Chapter 3 #2
“And have you poison me and my family?” The woman snorted.
“No, thank you. I’ll take my business to New Orleans.
I’d rather make the drive and do business with a stranger than a con—and a murderous one at that.
” The woman lifted her chin. “In my opinion, they never should’ve let the likes of you out of prison.
People are afraid to let their children out of their houses with you living among them. ” She huffed and strode to her car.
Lissette emerged from the shadows to stand in the doorway, her gaze following the woman as she backed out of her parking space and sped away.
Her eyes flashed with anger that faded quickly, her lips twisting into a frown. When she turned, she spotted him standing in the gap between his truck and its open door. A red flush filled her cheeks, and her brow dipped. “Did you come for the show, or are you heading into Mamba Wamba?”
“Neither,” he said. “I came to see you, even though my boss told me I couldn’t.”
Lissette nodded, her lips thinning into a straight line. “I can see Remy laying down the law. He wouldn’t want one of his brave protectors to be turned by the woman who tried to kill his precious wife.” She shrugged. “I can’t blame him. What did he say?”
“He reminded me of your attempts on her life and that prison doesn’t change someone like you.”
She looked away. “And he’s right. I’m no different now than when I entered prison over a year ago.” She met his gaze. “Now that you’ve come to prove a point to your boss and to see that I’m not dead after my trip into the bayou, I’m sure you’ll be leaving.” Lissette turned to go back into her shop.
“Why would I leave when I just got here?” he asked, stepping away from his truck to close the door.
“Most people leave when they know I’m running the shop.
At least, most women do.” She snorted softly.
“Oddly enough, the men aren’t as deterred by a female convict.
I think they’re intrigued enough to see for themselves, or they have a sick desire to challenge their fear by being in the presence of someone convicted of attempted murder.
” She planted a fist on one hip and cocked an eyebrow.
“Which are you? Intrigued or sick desire?”
“Neither,” he said again. “Since I couldn’t see you home last night, I wanted to make sure you got home and back.”
“Worried about me?” She snorted. “Most people would be worried about the men who attacked me. Tell me, did you sleep well after we parted?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t slept well in over five years. That little bit of a scuffle didn’t keep me awake.”
“Then what did?” she asked.
His thoughts jumped into the past before he could firmly push them back into the dark place at the back of his mind. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Hmph,” she said. “Well, I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t made it home and back safely last night. You have the answer to your question. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” She entered the shop, letting the door swing shut behind her.
Xavier had no reason to follow her inside, since, as she’d stated, her presence there gave him the answer to his original need to know whether she’d made it home and back.
He couldn’t say what made him go inside anyway.
Perhaps he didn’t want to be rude, like the woman who’d insisted she’d rather work with Madame Gautier than with an ex-con.
Whatever reason, for which he was unclear, he pushed through the door into the shop he’d never been inside in all the months since it had opened. Not interested in homeopathic remedies or cooking, he’d had no need to check it out.
The interior was divided into two areas. One side held remedies, and the other held all the special pots, pans, cutlery, preparation tools and spices one might need for Cajun cooking.
Lissette stood in front of a shelf full of brown, blue, red, and clear bottles with corks and glass toppers, rearranging them into neat rows.
She wore a bright, colorful skirt in shades of orange, brown, and teal.
Her shiny tank top matched one of the bright teal shades in the skirt and shimmered in the overhead light.
Her hair hung straight down her back in a smoky black curtain, all the way to the inward curve of her narrow waist.
“If you’re not here to purchase spices or potions, turn yourself around and leave. I’m not a specimen to be picked apart under a microscope.”
His lips turned upward on each side. “Maybe not, but you’re still interesting.”
“Well, then, go ahead. Ask what most men want to know when they come in here.” She lifted her chin and waited.
“What is it they want to know?”
“It could be one of two things. The first is, Did someone make you their bitch in the slammer? The other is, Do you have anything for when you can’t get it up?”
Xavier laughed and then sobered. “Seriously, men are rude enough to ask you about prison?”
“Sure. I guess they feel like they have the right. You know, let the punishment fit the crime or cons have no couth. Funny that you didn’t pick on the other question.” Her gaze flicked to his groin. “Any problems you want to discuss?”
