Satisfied that whomever crafted Marie Laveau for this purpose, did, at the very least, pay homage to her memory with keeping the display authentic. I turned to Alex and said, “She was crafted and prepared by an expert in knowledge of voodoo.”
“This is supposed to make feel better?”
“Well, at least she has not been completely commercialized. Someone, probably the display’s designer cared enough to keep her authentic. That is, except for the crystal ball. That is just plain stupid. A voodooienne would not, does not, use a crystal ball.”
“Does not? As in present time?” Alex asked.
“Of course, as in present time. Yes, in New Orleans there are present-day practitioners of voodoo. That silly crystal ball should be a large snake, a python.”
“Shannon, your off-the-cuff knowledge of voodoo is surprising. I have to admit, it kinda creeps me out.”
I looked at him and smiled. “Robert Tallant, who did an in-depth study and field research of voodoo in New Orleans wrote a book in 1946 and said
Voodoo is of another race, dark and strange and complex even to those who practice it.
Alex, voodoo is another world, unto itself, and for many people it is their religion. Look, the reason I am so appalled by this display is out of respect for the religious practitioners. If this was a likeness of the Archbishop of Canterbury up here in the fortune telling booth, doling out paper prophesies, can you honestly tell me that Anglicans and Episcopalians, espec
ially here in San Diego, would not be queasy about it?”
“Point made. But Shannon, the display is here to stay. I’m sorry, I respect your appreciation for not wanting to commercialize Marie Laveau. But, on the other hand, this particular coin-operated machine plays a mysterious part in local history.”
I nodded my head. “I understand, but I do not agree. Thankfully, my work is done here, so I need never set my eyes upon this contraption again. Shall we go?”
Alex took my hand in his and as he did so, the crystal ball lit up, we turned to see the mannequin in action. She (I refused to call her Marie) waved her hands over the crystal ball, then she reached into the small box, pulled out a card and deposited it. Alex reached for the card, but I stopped him. “It is for me.”
I held the card up and read, “See as I see.”
“What? This is not a prophecy.” Alex took the card from my hand and read it. He turned to me. “This is odd. What does it mean to you?”
“Nothing.” I stood in front of the mannequin, and turned to the side to face Alex.
“I have an idea. Humor me, please? Shannon, turn around so that your back is against the glass, as if you are standing directly in front of Marie Laveau.” I did as asked. “Okay, now close your eyes and stand perfectly straight, facing forward.” Again, I did as asked. “Now, open your eyes and tell me what you see.”
“Andalyn Dixon.”
Chapter 12
Alex had both eyebrows raised. “It appears that Marie Laveau is guiding you.”
We rushed over to the Andalyn Dixon exhibit. I took off my stilettos and then grabbed the small camera from my evening bag. “Cover for me, stand by the doorway and let me know when Greg is coming back.” I climbed up onto the exhibit platform and landed right behind the sitting mannequin of Andalyn Dixon.
Alex reached up to grab me, but it was too late, I was already on the other side of the security rope. “Are you nuts? What are you doing?”
“Shhh, not now Alex, just do as I ask. Get over to the doorway and watch for Greg.”
I snapped photos as fast as my camera would allow. Wide angle shots of the entire exhibit and close-ups of Andalyn, her clothing and accessories. I captured every teeny-tiny detail I could in my hectic rush to collect clues. I paid close attention to the furniture, the wallpaper and especially the wall mounted framed newspaper articles that reported on the life and death of Andalyn. I was lifting Andalyn’s skirt to get a closer look of the vanity bench she was sitting on when Alex whistled loudly. I looked in his direction, and then snapped a quick photo of the vanity bench. Alex whistled again, and this time he was wildly gesturing with both hands for me to get down. I scooted off the stage and was putting my shoes back on when Greg walked in on us.
“Uh, Miss Delaney, is there a problem?”
