That Old Black Magic (23 page)
Read That Old Black Magic Online
Authors: Mary Jane Clark
P
iper tapped in just the first two letters of every term she could think of that related to the murders.
“D-A.” Up came “DAMBALLAH” at the very top of the recent-searches menu.
“L-O.” Up came “LOKO.”
“S-N”â“SNAKES.”
Leaning back in her chair, Piper was shocked and in disbelief. Maybe she was overreacting. There had to be another explanation. The one that was running through her mind was too horrible to be real.
Only Bertrand and Marguerite used the computer. Bertrand was dead. That left Marguerite. Had she killed her husband? Had Marguerite killed Muffuletta Mike and Ellinore Duchamps as well?
Should she call the police? Maybe she was wrong about Marguerite. But shouldn't the police be informed of what Piper had come across on the computer? She was determined to follow Jack's and her father's advice and let the pros figure it out.
As Piper reached for the telephone, she heard the back door to the kitchen open. She turned to see Marguerite standing behind her. Piper tried but failed to keep the fear from her facial expression.
“Put down that phone,” commanded Marguerite. “Now.”
J
ack clicked the remote control, and the TV screen went black. He got up from the couch and turned off the lamps, then walked down the hall to the bedroom. Before he went to sleep, he wanted to try Piper again.
As he undressed, Jack found comfort in the thought that Piper was going to be home this weekend. When they were together again, things would be all right between them. He hated when she went off and he couldn't be sure whether or not she was safe. Still, he didn't want to be some Neanderthal who resented his woman for doing her own thing.
Getting into bed, Jack called Piper's cell phone once more. It rang three times before a man's voice answered.
“Who's this?” Jack asked warily.
“Leo Yancy. Who's this?”
“I'm trying to reach Piper Donovan. This is her friend, Jack Lombardi.”
“Oh, hi.” The man's voice became friendlier. “Piper was with us tonight, Jack, at a party for our wedding. She lost her cell on the boat. We have it now. My fiancée and I are on our way over to her apartment to drop it off. We'll tell her you called when we see her.”
P
iper watched in stunned silence as Marguerite calmly walked toward the desk. The older woman bent down, opened the bottom drawer, and extracted a gun.
“All right, get up, Piper,” said Marguerite, pointing the weapon at her.
“Marguerite,
please
,” Piper pleaded. “What are you doing?”
“Do as I say, Piper. Now.”
“But, Marguerite, stop and think for a minute,” Piper warned, her voice cracking. “You're only going to make things worse.”
Marguerite shook her head. “I don't think so, Piper.
You
are the only one who threatens me right now. I think I'll get away with all of it, as long as you don't have a chance to talk to anyone. Now, get up. We're going for a ride.”
Piper tried to think. She remembered all the stories her father had told her about murder victims whose fatal mistake had been getting into a car at gunpoint. At the time Piper had vowed she'd never be that stupid. But now, as she stared down the barrel of a gun herself, she understood why the victims had done as they were instructed.
The choices were limited. Try to run and get shot doing it. Try to wrestle the weapon away and get shot doing that. Or follow orders and try to buy precious time. Once they were in the car, she might have more options. She might be able to jump out or signal to another motorist or a pedestrian for help. Right now, alone with Marguerite at the back of the bakery, there was no prospect that anyone would be coming to her aid.
Piper rose from the chair and turned toward the door. Marguerite followed behind her. But Piper's hopes immediately deflated when they got outside to the alleyway. Marguerite clicked the button on her key fob, and the car's trunk lid popped open.
A
s she stood behind Piper with the gun pointing at her back, Marguerite tried to anticipate what Piper might do. What was she thinking right now?
She must be realizing that getting into the trunk of the car was like signing her own death warrant. Once inside, she could be taken anywhere. Perhaps to some remote spot where she could be killed, the gunshots ringing out where nobody could hear and her body dumped where no one would find it for days and days, if it was ever found at all.
If I were Piper,
thought Marguerite
, this is when I'd make my move. I'd take my chances now and run, scrambling down the alleyway as fast as I could, praying that the darkness would make me an elusive target. If I could just get to the end of the alley and out onto the street, I'd have a good chance of survival.
Before Piper could try any such thing, Marguerite repositioned the weapon in her hand and raised her arm. She brought the heel of the gun crashing down onto Piper's head. The young woman crumpled but didn't completely fall. Yet the blow was enough to daze and destabilize Piper, making it easier to propel her into the trunk.
