The Bourbon Street Ripper (Sins of the Father, Book 1) (59 page)

“Dessert? Oh, then we have to go to Muriel’s! They have the most delicious red velvet cheesecake there,” replied Sam, relishing the thought that, amongst other things, she would be able to take in a part of New Orleans she really liked. Sam was thinking of the sights she and Richie could take in, after talking to the Patterson sisters, when he spoke up.

Richie chuckled and said, “Well, I’m a guy, so cheesecake is not going to ring my bell like it will ring yours. But sure, Muriel’s it is.”

His voice then lowered.

“Hey, Sam, there is something I need to tell you.”

Sam looked over, still sipping on her iced tea. She tilted her head to the side curiously and asked, “What is it, Richie?”

“It was, well… ” Richie seemed, for the first time that afternoon, to really struggle with his words. Finally, he said, “Rodger told me to also stay out of the investigation. So I can’t even help out while you’re keeping a low profile.”

Sam frowned. She has always thought of Rodger as being on her side, but it sounded now like he had to choose being a cop over being her “uncle.” She frowned and finished off her tea before exhaling in frustration and staring up at the ceiling. “Well, hell, I guess that sort of shuts us down, doesn’t it?”

Richie nodded and said, “I’m really sorry, Sam.” He finished his tea.

But Sam was thinking about something else, and didn’t pay any attention to her guest for the moment.

If we happen to go to Jackson Square for dinner, happen to pop in on the Patterson sisters, and happen to find out about Blind Moses… Well, that’s not investigating, now, is it?

Sam looked back at Richie and gave a sly grin as she firmly set her empty glass down on the counter. “Well, then, we’re not investigating tonight. We’re just going to have dinner and take in the sights.”

With that said, Sam and Richie, for better or for worse, left for Jackson Square to go have dinner and dessert at Muriel’s.

Chapter 30   
Sam’s Special Day

It was a little past nine o’clock when Sam and Richie left Muriel’s, having finished an incredible, albeit expensive dinner, topping it off with a generous slice of red velvet cheesecake. Sam’s cheeks were still flushed from the dessert, and she had a spring in her step. Walking side by side, she and Richie entered Jackson Square.

During the daytime, Jackson Square was just another example of New Orleans’s unique architecture, but at night it was a wonderland of lights and music. All around the outside were a myriad of shops ranging from quaint and old-fashioned to modern and trendy, several historic landmarks such as the Cabildo and the Presbytere, and the gloriously beautiful St. Louis Cathedral.

Within the center of the square was a small but well-kept park, lined with Old World gaslights and wrought-iron benches. The centerpiece for the park was the statue of General Andrew Jackson.

All around, festive Cajun and Zydeco music played, the most common being any rendition of “When the Saints Go Marching In.” The smell of freshly cooked and heavily spiced meats and seafood wafted in the hot summer air. All around, dozens upon dozens of artists, performers, and mystics peddled their services and wares.

Sam loved Jackson Square. It was undoubtedly her favorite part of the French Quarter.

As she and Richie passed the Café du Monde, where she had had lunch with Jacob Hueber just a few days prior, Sam said, “You know the history of Jackson Square, right, Richie? That it used to be the central town square for New Orleans?”

Richie chuckled. “I do now,” he said, and reaching over, took her hand in his.

Immediately, Sam’s face flushed, her body temperature increased, and her breath sucked in. Looking over at Richie, who was walking along with a small smile, Sam quickly yanked her hand away, softly muttering, “Wha—what’d you do that for?”

Looking over at her, Richie just shrugged, still smiling, and said, “There’s a serial killer on the loose. Gotta protect my friend, yes?”

Sam felt her flush die down, but as she looked around, she could see that although natives and tourists alike were enjoying themselves, everyone was sticking to groups, and just about every woman was holding on to someone else’s hand. Feeling a bit out of place, Sam agreed to let Richie hold her hand—but only because she’d look suspicious otherwise.

Sam noted that his hand felt strong and warm.