“Oh, uh, one of my heels seems wobbly. I’m trying to figure out what the problem is. You know, I think I’ll just go barefoot, rather than take the chance of stumbling and tripping on a broken heel.” I walked over to Alex, barefoot with my shoes in hand. “Ready?”
As soon as we were out of sight of the museum, I slipped my shoes on. “Whew, that was a close call.”
Alex held my hand tighter, “Obviously, I need to keep a tighter rein on you. What in the world were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that what you said could be true. What if Marie Laveau is telling me to examine that exhibit as a way of finding clues to Andalyn’s mystery? To see as she would see?”
“You mean, as a clairvoyant?”
“No. As a voodoo queen and from the point of observance, of where her booth is, looking out on the room, with a beeline view of Andalyn.”
Alex halted in mid-step and turned to me. “What in the world are you talking about? Shannon, this is not some backwater bayou in Louisiana. San Diego is, and has been from the earliest days of its founding, a thriving merchant sea-trade city of culture.”
“Really, a thriving merchant sea-trade city of culture? For your information, Alex, you just gave an accurate description of New Orleans. Come on, I have photos to download into my computer and begin analyzing.” Now, it was I who grabbed his hand and held on tight, I pulled him from the sidewalk to cross the street. “Let’s get home.”
We arrived home in ten minutes and I dashed upstairs. After changing into comfy clothes I downloaded the pictures to my computer. Just as the thumbnail picture index popped up on the screen, Alex tapped on my door. “It’s open,” I called out.
Alex entered with two mugs of coffee in hand. He handed a mug to me. “I figured that we might be up for a while.” He pulled up a chair. “What exactly are we looking for?”
“Basically, everything and anything. I’ll know when I see it. Thanks for the coffee.” I smiled. Alex had also changed into comfortable clothing. He was wearing jeans and the blue sweater I gave him for his birthday this past year. My thoughts wavered for a moment, I wondered what Eric was wearing at this very minute.
“What’s on your mind, Shannon?”
“When you wear that sweater, you look like Eric. And when Eric wears it, he looks like you.”
Alex’s reaction was not what I expected. “Remember, I’m the Blackthorne man who is alive, in the here and now. I can’t control Eric’s preference for apparel he associates with you.”
I remained silent and turned my attention back to the computer screen. I pointed to the photo index and said, “I’m going to bring up the photos of the framed newspaper articles and print them.”
“Print two copies of each, so I can have a set.”
I did and one by one I handed the copies to Alex.
“Let’s each read the same article and then compare thoughts,” Alex said.
I nodded in agreement. “Sure. Let’s start with the more recent articles and work backward in time.” I shuffled through the nine articles. “This one was published a few days before she died. And, it appears that the last article goes back to June twenty-third of the same year. So, that makes the total collection of two articles from June, one from July, two from August, one from September and three from October, not including this short article that is a combination of a her biography and obituary.”
Alex arranged his copies in the same order as mine. I handed him a tablet of writing paper for jotting down notes. The next hour was quiet. I finished first. “I’ll be right back, I going to freshen our coffee and grab some cookies to go with it.”
When I returned Alex was tapping away on the computer’s keyboard. I noticed that on the screen he had brought up the Google search engine site.
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
“An elderly man who was reported to have been in town, first in June and then in early October, the same month Andalyn died.”
I set down the tray of coffee and cookies on the table across from my computer desk. I handed Alex coffee and a small plate of cookies, and then I sat next to him.
“Do you have a description and name for this man?” I asked.
“Yeah, only a description, it’s on my notes, here.” Alex handed his notes to me.
“Okay, so it says he’s a elderly colored man, described as tall and lanky, a half circle of white closely cropped hair. He was seen walking on the beach collecting small seashells and was asked about his business in San Diego. He said he was sent here to deliver correspondence to the person known as Andalyn Dixon. That’s it? I wonder why his name was not given?”
“Bingo. Here’s a better description of him and it gives his names,” Alex announced.
