The Rosaries (Crossroads Series) (30 page)

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Tom’s voice thundered above the buzz, “as you know, I have announced that we will be unveiling some of Marcie Walker’s unreleased paintings. It is with great sorrow that I have to inform you of something else...” his voice dropped lower and embodied a more somber tone, “…our beloved Marcie Walker passed away a few weeks ago.”

Shock registered in the crowd, and whispers filled the silence left in the aftermath of Tom’s explosive announcement.

“But I have yet another important bit of breaking news for you, Ladies and Gentleman.”

The buzz came to a stop.

“We have here with us, just for today, Natalie Sanders, Ms. Walker’s niece, and I can assure you that her work is just as stunning as her aunt’s.”

Natalie felt her cheeks burn as all eyes in the room focused on her, and she glanced nervously at the confused expression on her mother’s perfectly made-up face. She saw her mother turning to her husband for answers, but he simply made a gesture to indicate she should listen.

“Ms. Walker has chosen to grace our world with her impressive art, but never opted for her real name to be known. The paintings I will present you today are signed with her real name, Catherine
Bouvier
.”

Natalie heard her mother gasp and even without looking, she was certain Angela Sanders was probably as white as a ghost. The crowd went mad. Voices were overlapping and spectators stared at Natalie as the new incarnation of their favorite artist. Tom allowed the excitement to settle naturally, before he spoke again.

“Most of the paintings you see in this room are being released for the first time, and they are managed by Ms. Sanders through the Marcie Walker Foundation. You will find Ms. Sanders’s collection in the adjacent room.” He extended his arm to indicate the room to the right. “Please do take your time to view all the paintings, since this is your chance in a lifetime to see two debuts in one day – Ms
Bouvier’s
only collection under her real name, and Ms. Sanders’s first exhibit. Thank you for coming, and enjoy your evening.”

When Tom replaced the microphone, the crowd scattered around. Some people remained in the room to admire Catherine’s previously undiscovered paintings, while some others filed next door to compare Natalie’s skills to those of her famous aunt. The moment she had the opportunity, Natalie turned back to look at her mother. Angela’s face was ashen, and her eyes glued to the portrait of the young child flying a balloon. Phillip was standing next to his wife, silently scrutinizing her for signs of distress.

“If you and Paul want to go ahead, I should be back in shape shortly. This new migraine medication really works fast,” Melody said apologetically.

A shadow of concern darkened Mario’s handsome face. “We can wait for you to feel better, Melody. It’s not that we have specific plans to be anywhere at any particular time. In fact, I was thinking of just going for a walk and do a little more sightseeing on my own while you rest.”

“This is Paul’s last day here, and I really don’t want him to remain stuck into a hotel room catering to my headache. I worry about him sitting around too long, especially since he will need to sit on a plane for many hours tomorrow.”

“I still think we should wait for you.”

“Nonsense, Mario,” she told him as he leafed through some fliers, “why don’t you just ask him to for a walk? I will meet you all in a little while.”

“Okay then, you rest, and we will be right down the street. There is an interesting exhibit at a gallery near here. Maybe I will ask Paul if he wants to go, and then we will come back to the hotel to pick you up later.”

“That sounds like a perfect plan. But do you think Paul is interested in attending an art show?”

Mario shook his head. “I’m not sure if he is or not, but I think I remember him mentioning something to that effect before. It doesn’t hurt to ask, unless he is too tired to go out right now. I’ll tell you what – I will go take a look on my own first, to make sure it is not abstract art, and then I will come back to ask Paul if he wants to go. If he doesn’t, then we will find some other way to spend the afternoon.” Mario walked up to the bed and gently kissed Melody’s forehead. “Feel better soon, sweetheart. I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too. Our honeymoon starts tomorrow.”

After Mario left, Melody laid her head carefully against the pillows and tried to go to sleep. Rest was the only effective medicine, she knew, that would cure a migraine.

Mario passed by Paul’s door on his way out and stopped a moment to listen in. There were no sounds coming from the room, so he continued to walk toward the elevator. Within moments he was out of the hotel, and headed to the art gallery.

The old man mingled with the rest of the crowd, and adjusted the carnation in the lapel of his jacket. He leaned on his cane and stood smiling, watching as all other spectators talked excitedly among one another. Everything was happening on perfect schedule, if he could say so himself.

He looked at his manicured nails and then raised his head to take a second look at a lady who just walked by, the sweetheart neckline of her dress barely covering her soft gifts. He laughed and bowed to her, as she joined a friend who stood in the middle of the room holding a program in her chubby hand. Oh, he so wished he could be a few centuries younger sometimes…

Paul was stretched out on his bed watching mindless TV, when someone knocked on the door. Assuming it would be Melody or Mario, he opened without a second thought, and was surprised to see a young lady standing by the doorway. She was petite and had light blond hair, cut at the shoulders; her face was extremely pale and her skin had a strange translucent tone which Paul blamed on the dim light of the hallway. She had huge blue eyes and wore a uniform that he hadn’t seen on anyone else at that hotel – wrong color and wrong style. Paul was an old man, and not always too keen on noticing details, but this one really stuck out, as if she was a figurine cut out from a twenty-year-old magazine and pasted on a new digital photo.

“May I help you?”

“You are Paul, right?”

Paul raised his eyebrow, confusion glazing his eyes.

“I am, but who are you?”

“There is no time to explain that. Go take care of Melody, she will need you soon. Tell her to wear the rosary. That’s all you need to know for now.”

Paul felt a shiver curse through his massive body. The time had come.

“Hurry Paul, don’t leave her alone.”

Paul ran his hand over his face, his heart racing wildly. His eyes were probably only closed for a second; when he opened them again, she was gone. He rushed to Melody’s room without even bothering to close his own and knocked frantically on her door.