Marguerite slammed the lid shut and went back inside the bakery to get the computer.
B
lackness.
Piper's eyes were open, but she couldn't see anything. Her head throbbed painfully as she struggled to get her bearings. Soon enough she realized what was happening and where she was.
Cramped and barely able to move in the small, cluttered space, Piper raised her arms upward and pressed against the roof. When it didn't move, she clenched her hands into fists and pounded on the unyielding surface. Finally she wriggled around awkwardly and got into a position where she could partially draw up her legs. She pushed her feet as hard as she could against the trunk lid. It did not budge.
Stop. Think. Try not to panic.
Lying in the trunk, trapped and alone in the darkness, Piper could sense her mind racing as a familiar, frantic feeling began to course through her. The trauma, the stress, the sheer terror of her paralysis in Florida and her entombment in the New Orleans movie-set crypt: the sense of being buried alive, caught in a horrific situation from which there was no escape. Helpless.
It was happening all over again!
The terror Piper felt with a flashback was real, but now actual physical threat was imminent. She pictured Marguerite opening the trunk and aiming the gun. She thought of her parents and Jack. She wondered if anyone would ever find her body.
Please, God. Don't let this be happening!
Piper broke out in a cold sweat. She was finding it increasingly difficult to breathe. The short, shallow gasps came faster and faster. She was hyperventilating.
Then she blacked out.
O
n Royal Street the plainclothes police officer took his hand from the pocket of his blazer and looked at his watch with impatience. He was eager for his relief to arrive. Where was the guy?
He was about to call and check when he noticed the lights go off inside the bakery across the street. Wouldn't you know it? Piper Donovan would be coming out any second, heading up to the apartment for the night. The next guy on duty most likely wouldn't have a thing to do for his entire shift. If he were smart, he'd bring a blanket with him and catch up on some sleep in one of the doorways.
Keeping his eyes trained on the front door of the bakery, the man still on duty wondered what Piper had been looking for when she'd come outside earlier. Whatever it was, she hadn't found it. He'd hoped then that she would pack it in for the night.
Here he was, still waiting for a girl he doubted was a threat to anybody. Why hadn't she come out?
Spotting his replacement walking toward him now, the surveillance officer yelled, “You stay here! I'm going to run around and check the back!”
A
car was backing out of the alleyway. The rear lights flashed brighter red as the driver braked before easing out onto the street. The officer hurried to the car window and held up his badge. He recognized the woman behind the wheel. She looked at him warily as she lowered the window.
“Mrs. Olivier,” he said. “Good evening, ma'am.”
“What's wrong, Officer?” asked Marguerite.
“I don't mean to worry you, Mrs. Olivier, and I want to offer my deepest sympathies. Your husband made the best beignets in New Orleans, and we both know that's saying something.”
Under the lamplight the cop noticed that Marguerite seemed to relax.
“Thank you,” said Marguerite. “I hope to have the bakery open again soon. We'll still make Bertrand's recipes. Make sure to come in, and I'll give you some. Good night.”
Marguerite took her foot off the brake, and the car began to move.
“Wait a minute, ma'am,” he said as he looked into the car and spotted the computer on the backseat. “Have you seen Piper Donovan, the girl who's been working with you? I know she was in the bakery tonight. Do you know where she is now?”
P
iper groggily drifted back to consciousness. Slowly she became seized by the overwhelming feeling that something was wrong. Dreadfully wrong.
Then it came to her what that was. Piper kept her eyes shut tight, as if keeping them closed would somehow block out the horror of what was happening. But the cold fright pulsed inexorably through every fiber of her body anyway.
She could hear the motor running, but the car didn't seem to be moving. Listening closely, she heard muffled conversation.
Someone else was out there!
Summoning all the strength she had left, Piper began screaming and pounding on the roof of the trunk.
O
pen up the trunk, Mrs. Olivier.”
Marguerite ignored the command and pressed her foot on the accelerator. The car moved forward, quickly gathering speed.
With just seconds to react, the officer made a decision. He pulled out his weapon and began firing, focusing on the rear tires of the car as it sped away down the street. He prayed his aim would be accurate.
T
he car was moving now, faster and faster. As she lay cramped and in pain, Piper was terrified as she heard the shots being fired. What if a bullet hit the trunkâand hit
her
as she lay cowering there?
