8
EIGHT
Cathy O’Neill was first on their list. Her husband, Roger, had died two weeks before. He’d been walking between a bar and his car after a business meeting — he sold insurance — when he’d been attacked.
The report said it was a robbery gone wrong. The investigation had never made it to the paranormal division — something that irritated Sully — so the information gathered wasn’t all that useful.
“How do you plan on introducing me?” Ofelia asked as they exited his vehicle. He’d managed to park less than a block down from the house, which was located in the CBD.
“I was thinking I would tell her you’re my personal sex slave and that I can’t go more than a few hours without being in your presence.” Sully’s smile was flirty, but he obviously didn’t mean it.
“You’re out of control,” Ofelia complained. “It’s getting weird.”
“Just trying to keep things light.” Sully put a hand to her back as he prodded her forward.
“I know. I’m being serious, though. Should I keep my mouth shut?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Let me start, but if there’s something you think needs to be asked, you should do it. I’m going to introduce you as a consultant.”
It wasn’t a lie. Ofelia had agreed to consult for the paranormal unit. She reserved the right to accept or decline cases according to her whims. She even had a card that proved she was legitimate, although she rarely carried it.
Sully’s knock was brisk, and it took almost a full 30 seconds for somebody to answer the door.
The woman who opened it seemed as if life had been unkind to her.
The brown hair pulled back in a messy bun looked as if it hadn’t been brushed in days, maybe even weeks.
She wore no makeup, and there were shadows under her eyes big enough for Ofelia to hide in.
She was painfully thin, suggesting she hadn’t been eating enough, and her movements were slow.
“May I help you?” she asked blandly.
Sully held up his badge. “Are you Cathy O’Neill?” he asked.
The woman eyed the badge, and Ofelia didn’t miss the flash of irritation that took over her face. Then she nodded. “More questions for a case that you’re never going to solve?”
Sully had thick skin. He didn’t take the woman’s obvious frustration personally. “I’m actually working on a different case, but there are similarities to what happened to your husband. I am sure you’ve been through this before —”
“Multiple times,” she agreed.
“Multiple times.” Sully’s smile was flat. “I understand this is hard for you. I don’t want to make things worse.”
“I used to think the worst thing that could ever happen to me was losing Roger.” Her expression took on a far-off quality.
“I was right … and wrong. Things can always get worse.” She pushed back the door.
“Come in, but I’m not offering you any refreshments, and I don’t want any judgment for how messy the house is. ”
“Of course.” Sully ushered Ofelia in front of him as they entered and watched her closely as she looked around the small Creole cottage. The house itself was in good shape, but it hadn’t been cleaned in weeks. There were dirty dishes piled up in the kitchen and laundry strewn everywhere.
“Let’s go into the kitchen, huh?” Ofelia suggested, catching Sully off guard. “I’ll clean while Detective Sully asks you questions.”
Cathy looked taken aback. “What?”
Ofelia merely smiled. “It won’t take me long. I used to work in my father’s bar when I was a kid, even though that was technically against the law.” She cast a mischievous look toward Sully.
“I’m pretending I didn’t hear that,” he said in a light voice.
“Everybody needs help sometimes,” Ofelia added. She was wearing short sleeves, so she didn’t have anything to roll up. She immediately tackled scraping the dishes. Much of the mess was takeout containers, so she grabbed a box of garbage bags from beneath the sink and went after the trash.
“Sit,” Sully prodded as he sat across from the mourning woman at her small kitchen table. “Can I get you a glass of water or something?”
Cathy buried her face in her hands. “I should be offering you refreshments. That’s what a good hostess would do. I just can’t seem to get myself to do the things I’m supposed to be doing.”
“You shouldn’t force yourself,” Ofelia said as she started stacking the dishes. As far as she could tell, there were only a few bowls and plates intermixed with the takeout containers. Every piece of silverware was dirty, however.
She grabbed the dish soap and put the plug in the sink to start filling it. “Grief is complicated. There’s actually a thing called complicated grief that can freeze you in your tracks for years after the loss of a loved one. You can’t force yourself to do something you’re not ready to do.”
Cathy cast Ofelia an appraising look. “You’re not a cop.”
“Hmm?” Ofelia offered up a slight smile. “No, I’m definitely not a cop,” she agreed. “I am, however, a consultant.”
“A grief consultant?”
Ofelia shook her head and instead pointed toward the painting on the wall. “That’s Marie Laveau.”
