“All we have to do is prove it,” Daniel replied.
On the way back to the station they drove through The Burger Joint, a drive-through that served a variety of fast-food sandwiches. They carried their lunches back to a small conference room that had been dedicated to the solving of Mystique’s murder.
On top of the table were photos from the crime scene, along with reports from the interviews that had taken place so far. There were also a few notes on the large whiteboard that kept track of the investigation. Unfortunately, it was pretty bare at the moment.
They cleared spaces on the table and then sat to eat their lunch. As they ate, they talked about what they’d done so far and what they intended to do next.
Once they were finished eating, Daniel wrote George Trahan and Pierre Guidry on the whiteboard. He put a star next to Pierre’s name. They had their first official suspect.
“Let’s head out to Charles Lathrop’s house and have a chat with him about the love spell Mystique did for him,” Daniel said. “According to his personal assistant, he was supposed to be back in town by ten this morning.”
He wasn’t sure where the investigation would go next, as they had interviewed everyone Nola had told them about and those who they knew had visited Mystique as clients.
What would really help was getting his hands on the book that Mystique had kept on her clients. However, he hadn’t heard anything from Angelique to let him know she’d found it.
He was surprised to realize he was looking forward to touching base this evening with Angelique. He only wished he was bringing her what she wanted most—the name of her mother’s murderer.
Chapter Three
It was just before seven that evening when Daniel crossed the bridge to Angelique’s front door. He knocked and she answered almost immediately.
Again tonight she was clad in a pair of jeans and a sleeveless bright red blouse that emphasized her dark beauty. Her long, dark hair was pulled back and tied at the nape of her neck with a red ribbon. She smiled as she greeted him and again that crazy tiny spark ignited in the pit of his stomach. God, she had a beautiful smile.
“Come on in,” she said and opened her door to allow him entry. “Please, have a seat. Would you like a cup of coffee? I just made a pot.”
“Last night I had the distinct feeling you probably wouldn’t have offered me a cup of water if I was on fire,” he said in open amusement. “But if you’re offering, I’d love a cup of coffee.”
“Normally I’m not so inhospitable as I was last night,” she replied. “How do you like your coffee?”
“Black is just fine.” He eased down on the sofa while she disappeared into the kitchen area. As he waited, he looked around the room.
It was a nice space with a pot-bellied stove in one corner, the gray furniture and a large gray-and-yellow braided rug that nearly covered the floor. Green plants and a bookcase filled with books and battery-operated lanterns that cast soft illumination added to the cozy feel of the place.
This room was a far cry from the bedroom where Mystique met her clients. That small bedroom had felt otherworldly with its mysterious potions and lotions and the dark purple and deep blue wall hangings.
Mystique’s bedroom had been a typical woman’s bedroom with a pink bedspread and matching curtain at the window. There had been shelves in there as well, some filled with books and others full of body lotion, perfumes and jewelry.
Angelique came back into the room, carrying the two cups of coffee. He rose to take one from her, and she set the other one on the coffee table and then sat on the opposite end of the sofa from him.
Instantly he could smell the scent of her, that floral, slightly spicy fragrance he found so attractive. “How are you this evening, Chief LeCroix?” she asked with a hint of a smile.
So, the lady did have a sense of humor after all. “I’m doing okay…and you?”
“I’m hanging in there,” she replied. “Is that enough banality for now?”
“It will do,” he replied. He took a sip of the coffee and then set the cup down. “Today we touched base with George Trahan, Pierre Guidry, Charles Lathrop and Marie Witherspoon.”
“I forgot all about Marie,” she said, and a tiny frown danced into the center of her forehead, in no way detracting from her loveliness. “I would never believe that Marie had anything to do with my mother’s death. She’s a timid woman who was seeing my mother for self-confidence charms and spells.”
“It didn’t take us long to know she had nothing to do with this. In fact, she had a solid alibi. At the time of your mother’s murder, her and her husband were having drinks at Frankie’s,” he replied.
Frankie’s was a small bar where the older people in town usually went for drinks and quiet conversation. It was a muchdifferent experience from the Voodoo Lounge, where the music was loud and the crowd was young.
“I also know George had nothing to do with this. He had absolutely nothing to gain from my mother’s death. We were not seeing each other at the time of the murder, and he was already seeing Desiree,” she said. “He wasn’t angry with my mother so I believe he’s completely innocent.”
She lifted her cup and took a drink and then cradled it in her hands, as if needing the warmth it could provide her. Maybe talking about her mother’s murder filled her with a chill. If so, a new wave of sympathy for her worked through him.
“Then we have Charles and Pierre,” he continued. “We met with Charles this afternoon, and he confessed to us that he was quite angry at your mother because the love spell she did for him didn’t seem to be working, but he insisted he had nothing to do with her murder.”
