Murder Had a Little Lamb (26 page)

The woman folded her arms across her abundant chest. As she did, her eyes burned into mine like two coals so intense they seemed capable of raising blisters.

“Good morning!” I said brightly, flashing a smile. “You must be Mrs. Garcia. I’m looking for Vondra.” My smile wasn’t returned.

“Vondra is not here,” she replied, her words tinged with just a hint of an accent. Raising her chin slightly but still looking me up and down, she asked, “Who are you?”

“My name is Jessica Popper,” I replied politely. I noticed that Babalu had retreated behind her long white skirt, but that he continued to peer out at me from behind its abundant folds. “I teach the animal-care class at the Worth School. That’s where I met your daughter. In fact, I’m pretty sure I saw you at the PTA meeting last week.”

The woman’s dark eyes narrowed. “Vondra does not go to that school anymore.”

Which is mainly why I’m here, I thought. But my instincts told me that this was one of those occasions when the direct approach wasn’t necessarily the best.

“Yes, I know. But when Vondra was still a student there, I remember her mentioning that you were …” I faltered, searching for the right words. “… good at helping people with their problems.”

Somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to say, “I heard you were a Santeria priestess.” At least not without feeling like an actor in a really bad horror movie.

“What kind of problems?” she demanded, eyeing me skeptically. Her arms were still folded firmly across her chest, giving me the feeling she wasn’t exactly warming up to me.

I took a deep breath. “Mrs. Garcia, I’m having problems with my love life.”

She reacted as if a muscle relaxant had suddenly kicked in. All the muscles in her face lost their tightness as her expression instantly changed from guarded to sympathetic. Not only did she unfold her plump arms; she extended them toward me as if she was about to smother me in a giant hug.

“We’ve all been there,” she said in a soothing voice. “Come in, child. And please, call me Serena.”

I followed her into the house, mildly dazed over the fact that I’d somehow managed to say the magic words. I guess Babalu picked up on her acceptance of me, since he trotted along beside me as if I was his new best friend.

I expected the living room to be outfitted with
the usual couch, chairs, and TV. So I was surprised to find that the only furniture was a folding bridge table with three mismatched metal chairs. The wooden floor was bare, and the windows turned out to be the ones that were draped with bedsheets. The afternoon sun peeked in through the open spaces, but instead of cheering things up, the haphazard arrangement of the fabric cast oddly shaped shadows over the room.

Long shelves that ran nearly to the ceiling lined two of the walls. But rather than containing books, they were crowded with an odd assortment of items: sticks of incense, glass jars containing feathers and colorful beads, packets of herbs, and a wide variety of small stones and seashells.

Some of the shells and stones had been fashioned into amulets. There were other necklaces, as well, some made of beads and some adorned with charms, including an anchor, a sword, and a broom. But some had more unusual shapes—like a human arm or a coffin.

There were also plenty of candles. Some were in narrow glass cylinders decorated with what looked like pictures of saints, while others were black, red, or white wax molded into the shape of a man or woman. Wooden masks, most with frightening expressions, were lined up along the back of one shelf.

I also noticed bars of different-colored soaps stacked up. A red one that was facing me had a label that said, “Come to Me Soap.” A handwritten label stuck on top read, “Used to attract members of the opposite sex.”

Next to those were powders, with labels reading “Money Powder” and “Lucky Lotto Powder.” There were also clear plastic bottles, one filled with a green liquid billed as “Cast-Off Evil” oil and one with a bright red label that said, “Jinx Remover,” complete with a picture of a scary-looking mask.

I also noticed stacks of bracelets, the exact same kind that both Vondra and Serena wore.

A Santeria botanica, I thought, just like Beanie said.

But the real focus of the room was the colorful table in the back corner of the room. It, too, was covered with an unusual collection of items. Lined up was a row of small figurines that appeared to be fairly well crafted. Some looked like Catholic saints, with golden hair, angelic expressions, and crowns or gold-flecked wings. Others looked like African gods, their dark skin ornamented with shiny jewelry.