A few minutes later, after wading through the crowds of shoppers, tourists, partygoers, and artists, the pair approached a storefront called La Croix Voodoo Shoppe. The exterior of the shop was black with wrought-iron and lit with gaslights. In the windows were what looked like department store displays, but with skeletal creatures in gentlemen’s and ladies’ clothing, doing activities such as walking in the park or having a picnic. A few ghostly images faded in and out of the background.

“Really, Sam,” said Richie, “a voodoo shop? After what we’ve been through recently?”

Sam just turned toward Richie and gave him a coy smile, looking up at him from behind her lashes and saying, “But they have such nice incense. Surely you wouldn’t begrudge me getting some, would you?”

Richie had the look of a man who knew he was being manipulated, and while he gave a thoughtful look, as if heavily considering the options, he was just a hair too quick to agree to fool anyone.

Sam tapped Richie on the nose and said, “Uh-huh. Come on, stud.”

Hand in hand, the two entered the store.

Passing through a black curtain, the pair entered a well-furnished store that looked nothing like its exterior. Instead of skeletons and ghosts, there were rows of books, incense, dried herbs, candles, crucibles, and other ritualistic paraphernalia.

Music that sound like drums, bells, and native chants played over a sound system, and the sweet scent of light frankincense wafted in the air. An electronic cash register was set up on the only counter in the shop. Behind it was a staircase leading up to the next floor. To the side was a beaded doorway.

Two employees, a young woman and young man, both dark-skinned Creoles, were tending the store.

A few patrons, mostly locals, were browsing. Otherwise, the place was empty.

“Okay, different and yet normal,” said Richie, sniffing the air. “Not what I expected.”

Sam didn’t say anything in response, instead just looking around. She had never been in the Pattersons’ shop, but this had to be the place. She remembered that after Aunt Marguerite had passed away, Aunt Gladys had taken over as executor of the Castille estate, as well as Sam’s guardianship.

One of her first acts had been to fire the entire Patterson family, claiming that their “voodoo pagan religion” brought shame upon the “good Christian” Castille household.

Sam had been sixteen at the time and couldn’t do anything about it; however, after passionately explaining the situation to Kent Bourgeois, Sam and Gladys reached an agreement—Gladys could live in the mansion as long as she liked, provided that any of the original servants who were released, including the Pattersons, received a severance of a quarter million dollars.

Considering the size of the Castille fortune, Aunt Gladys agreed. A few days after the Pattersons were paid off, Sam moved out of the mansion and into her father’s townhome, then filed for emancipation. From that moment onward, she refused to speak to Aunt Gladys unless it was absolutely necessary.

Sam was tugged out of her memories by Richie tapping her arm and saying, “Hey, Sam, I think that person knows you!”

Sam shook her head and looked up, seeing a African-American woman standing on the stairs. The woman was about Sam’s age, with sensual curves and deep chocolate skin. She wore a dark purple bustier with a black rim that settled down to a long dark purple skirt, split on the side. Her long black hair was braided in locks, and held back by a dark purple head rag. Her eyes were sensual and dark, and were staring directly at Sam.

It took a few seconds for Sam’s brain to register everything, but she was sure she knew who this was. Sam was amazed that in fourteen years, the girl had grown from a gangly, awkward, string bean of a girl into such an amazingly beautiful woman.

“Tania?” Sam asked, walking toward the chocolate beauty.

The dark woman smiled and, holding out her arms, swept forward and embraced Sam. A heavy scent of herbs and incense was evident on her, but underneath, the smell of that goofy yet kindhearted servant still lingered. Sam had never realized until this moment how “kind” Tania smelled, if such a thing were possible.

“Miss Samantha,” Tania said, her voice now as sensual as her look, yet brimming with excitement. “
Ave Maria
be praised, it is wonderful to see you again!”

Sam welcomed the familiarity. For one brief moment, everything was normal—her father was alive, her grandfather was not a murderer, and her life wasn’t a nightmare. As she parted from the hug, Sam realized this was the first touch of normalcy she had felt in a long time.

“Please, just call me Sam,” Sam finally said, smiling warmly at Tania and standing there clasping her hands to the dark woman’s forearms. “It is so good to see you alive, well, and”—she looked Tania over again, failing to find a single flaw with her body—“looking incredible.”

