Magic and Macaroons (12 page)

I paused.

“The gris gris might not be for protection. It could be for anything. It might only be lost.” He looked grave. “Or it might be taken. If it is taken, you must be very careful. There is only one reason somebody takes another’s talisman, and it is not to do good.”

Chapter 9

In the parking lot of Magnolia Park Senior Care, I leaned my tush against the side of the Bug and examined the addresses Poppa Jack had given us. Cookie opened the passenger door but didn’t get in. “You want to visit them immediately, don’t you?” she asked.

“Well, this Mambo Jeni person’s address is on the way back to the bakery. Do you mind stopping by there on the way? It’s just after three.”

“Of course.” Cookie got in the car, and as I went around to the other side, I heard her mutter, “Apparently, I have to visit all the mambos with you.”

In the car, I gave her a grateful smile and started the engine.

A few minutes later, we turned onto Davidson Avenue. My eye was immediately drawn to the one-story rambler in the middle of the block. Unlike its more sedate neighbors, it was painted a brilliant periwinkle with a purple undertone that popped right into my retina, thanks to the summer sun. As I steered closer, it became apparent that the house number would prove to be the one Poppa Jack had given us. The red neon sign in the
front window blinked the words
PALM READINGS—PAST LIFE REGRESSIONS—VOODOO SPELLS
.

As I pulled to the curb, Cookie’s lip curled in distaste. “I don’t know what Poppa Jack was thinking, sending us here.”

I shrugged. “He said voodoo queens come in many forms. This one appears to be in the form of a Jackie-of-all-trades.”

She sniffed and reached for the door handle. “Or a charlatan. I’m surprised she doesn’t sell Tupperware and Amway.”

“Maybe she does. I could use some new refrigerator dishes for the Honeybee.”

Cookie gave me a look.

I grinned.

The lawn needed to be mowed, and the leaves on the verbena and ferns in the pots on each side of the front door were curling from neglect and lack of water. The paint on the doorframe had begun to crack and peel. I reached for the doorbell, hesitated when I saw it was in the shape of an elaborate eye, then went ahead and gave the dark pupil a push.

The sound of rapid footsteps approached, and the door was flung open. A large woman regarded us through the screen door before pushing it open and gesturing us inside with a huge smile.

“Welcome, ladies!” She looked to be around fifty and was dressed in a skirt, flowery smocked top, and flip-flops. She wore no makeup, and her skin was the kind of pale you’d expect from a teenage boy who played video games and swigged cola in the basement all day. As she blinked at us in the light of the doorway, I wondered if she ever ventured out into the sunlight. When she turned, I saw that her iron-gray dreadlocks reached almost to her waist.

“Please, come inside,” she invited. “I’m Mambo Jeni. And you are?”

We entered as requested. I glanced over at Cookie in time to see her school her expression to neutrality, then turned my attention to the mambo.

“I’m Katie,” I said, “and this is—”

“Elaine,” Cookie cut in.

I raised an eyebrow as Jeni nodded and waved for us to follow her toward the back of the house. As we walked through the living room, I took in the sagging turquoise sofa, the big-screen television that took up a chunk of wall space opposite it, the chair with reading lamp, and the bookcase full of videos and CDs. A gas fireplace was set into one wall, and framed movie posters decorated another. It was clean and uncluttered, but had an air of college rental—or, I realized, starting afresh with little money. My bet was that Jeni was either divorced or widowed. A picture on the slim mantle showed a dark-haired boy and girl in their teens, so she was probably a single mom, too.

With a flourish, the mambo opened a pair of heavy wooden doors to reveal what had once been the formal dining area of her home. A thick, elaborately patterned rug covered the dark hardwood in the middle of the room, and centered on that was a round table large enough to seat four people. A black silk cloth had been draped over it, the abundance of material pooling artfully on the red-hued rug beneath. The walls and ceiling were the color of roasted red peppers, and brass sconces hung at four-foot intervals, unlit. A tapestry covered with black and red runes cascaded down the center of the rear wall, and I could envision the sliding glass door it covered, no doubt leading out to a suburban backyard. The only other art on the walls were three black-and-white enlargements of foggy hands—each open as if in supplication.

Creepy.

