“Like Gladys Simon.”
“Like Gladys,” he agreed. “Count them up. Hank apparently plunged from a balcony. Gladys hanged herself. Vic Brown killed a bunch of people before he went down. Everyone involved with the bust winds up dead. And we know Shumaker is as evil as a man can be. He’d kill his own mother to further his ends. But what I think the bust wants is the kind of power Pietro Miro wielded in life—political power.”
“But...” Danni began, then fell silent. They’d pulled off the highway and were driving onto a lonely road near Martin’s Hold. “That car!” she said, pointing out a black sedan. It had veered off the road, tires bogged down in the marsh.
Quinn stopped behind it. “Stay,” he told Wolf. “You, too,” he said to Danni.
“Quinn—”
“Cover me from the car, will you?”
She nodded, removing the pistol from her bag. He walked over to the car and opened the front door and then the back. She saw him take out his phone and make a call.
Then he returned to his own car.
“What did you find?” Danni asked as she replaced the gun in her purse.
“Nothing. It might just be an abandoned car. I called it in to Larue. He’ll send a couple of men to check it out.”
Danni studied the terrain as they drove. She couldn’t see anything that remotely resembled a road. Quinn circled a few times, and then seemed satisfied that an area with broken foliage was indeed a road.
He parked the car nearby and they climbed out. “I don’t want to warn anyone that we’re coming,” he told her.
They hadn’t gone more than a hundred yards down the dirt path before she was attacked by a swarm of mosquitoes. She could’ve kicked herself for not remembering to bring repellent.
Danni loved New Orleans, the city’s surroundings and, in fact, the entire state of Louisiana. She didn’t love the bugs in the bayou area.
She swatted at them. Quinn looked over with a shrug. “I offered to leave you at home,” he said.
She sent him a warning glare. He smiled—and shut up.
Wolf moved ahead of them, barging into the brush. “Where’s he going?” she asked.
“He must have found a shortcut.”
They followed the dog and in a few minutes, they broke through the bracken and brush to see the facade of the old Martin’s Hold estate, set in a field of long grass. It was crumbling, decaying. The sugar works—what remained of them—were to the right of the main house.
“I don’t think it has much of a roof,” Danni said.
“I don’t think it has a roof at all. Maybe just an overhang,” Quinn said.
For a moment, they stared at the house.
“There’s been a car here recently, so there has to be another path in.” Quinn pointed out the flattened grass.
Danni looked around and then gestured behind her. “It came from that way, north of where we came in,” she said.
“Double tracks. It pulled out that way, too.”
Wolf let out an excited bark. He was eager to go up to the house.
Quinn and Danni went after the dog. She saw that he was watchful, but unless someone was hiding quietly in the brush, they were alone.
Besides, Wolf would have known if anyone was hiding there.
Because the door of the house had long since fallen off, they walked in unimpeded. A staircase led up to nothing but the open air. Although remnants of the first floor ceiling remained, the outer walls of the second story had crumbled.
“We stay together,” Quinn said.
Danni nodded.
The house had a hallway. There was broken furniture in one of the rooms, including a desk, a faded seascape on the wall and chairs missing a leg or two.
Danni told Quinn, “The architecture seems to be on par with a lot of old Victorian houses. The first room on the right was a plantation office, and beyond that was a ladies’ room and a music room. Over on this side, we’ll find a grand ballroom....” She was correct. A still-standing pocket door was open, creating a room that stretched almost the length of the house.
“And there’ll be a pantry behind that and a kitchen and—”
Quinn shook his head. “And nothing. It doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in eons.”
Wolf barked.
Quinn’s hand instantly dropped to his holster, but Wolf hadn’t sensed danger. He wanted them to follow. They did, passing through the large ballroom area; as Danni had predicted, there was a pantry behind it.
“When the pocket doors aren’t open, the front room on this side is a parlor and the second is a dining room.”
A canted, decaying table seemed to prove her right.
“There’ll be another pantry behind the dining room,” she said.
She walked ahead and, again, she was proven right. Bits of broken pottery were scattered about, but there were no signs that anyone had been in the vicinity in a long time.
“There’s no basement—it’s barely sea level here,” Quinn murmured.
“Satanic rituals usually take place in a basement?” Danni asked him.
He raised one shoulder. “Basements are good places to hide many a sin,” he told her. “Unless, of course, you’re underwater. Which should mean we don’t have all that much sin in New Orleans. But our whole conception of heaven and hell depends on heaven being up, while hell is down. So if you’re going to sin—”
“Sin in the basement,” Danni finished.
There was nothing in the house. They walked toward the remnants of the sugar mill.
Through a rotting roof, the sun cast half shadows over the massive mill. Huge vats where the syrup had been boiled lined what was left of the structure. A brick chimney remained, along with implements for stirring, long-rotted cane and a sickly sweet smell. To the sides were the ghostly relics of wagons used to haul the cane and what appeared to be rusted manual cranes. They were silent as they walked through the ruins of the mill. The very air seemed to carry a miasma.
“There’s nothing here,” Danni said.