But she was also strangely relieved. No matter what happened, somebody would eventually find her. Even if Marguerite eluded capture right now and took her somewhere to kill her and dispose of her body, Piper's DNA would still be all over the trunk. Whoever was shooting would have a description of the car and, hopefully, could get the plate number. It would be traced to Marguerite. Sooner or later the police would figure out the rest. Jack would be on their backs every step of the way.
There was comfort in knowing that her parents and Jack, as stricken and heartbroken as they would be if she didn't make it, would know what had happened to her.
Keeping her eyes shut, Piper prayed.
“Our Father, who art in heavenâ”
Her prayer was cut short. She heard a bullet whiz into the trunk at the same moment she experienced the force of impact as the car crashed.
A
tall, dark-haired man got out of a taxi at the entrance to the Tulane Medical Center. He paid the driver and quickly walked through the soaring, skylighted lobby. He fidgeted impatiently as he waited his turn at the reception desk.
“Piper Donovan, please.”
The receptionist checked the computer and provided the room number.
“Is there a place where I can buy flowers here?” asked Jack as he took the room pass from the receptionist.
She nodded. “There's a gift shop on the second floor of the Aron Pavilion.”
Jack hurried away, stopping briefly to buy a bouquet of pink tulips before proceeding to Piper's room. She seemed to be sleeping when he got there. Her face was deathly pale, punctuated by an angry purple bruise on her forehead.
He pulled a chair next to her bed and sat down, reaching out to take her scratched hand in his. Piper's long, tapering fingers wrapped weakly around his hand. Her green eyes slowly opened, and she looked at him. “Jack,” she whispered.
He leaned over and kissed her gently. “How's my girl?” he asked.
“My head hurts,” she answered softly. She closed her eyes again.
W
hile Piper slept, Jack went out to the nurses' station and asked for a report.
“Are you a relative?” asked the nurse.
“I'm her fiancé,” Jack fibbed. He didn't care that he wasn't being exactly truthful. He had to know how Piper was, and he hoped his lie would be true someday anyway.
“She has a concussion from a blow on the back of her head,” said the nurse. “Plus, she sustained another hit on her forehead when the car crashed. Fortunately, she doesn't seem to have broken anything, but she has multiple contusions. We'll be watching her for a while to make sure she doesn't have internal injuries.”
W
hile he waited beside Piper's bed, Jack called her parents, knowing how worried they must be about their daughter. He was the one who had called them the night before and informed them about what had happened. The Donovans immediately announced they would get the next flight down to New Orleans, but Jack had talked them out of that. He was going and would keep them updated on everything.
Keeping his voice low, Jack gave Terri and Vin a report on Piper's medical status. “Everything will be all right,” he finished. “With a little luck and a lot of rest, she should be fine. Sore, but fine.”
Jack spoke as if he were sure. He had to believe.
K
eeping his eyes on Piper the whole time, Jack called his New Orleans FBI contact. Investigators were already searching through the bakery computer. Snake supplies and a sales receipt for an albino California king snake had been found in the trunk of Marguerite Olivier's car. The fingerprint discovered in the blood at the first murder scene had now been identified as belonging to Marguerite.
“Her prints weren't in the system till she was booked last night, Jack,” said the field agent.
P
iper still slept. A nurse came into the hospital room and checked her pulse.
“How is it?” asked Jack.
“Steady,” answered the nurse. “A bit slow, but nothing alarming.”
Jack got up and stretched. His stomach was grumbling. He hadn't had anything to eat since the muffin he grabbed as he ran to catch his plane at the airport in New York early that morning.
“Do you think she'll be all right if I run down to the coffee shop and get something to eat?” he asked the nurse.
The nurse nodded. “Sure. Go ahead.”
As Jack left the room, he bumped into a red-haired young woman and dark-haired man entering. Though the woman was wearing jeans and a blouse, it appeared she was ready for a special occasion. Her hair and makeup looked as if they had been professionally done, and sparkling earrings dangled from her ears. The man wore a navy suit and pale blue tie. They introduced themselves.
“Oh!” said Jack. “You're the bride and groom!” He reached out, shook their hands, and gave them a quick update on Piper's condition. “I want to thank you again for calling me back from Piper's cell phone last night and letting me know what happened.”