To Sam’s surprise, Tania gave a soft laugh, detached from her, and walked over to the counter, gesturing toward the store. “As you can see, Sam, we’ve done well for ourselves with this store, our voodoo tour, and Violet’s card readings. Sam, this is the best thing that ever happened to us.”

Sam gave Tania a real smile, putting her hands on her hips and nodding her head. She was glad that, despite the suffering of so many people associated with her life, the Patterson sisters had turned out well.

“So Violet is reading cards, is she?” Sam said, having trouble picturing Violet doing anything of the sort.

“Yes, she is,” replied Tania with a nod, leaning forward. “And before you ask, she is as much of a grouch now as she was back then.”

Sam smirked and tried to imagine Violet being any worse than she used to be, and having a hard time with that.

“And how is Miss Patterson?” asked Sam, looking around for the heavyset large woman who used to be her housekeeper.

Tania’s voice grew quieter as she said, not sadly but matter-of-factly, “Mama passed five years ago from diabetes. She went peacefully. It was too soon, but being her size… Well, I’m sure you can guess.”

Sam felt sad that she never got a chance to say good-bye to the kindly housekeeper. “I’m sorry to hear that, Tania. Your mother was a good woman. She’ll be missed.”

A clearing of the throat, and Sam realized she had forgotten Richie, who was standing next to her and looking utterly left out of everything.

“Sorry, Richie,” Sam said in a low voice. “This is Richie Fastellos, a friend of mine.”

“Hey, there,” Richie said, reaching forward to shake Tania’s hand. “Pleasure to meet someone who is an old friend of Sam.”

Turning back to Sam, Tania said, “I have an idea! Why don’t you check out our voodoo tour, Sam? You and your friend will enjoy it. Mama used quite a bit of money to put it together, and it really promotes and preserves our religion.”

“All right,” said Sam, giving that soft smile of hers. “Let’s see what this voodoo tour is about. How much is it?”

“Ten dollars a person,” replied Tania. “The tour lasts a little over twelve minutes. Violet is waiting at the end if you want a card reading.”

“Are you okay with this, Richie?” Sam asked her friend, realizing she didn’t know his religion or whether a voodoo tour would offend him.

“Sure! I’m fine with it,” replied Richie, giving an amused chuckle.

Sam gave Richie a nod and then reached into her pocket to get her wallet out and pay. She was only halfway through getting out her money when Richie slapped a twenty onto the countertop and slid it over to Tania. As Sam looked up at Richie in surprise, he winked at her and said, “Told you I’d take care of the next thing.”

What a sweetheart
, Sam thought, her heartbeat increasing a little as she reached out, took his hand, and followed Tania through the beaded doorway.

Stepping through the beaded door, Sam and Richie were led into a room lit by black light and up a ramp to a black cart with the visage of Baron Samedi painted on the back. The baron held a cigar in one hand and a rum bottle in the other. The cart, which had a platform for Tania to stand on and a railing for her to hold on to, was on a track that vanished through a black curtain. A backdrop to the loading area had, painted in fluorescent paint, figures of skeletons, ghosts, and nude men and woman dancing around fires. Atop the wall was a banner saying, “The Mysteries of the Voodoo Religion Tour.”

Sam was surprised to see that the voodoo tour was a dark ride. She had always loved those things growing up, and to see there was still one in existence was pretty amazing.

“Step into the baron’s embrace, mortals,” Tania said in a voice that was both seductive and soothing, the dark woman walking back and motioning for Sam and Richie to follow.

Sam looked at Richie, who shrugged at her, and then she walked forward, getting into the car first, with Richie getting in next to her.

Tania settled on the platform at the front of the cart and, hitting a button, launched the ride into action. The cart lurched and then fed into the blackness beyond the curtain.

Sam watched as the tour took them through a scene of clearly animatronic people, slaves in the South before the Civil War, working the fields, playing outside their shacks, and playing music by moonlight.

Tania began to speak. “When the ancestors of the Creole people were brought over to the New World, they brought with them their religion, a religion that divinized the animals, the spirits of their ancestors, and the gods of the spirit world.”