Mambo Jeni closed the doors, and we were plunged into darkness. I heard Cookie’s surprised intake of breath beside me, then the sound of a light switch being flipped, and the room bloomed back into view. Low light emanated from the sconces now, just enough to define the perimeters of the room and call out the weird hand photos. A recessed spotlight shone down on the center of the black-clad table, a golden pool that cast the rest of the space deeper into shadow. No light leaked in from the outdoors, and if I hadn’t just walked in from the bright sunshine, I wouldn’t be able to tell whether it was day or night. The air smelled of day-old sandalwood incense.

“Sit down, please,” Jeni said.

We sat.

“Now, Katie, Elaine, what can I do for you today? Are you here for one or both of you?”

Cookie and I exchanged glances. “Er,” I said. “For me, I guess. Or both.”

Jeni sat back in her chair, laced her hands on the table, and smiled. “I see. Are you visiting Savannah?”

“Noooo,” I answered slowly, wondering how much to tell her.
Play it by ear.
“We live here. We were told by a friend you might be able to help us.”

She nodded. “Ah, word of mouth. Excellent. Who, if I might ask, is your friend?”

I looked at Cookie, and she nodded. “Poppa Jack,” I said.

Mambo Jeni blinked. “I see.” She considered us. “Or perhaps I don’t. If you went to see Poppa, then you must be in the market for a bit of voodoo magic. However, there is, frankly, nothing I could give you that he couldn’t. So . . . ?”

“We’re in the market for information,” Cookie said.
“We were told a voodoo queen would be able to help us. Yours is one of the names Poppa Jack gave us.”

Jeni looked amused. “A voodoo queen, you say. Well, I am flattered that Poppa would see me as one.”

“You aren’t?”

A slight lifting of her shoulders. “I am a mambo
sur point
—a certified junior voodoo priestess. I also do palm readings and past-life—”

“We saw the sign,” Cookie said.

The mambo lifted an eyebrow. “Hmm. And you obviously disapprove.”

Cookie didn’t say anything.

“Well, no matter. A woman has to make a living, and the economy isn’t what it used to be. Before my divorce, I practiced the same things I do now, but once I was on my own, I had to up my marketing. A sign and a few ads don’t take away from my power,” she added.

“Plus, I bet you get a bit more of the tourist trade,” I said. I could tell she had real ability. It hummed around her like a subtle electrical current. No doubt she would have been willing to help out Franklin as long as the price was right.

Jeni nodded. “Even this far away from the historic district.” Shifting in her chair, she said eagerly, “Now, what is this information you’re looking for? I’d love to help!”

Cookie remained silent, so I dove in. “Do you know a man named Franklin Taite?”

The older woman smiled broadly, and my hopes soared. Then her brow knit, and she said, “Hmm. Gosh. I don’t think I’ve ever had the pleasure.” Her disappointment in having to disappoint us was palpable.

Still, so much for this being our voodoo queen.

“Do you offer magical talismans to your clients?” Cookie asked.

“Oh, yes!” Jeni exclaimed.

A door at one end of the room opened. I hadn’t noticed it in the dimness because it was painted the same color as the walls. Now bright light blasted in, and we could see a refrigerator and sink from our vantage point. The scents of burnt coffee and overripe bananas overlaid the dusty-incense aroma.

“Robert! I’m with clients!” Mambo Jeni called, clearly irritated.

The silhouette of a young man filled the doorway. “Whatevs, Mom. We’re out of milk.” His hair stood up on one side in a classic case of bed head, and he still wore pajama pants. No shirt.

“So get off your lazy butt, put some clothes on, and go get some,” Jeni grated out. “And
shut that door
.”

“God. Bite my head off.” The door closed with a force that made me jump.

Jeni took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m so very sorry. My son should know better.” She ducked her head and rubbed the back of her neck. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes—you wanted a gris gris.”

Cookie held up her hand. “Not really. We want to know if you’re aware of a missing gris gris.”

“Missing? From where?”

I sighed. “We don’t really know.”

“Well, what was this gris gris for?” Jeni asked, leaning forward with curiosity now. “Protection? To attract money? Birth control?”

“We don’t know that, either,” I said. “Wait—birth control? Really?”

“Sure. Interested?”

“Er, no, thank you.”

Cookie bit her lip to tame her smile.

