At Risk (14 page)

“No,” she said, making Rafe wonder if she was lying.

“What’s your interest in voodoo?” he asked.

“I find it empowering.”

“In what way?”

“There are so many things you don’t have control of in your life. It’s a way to change the balance.”

“So you believe it works?”

“As much as anything else.”

He mulled that over, thinking that it reminded him of the person in the bayou who’d been contemplating the shrine.
Could it be her?

“How do you know Calista Lacoste?”

He saw her hesitate. “I was walking past her shop and thought it looked interesting.”

“So you’re a customer of hers?”

“Yes. I’ve had some tarot-card readings.”

Before he could ask another question, she said, “I’m really very busy. And I don’t think I can be of much help.”

“I’m sorry to bother you, but if you think of anything, give me a call.” He pulled out one of his cards and handed it to her.

As he left,
Rafe decided that he was going to poke into Ms. Hargrave’s background a bit more. Could she have done something to Villars? She had kept her distance from him at the ceremony, but maybe that had been deliberate.

His mind played back the interview.
He’d asked how she knew Calista, and she’d said they’d met at her shop. But, of course, they wouldn’t have to know each other at all for her to have attended the ceremony. Yet she hadn’t challenged that assumption. Instead, she’d come up with a plausible answer.

Chapter Thirteen

Rafe stopped at an electronics outlet and bought a couple of surveillance cameras, which he installed at the front and back entrances of Eugenia’s property. He also called Pete Grady before he went back to pick up Eugenia and got several pieces of news he would have to share with his client.

When he phoned to say he was waiting out front, she came out almost at once. The strained look on her face made him want to sling an arm around her.
With an effort, he simply escorted her to the car, then waited while she buckled her seat belt.

“Did you go looking for that voodoo altar?” she asked as he pulled away from the curb.

“No. I did a couple of other things.”

She waited for him to elaborate.

“I had a conversation with your cousin Bennett.”

Her gaze shot toward him. “Bennett, why?” she asked as he maneuvered the rush-hour traffic.

“I was thinking he could be the source of some of your problems.”

“How?” she demanded.

“We already know he’s jealous of your success in the restaurant business. I was wondering if he might want to throw a monkey wrench into your operation.”

“He wouldn’t!”

“That’s what he says.”

She sighed out a breath.

“But when I was in his office, I realized I’d seen it before—in that vision I had when I watched someone putting together the gris-gris we found on your doorstep.”

Her breath caught.
“That can’t be true.”

“I described the room to you.
Leather sofa. Glass-topped coffee table. Oriental rug on the floor. It’s the same room.”

“I . . .”

“The rug was red with kind of rectangles all over the center and smaller ones of the same pattern in the border.”

She caught her breath.
“I’ve seen it in his office. It’s a Bokhara.”

“Unfortunately, that’s not evidence I can take to the cops.
But it means he was trying to harass you.”

“Maybe he was taking advantage of the situation.”

“You believe that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I made it clear that he’d better not screw around with your business.”

She snorted.
“Right now, he doesn’t have to. As we both know, the restaurant is closed,” she said, as he came to a stop in the alley parking space.

He swallowed hard.
“I have some good news and some bad news about that.”

Her head jerked toward him.

“The good news is that you can get back in tomorrow morning.”

Her head swung toward him.
“What’s the bad news.”

“Villars was poisoned with an old voodoo potion.”

“Oh Lord.”

“It’s not your restaurant food, but Cumberland is looking at you and me.”

The blood drained from her face. “But why?”

“He thinks we could have—pardon the expression—cooked something up together.”

“How does he figure that?”

“Because of my history with him.
I didn’t tell you that when they thought I stole the brooch, Cumberland strip-searched me in Villars’ office.”

She caught her breath.
“That’s awful.”

“Yeah.
And then Villars found the jewelry in an antique chest.”

“So you were cleared.”

“But I was humiliated. And now maybe I asked you to help me get even.”

“That’s ridiculous.
Why would I do something that would damage my business?”

“Of course you wouldn’t.
Which is why I’m thinking he won’t be able to pin it on us.”

She dragged in a breath and let it out.
“When you say pin it on us, do you mean he’d plant false evidence?”

“I don’t know.
It depends on whether we think he planted that tracker on the car.”

She looked sick.
But there was more. He’d been waiting to hit her with something else, because the visit to Jillian Hargrave had triggered his own memory.

His tension mounted as he asked, “Do you know someone with a power boat called Windfall?”

Rafe took in Eugenia’s confusion at the total change of subject.

“Windfall,” she repeated.

“Do you know who might own it?” he pressed.

She was silent for several moments, then finally murmured, “I think it’s Martin Villars’.”

The information came as a shock. “Villars? You’re sure.”

“Why are you asking?”

“I was thinking about that vision I had—with the knife. Sometimes it’s hard to process everything I experience.” He didn’t add that she’d totally taken his mind off the vision, and it wasn’t until several hours later that he realized what he’d seen.

“How do you know about the boat?” he asked.

“I saw it when I was out at his country house catering a party. And you saw the boat in your vision?”

“Yes.
I realized later that I’d seen the name. It was Windfall. Where’s the house?”

“Near a wilderness area called the Jean Lafitte Preserve.”

“How far from here?”

“Less than a half hour.”

“ I’m going out there to have a look around.”

“We’re going out there,” she corrected.

“No.”

“And why not?”

“I’m supposed to be keeping you out of danger.”

“Villars is dead.
He won’t be there.”

Rafe sighed.
“He won’t be there, but what if someone else is?”

“Like who?”

“How about the person who set up the altar.” He used his cell phone to get the number for Villars’ country home and dialed, then let it ring ten times, but there was no answer.