“Names? As in plural or aliases?” I asked.
“Yeah, exactly.” Scanning the news article, Alex read out loud, “Okay, here it is. The man said, at different times of being questioned, that his name is Doctor Jack, Jack Glapion and John Glapion.”
It was the surname of Glapion that caught my breath. “Glapion? That’s the connection. Oh, Alex, Glapion is the widowed surname of Marie Laveau. That man could have been a direct descendant to her. It makes perfect sense, at least as far as connecting this situation to Marie Laveau. Also, a call name of Jack has often been a substitute for the proper name of John.”
“Shannon, why would he have been sent here with a message for Andalyn Dixon, and from where? It never said where he was from in these articles.”
“If the connection is through Marie Laveau, then he probably came from Louisiana. I’m not sure about a message. Maybe Andalyn’s family hired him? I have yet to discover where she is from.”
“And he was a doctor, or said he was. That seems suspicious to me,” Alex said.
“Why Alex...because he was colored? Persons of color could access higher education in that era. In fact, he could have attended a medical school, maybe he went to France to study medicine, and doing so was quite acceptable in that era. The French were far more progressive in that aspect than we were, here in America.”
Alex ignored me and continued to surf through the articles on Google. “Hey, here’s another article. This one says his name was Doctor Black Jack.”
I choked on my cookie, spat it out and then gasped, “Yikes! He was a witch doctor.”
Chapter 13
“What?” Alex asked.
“I’ve heard of him. When I was in college in New Orleans, he was Marie Laveau’s son, and as a voodoo practitioner, he was a witch doctor. Witch doctors are not as powerful as voodoo queens, men generally are not as powerful as women. A witch doctor’s specialty is healing, most have the good sense to leave hexes and spells to the voodoo queen in whose section of the city they practice their conjuring. Not that they cannot summon bad
juju
, it’s just that they are no match for a voodoo queen.”
Alex was staring at me, he blinked twice. “I don’t know you at all. All this time, almost a year now and I thought I had a really good understanding about who you are. Shannon, you talk about all this mumbo jumbo stuff as if it is real.”
“It is real, for voodoo believers and practitioners. And this is real history, who is to say that there were not voodoo practitioners here in San Diego, and there probably still is. In most American cities voodoo is a subculture. But not in Louisiana and in other parts of the Deep South. I know for a fact there are open voodoo communities in Charleston, South Carolina and in Savannah, Georgia and Natchez, Mississippi. And if I know it, I bet most Southerners do too, it is part of the whole history and culture of the region. Get over it Alex, I’m not a practitioner, but I respect it as a cultural choice. And besides, we are getting off topic.”
“As you wish. I’ll follow your lead. What do we do now?”
“I need to research Doctor Black Jack. That means I’m going to contact some of my friends in New Orleans and see if they can do some favors for me. I’ll do that tomorrow. For now, tell me about this Miss Ruby Red. I suspect she is connected in some way to this mystery.”
“Yeah, well I got that flyer about her, the one that was at the museum.” Alex unfolded the flyer and read out loud. “Old west etiquette. In bidding a fond farewell to the tempestuous years of the rowdy and often lawless mid-1800s, Californians welcomed the latter part of the century with Victorian flair. For San Diego residents the genteel formality of introducing oneself was not lost in t
he hustle and bustle of the land boom era, when the city limits of San Diego were busting out of its boundaries. As did their Midwest and Eastern counterparts, San Diegans abided by strict standards of social grace, and their essential tool was their calling card.
“To the socially savvy of yesteryear, a calling card was as vital a form of communication as a telephone is to us today. Calling cards came into fashion in the 1870s and were formal requirements for personal and professional introductions when social rituals mandated the exchange of names. Even under a blazing sun and standing in a dusty street in Old Town, a person of refinement was never without a calling card in hand to place into the welcoming palm of a new acquaintance.