," Marie offered. "There's something very... permanent about it."

  Gloria admired it again from the inside. "Thanks—I like it. And I guess that means I have to stay at least long enough to pay off the fancy lettering job."

  "Are you getting settled into your own place?"

  "Yes," Gloria said, wary of sharing her new home address. She had rented a house from the Gallaghers, just down Charm Street, near Goddard's Funeral Chapel, and even though she'd changed the locks, she hadn't had a chance to arrange for all the security features that would help her sleep at night.

  Old habits died hard.

  "The Gallagher house is really nice," Marie said.

  Gloria raised her eyebrows in surprise.

  "Uh, moving van in the driveway gave it away. You'll find out soon enough how fast news travels in a small town." Marie extended the burgundy box. "Someone must have left you a welcome gift."

  "Let's see," Gloria said, taking the box and setting it on Steve Chasen's desk. She lifted the lid and frowned as she rooted around in the tissue paper. Her hand touched something solid, and she withdrew a voodoo doll, dressed in dark strips of suit fabric, obviously meant to be male... and obviously meant to be in pain, considering the fact that a long pin stuck out of the doll's stomach.

  "Uh-oh," Marie said. "Not another one."

  A finger of unease trailed up Gloria's spine. Two months ago, Deke Black had been found stabbed to death a few hours after Penny, his ex-wife, had stabbed a voodoo doll as a joke. Even though the flesh-and-blood murderer had been caught, many people still believed there had been some kind of supernatural connection between the doll and Deke's demise.

  And the maker of that doll had never been identified.

  "Why would someone leave this voodoo doll for you?" Marie asked.

  Gloria lifted her shoulders in a slow shrug. "I have no idea."

  She looked up and her lungs stalled to see a white car bulleting toward the newly gilded window. She grabbed Marie by the arm and yanked her backward. They raised their arms to protect their faces just as the car plowed through the window in a crashing cacophony of shattered glass and splintered wood. The car stopped just inside the reception area, but a man's body projected through the windshield and landed with a thud faceup on Steve Chasen's desk.

  Which seemed only fitting, considering the man was Steve Chasen, his body bloodied and deathly still.

  "Oh, my God," Gloria murmured through her fingers, her body wracked with shock and disbelief.

  "Wow," Marie whispered. "I didn't see that coming."

  Chapter 2

  Gloria stood rooted to the floor, the coffee stain on her blouse a moot point, considering the fact that her shoes and clothing were coated with dust and bits of glass. She blinked and sputtered to clear her eyes and mouth, trying to absorb the horror of a car sitting in her reception area and the fact that her paralegal was badly injured... at best.

  "Call 911!" Marie shouted, rolling into action as she rushed over to the man.

  With her heart in her throat, Gloria reached for the phone on the desk next to Steve, the handset bizarrely untouched. When she realized that she was still holding the silly voodoo doll, she tossed it to the floor. With shaking fingers she punched buttons on the phone and brushed dust from her face and arms while she waited for a connection. After what seemed like hours, the operator answered. Gloria explained as calmly as possible that a car had just driven through the front of her office and a man was badly injured.

  "Send an ambulance to the Charmed Village Shopping Center in Mojo—they'll see the car."

  "Is the victim breathing?" the operator asked.

  "Is he breathing?" Gloria asked Marie.

  Marie looked up and nodded. "Barely."

  Gloria exhaled in relief, then told the operator.

  "Is there a pulse?"

  Gloria asked Marie, and the young woman placed her fingers on the side of his neck. "No."

  "No," Gloria told the operator, tamping down her panic.

  "Is the victim bleeding profusely from an open wound, such as the site of a major artery?"

  Gloria winced and looked. So much blood, it made her legs weak. Yet despite the numerous cuts on the man's face and head, nothing appeared to be spurting. "I don't think so."

  "Do you know how to administer CPR?"

  She did... she had performed it to no avail on her father years ago... the night she and her mother had fled. "Yes."