“Too nothing.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, think about the years that have passed. Kids daring one another or out to be spooked on Halloween must’ve come here. There should be gum wrappers or cigarette butts or beer cans—at least some trash somewhere,” Quinn said.
“Ah.” Danni nodded.
Suddenly Quinn bent down. She did the same, not at all sure what he saw.
“Footprints,” he explained. “Lots of them.”
She blinked. She could more or less recognize what he was talking about. He pointed to the ground. She could make out the lines left by the bottom of a sneaker.
“So you think Shumaker is coming here and officiating over some kind of cult?” she asked.
“I know he has something going on. Whether he’s twisting voodoo, Christianity, Santeria or anything else—I don’t know. But he’s got something going on.” Quinn straightened. “The bust isn’t here,” he said.
“No.”
He looked at her. “You’re not going to argue?”
Danni hesitated. “I saw it, you know. In the tomb.”
“And?”
“It’s just...odd. I think I’d sense if it was near us. But I don’t understand...”
“Understand what?”
“Well, supposedly, if a ghost is haunting someone, making that person’s life miserable or whatever—killing people—it’s stopped by being burned to ash. Pietro Miro was cremated, so I don’t get how this can be happening. We’re looking for a bust. So I’m assuming the spirit has to materialize somehow, at least in the minds of those holding it. But, by all accounts, the evil spirit of this man shouldn’t be able to wield such power. And then, why is he tied to the bust? If he’s an
evil spirit because he wasn’t really cremated, wouldn’t he just be able to walk or drift around as he pleased?”
“Danni, I don’t have those answers. I do know we have to find the thing.”
She straightened. “Let’s walk the property one more time. We’ll split up so we can cover ground more quickly.”
“We’ll move quickly. But, Danni, I’ve told you before—we don’t split up,” Quinn said firmly, rolling his eyes. “I’m going to have to introduce you to some of the cheesier horror films. When it’s a monster, people are always caught when they’re alone. Now, if we were after a giant reptile or humongous killer crocodile, it would be different.”
“Scared?” she teased him.
“You bet. Come on, Wolf, we’ll do this with speed and organization. We’ll walk on each side and between the vats.”
Wolf wagged his tail. They walked, finding nothing but the telltale scuffles they’d already seen on the dusty floor.
It was when they neared the remnants of the old brick chimney that Wolf barked and raced ahead. He seated himself in front of the fallen bricks by the chimney, waiting for them.
Quinn ducked down first. “Someone’s been here,” he said.
“What is it?”
“Not good.” He pointed. There’d been fires lit in the gaping hole that went up the chimney. In the ash, but not burned, were two dolls—one male, one female. The male had light yarn for hair, the female a crimson color. There were needles through the eyes of both dolls and through the hearts. They lay beside the kindling that was set for another fire.
“Us?” Danni whispered.
“Let’s get them to Natasha.”
“Natasha isn’t into voodoo dolls,” Danni said angrily.
“She’ll know what to do with them,” Quinn told her. As he spoke, his phone rang. The buzz startled them both.
When he answered it, they could hear Larue’s voice.
“Where are you?” he demanded.
“The sugar mill ruins.”
“Okay,” Larue said. “I’m a mile down the bayou from you. Get out on the main road and then take a road that says Bayou Grigsby South. You’ll miss it if you don’t look hard—it’s not much of a road.”
Quinn glanced at Danni. “You’ve found a body?” he asked.
“What’s left of one.”
* * *
There was nothing at the end of the road except for a small, weather-beaten fishing dock. Danni thought it was probably only used by a few locals. The dock stretched out over marshy ground that offered little in the way of an embankment; as she tried reach it, her feet sank into water.
Wolf didn’t like it, either. Walking at her side, he whined softly.
Larue was at the end of the dock with a few members of his forensic team, along with the medical examiner.
“You can wait, if you’d like,” Quinn said.
“Wait where? I’m not staying alone anywhere around here!” Danni could see two fair-size gators sunning themselves on the opposite bank. They were regulars in the bayous of Louisiana and she had a healthy respect for them.
“Fisherman dragged him up,” Larue said, indicating the mass at his feet. “I’m surprised the guy got as much of him as he did.”
The sight on the dock hit every gag reflex in her system but Danni swallowed hard.
This was the man she’d last seen in the cemetery or—as Larue had said—what was left of him.
He was missing his right arm from the elbow down and his right leg from knee. Gashes tore across the body and the face was torn.
“Do you know him?” Larue asked.
“It’s Bigsy. The man from the cemetery,” Danni said.
There was a loud splash in the water. She glanced over at it. Water droplets spun and dazzle, and she saw that in the bayou, two large male alligators were apparently becoming territorial with each other. Wolf barked; Quinn calmed him.
“Coming through, coming through!”
Danni turned around. It was Ron Hubert, the medical examiner she’d met at the Simon house, followed by an assistant. His pale hair glowed in the afternoon light and he looked like a mad scientist as he made his way along the dock. He nodded at Danni and Quinn, then hunkered down by the body.
“Is this where he was found?” Hubert asked Larue.