“No. I’m good,” he said and fought the urge to cross his hands over his crotch. “And is the second question they ask any less rude?”
Lissette shrugged. “Some guys really need help. Others just want to see me squirm, as if I should be embarrassed that they can’t get an erection. It’s the number one reason they come into the shop.” Lissette rolled her eyes. “But my grandmother and I treat all kinds of other ailments.”
“With what?”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Primarily with homeopathic gels, lotions and teas.” Her eyes narrowed more.
“And secondarily?” His lips twitched. “That is a word, isn’t it? What do you use when the primary remedies aren’t enough?”
Her lips curled into a dangerous smile. “That’s for secret potions and tinctures known only to practitioners of Madame Gautier’s knowledge and caliber.”
“And are you of Madame Gautier’s caliber?” Xavier challenged, enjoying the way her cheeks reddened.
“Not nearly,” she said. “But I’m learning under her guidance.”
“Would that tutelage be in the art of Voodoo?” he asked.
She lifted her chin and stared hard into his eyes. “And if it is?”
He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he studied her for a long moment. “What was in the bag you said the men took with them?”
She drew in a breath as if having to physically switch gears. “Something that belonged to my family.”
“And the broken hasp?”
“It was what held the padlock on my family’s tomb.”
Xavier frowned. “Who would break into a tomb?” His eyes widened. “Was it you?”
She laughed. “Why would I break into the tomb and steal my own family’s reliquary when I could use my grandmother’s key, spare the lock, take the reliquary and resecure the lock afterward? Then no one would be any wiser about who took the relic. I might be a con, but I’m not a fool.”
“I didn’t say you were either,” he said.
Lissette propped her fists on her hips. “In case you missed it, someone has been raiding tombs in the cemeteries of this and neighboring parishes over the past few weeks, stealing ancient relics, plaques and even tombstones. When they took our family’s reliquary, I decided enough was enough.
Someone had to do something to bring those stolen items home. ”
Something stirred in Xavier’s head. Something that had to do with a conversation he’d overheard that morning. “And that someone had to be you?” he asked, trying to wriggle the hint of a thought loose.
“Yes, and why not?” She crossed her arms over her breasts. “I know how to do things others might not.”
The lights in the shop blinked off for a second. A single candle on the counter provided the only light, besides the light shining through the front window halfway across the room.
“What the hell?” Lissette murmured, just a blur in the dark.
“Might be a surge on the power lines,” Xavier said. “Give it a minute. The power should come back on. In the meantime, what do you mean you know how to do things?” Xavier’s gut tightened. “Things like...?” he said, a little sharper than he’d intended. He felt what she said next could be important.
She stared at him, the whites of her eyes the only bright thing on her face. Then her lids lowered, her face going dark in the shadowy interior of the shop. “What the hell,” she repeated, her voice tighter.
“What?”
“The mark,” she whispered. “It’s burning.”
Xavier sniffed the air. “I don’t smell smoke.”
“You wouldn’t,” she said. “It’s not that kind of burning.”
The overhead lights blinked back on.
Lissette spun and grabbed the candle from the counter. The sudden movement made the flame flicker and go out. She fished matches from a bowl on the counter. After three attempts, she lit a match and held it to the wick. Once it caught, she turned to Xavier.
“What?” he asked, leaning away from the flame.
“Shut up and come with me.” Holding the candle, she took his hand and led him to the back of the shop, then into a supply closet. When she closed the door, they were trapped in darkness, with only the candle to light the way.
This time she held the candle over her opposite wrist. “See that?”
He stared down at her wrist. “See what?”
“The mark,” she said. “Don’t you see the mark?” She shook her head. “It’s there. As plain as day.”
“What are you talking about?” he demanded. “I don’t see a mark.”
She lifted her wrist higher, as if moving it closer to his face would make him see whatever it was she was seeing. “There on my wrist.”
He stared hard. “All I see is skin and a few veins. What mark am I looking for?” he asked, his gaze shifting from Lissette’s wrist to her eyes.
She sank onto a stool and stared at the door, her brow furrowing. “The incantation. Duh,” she said.
“What incantation?” Xavier studied her, more confused than ever.
“It’s all on me. I should have known.” She looked up at him. “Don’t you see?”
“I don’t see anything,” he said. “Tell me.”