Color Blind (7 page)

“No reason, just curious. That shop we visited was kind of interesting.”

“I gave you most of what I know on last night's tour. I know it isn't something you want to be involved with.”

“Why not? Is Voodoo like witchcraft or something?”

“Personally, I think most of it is a lot of hype. Though from what I've heard, parts of it can be pretty gruesome. There have been rumors of ritualistic killing of animals as offerings to the gods or spirits or priestesses, whatever they're called. It's rarely talked about, and then only in whispers in certain neighborhoods. Black magic, spells, chanting—it's all a little too ‘out there' for me. Like a cult or something.”

“The shop you took us to didn't look all that dangerous. It seemed like a place for tourists to do a little out of the norm souvenir shopping for their friends back home.”

“Looks can be deceiving. You saw only what they wanted you to see, the commercial side. Nobody knows what goes on behind closed doors after business hours.”

“Hmmm. Okay,” I said, remembering the locked door behind the African weaving.

I needed to give more thought to what Miles had said, but not now. All I wanted now was to lean back and enjoy the sights and Miles for the rest of the carriage ride. I could decide what to do with that stupid Voodoo doll later.

“You must not have gotten enough sleep last night,” said Miles.

I opened my eyes, looked up at Miles and realized that we were already back at Jackson Square, me with my head resting comfortably on his broad shoulder, him gazing down at me.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, you snoozed for almost the entire carriage ride. Either you needed the rest or I was totally boring and I seriously doubt that. By the way, did you know you have the cutest little snore?”

My cheeks flushed all the way to my curls. “I don't snore!”

Smiling, Miles helped me down from the carriage. “Touched a nerve, did I?” He tipped the driver and turned back to me, “Mademoiselle, it is time for me to return you safely to your home. I need to get ready for work.”

“Not to worry, I can find my own way back. Thanks though.” I turned to go.

Miles took my arm and rolled his eyes. “I don't doubt that for a minute, but my car is still at your house. We might as well walk together.”

We walked through the French Quarter in shy silence. No matter where I looked, there was something interesting to see. Miles, sensing I wasn't up to it, held off on further historical commentary. I could easily understand why this city was such a mecca for tourists. But a home for me? I simply couldn't wrap my head around it. Didn't want to. As we got closer to Kate's place, I had to laugh when I spied a real estate sign that advertised
APARTMENT FOR RENT
, with a smaller sign hanging beneath that said
NOT HAUNTED
.

At the front gate, Miles bowed and kissed my hand. “Until tomorrow.”

Slightly embarrassed, but thoroughly enchanted, I said, “I had a nice time today.” I watched Miles drive away and whispered, “Thank you.”

Inside, I found a note from Kate hanging on the refrigerator door:

That's nervy!
I never actually agreed to help with her family photos. It's nice that she fixed dinner for me, though. I looked at my watch; it wasn't even six o'clock yet. There was plenty of time to get the doll back to the Voodoo shop. But how would I explain to the shopkeeper why I was returning a Voodoo doll that I never paid for in the first place? Maybe she wouldn't be working and I could just hand it over to whoever was manning the shop. That would be good, really good. That shopkeeper kind of creeped me out. I wouldn't mind not seeing her again. I should go now, get it over with. Should I have something to eat first?
No!
I was stalling, I needed to just go! I climbed the stairs with leaden feet. I didn't really want to go back to the Voodoo shop, but was too curious about the doll not to go.

I took the little black figure from its hiding place in the laptop case. I inspected it closely. Its rough black fabric and tiny button eyes held no sign of evil in the daylight. It wasn't really something to be afraid of, right? I couldn't tell what it was stuffed with, but it smelled faintly of sage and felt like straw.
Isn't sage what people burn to clear out evil spirits?
Is this why I have it? To remove evil from my life? Are there evil spirits in my life? Does that woman sense something ominous in me, around me?
I had to stop this. I was totally over-analyzing and freaking myself out. It was just an
accident
. The Voodoo doll fell into my pocket when I slammed into the shelving. Nothing more, nothing less. I needed to get over it already, get the darned thing out of here. I stuffed the doll into my bag, raced out of the house, and, hopefully, headed in the right direction to get to the shop.

