Billie finished before she did and went out to open the shop. She cleaned up in the kitchen, deciding to leave as soon as she was done to see Natasha Larouche, aka Madame LaBelle. Natasha was a voodoo priestess and a dear friend. She also owned a voodoo shop where she learned just about everything that was going on in the Quarter and the surrounding area.
Once the kitchen was clean Danni walked out through the shop, Wolf at her heels. Billie was behind the counter with the newspaper. He hated reading anything on a tablet.
“Your murder made the front page,” he told her.
She walked to the counter and checked out the headline, which read Second Musician Murdered in Search for Valuable Sax.
“It sounded as if Larue thought Arnie Watson was the first,” Billie said. “Wouldn’t that make three?”
“It would. And I think Larue does believe now that the killings started with Arnie. But you know how the police think. The less the public knows about the details, the better. Makes it easier to ID the killer. And as far as the killer is aware, the official theory is that he’s looking for a certain expensive instrument.”
Billie nodded. “Good to know. I’ll keep my eyes and ears open.”
Impulsively, she kissed his wrinkled cheek.
Wolf followed her to the door. Natasha loved Wolf, and they usually talked in the courtyard at her place so he could hang out with them. Today, though, Danni wanted him on guard duty at The Cheshire Cat.
“Gotta stay, boy,” she told him. “Watch over Billie for me.”
He wagged his tail and whined but trotted obediently over to Billie and took up a position by the counter.
The walk to Natasha’s was barely a couple of blocks. Danni had basically lived in the house on Royal her whole life other than college, but she’d never ceased to love its location. If she turned to her right and looked down the street, she could see the fabulously beautiful Cornstalk Hotel, built as a private home in the early eighteen hundreds and graced with a wrought-iron fence molded in the form of cornstalks, because the owner wanted his beloved wife to feel as if she were back at her home in the North. Nearby were the George Rodrigue Studios, where the shop was filled with the artist’s famous Blue Dog pictures. Though Rodrigue had passed away a few years ago, Danni thought his Blue Dog art would live forever.
Her favorite wig shop was also on Royal, and she thought of the amazing pieces the stylists created, not only for everyday but for the elaborate costumes of Mardi Gras and the city’s other festivities, wigs that added two feet to the wearer’s height, wigs with whole ships on them, wigs to fulfill just about any fantasy. She could easily get to Community Coffee, her favorite. The jewelry and boutique shops were ever-changing but always fun. They all carried a lot of the same T-shirts and souvenirs, but every little boutique was also different and stamped with the personality of the owner. Hard to find in this day and age, she knew. Sometimes she could even hear the children’s laughter from a nearby school.
And while the city boasted many voodoo and occult shops, each one was equally unique, and none more so than Natasha’s. Customers entered through a wood arch, and various magical items, amulets and beads and more, adorned the door. Entering, the visitor was treated to displays of gris-gris bags, an altar with its various offerings of pennies, pictures, pins and candles, and—the specialty here—carved African and Caribbean island masks. The outer gallery was large, and there were rooms in back for private readings. Natasha read palms, tea leaves, tarot cards... If it could be read, Natasha could read it. She was a deep believer in many spirits but one great power, and the ongoing battle, in the world as well as in the human heart and mind, between good and evil. Danni always thought how it was the people she knew who helped to make the world feel sane even when it wasn’t. Father Ryan was a Roman Catholic priest, but while he loved his church and his calling, he and Natasha were great friends. While the world might see them as drastically different, they saw each other as kindred spirits.
The store had just opened, but those tourists who were early risers had already found the place. Natasha also had a local clientele—she was a voodoo priestess—but those in her flock knew that they were welcome at all hours, and that she was just a phone call, or a knock on the door, away.
Danni didn’t see Natasha at first, but she did see her assistant, Jeziah, at the counter.
Danni thought Jeziah was one of the most beautiful people she had ever seen. Mixed race, he seemed to be made of gold. His eyes were neither green nor brown nor even hazel but a gleaming amber. He was tall and carried himself with an easy confidence that was attractive in itself. He was as loyal to Natasha as Billie was to her, and he—like Natasha—had been Danni’s friend for years.
She smiled, walking toward him, and he asked her, “Where have you been? I have to say, Natasha was wrong this time. She expected you last night.”