Chapter Three
It was just before seven that evening when Daniel crossed the bridge to Angelique’s front door. He knocked and she answered almost immediately.
Again tonight she was clad in a pair of jeans and a sleeveless bright red blouse that emphasized her dark beauty.
Her long, dark hair was pulled back and tied at the nape of her neck with a red ribbon.
She smiled as she greeted him and again that crazy tiny spark ignited in the pit of his stomach. God, she had a beautiful smile.
“Come on in,” she said and opened her door to allow him entry. “Please, have a seat. Would you like a cup of coffee? I just made a pot.”
“Last night I had the distinct feeling you probably wouldn’t have offered me a cup of water if I was on fire,” he said in open amusement. “But if you’re offering, I’d love a cup of coffee.”
“Normally I’m not so inhospitable as I was last night,” she replied. “How do you like your coffee?”
“Black is just fine.” He eased down on the sofa while she disappeared into the kitchen area. As he waited, he looked around the room.
It was a nice space with a pot-bellied stove in one corner, the gray furniture and a large gray-and-yellow braided rug that nearly covered the floor. Green plants and a bookcase filled with books and battery-operated lanterns that cast soft illumination added to the cozy feel of the place.
This room was a far cry from the bedroom where Mystique met her clients. That small bedroom had felt otherworldly with its mysterious potions and lotions and the dark purple and deep blue wall hangings.
Mystique’s bedroom had been a typical woman’s bedroom with a pink bedspread and matching curtain at the window. There had been shelves in there as well, some filled with books and others full of body lotion, perfumes and jewelry.
Angelique came back into the room, carrying the two cups of coffee. He rose to take one from her, and she set the other one on the coffee table and then sat on the opposite end of the sofa from him.
Instantly he could smell the scent of her, that floral, slightly spicy fragrance he found so attractive. “How are you this evening, Chief LeCroix?” she asked with a hint of a smile.
So, the lady did have a sense of humor after all. “I’m doing okay…and you?”
“I’m hanging in there,” she replied. “Is that enough banality for now?”
“It will do,” he replied. He took a sip of the coffee and then set the cup down. “Today we touched base with George Trahan, Pierre Guidry, Charles Lathrop and Marie Witherspoon.”
“I forgot all about Marie,” she said, and a tiny frown danced into the center of her forehead, in no way detracting from her loveliness. “I would never believe that Marie had anything to do with my mother’s death. She’s a timid woman who was seeing my mother for self-confidence charms and spells.”
“It didn’t take us long to know she had nothing to do with this. In fact, she had a solid alibi. At the time of your mother’s murder, her and her husband were having drinks at Frankie’s,” he replied.
Frankie’s was a small bar where the older people in town usually went for drinks and quiet conversation. It was a much different experience from the Voodoo Lounge, where the music was loud and the crowd was young.
“I also know George had nothing to do with this. He had absolutely nothing to gain from my mother’s death. We were not seeing each other at the time of the murder, and he was already seeing Desiree,” she said. “He wasn’t angry with my mother so I believe he’s completely innocent.”
She lifted her cup and took a drink and then cradled it in her hands, as if needing the warmth it could provide her. Maybe talking about her mother’s murder filled her with a chill. If so, a new wave of sympathy for her worked through him.
“Then we have Charles and Pierre,” he continued. “We met with Charles this afternoon, and he confessed to us that he was quite angry at your mother because the love spell she did for him didn’t seem to be working, but he insisted he had nothing to do with her murder.”
Her honey-colored eyes held his in an intense gaze. Lordy but her eyes were gorgeous with long, dark lashes. “Did you believe him?”
“He’s on my potential suspect list. He couldn’t provide a good alibi. He said he was home alone on the night of the murder. By the way, just for my own curiosity how does a love spell work?”
A quick smile lifted the corners of her lush lips.
“The love spells my mother did certainly didn’t involve any magic or voodoo, although she had a whole routine she did.
She took a lock of hair from the client and then had them write the name of the person they wanted to charm on a small piece of paper.
She wrapped the paper and the hair in a silk cloth.