Interspersed among the figurines were numerous candles, as well as what looked like seven glasses of water.

“What
is
all this?” I blurted out before I had a chance to compose the question in a more diplomatic way.

“A
bóveda.”
Serena replied. “What you would call an altar. It honors my ancestors as well as the orishas—spirits or gods.”

“What are those glasses of water for?” I asked.

“The glasses are symbols of the spirits who protect Vondra and me and all the other members of our family,” she said. “You can see that there are seven of them. That’s because seven is the number of Yemaya,
one of the orishas—or gods—who has a close connection to the spirit world.

“Each glass of water honors someone different, someone with whom we all share the same sacred energies,” she went on. “One is dedicated to our guardian angels, one to our relatives, one to our loved ones, and one to the unknown spirits. But they also honor the spirit energies of different peoples who helped create our cultural identity—namely, the Yorubas, the Kongos, and the Native Americans.”

I was glad Sunny had filled me in on some of this. Otherwise, I would have been totally mystified by the words coming out of her mouth.

“And the flowers?” I asked. “Are they just decorative, or do they have a special meaning, too?”

“The flowers stand for nature and the forces of life.”

“What about these figurines?” I asked. “Do they signify special people?”

“Very special,” Serena replied patiently. “Each one signifies a different orisha who came from Africa hundreds of years ago and entered the souls of those who were sold into slavery.”

I watched carefully as she picked up a figurine with dark skin and a red and black dress—the same colors of the beads in her bracelets. “This may look like an African woman, but it symbolizes a warrior orisha named Chango, the god of thunder and lightning—as well as the god of fire.”

My eyes automatically traveled to her red-and-black bracelets as I made the connection: Chango, the god of fire, was Serena’s orisha.

“This also represents a Catholic saint, Santa Barbara,” Serena went on, not seeming to notice my sudden discomfort. “The crown and the sword are symbols of both Santa Barbara and Chango.”

But before I had a chance to ask any more questions, Serena took my hand and said, “But I think you are most interested in what the orishas can do for you. Tell me about the problems you are having with your love life.”

For a few seconds, I was tongue-tied. And it was for reasons that had nothing to do with Santeria or fire or Nathaniel Stibbins.

The pathetic state of my love life was simply the excuse I’d used to get my foot in the door. But now that she’d invited me to talk about that very subject, it turned out I had plenty to say. In fact, before I could stop myself, I was positively pouring my heart out to the woman.

As I told her my entire history with Nick, Babalu lay quietly at my feet as if he was as used to listening to people’s tales of woe as Serena was. I ended mine with the sorry state our relationship was in at the moment, thanks to Nick stumbling upon Forrester and me and completely misinterpreting what he saw. I left out the part about my disastrous wedding, since I didn’t see how I could possibly explain that it had gotten canceled without mentioning Nathaniel’s murder.

Which, after all, was the main reason I was here.

“I see,” Serena finally said once I’d finished. I was relieved that she showed absolutely no sign of judging me. “I think I know what you need to do. I’ll get you
everything that is required for what in Santeria is called the love magnet spell.”

A love magnet spell sounds like something Suzanne would definitely be in favor of, I thought as I watched her go over to the shelves. Thoughtfully she began picking out one item after another.

“Let me see,” she muttered. “Love Drawing Fragrance Coil, a candle with a love amulet, a set of male and female magnets … oh, and of course a mojo bag …”

A mojo bag? I thought, suddenly remembering where I was. What have I gotten myself into?

Fortunately, Serena decided to give me the love magnet spell supplies to go. Personally, I generally prefer casting spells in the privacy of my own home.

“I’ve included the instructions,” she told me, handing me an ordinary plastic bag filled with everything she’d chosen for me. “Be sure to follow every step.”

“I will,” I assured her. For a second, I even considered actually doing it. After all, I figured, it couldn’t hurt. “And thank you, Serena. I’m sure this is just what I need.”

As I paid her, I realized it was getting to be time for me to make my exit—which meant I would do well to try to accomplish what I’d really come here to do.

