He stepped closer to her, brushing back a dark curl from her cheek.
“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.
He hadn’t thought of asking her before, if only because some sort of primal need to protect her had kicked in. But now that the danger had passed and the police were on their way, he focused on the woman in front of him.
She laughed quietly and as far as he could tell there was no fear in the sound, no anxiety. Merely a soft edge. “I’m fine.”
She turned from him and went to open the double doors to the connecting balcony.
“What do you mean this was meant as a warning?” he asked.
“Just what I said. This-” she gestured toward the bed “-is a curse of sorts.”
“Voodoo?”
“Black magic.”
She led the way from the room and back down to the front desk. Drew followed.
“Explain the difference.”
“Voodoo can be either black or white magic. It can be used for bad or good.”
“And in this case it was used for bad.”
She nodded.
“Do you have any idea who’d want to do this?”
She didn’t answer right away as she fooled around with things on the desk.
“Josie?”
She shrugged her slender shoulders. “I’ll take care of it.”
Drew opened his mouth to object, then realized there was no objection for him to make. He’d had sex with her. Nothing more, nothing less. He was a temporary guest in her hotel in the middle of one of the most decadent cities in the world. And, as she’d told him during their walk earlier, it was all temporary. Tomorrow didn’t exist. At least not where they were concerned.
And that, suddenly, was unacceptable to him.
8
“HOLY MOTHER OF GOD,” Josie heard Monique say as the maid rushed down the stairs into the lobby the following morning, crossing herself countless times before looking at Josie with eyes the size of large, glossy marbles. “You got the voodoo.”
Josie stretched her neck. She’d forgotten to tell Monique not to bother with Room 2D, that she’d see to cleaning up the mess in there herself, but hadn’t had a chance after Philippe had called in sick, leaving her alone to man the desk. Something he must have eaten, he’d said, saying he’d try to make it in later if he felt better.
Now she stood staring at a clearly terrified Monique.
Josie had been raised around voodoo. It was as much a part of her heritage as her dark, Caribbean skin. While her granme had never practiced it or let her anywhere near it growing up, she remembered her mother trying out love spells in an attempt to get the latest true love to fall for her and take her away from this life.
Josie had never placed much stock in the hokey rituals. Oh, she knew enough about them. Even counted priests and priestesses among her friends, including her best friend, Anne-Marie Paré, and the Rooster Man, the old black man who lived up the block and whose counsel many sought to lift curses and perform white magic spells. It was said that back in the day, the Rooster Man had placed his share of curses. But it was also said that for every bad spell that was cast, bad luck to the power of ten would return to the caster. When his wife and young son were killed in a freak automobile accident thirty years ago, he’d done a one-eighty and only performed good voodoo. Some said he performed white magic as penance for past wrongs and to guarantee his family entrance into heaven.
Josie thought it was more likely the only way he knew how to make a living and that he had long since stopped believing in any higher spiritual power.
“Monique, Monique, get yourself together, girl.” She rounded the desk and pried the broom from the young woman’s hands before she broke the stick and hurt herself. “I’ll take care of 2D.” She touched Monique’s arm to find her cold. “In fact, why don’t you go ahead and take the day off altogether? I’ll take care of the duties.”
Monique nodded several times. “Yes, yes. I need to make sure that nothing sticks to me.”
Josie knew what she meant. She wanted to make certain that the curse meant for Josie hadn’t transferred to her.
She watched Monique hightail it out of the hotel without another backward glance. What remained was who would want to place a curse on her in the first place. She remembered Drew asking the question last night. Who would want to do this? She hadn’t told him. Mostly because she didn’t want to speak ill of anyone unless she was entirely sure they were behind it. But also partly because she had been too tempted to melt into Drew’s ready arms and let him take care of her.
The temptation itself had frightened her more than the voodoo ritual. She’d never allowed anyone to take care of her. Mostly because there had never been anyone who had offered to take the job. Even her granme had warned her from a young age, “You’ve got to learn how to step up and take care of yourself, Josephine.” Usually these words came after she’d been frightened by something and had turned to her grandmother for comfort. She would give it to her, but in small doses. “Ain’t nobody going to take care of you as well as you can take care of yourself. And I’m not going to be here forever.”
Josie looked toward an undefined spot above herself, wondering at the prophetic content of her grandmother’s words.
The police had come and gone last night, barely making note of the event except for its connection to the murder of the girl. Fact was, voodoo rituals were more the norm than the exception in New Orleans, and if the police followed up on every reported voodoo spell, the city’s crime rate would raise exponentially because they wouldn’t have time to do anything else. Voodoo shops selling do-it-yourself ritual kits were everywhere in the Quarter. On occasion, Josie herself had even browsed through a shop or two, curious. And, of course, Anne-Marie owned one where she also consulted tarot cards and gave spiritual readings. Before her grandmother had passed away, when Josie had had the time and cash for outings, she’d often met Anne-Marie there and they’d gone out for lunch. And now and then Anne-Marie had even set up shop here in the hotel’s courtyard.
Interestingly enough, her friend really hadn’t been by since Granme had passed, except to pay her respects. Even then, she’d commented on some sort of “presence” in the hotel and had appeared uncomfortable.
There was a shadow at the door. Josie turned toward it, her heart giving a squeeze as she found herself wishing it were Drew. Only it wasn’t. Instead, it was a man she was hoping to avoid by not calling the police last night.
“Detective Chevalier,” she greeted coolly, pretending an interest in her nearly empty guest book on the desk.
“Miss Villefranche.” He took off his fedora and put it on the desk on top of the book, forcing her gaze up to him.
N.O. Homicide Detective Alan Chevalier had worked the case of Claire Laraway and, if his presence was any indication, he still was.
“I heard about what happened last night,” he said. “Any idea who might want to do something like that?”
She shrugged, removed the book from under his hat and then closed it. “Probably some neighborhood kids playing a prank.”
And the phone calls? she silently asked. Were those a prank, as well?
“Hmm. Have you cleaned up yet?”
She turned and retrieved the key for 2D. “No. Make yourself at home.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then took the key.
“Don’t mind if I do.” He looked around the empty lobby. “How many guests do you have in residence?”
Josie’s throat tightened. “One.”
His brows rose.
While the Josephine had never been a popular place, she had managed to keep at least half her rooms full most times.
Most times, that is, until the unsolved murder two weeks ago.
“Who?”
“A businessman in for a convention,” she said, hating to describe Drew that way. “A Mr. Drew Morrison.”
“Is he in?”