She then said some mumbo jumbo over it and then told him to bury it in his yard. ”
Her eyes appeared to darken with pain. She took a drink of her coffee and then continued.
“You have to understand that the real power of a love spell is to give that person the self-confidence to make a move or whatever on the person they want. That’s what it’s all about.
Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t, but in the end, it’s really all up to the client. ”
“Interesting,” he replied. So, it was all about empowering the client to act on his love interest. “Anyway, that now brings us to Pierre.”
He paused as she took another drink of her coffee and then set the cup down on the coffee table. She leaned forward slightly. “What did you find out from him?” she asked.
“I would guess that your mother’s relationship with him was quite tumultuous.”
“You would guess right. They fought and made up dozens of times. My mother was a very headstrong woman, and Pierre is a very stubborn man. But I believe he loved my mother very much.”
“He told us that she was his soulmate, and right now he’s also my number one suspect.”
“Really?” Her eyes widened in surprise. “So, you believe he killed my mother?”
“It’s easy to speculate that Pierre came here that night to try to make up with your mother. Things didn’t go his way and your mother told him she didn’t want to get back with him. They fought and things got out of control and in a heat of passion, he slit her throat.”
“But that’s just speculation,” she said.
“Correct. But given their personal relationship and the fact that Pierre has no solid alibi for that night puts him at the top of my list of suspects,” he replied.
“How many people are on your list of suspects?” she asked.
It was his turn to take a drink of his coffee. He set the cup back down. “Two. Right now it’s Pierre and Charles, but we’re still investigating. By the way, did you find that book?”
She frowned once again. “No, and I looked everywhere Mama would have kept it. I think maybe it was stolen on the night of the murder.”
He frowned as well. “That adds a whole new layer to the investigation. Who would want that book badly enough to kill for it?”
“I have no idea, but it had to be somebody who knew about the book’s existence, and I’m sure my mother didn’t tell too many people about it.” Tears suddenly shimmered in her lovely eyes. “I would have gladly given that book to somebody in order to save my mother’s life.”
The tears spilled over onto her cheeks. She swiped at them but they kept on falling. Daniel couldn’t stand it. He had never liked to see a woman cry.
He stood and held out a hand to her. She looked up at him and then slid her hand into his. He pulled her up and into his arms as she began to cry in earnest.
She held herself stiffly against him for a long moment, and then she raised her arms, encircled his neck and melted against him.
As she sobbed into the crook of his neck, he caressed her slender back in an effort to comfort her. Despite the circumstances, he couldn’t help but notice that she fit perfectly against him.
Her hair smelled clean and with the faint scent of strawberries, and then there was that floral, spicy scent that emanated from her. She definitely smelled good.
She cried for only a couple of minutes and then stepped back from him. “I’m sorry,” she said as she quickly swiped at her cheeks, obviously embarrassed. “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to cry.”
“Please don’t apologize,” he replied. “You obviously needed a good cry.”
She took another step back from him as she wiped the last of the tears from her face. “I’ve tried to be so strong, especially for my sisters. They need me to be strong.”
“But, sometimes you just need to allow yourself time to grieve and to cry,” he replied softly.
“I know. I just didn’t expect to cry now,” she said.
“It’s okay. Well, I’ve caught you up on everything we’ve done, so I’ll just get out of here now,” he said.
She nodded and walked with him to the front door. When he reached the door, he turned back to look at her once again. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked.
For the first time since he’d known her, she looked small and fragile. “I will be,” she replied. “I’ll see you tomorrow night?”
“Of course,” he confirmed. “Good night, Angelique.”
“Good night, Daniel,” she replied.
He stepped out into the darkness of the night as she closed the door behind him. He turned on his flashlight to help guide him out of the dark swamp as his brain whirled with a million thoughts and impressions.
Angelique Santori. She’d definitely surprised him tonight with her soft vulnerability, and it made him wonder how many other facets there were to the woman.
Not that it mattered. Not that he was really interested in her.
Although he could admit he was definitely intensely physically attracted to her.
By the time he returned to his car, his thoughts had turned back to the case. The missing book was a new kink in the investigation.