Voodoo or Die Page 11

  Jodi's jaw hardened. "Money isn't going to make up for what happened to me."

  Sheena seemed to soften as she reached over to touch her sister's arm. "Of course it won't, honey, but telling your story might be therapeutic. And if you have money, at least you don't have to worry about looking for a job right away. You can recuperate—you know, travel and shop!"

  Jodi shook her head. "Sheena, you know if somebody pays me a lot of money for my story, our kin-folk are going to come out of the woodwork with their hands stuck out."

  Sheena scowled. "You let me take care of those leeches."

  The younger woman hesitated, pressed her lips together, then glanced at Gloria. "You'll help us?"

  Gloria smiled. "I'll do everything in my power to help you reach a decision that's right for you."

  "And I don't have to sign any of those papers if I don't want to?"

  "Absolutely not."

  Sheena clapped her hands. "Great, so we're in business!"

  Jodi frowned.

  Sheena gave a dismissive wave. "You know what I mean." She stood and pulled the stretchy neckline of her dress lower. "We'll wait for your call, Ms. Dalton, but time is of the essence—we need to strike while the iron is hot. Any day a killer whale could save a kid or something and knock Jodi right out of the headlines."

  Gloria conjured up a smile. "Yes, Ms. Linder. I'll be in touch."

  She escorted the women out into the reception area, and Sheena cocked her hip toward the boarded-up window. "Too bad about Steve Chasen—he was a good customer at the tanning salon."

  "There will be a memorial service," Gloria offered.

  Sheena sniffed. "I didn't know him that well." Then she angled her head. "You're not expecting me to refund the money for his unused tanning sessions, are you? Because he signed a contract that said no refunds, even in the event of death."

  Gloria blinked. "Er... no, I don't believe anyone is expecting a refund."

  Sheena squinted at Gloria. "You could use a little color yourself—God, you're pale for a brunette. Is that your natural hair color?"

  "Yes," Gloria lied, touching her curls. Suddenly she panicked, then manufactured a laugh. "I mean, I cover my grays, of course."

  "Hm. Well, I wouldn't mind if you wanted to use the rest of Steve's sessions."

  "I, er... thanks."

  "Zane said you haven't been able to find any next of kin yet."

  Gloria blinked. "Zane?"

  "Chief Riley," Sheena said, licking her pink, pouty lips. "We're on a first-name basis. In fact, I'm going to write him a part in the script. With those bedroom eyes and those bedrock shoulders, he'll be perfect on the big screen."

  Gloria pursed her mouth. "You think?"

  A sly smile slid across the woman's face as she lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Oh, honey, I know. Of course, he'll have to put in some time on my casting couch, if you know what I mean." The woman curled her lip and made a growling noise.

  Gloria pasted a tight smile on her mouth and was spared answering by Jodi clearing her throat insistently.

  Sheena straightened and jammed enormous sunglasses on her face. "We'll expect to hear from you soon. Toodle-loo."

  The women left, and Gloria stood at the open door, watching them, unable to stem the spark of jealousy at Sheena's stunning curves. They would turn any man's head.

  And Zane was definitely a man.

  At their car, Sheena made a movement to hug her younger sister, but the woman stiffened and drew away. Gloria felt a pang of sympathy for both of them. Sheena seemed to want what was best for her sister, but perhaps she wasn't the best at showing it. Jodi, on the other hand, appeared to be so emotionally wounded—understandably—from her ordeal that she seemed to have collapsed upon herself.

  Gloria had some idea of what the woman was feeling. Her own ordeal paled in comparison to what Jodi Reynolds had experienced, but she knew what it was like to withdraw from human interaction, to be suspicious of everyone she encountered, to wish for life to be the way it once had been... before she knew there were evil people in the world.

  The urge to counsel them billowed in her chest. Some of the most satisfying moments in her career had been when a referral to a family counselor had resulted in saving a marriage versus processing a divorce. Her boss had once chastised her that they didn't make money on reconciliations, but Gloria hadn't cared. Maybe when she next met with Sheena and Jodi, she would recommend someone for them both to talk to.