A weary Melody came to open after a moment, her eyes heavy with medicated sleep and her movements slow. “Paul, what’s wrong? Did something happen to Mario? You didn’t go?’ The mere thought that something could have happened to her husband shot adrenaline through Melody’s blood stream, and in seconds she was awake.

“I don’t know where Mario is, but I think something is ready to happen. I don’t really know how to explain it to you, but can I come in?”

“Of course…but didn’t Mario come to get you? He was going to take you to an exhibit near here. He said you might enjoy it.”

Paul looked at Melody, puzzled. “He said that? Melody, honestly, I’m a fisherman; I don’t know the first thing about art.”

Melody went to the table to pick up the flier. “Here it is. This is the exhibit he was talking about. He said you mentioned something about being interested in art shows.”

“I don’t know what’s going on here, Melody, but I’m sure going to find out.”

“We’ll find out together, Paul.” She grabbed the first outfit she could get her hands on, and went to the bathroom to change.

“Take the rosary with you, Melody. Don’t ask me why -- just do it.”

Too shaken to think or even formulate questions, Melody took the rosary out of her travel jewelry case and placed it around her neck. They were out of the hotel in minutes, and, map in hand, they walked briskly toward the art gallery. By the time they arrived, a crowd was filing out of the building. An older gentleman was standing by the door, saying good-bye to some of the visitors, and shaking hands with others. When he saw Melody and Paul approaching, he turned his attention to them. “I’m sorry, but the exhibit is getting ready to close.”

Paul thought quickly, his mind pushing words out of his mouth. “My niece is a huge fan of Marcie Walker,” he said after he glanced at a poster hung outside the main door of the gallery, “Is there any way we can get a tiny glimpse, even for just a few minutes? We’d be happy to pay full admission.”

The man stood transfixed, his eyes glued on Melody. “Oh my God, you look exactly like Natalie Sanders, one of the artists featured in the exhibit.”

“Really?” asked Paul, “is Ms. Sanders inside?”

Tom nodded, still unable to peel his eyes away from Melody’s face. “Yes, please come in. I think the two of you should meet.”

Paul’s hair stood up behind his neck…too many coincidences. He was glad he had gone back to his room to take his gun before leaving the hotel. God knew he had enough trouble getting the airport people to pass it through – he finally had to put it, broken down, inside his checked-in suitcase. They walked in through the main door but the door to the room with Catherine’s paintings was locked.

“That’s odd…it was open a minute ago before I walked outside.” Tom said, looking for his keys in his pocket but unable to locate them.

“Is there another way in?” Paul asked calmly, hoping to not betray the sense of foreboding he felt.

“Of course…this way.” Tom led the way and Paul and Melody followed him. They came upon another door. Tom opened the small drawer of a table standing nearby and took out a key. He unlocked the front door and led Melody and Paul to the exhibit room.

When they got there, Melody’s breath caught in her throat, and she wondered if her lingering migraine was playing tricks and she was seeing things. Mario stood by a chair holding a knife to the throat of a black woman who just sat with her eyes closed. The blade was resting against her sweaty deep caramel skin, and another woman stood a few steps away, obviously terrified. They all turned when Melody and Paul walked into the room, and the young woman standing on the side gasped. Melody honed in on her face and sucked in her breath, as a feeling of familiarity spread through her entire being. The woman standing in front of Mario looked exactly like herself with short, lighter hair. Her gaze shifted back to the black woman tied to the chair, and her mind was suddenly grasping for straws. Alex! The woman in the chair was Alex, Maurice
Abudah’s
granddaughter, whom Melody had the misfortune to meet back in Louisiana on the fateful night when she lost the Book of Obeah! Why was Alex here?? And why was she tied to a chair?

Paul wrapped his hand around the gun in his pocket, moving slowly enough that Mario wouldn’t notice. Mario looked at Melody and smiled, just as a sinister look danced in his eyes. “Why, hello Melody, thank you for coming. You too, Paul.” Then, he saw the rosary around her neck and he stared directly into her eyes. Melody shook her head in disbelief, too shocked to say anything.

“You see, I was a little surprised when I found out there were two rosaries out there, and even more surprised when I found out that Alex, here, decided she was no longer going to live a life of sin, entered that order of nuns and changed her name. A small world, don’t you agree? I didn’t even recognize her the night I saw her at the
Bouvier
home. It wasn’t until I got to London that I realized Alex and Natalie’s friend are one and the same.”

“What do you know about all this?” Melody asked in a voice she barely recognized as being her own.

Mario laughed, insanity dripping from of his words. “I know enough. My own family knew some of the details, though not all. Then I met Celeste, a drug addict who happened to be related to another nun in Alex’s order, so I found out the rest. Celeste knew that one rosary alone is useless. The rosaries are twin jewels that have power only if they are used together. When separated their power is dormant, but until a few minutes ago when you walked in and I saw it around your neck, I didn’t know you had the other one. All along I thought I would have to
search for the missing rosary, and instead it found me. I’m a little hurt that you never trusted me enough to tell me, Melody.” He pouted, and then his lips twisted into a sinister grin.

Paul had a good grip on his gun, but the man’s knife was so close to Alex’s throat that he preferred not to take any chances.

“You can’t do this!” The words shot out of
Lakeisha’s
mouth before she could stop them. Mario pushed the edge of the blade deeper into her skin, madness dancing into his eyes. “You’re wrong, Alex…you see, I can. You have really come a long way since that night in the swamp, when all you could think of was to claim the power as your own. Listen to you now…I’m glad Celeste told me she sold the rosary to someone in Wilmington. I just feel bad for the lady at the shop…I wish I didn’t have to kill her.”

Natalie looked at the man with a terrified look on her face. ”Oh my God…you killed Mrs. Allen?”