After a few wrong turns, I approached the Voodoo shop with trepidation, unsure if I was doing the right thing by coming back. I should have just thrown the darned thing out.
What is the matter with me? Where is my head?
I slowed my pace, slowed my breathing. I needed rest. I needed to find peace. My mind buzzed like a busy beehive; too much sugar, too much caffeine, too much grief, too much change, too much unknown. My life was moving faster than I could process—“Warp Speed, Mr. Sulu,” said Captain Kirk in the recesses of my mind.
What am I afraid of? The doll? The shopkeeper? Myself? Life? The future? Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. IT'S ONLY A STUPID DOLL! It's only my life.

As if it had a mind of its own, my hand reached for the doorknob. The door creaked open.

“Welcome, Miss April,” said the shopkeeper with the pale gold eyes. “You are right on time.”

“On time? For what? How do you know my name?” I asked, now thoroughly discomfited.

“Nothing mysterious. The shop is about to close. Your timing is good. You told that nice young man your name last night. You have nothing to fear from me.”

“I'm
not
afraid!” I reached into my bag for the doll. “I'm only here to return this to you. It must have fallen into my pocket when I knocked all of the dolls off the shelf.” I shoved it at her, turned to go.

“Miss April, wait! I placed the doll in your pocket.”

I whipped around to face her. “How dare you! What for? Why me?”

“I sensed your pain. If you returned with the doll, I would have an opportunity to speak with you alone. I believe I can help you.”

“I'm fine! I don't need any help! Especially your kind of help! Voodoo, hoodoo, what kind of fool do you think I am?”

“Not foolish, just hurting. My dear, you are angry. Very, very angry. Anger can eat you alive.” She moved closer to me. Her golden eyes looked deep into mine. “After you left last evening, Miss April, I put some things together for you. For when you returned.”

I stiffened. “Things? What things? How did you know I'd come back?”

“Please take this,” she said, reaching for a bag by the counter.

“Why give me anything? You don't even know me,” I snarled, impatient, angry with myself for still being there.

The shopkeeper said nothing, just studied me with her peculiar gold eyes. It was nearly impossible to tear myself away from her gaze. Totally creeped out, I was ready to bolt. My mind said no, but my hand said yes. I took the heavy bag from her and backed slowly towards the exit.

“I'm not paying for this!” Running out the door, down the steps, still clutching the bag, I reached the sidewalk and looked back. The shopkeeper was gone, the lights were off, the shop now closed. The alligator head above the door laughed at me, sending shivers down my spine. The sky was filled with dark, puffy clouds; the smell of rain was in the air and the wind had kicked it up a notch. Like the night before, the street was empty. It was déjà vu all over again. I felt like some twisted Alice in Wonderland, who'd fallen into a black magic rabbit hole. My head said,
Drop the bag! Leave it behind!
But my hand wouldn't listen. I raced through the French Quarter and after a few more wrong turns, arrived breathless at Kate's house, my hand white-knuckled from gripping the bag. I unlocked the front door, climbed the stairs to my room, and dropped the Voodoo goodie bag on the bed. I paced the room, all the while staring at the bag.

Cripes! What am I supposed to do with this stuff? Why did I take the bag from her? Why did I bring it home with me? Wasn't the whole point of going to the shop in the first place to get rid of that stupid Voodoo doll? I must be out of my freakin' mind!

It was too big to hide in the laptop case; I wrapped a blanket around the bag and stuffed everything into the armoire. I hoped it would be enough to keep the bag away from Kate's prying eyes if she snooped around in my things, as I had with hers.

I went into the bathroom and threw cold water on my face. I'd need to shower again before bed.
Doesn't the heat and humidity ever let up? God, I hate this place.
I was sweating like a pig.
Do pigs sweat?
I had no idea. Drained and fighting a sugar headache, I went down to the kitchen for something cold to drink.