  She had started to close the door when another car pulled into the parking lot. An attractive man who looked vaguely familiar emerged. When he smiled at her, she remembered meeting him at the health food store.

  "Ms. Dalton," he said amiably, walking up with a folder under his arm. "I'm Cameron Phelps—B.J. Beaumont introduced us the other day."

  "Yes. Hello, Mr. Phelps," she said, extending her hand.

  He took it and held on a second longer than necessary. "I was hoping you could process some paperwork for me. Do I need an appointment?"

  "No," she said, acknowledging he was a very appealing man—especially when he smiled. She couldn't help but compare it to the permanent frown on Zane's face. "Come in, Mr. Phelps."

  "Call me Cameron," he said.

  She nodded. "Cameron, I'm Gloria. Please excuse our mess—there was an accident a few days ago."

  "I heard. I'm sorry about your employee."

  "Thank you." She introduced him to Diane, who nodded pleasantly. Suddenly a baying howl sounded from the bathroom.

  Diane squirmed under Gloria's raised eyebrows. "I figured he wouldn't bother anyone in there."

  Gloria turned an embarrassed smile back to Cameron, who was fighting a grin. "Why don't we continue in my office."

  When they were both settled, she clasped her hands on her desk. "What can I do for you?"

  "I'm getting divorced."

  "I'm sorry to hear that," she murmured.

  He lifted his hands. "Me, too, but... it happens. With my job, I travel all the time. My wife said I was too involved in my work."

  "Your work with the missing persons database is extremely important and admirable."

  A small smile lifted the corners of a very nice mouth. "Thanks, but I guess she has a different point of view."

  "Is it an amicable split?"

  He nodded and placed the folder on her desk. "I just need to sign the papers. They look okay to me, but I thought I should run them by a lawyer, and B.J. said that you used to be a divorce attorney."

  "Family law," she corrected with a smile, "which included many divorces."

  He shifted in his seat. "It's none of my business, but why would a woman like you want to move from New Orleans to a small town like Mojo?"

  She fidgeted with an ink pen. "Just looking for a change, I guess."

  "Do you have any family nearby?"

  She thought of her mother, and a pang of sadness barbed through her heart. "Um... no."

  Cameron looked sheepish. "I didn't mean to pry—that was my way of asking if you're married."

  "Oh." A flush warmed her cheeks. "No, I'm not married."

  He gave a little laugh. "I guess I'd better get divorced before I start dating, huh?"

  To cover the happily awkward moment, she reached for the file. "I'll be glad to take a look at the forms. When do you need them back?"

  "No rush," he said, standing. "Sometime in the next week if you can manage it. I'll be working with the task force for at least the next month—there's still a lot of work to be done."

  "Are you making progress?" she asked, rising to follow him to the door.

  He pressed his lips together in hesitation. "Guess it'll be public soon enough—two missing persons on the database have been matched to DNA found in the museum."

  She winced. "I know that's comforting news for the families, but so tragic. And more bad press for the town, I'm afraid."

  He gave her a wry smile. "Yeah. Are you starting to doubt your decision to move here?"

  You ha
ve no idea. She opened the door and preceded him into the reception area. "How can I reach you when your paperwork is ready?"

  "My cell phone doesn't work here, so until I switch service, I'm staying at the Browning Motel. You can leave a message for me there." Cameron locked gazes with her and leaned an inch closer. His mouth opened, as if he wanted to say something else, but Diane's subtle throat-clearing caught Gloria's attention. When she turned, Zane was standing there, filling out every inch of his tailored navy blue uniform, looking back and forth between Gloria and Cameron.

  She jerked back guiltily, then felt foolish because she had nothing to feel guilty about—she hadn't been involved with Zane for a long time now.

  And as far as he knew, they'd never been involved.

  "Hello, Chief," she said cheerfully.

  Instead of responding, he held up a key, then placed it on Diane's desk. "As promised. See you later." He glanced at Cameron. "Phelps," he added with a nod, then strode out the front door, allowing it to close with a bang.