Cathy seemed thrown by the observation. “I … yes. What does that have to do with anything?”
“There are other voodoo items around the house. I noticed an altar in the living room when we passed.”
“If you’re going to judge me for my religion,” Cathy started, her dander going up.
Ofelia shook her head. “We’re not going to judge you for that. Trust me. I have some unorthodox beliefs myself.” She tied up a bag of garbage and handed it to Sully. “Take this out, please.”
She was trying to herd him out of the room, for at least a few minutes, and he recognized her efforts for what they were. He was unsure if he should say something about it, but ultimately nodded. “Sure.”
Ofelia waited for him to go, then fixed her full attention on Cathy. “I’m going to be quick. The consulting I do for the police department is more of a … supernatural … thing.” Was that the right word? Ofelia wasn’t certain.
“Meaning that you believe there are more than just humans in this city.” Cathy almost looked relieved.
“Oh, I know there are more than just humans,” Ofelia assured her. “You do, too. I can tell by the way you decorate. I can also tell by the way you were when you greeted us.”
“That was rude.”
“It’s fine.” Ofelia shook her head. “I don’t blame you for that. Just know that we’re here to ask our questions in a different way.”
Cathy blinked. Then she blinked again. Ofelia recognized the exact moment realization dawned on the woman. “Oh,” she said finally.
Ofelia nodded and gave Cathy time to absorb that news as she started throwing in the silverware to soak.
When Sully returned, the women were still being quiet. “What did I miss?”
“Nothing,” Cathy replied, making up her mind. “I think I better understand what you’re doing here.” She swallowed hard. “You think a paranormal killed Roger.” She didn’t phrase it as a question.
Sully sent a sharp look toward Ofelia, but she steadfastly avoided his gaze.
“It’s fine,” Cathy told him. “I was already a believer. I might have been holding back because I didn’t consider that anybody in the police department could be a believer.” She was sheepish as her shoulders hopped. “I figured you guys are all too rigid.”
Sully managed a tight smile. “Not all of us are rigid,” he confirmed.
“You did the right thing when you held back initially, however. I can’t say for certain that the detectives you spoke with aren’t believers — I work separately from them — but odds are they might have tried to get you into a hospital. ”
Cathy took that in. “Basically, you’re saying the police department has two sets of detectives, believers and non-believers.”
“That is what I’m saying,” Sully confirmed.
“Huh.” Cathy absently rubbed her cheek. “I would be fascinated if I didn’t have so much else going on.”
“It’s okay,” Ofelia assured her as she started scrubbing at the plates. The food had dried to them so they were going to be difficult. “We need to know what you saw in the weeks before Roger’s death to start. Did anything out of the ordinary happen?”
“Like what?”
Ofelia shrugged. “Like … did you hear anybody screaming outside of your house?”
The look Cathy cut to Ofelia was so sharp it almost jolted the witch into dropping her plate. “How did you know that?” Cathy asked, her voice full of wonder.
“It has a little something to do with what we’re researching,” Ofelia replied.
“Okay.” Cathy was clearly readjusting on the fly because she was suddenly more animated and full of life. “Then, yes, we started hearing screams two nights before he died.” She hesitated, then continued. “I didn’t like the noises. They made me uncomfortable. It clearly wasn’t someone needing help.”
“What did your husband say?” Sully asked. “Did he go outside to investigate?”
“Roger? No.” A small puff of air escaped as Cathy shook her head.
“I loved him, more than anything, but he wasn’t a brave soul.
He just did his job, and we had date night once a week.
He played video games with his friends and went to bed at 10 o’clock every night.
He lived his life according to a schedule. ”
That sounded horrible to Ofelia, and yet part of her understood the appeal. Oscar lived his life on a schedule, and he thrived under those conditions.
“I have to ask you something that is going to anger you, but it’s important,” Ofelia said, turning so she could stare directly into Cathy’s eyes. Her hands were soapy, but she didn’t care. “Do you understand?”
Cathy nodded and swallowed hard.
“Was Roger having an affair?”
Cathy didn’t fly off the handle and scream “how dare you” at the witch. She didn’t burst into tears and claim it couldn’t be true. She simply sat there for a long time, so long she started to remind Ofelia of a statue. When she spoke again, it was in a soft voice.
“He wouldn’t admit it,” she said. “I knew, though.”
“How did that fit into his schedule?” Sully asked.