Kate's note was still on the refrigerator. I'd completely forgotten about the food she fixed. I was starving. Having had only cookies and beignets since breakfast, I now craved protein and salt. Opening the fridge, I was unsurprised to see it well stocked and organized. At least I would eat well if I had to live here. I loaded up a plate, grabbed a bottle of chilled water, and carried a tray out to the glass-topped wicker table on the front porch. I turned on the carriage lights and the ceiling fans, settled myself on one of the rockers, and watched the tourists hurry past. Bright, jagged lightning split the sky in the distance, thunder rumbled soon after, the trees swayed as the wind picked up; another storm was rolling in.
Perfect, just perfect.

Numb from my day, I began to eat. The food was fabulous, but I had a hard time appreciating it. I was exhausted beyond comprehension. Resting my head on the back of the rocker, I watched the ceiling fan spin lazily overhead.
What would Dad do if he were here? First, he would hug me. Next, he would scold me. Last, we would hit the Net to learn what we could about Voodoo. We would approach the situation logically. That was how we always did things. Together. Now I'll have to do everything alone. However, I don't need to do anything right away.
My energy was completely sapped, and resting here for a few minutes seemed like a good plan to me. I closed my eyes and crashed.

I awoke with a start when a boisterous group of people passed in front of Kate's house. All were carrying oversized plastic cups from a frozen daiquiri shop in the French Quarter. None appeared to be bothered by the impending storm.

I didn't understand the attraction to the fluorescent colored slushy rum drinks, but alcohol wasn't my thing. The few drinks I'd tried at a party back home in Alabama were overly sweet and made me sick. The kids at school thought I was an uppity outsider. Of course I wasn't.
Outsider, definitely, but uppity? Me? Not a chance.
Aside from being underage, I prefer being in control. If my attitude put me outside the “in” crowd, so be it. I didn't care. Dad worked as a consultant upgrading I.T. systems for different companies, moving from city to city to city. We were never in one place for very long. Making friends wasn't really my thing either.
Who cares what anybody thinks anyway?

I finished the last bits of food, picked up my tray, and went inside. I put the dishes in the dishwasher and the tray back on the sideboard and got another bottle of water. It was impossible to stay hydrated in this heat. I picked a lemon cookie from the clear glass jar in the pantry and took a bite. It was tart, not overly sweet. I helped myself to three more and headed upstairs.
So much for no more sugar.

Instead of going directly to my room, I detoured at Kate's office. Like everything else in the house, her office was well organized, yet it was cozy and informal. Lace curtains hung on either side of the French doors that led to the balcony. Bookcases with glass doors filled one wall from floor to ceiling; a varied collection of cookbooks occupied the bottom half, leather bound classics and legal tomes were higher up. It was a nice-sized room with a small closet and a door that led to the bathroom. The furniture was antique (big shock), but the computer and the printer/scanner/fax were brand new. I crossed the room, opened the French doors and listened to the laughter and music floating in on the gardenia-scented breeze.

The old leather banker's chair squeaked when I sat at the desk. I opened the center drawer. Pens, Post-its, paper clips, and 3 × 5 note cards were housed in a wire mesh drawer organizer. The large desk drawer on the right contained Kate's household files. The drawer on the left held hard-copy recipe files. I tapped the keyboard, the screen came up.
No password protection, not a good idea.
I double-clicked on an intriguing icon.
Well, this is interesting. Kate is writing her own cookbook. One of her secrets?
She hadn't mentioned it to me. Then again, we hadn't talked all that much since I arrived. And, so far our conversations had been a little less than friendly. According to the file date, this was her latest draft. I clicked through her recipes until I found the lemon cookies: almost no sugar, loads of lemon juice and zest, with plain Greek-style yogurt. The cookies were soft, chewy, creative, and yummy. Leaning back in the squeaky leather chair, I rubbed my eyes. Tiredness was taking over. My mind wandered to an unhappy place.