  Cameron gave her a quizzical look, then said good-bye.

  After he left, Gloria nibbled on her thumbnail. The man's open interest in her made her wonder: If she moved again and changed her name, was it possible she could find a nice guy to settle down with? Could she force her brain to compartmentalize her life, to shut off the piece that she was supposed to forget and simply move forward?

  Diane cleared her throat again. "That young fellow seems to like you."

  "I'm handling his divorce papers."

  Diane stood and murmured, "I meant the other one." Then she turned to walk toward the bathroom and a whining Henry.

  Gloria frowned, wondering what had led the woman to the conclusion that Zane Riley liked her, considering his abrupt behavior.

  Of course, she had slammed the door in his face last night.

  Scooping up the key Zane had left, Gloria called, "I'm going to feed Steve Chasen's cat. I'll be back soon."

  Unless I just keep driving, she thought hysterically.

  Chapter 14

  Gloria unlocked the door to Steve's house, flipped on a light, and called out to the cat in the stillness. "Here, kitty, kitty."

  The house was cool and quiet... deadly quiet. She gripped her purse tighter, drawing comfort from her .38 tucked inside, then sat down in front of Steve's computer and tried a few more passwords to get in, none of which worked. There were no phone messages, which relieved her tension a bit. Maybe the man who'd called would simply go away.

  She spotted the stack of unopened mail and bit into her lip. Then she reached for it and sorted through, staring at the return addresses. When she got to his cell phone bill, she hesitated, then ran her thumb under the flap and withdrew the statement.

  A federal offense, but then again, she had federal contacts.

  Steve Chasen used his cell phone heavily. There were lots of calls to the Baton Rouge area code. She refolded the bill, intending to take it with her.

  Her stomach growled, and she regretted skipping lunch. Remembering Steve's drawer of snacks, she slid it open and rooted through the bags of chips. Little Debbie cakes, and candy bars, settling for one of the fund-raising candy bars being sold all over town.

  This was definitely not on her high-protein diet, she thought wryly, but she needed a quick energy boost.

  She tore away the white Thank You! wrapper and began to munch on the candy bar. At first, the fantastic sweetness of the milk chocolate tasted strange on her tongue, a testament to how long it had been since she'd eaten chocolate. But its effects were almost instantaneous, the rich, gooey thickness on her tongue delivering sugar, caffeine, and other mood-altering stimulants into her system.

  She sighed, remembering how Zane used to tease her about her chocoholic ways. He'd always bought her chocolates for special occasions, saying he had a vested interest in helping her maintain her curves. She smiled at the memory, chewing slowly to prolong the pleasure. When the first candy bar was gone, she fished the second one from the drawer and ripped off the wrapper.

  What the hell—it felt good to let go... to indulge. She couldn't remember the last time she'd done something just because it felt good. Maybe she couldn't have Zane, but she could have empty calories.

  She had just wolfed down the second bar when the black cat appeared at the door leading into the hallway, his ears perked, his whiskers twitching. He sniffed the air, then trotted to her and rubbed against her pants leg, leaving a layer of dark hair. She grimaced, thinking she hadn't yet unpacked her lint brush.

  Not that it mattered, considering the fact that she'd dropped bits of chocolate all over her beige jacket. She wiped at them, smearing them and making matters worse.

  Gloria sighed. It didn't take ESP to know that another trip to the dry cleaner was in her near future.

  "Come on, cat," she said, dropping the candy wrappers into the trash and licking her fingers. Feeling flush with carbohydrates, she walked into the kitchen with the cat trotting behind. Gloria noted with a twinge of sadness the dishes that Steve had left in the sink, the bananas in a stainless steel bowl that were turning brown and drawing gnats. Evidence of a life interrupted. No matter how conniving the man had been, he hadn't deserved to be cut down at such a young age.

  On the other hand, if he'd lived, how many lives would he have tried to destroy?

  Her thoughts kept darting back to the voodoo doll and Jules Lamborne's words about it being a warning. Had someone merely been trying to scare Steve?