“So, if you don’t know where it’s missing from or what it was for, why are you looking for it?” Mambo Jeni asked.

“Well,” I said, feeling foolish. “I think it’s important.”

“Important to whom? You?”

“To a dead man and his comatose niece.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“That’s okay,” I said, standing. “We need to be going, anyway. Thanks for your help.”

Mambo Jeni bolted to her feet. “Wait. I’m sure I really can help you somehow. Cast a hex, maybe a love potion? Those are my specialty.”

Cookie looked at me and shook her head.

“No, thank you,” I said as politely as I could.

“Please.”

I didn’t think she meant to say it, partly because when she heard herself practically begging for our business, her mouth clamped tight. Her shoulders straightened as she donned her pride.

Cookie was already at the door to the living room, no doubt as anxious to get out of there as I was.

“Wait,” I said.

Eagerness brightened the woman’s eyes. Maybe I could offer her some business after all.

“Mambo, can you contact the dead?” I asked.

“I . . . Like a medium, you mean?”

I nodded. “Can you reach across the veil like that?”

She hesitated, and then her shoulders slumped. “No. I’m sorry. I can’t do that.”

“I’m sorry, too. Thank you for being honest.”

Her chin lifted. “I’m a lot of things, but dishonest isn’t one of them.” She strode past me and opened the door for the waiting Cookie.

Mambo Jeni’s son was lounging on the sofa, eating dry cereal out of a bowl with his fingers. He looked even more disheveled in the light.

She went to the front door and opened it. Turning to Cookie, she grabbed her left hand, and before Cookie
could pull it back, peered intently at her palm. Jeni raised her head and snagged my friend’s gaze. “You have had many lovers and fall in love easily. Your heart line tells the tale.”

Cookie’s eyes flicked to mine, full of alarm.

Good thing Oscar isn’t hearing this.

“Ah, but here in your life line, there is a change in lifestyle. Recently?”

Cookie glared at her and tried to pull her hand back.

But Mambo Jeni wasn’t having it and returned to scanning her hand. “Emotional trauma, early in your life, but resilient now.” She looked up. “You must not let yourself be controlled by external influences. By men, especially. This is very important to your future happiness.”

Cookie yanked her hand out of the other woman’s grasp and started down the front step. “I’m not one to be controlled.”

The mambo raised one eyebrow. “So you say.”

I smiled as I passed her. “Thanks, anyway.”

“That will be thirty dollars.”

“What?” Cookie whirled on the sidewalk.

“It’s what I charge for a palm reading,” Mambo Jeni said.

My friend made a rude noise and turned on her heel. I regarded the woman on the step. “You were telling the truth?”

“I always tell the truth.”

I fished in my tote bag and pulled out my wallet. Gave her two bills.

She gave me a dignified nod. “Thank you.” As the door closed behind her, the sound of the television from inside drifted out to where I stood.

“What were you thinking?” Cookie demanded once we were in the car. “That woman didn’t tell me anything
I didn’t already know, did not ask my permission to read my lines, and didn’t help with your investigation at all.”

“I know,” I said quietly. “But she needs the money. Just chalk that thirty dollars up to karma, okay?”

Cookie rolled her eyes but didn’t protest. I put the key into the ignition and pulled onto the
street.

Chapter 10

The visit to Mambo Jeni had taken only half an hour of our time, but I was still surprised when Cookie suggested stopping by Marie LaFevre’s shop.

“Might as well get as much of this done as possible before Oscar expects me,” she said with a shrug.

Esoterique was tucked between a shoe-repair place and a furniture upholsterer in a tiny strip mall on the border of Savannah’s Southside and Midtown. I must have driven by it dozens of times and never noticed it. Even with the GPS on Cookie’s phone directing us, I’d nearly missed it.

“Cloaking spell of some kind?” I asked.

Cookie tipped her head to the side. “Perhaps. More likely simple discretion. This Marie LaFevre isn’t trying to entice the tourist trade like the mambo we just visited.” This seemed to cheer her.

Nonetheless, I felt more apprehension than anything else as I locked the car and turned toward the narrow doorway. The iron bars on it didn’t exactly make it feel welcoming.

We were ten feet away when the door opened and a tall figure filled the frame. All three of us stopped in our tracks.