There was such joy in her, knowing that she loved Luc, and that he loved her in return. Even though she hadn’t confessed her feelings to him yet, she was certain he must know.
Throughout the afternoon, she held that joy close to her heart, refusing to let anything pull her down, even when she started a list of all the people she would need to talk to or make appointments with: Charles, Aunt Margo and Aunt Madeline, her lawyer, Claudia, Blanche, Matt Sommese, her mother. She grimaced upon writing that last name on her notepad, but really, she and her mother had some serious issues to resolve… ones that had been festering for years.
But first things first. She suspected that Luc, even while he’d been in jail, had already begun the process of discovering who had been shooting at them in her apartment. Between him and Claudia and the police, she was certain the culprits would be caught and her safety ensured. But there was another danger she could work on herself… the voodoo curse.
She leafed through the telephone directory, then picked up the phone on the kitchen wall and punched in a series of numbers.
“Hello. Tante Lulu?”
“Yes.”
“This is Sylvie Fontaine.”
“I know that, dear. Is Luc there?”
“No, he left some time ago.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s wonderful… with Luc, that is.”
“Hallelujah. You’d better say a little prayer to St. Jude, honey.”
“I will,” Sylvie said with a smile. “But that’s not why I called. I have to ask a favor of you. Do you happen to know any… uhm, ah… well, voodoo people?”
“Why? You wanna get a love charm? Ha, ha, ha. I know some good love charms for you to nail that Luc down good and proper. Alls you gotta do is buy a pure white beeswax candle and under it you place a piece of paper with Luc’s name on it. Then you burn that candle down till the name is completely covered with wax so that no one can ever read the name. Oh, and did I tell you the name has to be written in dove’s blood?”
“Dove’s blood? Where would I get dove’s blood?” Sylvie laughed then. “That’s not why I need a voodoo practitioner.”
“It’s not?” Tante Lulu said hesitantly.
“No. I need to have a voodoo curse removed.”
“Uh-oh.”
A pregnant silence followed.
“Tante Lulu?”
“I’m here, but I don’t like messin’ with no evil spirits, child. No, I don’t.”
“I suppose I could go over to the French Quarter in New Orleans. There are a couple of shops that claim to be run by voodoo priestesses.”
Tante Lulu made a tsk-ing sound. “Those quacks! They’re crooked enough to make ol’ Marie Laveau turn over in her grave, I reckon. Let me think on this a minute.” After a brief pause, she continued. “Let me ask you a question. Would this be between you and me? Private-like?”
“Absolutely.”
Tante Lulu sighed in resignation. “Meet me at Mildred’s Gun Shop on Highway 90 tonight at nine.”
Oh, Lordy!
“Dress in black.”
Oh, my God!
“It would help if you brought one of your chickens. Or two.”
Sylvie couldn’t help asking, “Why?”
“The ritual sacrifice.”
“Oh, my!” was her first thought, inadvertently spoken aloud. The second was, “Luc is going to kill us.”
“Guar-an-teed!”
Luc was sitting at the conference table in his Houma law office. Also attending the meeting were his personal attorney; Clovis Dupree; Clovis’s two partners; René; three of his shrimp fishermen friends; Claudia; and five Cypress Oil attorneys from Dallas, Baton Rouge, and Washington, D.C., including Joe VanZandt.
There was also Dixie Breaux, Sylvie’s grandmother, a longtime federal lobbyist for various oil companies, including Cypress. She was a neatly coifed, white-haired lady who had to be at least seventy years old, despite her tight-skinned, perfectly toned complexion. The navy suit and white pearls she wore had probably cost as much as most people’s cars.
They’d been going at it for over two hours, Luc realized as he looked down at his watch. Nine p.m. By now everyone’s cards were on the table.
Cypress Oil contended they were pretty much going to whip his ass.