  She handed the phone to Marie, then swept bits of debris from Steve's chest. After locating his breastbone, she positioned her stacked hands just below and leaned her weight into depressing his chest for thirty hard, fast pulses. As she counted, bad memories came rushing back, the sticky, crimson blood, the gaping black bullet hole in her father's neck. She banished the images to the back of her mind, reminding herself that this man's life was at stake. When she stopped to check his pulse, she was perspiring from the effort.

  But beneath her fingers, a faint rhythm vibrated. "His heart is beating," she said, her arms trembling. Blood trickled from a long cut on the back of her hand that she hadn't noticed before.

  She heard a siren in the distance. Suddenly she realized the front door was impassible with the nose of the car wedged into the front wall. "Marie, go out the back door to flag down the ambulance and show them where to come in."

  "We hear a siren," Marie said into the phone, thanking the operator before she hung up. She looked up. "That's actually the police coming, not the ambulance, but I'm sure it won't be far behind."

  Gloria raised her eyebrows.

  Marie looked as if she'd been caught. "The sirens sound different. That'll be the new chief of police—today's his first day on the job."

  Gloria nodded. New because of the upheaval in the police department over Deke Black's murder and the subsequent discovery of the horrible things that had been going on at the Instruments of Death and Voodoo Museum. The town's main tourist trap had been a trap, all right, in the most depraved sense of the word. With two live witnesses recovered and an untold number of persons dead, the museum had been closed and the governor had sent a task force to uncover the extent of the criminal activity that had occurred within the walls of the creepy old mansion. The new chief of police had his work cut out for him.

  And now this to deal with on day one.

  "Steve has to make it!" Marie said. Tears clouded the young woman's eyes, and Gloria wondered how close Marie was to the injured man. Before Gloria could ask, Marie disappeared in the direction of the back door, which opened onto a narrow paved lane lined with trash Dumpsters for the respective businesses along the strip.

  Gloria checked Steve's pulse again, alarmed to find his breathing had grown more shallow and his face had turned a deep cherry red. "Hang in there, Steve," she murmured, squeezing his hand. She'd seen a man die before, and it still haunted her. She didn't want to watch this young man's life slip away, too.

  She wondered what could have made him accelerate into the window—a heart attack, or some other sudden medical condition, such as an aneurysm or a stroke? Or had he bee
n distracted by something and accidentally depressed the gas pedal instead of the brake? He had struck her as a fastidious person, but everyone made mistakes.

  In an attempt to comfort him in his unconscious state, she smoothed a hand over the fine brown tweed of his jacket, stopping when a memory stirred. Her thoughts were so jumbled that she couldn't reconcile the disjointed impressions for several seconds. Then, with her heart clicking, she stooped to retrieve the voodoo doll from the debris on the floor. She held it against Steve's jacket. A strip of the same brown tweed had been wrapped around the stabbed doll. Fear gripped her lungs and squeezed.

  A connection was impossible... wasn't it?

  She dropped the doll and yanked back her hand, her fingers tingling. The noise of Marie returning brought her head up and around.

  "An ambulance is on the way," Marie said.

  A tall, darkly uniformed man followed her, removing his hat as he entered. He scanned the scene before them and made his way toward Steve Chasen, casting his slate-gray eyes on her with a nod.

  "Ma'am," he said curtly, and she noticed abstractly that living in the South had softened his Northern accent.

  A buzzing noise sounded in her ears, and little spots of light danced before her eyes as her brain registered exactly whom she was seeing.

  Zane? Zane Riley?

  Chapter 3

  This man couldn't be Zane, Gloria thought, her senses going haywire. Her mind was playing tricks on her. But he had the same gray eyes... the same square chin... the same tall, athletic build, the same thick dark hair, cropped closer now, and shot with silver near his temples. His job, she thought vaguely, must be stressful for him to be turning gray prematurely. And his expression was sterner. She might have attributed the flat line of his mouth and his hardened jaw to the situation at hand if not for the furrow between his eyebrows that seemed permanent.