  Or was magic truly afoot in this strange little town; could someone have foreseen his accident?

  She pursed her mouth... or even caused it?

  The cat yowled his impatience.

  Gloria frowned down at him. "This is why I don't have pets. I don't need something else complicating my life. How about someone taking care of me for a change?"

  He began to lick himself.

  Rolling her eyes heavenward, she opened a can of cat food and emptied it into the dish. When the cat attacked the food, she sighed, hoping she could find someone soon who was willing to take in a black cat. He was rather... regal, she admitted begrudgingly, with his shiny black coat, prominent whiskers, and red leather collar. Then Gloria squinted at something hanging from the collar.

  Was that... a note?

  The breath froze in her lungs even as she tried to convince herself that perhaps Zane had been here and left it for her. She crouched down, but as she reached for the scrap of paper, her hand shook because she knew the idea was next to ludicrous. This could not be good.

  She removed the paper from the cat's collar and unfolded it. In neat capital letters was written: I KNOW ABOUT L.L.

  Her throat convulsed, and she crumpled the note in her fist. Apparently Steve's partner in crime was picking up where Steve had left off. She jumped at a ringing noise that sounded near her foot, and she lost her balance, falling back on her injured hand and grimacing in pain.

  Her cell phone. She rolled over and dug it out of her bag, her heart thudding like a bass drum. The screen read Private Call. What now? After punching the connect button, she said, "Hello."

  "Gloria, it's George."

  "Hi, George," she said, trying to sound cheerful, as if she could influence the direction of the conversation. She didn't need any more bad news. "What's up?" Slowly, Gloria pushed to her feet and looked around. Was it possible that whoever had left the note was still in the house?

  "First of all, I traced the number you gave me to a phone booth in Baton Rouge."

  She sighed. "That doesn't help much."

  "Sorry. I also ran a background check on the Chasen guy, but I didn't find anything to connect him to Riaz."

  She turned her attention back to the phone and exhaled. "But that's good... isn't it?"

  "It doesn't mean that Riaz hasn't sent someone looking for you and your mother. The dead man and his partner might not be connected to Riaz, but they could have inadvertently tipped off someone in his organization. Riaz's men have scattered, and o
ne of the witnesses who refused protection is missing." A frustrated noise sounded over the line. "If you know where your mother is, Gloria, now's the time to say so."

  "I don't."

  "Have you heard from her since she left WITSEC?"

  "No," Gloria said, then closed her eyes. "But..."

  "But what?"

  "But... if you want to look for her, you might start in New Orleans."

  "Where you've been living," he bit out. "So you have been holding out on me."

  "No, I haven't," she said evenly. "I don't know where my mother is, but she always talked about living in New Orleans, how exciting it would be."

  "Is that why you moved there?"

  Gloria gave a little laugh. "Yes. I had this fantasy of walking into her one day at a festival on Jackson Square."

  "But you never did?"

  "No." She blinked back tears. "I'm afraid she's... dead."

  "Why do you say that?"

  She inhaled deeply, then exhaled to calm her thoughts. "I guess because some days I'd rather think she's dead than to think she's alive and doesn't want to see me."

  "You know she left to protect you, Gloria. Your mother always worried that Riaz would find her someday and would make her pay for testifying against him. And she knew if he found the two of you, he'd use you to get to her."

  He was right—her mother was protecting her the best way she knew how. But it still hurt...

  "Gloria, I wasn't supposed to tell you this, but the night someone broke into your mother's home in Arizona, she was beaten up pretty bad."

  Gloria's heart clenched. "Was she okay?"

  "They left her for dead. She was terrified, didn't want you to see her like that. That's why she took off—she was afraid the men would come back."

  Gloria swallowed past a lump of emotion—and if the men had found her mother, no one would be the wiser. She could have died a brutal death... alone...

  "Are you there?" he asked.

  She sniffed mightily and forced herself to think. "I'm here. In fact, I'm at Steve Chasen's house and his cat just brought me a message."