Color Blind (4 page)

Nothing to be afraid of, right?
I entered the dimly lit space. The front room was empty; my group had disappeared. The apothecary and emporium wasn't much more than an ancient two-story house converted into a tourist attraction. Mind you, it was a totally creepy tourist attraction. The tiny space was a black magic flea market crammed with items for sale. A clothesline full of blue, green, and yellow headscarves hung beneath the ceiling over display racks filled with stuff I'd never seen or even imagined.

Large apothecary jars, labeled with names I didn't recognize, contained dried herbs: Five Finger Grass, Black Snake Root, Dragon's Blood Reed, Devil's Bit.
Where do they come up with these names? What is this stuff?
Everything was organized into neat categories: Healing, Good Fortune, Love, Protection, and Psychic Development.
No doubt, I could use some good fortune in my life!

Candles of all shapes, sizes, and colors filled an antique hutch, their uses described in graceful script on ivory note cards: white for spiritual strength, light blue for protection, red for love, and black for evil or mourning.
Should I buy some black ones? Couldn't hurt.

Spell books, books of chants, hexes, white magic, black magic, reference books on women of color, and a number of how-to Voodoo books filled the shelves of a corner bookcase. No copy of
Voodoo for Dummies
, however.

A discreet sign indicated
Custom made gris-gris bags are available, inquire at the front register.
On the walls, tribal masks with empty eyes watched my every move. The overly warm, incense-laden gift shop was claustrophobic, suffocating. Feeling lightheaded, I stumbled through a gauzy curtain into the next room and, following the music, went out the back door.

My group sat circled around two dreadlocked men chanting and beating African drums near a flaming fire pit.
Is this the beginning of a Voodoo ceremony? Probably not, just a show for us tourists.
The small courtyard, enclosed by brick, was unkempt, weed-filled. The untended courtyard was the antithesis of Kate's perfect serenity garden. In the far corner was a cage full of chickens; opposite that, a pen with a young goat.
Chickens? Goat? In the city? What kind of place is this?

I'd had enough. It was time to get back to the van. Heading through the back of the shop, I spotted a door barely hidden behind a large African wall hanging. I tried to open it, found it was locked.
I wonder what's inside.
I heard movement in the other room. I moved the curtain aside, spotted the source. A tall, elegant black woman stood behind a glass display cabinet filled with elaborate Voodoo dolls. She closed the cash register drawer, straightened a countertop arrangement of oils, CDs, and DVDs, and turned towards me.

“Welcome! How might I help you tonight?”

Haitian? Jamaican? South African? I couldn't peg her accent.

“Dunno.”

“What is it you seek, my lady? Love or money?” She smiled, her pale gold eyes locked on mine. I couldn't move.

“Hmmmm. No, neither love, nor money. I see a great sadness in you, a great loss. You are suffering, are you not?” she asked, no longer smiling.

I looked away.

“Fate has brought you here to me tonight, Miss. I can help you, you know.” Her silky smooth voice was hypnotic. “Would you like some tea?” she asked.

“No! I mean I can't. Thank you. I'm sorry. I have to get back on the bus.”

“What is your hurry, my dear? The others are still outside enjoying the music. Follow me, I shall take you back to them.”

I moved quickly towards the exit, stopped short when I glimpsed a glistening white python curled up on top of a tall display case, his tiny red eyes looking down on me. I hadn't seen him when I was exploring earlier. Hastily backing away, I slammed into a tall metal shelf. Hundreds of handmade Voodoo dolls rained down around me.

I screamed.

Everything went black.

When I opened my eyes, Miles was hovering over me.

“Are you here to save my day?”

“Well, somebody had to and Superman wasn't available.” Miles held out his hand to help me up. “You know, I've rescued you twice already this evening and I don't even know your name. You do have one, don't you?” asked Miles.

“April. My name is April,” I mumbled, disoriented, still lying on the old wooden floor, covered in a pile of Voodoo dolls with my skirt hiked up indecently.

Perfect. Just perfect, April. Way to impress a guy. Definitely not a good omen.