“A fisherman snagged him. He caught the shoulders first and pulled him up, thinking he’d just fallen in and might be saved. He dropped him on the dock, as you see him now, and called 9-1-1. He was pretty shaken up. I let him go home.”
“So,” Danni murmured. She squinted at the gators, feeling acutely uncomfortable. “He came here—and walked into the bayou and was...eaten?”
Hubert, kneeling by the body, looked up at her. “I won’t know cause of death for sure until we get him into an official autopsy, but I’d say he was most likely dead before he hit the water. Slugs in the head and chest have a tendency to render a man dead.”
“Then he was shot and discarded in the swamp,” Larue said.
“That would be my guess,” Hubert told him. “At least he was dead before he was half-eaten. That was one small mercy. I’m surprised the gators didn’t finish the job.”
Danni turned away, walking back toward the road. Wolf, after a brief hesitation, accompanied her, as if he knew his role was to protect her at all times. Quinn joined them a minute later. “You were right,” she said.
“Being right doesn’t make me particularly happy at this moment. It means Shumaker does have the bust.”
“That means there’ll be a ceremony tomorrow night. And Shumaker will use dolls that represent us. And—”
“No.” Quinn shook his head. “I think there was already a ceremony with us. He’s going to want something more for tomorrow night.”
“If there was some hex put on us, it didn’t work” she said.
He smiled. “No. It didn’t work, and it won’t work, but let’s get the dolls to Natasha, anyway.”
“Okay. Still, hexed or not, I have to shower first.”
“Okay. What matters is that we know he has the bust and we know when he’s going to use it.”
He set an arm around her shoulders as they returned to the car. As he started the drive back into the French Quarter, Danni asked, “Won’t he have people all over, guarding the grounds?”
“Probably.”
“Then if we go, we’re dead meat. We have to get Larue to do a raid.”
“Larue has to work within the law. He’ll be ready, but we’ll have to be there to give him a reason to come in.”
“Except we’re not allowed to be there! It’s private property and we’re not invited.”
“We wandered in and found ourselves at risk for our lives. That’ll work.”
“What if we are at risk?”
“Like I said, Larue will be ready. But you should be at the shop—with Billie.”
Danni groaned aloud. “We’ve been through this. You wouldn’t have said that to my father.”
“I might have,” he told her. “Once we have the bust, we’ll need to figure out what to do with it. Usually an object can be cleansed of a spirit or there is no spirit. It’s just people who believe an object has power and can make them behave in a certain way.”
“But I’ve seen this bust,” Danni said. “Quinn, the eyes on it are creepy. I didn’t feel as if it was taking hold of me or anything, but it watches. It...thinks. It speaks to people.”
“We need to destroy it.”
“It’s marble. That won’t be easy.”
“Well, my point is, that’s why you need to be at the shop. You need to be reading. Doing research.”
“You feel there has to be something in the book. If so, Quinn, I didn’t find it.”
“And you read it from cov
er to cover?”
“Quinn—it’s a tome! I read the pertinent parts.”
“There’s a pertinent part we’re missing,” Quinn said. “When we reach the city, I’ll park, you shower—and I’ll run over to see Natasha with the dolls. When you’re done, start going through the book again.”
Annoyed, she nevertheless agreed.
At the shop, Quinn parked but didn’t come in. Danni ran up to rid herself of her swamp-soaked clothing and took a few minutes to revel in the heat of the water and the clean scent of soap. She got dressed, ready to head down to resume her reading. But voices from the shop attracted her curiosity and she peered around a Venetian statue to see what was going on.
Her heart leaped to her throat and seemed to lodge there.
Brandt Shumaker was in her store. He was wearing a polo shirt and jeans. She was his height, but he had brawny arms and a barrel chest. His hair was neatly clipped and he was clean-shaven and looked strong and reassuring—the perfect politician. She’d seen the man on the news often enough; she was immediately certain it was him. And he was chatting with Jane at the counter. They sounded like old friends.
She felt anger surge through her. A man who was responsible for at least half a dozen deaths was standing on her floor.
Danni walked up to the counter, tension radiating through her. She fought to keep her expression neutral, but didn’t think she’d succeeded.
“Oh, Danni! Mr. Shumaker, this is the shop’s owner, Angus’s daughter, Danielle. She’ll know if we have any such objects secreted away! Danni, this is Mr. Brandt Shumaker,” Jane said, turning to her. Danni’s expression must have startled her because she mumbled, “Oh. Oh, my.”
“We have nothing for you in this shop, Mr. Shumaker,” Danni said coldly. “You’re not selling by any chance, are you?”
Shumaker studied her with amusement. “Me? Selling? No, I’m a collector of the fine and the unusual. You must come to my office sometime. You’d love my collection. That’s why I’m here. I’m trying to organize everything in my collection into different displays. I’m working on several now—one on Santeria, one on voodoo, one on witchcraft. I was looking for an antique wand. I hate the replicas they’re making these days. I prefer something from the 1600s, but up to the 1800s would do. I was also interested in any fetish pieces you might have. Not art or contemporary collectibles, but the real deal.”