Sabrina shook her head. “I'm glad we could do it,” she said. “Arriving at the bakery to return her cell phone and finding an ambulance and all the police cars there was so incredibly scary. It was a relief to have someone to call and notify.”
The three of them went inside the hospital room and stood at the foot of the bed, watching Piper as she slept.
“Don't you have a wedding to be at?” asked Jack.
“We're on our way, but we wanted to check on Piper first,” said Leo. He reached into his pocket, took out the iPhone, and handed it to Jack.
Jack looked at Piper again. “When she wakes up,” he said, “I know she's going to be worried that she didn't finish your wedding cake.”
“Tell her that that's the last thing she needs to be concerned about,” said Sabrina.
Leo agreed. “We have a restaurant, Jack. If I can't figure out something, I don't deserve my chef's hat.”
I
n the hospital coffee shop, Jack paid for a chicken-salad sandwich, a bag of chips, and a bottle of iced tea. He took the elevator back upstairs and hurried down the hall to Piper's room. He was just unwrapping his food when two men appeared at the doorway. One carried flowers, the other carried a little boy in his arms. Falkner Duchamps and Wuzzy Queen introduced themselves.
“And this is my son, Connor,” said Wuzzy.
“Well, Piper has certainly made some friends in the short time she's been down here, hasn't she?” asked Jack as he patted Connor on the head.
“And who are
you
?” asked Falkner.
“Jack Lombardi, her boyfriend,” he answered territorially.
Falkner smiled. “Lucky guy.”
“We just wanted to stop by for a minute to make sure Piper was all right,” said Wuzzy.
“And I wanted to apologize to her,” added Falkner. “I came down on her pretty hard last night on the
Natchez,
and I'm sorry about that now.”
Jack shot Falkner a suspicious look, just as there was movement in the bed. All of them turned to see Piper smiling wanly at them.
“Go ahead, Falkner,” said Jack. “I guess you can tell her yourself.”
F
or the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, Jack sat next to Piper's bed. They talked a little about what had happened on Royal Street, but mostly they spoke about what they would do when they got back home. Piper promised she was going to see a therapist and discuss what she'd been through and the feelings she'd been having.
Piper's parents called several times. And Gabe, her agent, rang to give Piper the positive feedback he'd gotten from the movie people. The casting director wanted to know if Piper would be available for more work sometime in New Orleans. She hesitated a moment before answering.
“Yeah, I mean, for the right role, I'd definitely be willing to come back here. It's such a great city.” She never even mentioned to Gabe that she was lying in a hospital bed.
The lines crinkled at the corners of Jack's eyes as he smiled down at her.
T
he cab dropped Jack off at the hotel on Royal Street. He checked in and dropped his small overnight bag in the room. He was overtired and not ready to sleep.
He decided to take a walk and try to see the places Piper had seen over the past week. He passed by the antique shop and the Gris-Gris Bar. He stopped at Boulangerie Bertrand and peered through the front window. It was dark inside, and he couldn't see much, but he shuddered to think what had gone on there.
A jewelry store, a hat shop, a gift shop, a fortune-telling place. Jack traveled farther along the old lamplit street, thinking about Piper as he went. He stopped at the corner to listen to a musician wearing a porkpie hat as he played “That Old Black Magic” on his clarinet. Jack threw a five-dollar bill into the guy's instrument case and then turned to walk back to the hotel.
T
he hot shower helped to relax him, but Jack still didn't fall asleep right away. He turned on his side, reached over to the bedside table, and switched on the radio. He listened as a series of callers praised the show's host.
“Aaron, the police should hire you, man. You were way ahead of the curve. You called it before anyone else.”
“I thought you were crazy, Aaron, when you came up with the hoodoo thing. I thought you were another one of those ego-driven radio hosts, willing to say any outrageous thing just to pump up the ratings. I was wrong.”
“I only started listening to your show when I heard about your Hoodoo Killer theory from a friend of mine. I'm hooked, Aaron, and you'll have another faithful listener from now on. You can count on it.”
Jack's phone rang. He turned down the sound on the radio and answered.
“It's me, Jack.”
“Hey, you. Everything okay?”
“I can't sleep,” answered Piper.
“Me neither,” said Jack.
“Thanks for coming down here, Jack,” she said softly. “That really means a lot to me.”
“And where else would I be? I love you, Pipe.”
“I love you, too,” Piper whispered. “I can't wait to see you in the morning.”