I brushed away the Voodoo dolls, yanked at my skirt and tried to sit up. I looked up at the shelf where the snake had been. It was nowhere in sight. Maybe there hadn't even been a snake. Maybe with the heat and the incense and everything else, I had imagined it.

“I'm sorry for the mess. Did I break anything? Can I help you put the dolls back?” I asked the shopkeeper, who was kneeling beside me, muttering softly.

“Tomorrow, you come back for help, my lady,” she replied quietly. “Goodnight to you.”

In one swift movement, she was gone.

“What was that about?” asked Miles.

“I, uh, I guess she wants me to help her clean up tomorrow,” I stammered, as Miles helped me to my feet.

“Everyone is back on the van except us. Are you ready to go?”

“More than ready. Let's get out of here.”

The drive back to Café Beignet was mercifully uneventful. Miles had finished his commentary, and for that I was thankful. I let the air conditioning work its magic on me and felt semi-restored by the time the van rolled to a stop. While the older ladies exited the vehicle, they gushed and filled the tip jar, no clink of coins for Miles, only the soft rustle of countless bills. The husbands snapped final photos of Miles next to his van.

After emptying the tip jar into a money bag, Miles, looking pleased, followed me down the stairs, locking the van behind him.

“You know I'm going to take you home now, right?” asserted Miles.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No!”

“Might I remind you that the tour lasted only ninety minutes, during which time, I rescued you twice. That's once every forty-five minutes,” said Miles, looking at his watch. “You're due for another rescue in about twenty minutes. I should be there for it.”

“Miles, you're very sweet, but I don't know you. Why would I let you walk me home?”

“How can you possibly say that after all we've been through together?” he asked, his dark eyes twinkling in the moonlight.

“It's easy.”

“Tell you what, I'm an honorable man,” he said, placing his hand over his heart. “I know someone in there who will vouch for my good character.” Miles pointed to the police station.

“Who? One of the prisoners?”

“Oh, how you wound me! Please come with me. You owe me, remember?”

“I only owe you coffee and this place is closed.” I tapped the sign in the window of the café.

Miles pointed to the police station again, “They have coffee in there.”

“You're joking, right? The
police station
? Stale police station coffee? Don't you watch TV? The coffee is always old and cold!”

“Little lady, I do hope you're worth all this bother,” said Miles. He took my elbow and guided me up the steps to the station.

“You'll have to stick around to find out.”

It was just about 9:30. All was fairly quiet inside the police station. Everyone seemed to know Miles. They all winked, nodded, and whispered when we entered. I didn't know if that was a good thing or not. A mini-museum with display cases full of New Orleans Police Department historic artifacts fronted the main desk. We passed several vending machines full of NOPD souvenir tee shirts for sale. Miles led me through to a bullpen area, where the officers on duty were busy with the usual Saturday night array of drunk and disorderlies. We stopped at a desk littered with stacks of paper, an empty NOPD coffee mug, and a worn block of wood with a brass nameplate,
Detective Frank Baptiste
. A dark-haired, movie-star handsome, early-forties man looked up from his computer keyboard. He smiled blankly at us.

“What brings you here tonight?” he asked, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir, but this little lady . . .”

“April. My name is April Lockhart.”

“. . . needs some assistance,” answered Miles.

“Really, how so?” The detective looked directly at me.

Miles responded, “Well, sir, she needs to know that I am of good heart and sound character.”

“She does, does she?” asked Detective Baptiste. “Why?”

“She won't let me take her home, since we just met and all,” replied Miles.

“Smart girl. ‘Stranger! Danger!' That's what we tell the kids on Safety Day at the schools. One can never be too careful these days, no matter your age. Tell you what, Miss April. I'm due for a break anyway. How 'bout you let me take you home?” asked the detective, rolling his chair away from the desk.

“Thank you, sir. I would appreciate it.”

Detective Baptiste removed his gun from the drawer and slipped it into its holster. He straightened his tie, adjusted the badge on his belt and rolled the chair back under the desk.