“Nobody’s home,” Eugenia said.
“We can go ahead.”

He wanted to tell her it wasn’t her job to check out potentially dangerous locations, but he knew he’d only be wasting time. He had about three hours of daylight left, and he didn’t want to use them up arguing with her.

“Okay. We’ll stop by your house so you can put on rough clothes.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll change into jeans and a tee shirt.”

They swung by her apartment, and they both went up and changed, Eugenia in her bedroom and him in the bathroom.

When Eugenia came out, she had a strange expression on her face.

“What?”

“I was thinking about Gertie—about how much she knew about voodoo.”

When he said nothing, she added, “Do you think she could have put up that shrine?”

“I guess we have to figure it could be her. Did she have access to the house.”

“She certainly knew Villars.
Maybe she’d know when he was out of town.”

“Maybe we’ll pick up some clues.”

They headed for the house, which was in the town of Marrero, that bordered Jean Lafitte. ”

“It’s not a real upscale neighborhood,” Eugenia said.

“Why does he have a house out there?”

“I think he could get a lot of property for a good price, and it’s next to the national park, which gave him privacy.”

“Do you think Holly ever stayed in the house on her own? Or invited women friends out? Like maybe Gertie?”

“No idea.”

“Was Gertie at the party?”

Eugenia thought back and caught her breath.
“Yes.”

“So she knew about the place.”

“Yes, but it seemed more of a guy hangout. Maybe Villars used it for poker games or something.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Because of the decor. I was thinking he might go out there without his wife—for men-only activities. I can’t tell you anything specific. It was just a feeling I had.”

“And you didn’t have a chance to go exploring?”

“Sorry. I had a job to do.”

He turned toward her, then back to the road.
“How long ago was the party?”

“Three years.”

“When you were just getting started. I suppose he got you for a very low fee.”

She answered with a short laugh.
“As a matter of fact, what he paid me barely covered the cost of the food. And I had to hire serving staff, too.”

“You said he went for the daily special at dinner. But he didn’t mind losing other people’s money in an investment deal.”

“Maybe he thought it was a sure thing.”

“Tell me about the property.”

“It’s probably about a hundred years old, and when I was there, I saw a lot of renovation. New kitchen. New bathrooms. I think he picked it up from someone who had let it get run down—then had to sell at a low price.”

“I wonder if he got the boat for cheap, too.”

“It is called Windfall. Maybe he made a lot of money on a stock transaction. It looked out of place in the bayou. I’ll bet the neighbors love him roaring around in it.”

“Yeah, and the birds probably appreciated it, too.”

“So what else can you tell me about the house?”

She thought for a moment.
“The main floor has been opened up with a great room. I think there are three bedrooms upstairs. And,” she stopped.

“What?”

“There was a locked room on the first floor.”

“I wonder what was in it.”

She shrugged.

“And the grounds?”

“I wasn’t prowling around outside. There’s an access road that’s probably at least a block long. The grounds are nicely maintained around the house, but about fifty yards farther on, the bayou vegetation takes over.”

Rafe was glad to discuss the property because he didn’t want to discuss the two of them.

Eugenia had torn his heart out eight years ago, and he’d fought to focus his life in a different direction. Now he was wondering if somehow everything he’d been thinking for eight years was wrong. Although he wasn’t prepared to talk about it, he was thinking that Frank Decorah might have intentionally thrown him and Eugenia back together.

The man who owned Decorah Security was a very odd character, when you came right down to it.
He was strangely compelling. The men and women who worked for him all liked and admired him, but nobody knew much about him. Apparently he lived alone in a rural section of Beltsville, between Washington and Baltimore. As far as anyone knew, he wasn’t married, and he had no significant other. Yet he seemed happy with his life. And he seemed to have a flair for matching men and women who belonged together. Like two of his other agents, Cole Marshall and Emma Richards, who had gone off on an assignment to rescue a kidnap victim on a slave ship and gotten married soon after.

Had Frank been playing matchmaker with them?
And also with Rafe and Eugenia? Was he thinking that somehow they could figure out what had gone wrong eight years ago?

He turned his head and saw Eugenia staring at him.

“What?” she asked.

Because he wasn’t willing to share his musings, he said, “I was thinking about the best approach to the Villars property. We’ll park partway down the road and walk the rest of the way.”

When they got to Marrero, he let her direct him. He drove past first, seeing some houses close to the road, but the Villars home was far back and out of sight. After turning around, he pulled into a clearing along the access road, and they walked to the side of the gravel, weaving through vegetation as they approached the house.

“Does it look familiar?” Eugenia whispered.
“I mean from your vision?”

He inspected the greenery on either side of them.
“Yeah. Well, I’m seeing the same trees—cypress, tupelo, live oaks. And the Spanish moss. I don’t know the names of the flowers, but I saw them before.”

Cautiously, he walked across the soggy ground, stepping around a swampy area where duckweed floated.
Eugenia followed, and he brushed saw palmetto and other shoulder-high plants out of the way.

When he could see the house through a screen of greenery he stopped.

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

He hadn’t seen the building in his vision. Now he took the time to run his gaze over the structure. It was about the size of a substantial two-story family home, with new windows, newly painted siding and a new brick walkway leading from a parking area.

“It’s spruced up.”

“He probably used local labor that he could get cheap.”

He studied the dwelling for a few more moments.
There were no lights on, and he didn’t expect company, but he wasn’t going to step out into the open until it was absolutely necessary.

“Do you know where the shrine was?”

“About thirty yards from the bayou, I think. Really, it looked like it was in the middle of nowhere.”