After reaching the front door, I turned back to her. By that point, she’d picked up Babalu and was cradling him in her arms.

Studying her carefully to gauge her reaction, I said, “By the way, did you hear about the vandalism at the Worth School?”

Serena stiffened. “What are you talking about, child?” she demanded.

I hesitated. “Over the weekend, somebody broke into the Student Life Community Center and destroyed all the student artwork that was on display. The exhibit was the same one Dr. Goodfellow made an announcement about the night of the PTA meeting.”

“Oh my!” she cried. “What a terrible thing! Do they have any idea who was responsible for such a monstrous thing?”

“No.” I was silent for a few seconds. I hated being the bearer of bad news, but at this point it seemed I had no choice but to continue. “But it seems the police found a bracelet amid the wreckage.” I took a deep breath before adding, “It was made of green and black beads, like the bracelets Vondra wears.”

“Many people wear those bracelets!” she exclaimed. “Not only my daughter!”

By that point, her agitation had even upset Babalu, who leaped out of her arms and withdrew to the back corner of the room.

“Besides, it is impossible that the one found nearby was Vondra’s!” Serena cried. “My daughter is not capable of doing something like that. Someone must have planted it there to make her look guilty!”

“I thought of that, too,” I told her. I chose not to add that if that was the case, whoever had come up with the idea of making Vondra look like the culprit had certainly done a first-rate job. “But you should probably expect to hear from the police.”

Serena’s dark eyes blazed. “Just like I thought,” she
said through clenched teeth. “The people at that school are vicious. I am not surprised that somebody targeted my daughter. She is different from all those other girls. And it is not only because we are not rich, like their families. It is also because of the way Vondra looks and the way she dresses and the religion she chooses to follow. I am more certain than ever that I did the right thing by taking her out of that place!”

I decided to take a chance. Choosing my words carefully, I said, “There are rumors that the vandalism might have been related to the fact that the art exhibition was in honor of the art teacher, Mr. Stibbins. The man who was murdered.”

“Mr. Stibbins,” Serena repeated, enunciating each syllable. Her eyes narrowed as she said, “He was the most evil of them all.”

My ears perked up. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it is the truth.”

“I didn’t realize you knew him,” I said gently.

“I did not know him, but Vondra did,” she replied. “My daughter took an art class with him.”

“Did she have a bad experience?”

She stared at me for what felt like a very long time before adding, “Vondra had an argument with him.”

My heartbeat quickened. “What did they argue about?”

“An art exhibition,” she said, her voice still venomous. “Something he was working on for a long time. I could never get her to tell me the whole story. All I know is that when they disagreed on something
about the exhibition, that horrid man actually threatened her.”

“Physically?” I cried. “I hope Vondra reported it to the police!”

“It was nothing like that,” Serena assured me. “The man was much too clever.”

I was growing increasingly uneasy. “Then how did he threaten her?”

Bitterly, she replied, “Mr. Stibbins told Vondra he would find a way to get the school to take away her scholarship.”

Serena’s words hit me like a slap in the face.

No! I thought as a sick feeling rushed over me like an ocean wave. Is it possible that once again Nathaniel turned his wrath on a helpless scholarship student, someone who was only able to attend a high-quality private school and get a first-rate education because of support from the school?

First Wilhelm or Willard, that scholarship student at Schottsburg Academy. And now Vondra Garcia.

“I don’t blame you for being angry,” I said evenly. “But if you were concerned about Vondra losing her scholarship and being unable to continue at Worth, why did you end up taking her out of the school anyway?”

The expression on Serena’s face was as hard as those stones on the altar. “Because I realized that even though the education those people could provide my daughter with might have been worthwhile, the type of people they were—and the values they held—were not something I wanted her exposed to.”

“Serena,” I said, keeping my voice as even as I could, “when did this incident with Mr. Stibbins occur?”

“At the end of the term,” she replied. “Around the first week of June.” She waved her hand vaguely in the air as if the actual timing didn’t matter to her.

But it mattered to me. A
lot
.