“Are you coming with us, son?” he asked.

“Sure thing, Dad!”

I glared at Miles.

“He didn't tell you I was his father, did he? He does have a good heart and he is of sound character, but not always of sound mind! He must like you, though. He's never brought a girl to the station before.”

“So, I should be flattered?” I laughed.

“Oh, you're a feisty one, aren't you? No apparent Southern charm.”

“You find me lacking in charm?” I asked, mocking offense.

“I'd say you possess a different kind of charm, not like most of the girls he knows. You seem to be a tad more edgy than polite.”

“Soooo, Miles has a lot of girlfriends?” I asked, curious.

“No, nobody special. He keeps himself too busy for girls, what with work, school, and all of his causes.”

“Hellooooo! I'm right here,” said Miles, lagging a few feet behind us.

We left the station and headed down Royal Street towards Kate's house. The wind gusted and whipped at my skirt. The moon disappeared again, the air changed; I could smell the coming rain. All of the shops had long since closed for the night. The empty sidewalks were dark, dogs howled in the distance. I was grateful to have company.

The three of us approached the house, where lights illuminated almost every window.
Uh-oh.
When I left the house earlier, it was still daylight; I hadn't turned on any lamps. A scowling Kate stood on the porch, her arms folded tightly across her chest.

“Yikes, your mom doesn't look too happy,” whispered Miles.

I agreed with Miles. Kate looked the opposite of happy.

“She's not my mother, she's my aunt,” I whispered.

“Where have you been? No note. No voicemail. Nothing at all?” demanded Kate.

She sprinted down the steps towards me. “When I couldn't reach you, I got concerned. I was about to call the police.”

“No need for that, ma'am. I am the police,” said Detective Baptiste, revealing his badge.

“Police? What have you gotten yourself into, young lady?”

“Hold on, hold on. She's not in trouble, at least not with the police. She made a good judgment call. She asked for my help in getting home safely. Smart girl you have there.”

She hesitated, “Well, um . . . okay, then. Thank you, Detective. Officer,” said Kate, turning towards Miles.

“He's not a police officer, he's my son, Miles. Apparently, he's been working real hard this evening to impress Miss April here,” he laughed. “I'm not so sure that it's going all that well, though. What do you think, ma'am?”

“Kate. My name is Kate Doucet. Pardon me, I forgot my manners. Would you like to come in? I can put on some coffee. I've got homemade cookies, cakes, pastries, too.”

Lightning flashed, thunder rumbled in the distance; it started to drizzle.

“How 'bout we take a rain check? I need to get back to the station,” he said, taking Miles's arm, turning him towards the gate.

“Wait!” said Miles. “April, can I have your cell?”

I handed him my phone. With a few taps and a smile, he added his phone number and his own ring tone. He handed the phone back to me.

“If you need anything, look under ‘S' for Superhero and Superhero, Sr.” Miles winked. “You never know when you might need to be rescued again. By the way, your ringer was off, I turned it back on for you.”

“I still owe you that coffee, remember? Won't you please come in?” I begged, not wanting to be left alone with an angry aunt.

“Sorry, but I need to get the tour van back to the company parking lot. Coffee tomorrow?”

I glanced at Kate. “I'm gonna have to get back to you on that.”

“Understood,” said Miles, as he caught up with his dad.

Kate and I watched from the porch as the two handsome men closed the gate behind them.

“Again? What did he mean by again?” asked Kate.

A soft whimper came from somewhere near the gardenia bushes. Turning towards the sound, we spotted a pair of eyes looking at us from beneath the hedge. Lightning flashed, the drizzle changed to rain. A large, rust-colored dog crawled out from under the bushes, walked slowly over, and sat down in front of us.

“Is he yours?”

“No. I've never seen him before.”

The rain fell harder.

“Can we bring him in? We can't just leave him out here in a storm. He's got tags on his collar. He must belong to someone.”

Kate sighed, “Oh, all right. Bring him in. Leave him on the back porch. I don't want fleas in my house. I'll call his owner.”