“You’re absolutely right. I don’t even know what I was thinking buying a white dress to begin with,” I grumbled, taking the stairs two at a time to my bedroom.
“It looks nice against your skin tone, though,” Miss Elva called up the steps.
It wouldn’t look that nice with blood on it, I thought, worried about what would happen that evening. I pulled the dress off over my head and threw it on my bed, andtugged a serviceable black maxi dress from my closet and tugged it on over my head.
I like maxi dresses, okay?
Taking my earrings out as well, I tossed them on top of the dress on the bed and pulled my curls into a loose bun on the top of my head.
It was time to kick a little ass.
Sliding my feet back in my Toms, I all but ran downstairs, knowing that time was at a premium if Miss Elva was to get one of her potions or powders ready. I stopped by my dive bag and dug out the pouch that Miss Elva had given me earlier, tucking it in my bra for safekeeping. I’d already learned how quickly you could be divested of your purse or other belongings, so bra it was for safekeeping.
“Is this okay?” I asked Miss Elva, who sat on the back porch throwing a ball for Hank. “Black dress, no jewelry, and shoes I can run in?”
“I don’t know who you think is going to be doing any running, child, but it sho ain’t gonna be me,” Miss Elva said, heaving herself off the couch and whistling once to Hank, who immediately dropped his ball and ran to her side.
“Who is this dog of mine? Usually I have to battle with him to get him to drop that damn ball,” I asked, side-eying Hank as we went inside. That little traitor’d known how to drop all along.
“You just gotta talk to him in a language he knows,” Miss Elva said, bending to pat Hank once on the head while he sat, his boxy head tilted, his tongue lolling out as he looked at Miss Elva with adoration.
“It’s like he doesn’t even know me,” I grumbled,pulling a toy out and tossing it across the room. Hank didn’t even move, just continued to sit and stare up at Miss Elva. “This is ridiculous. Let’s go.”
I was more than a little miffed that my dog had chosen Miss Elva over me and I stayed silent as I left the house, carefully locking the door and controlling my urge to stomp to the car.
“Child, no need to get jealous. All dogs are like that with me. Not just Hank. They just know I love them.”
“Hank knows I love him,” I pointed out as we pulled onto the street.
“Of course he does. It’s just the newness of me. You have to understand that I’m old magick. I’m more than Voodoo. I’m all connected, child. I’m in tune with this earth and all its animals. Hank can’t help but love me,” Miss Elva said.
Huh. Well, that was certainly some food for thought.
“I’m sorry. I think I just have a lot of anxiety right now. I’m worried about Luna. I’m worried about rescuing her tonight. I’m not the best at covert operations, if you didn’t know,” I pointed out as I pulled my car to a stop in front of Miss Elva’s house.
The late afternoon sun warmed the street, casting its glow against the brightly colored houses, while puffy clouds wafted through a blue sky. It was another perfect day in paradise and I was about to go track a killer.
How could things get any worse?
Chapter Thirty-Three
“I’ve always wantedto spend some time in your house,” I admitted as Miss Elva ushered me through her main living room and back to her gleamingly clean kitchen, where a butcher block island sat in the middle.
“Sit,” Miss Elva ordered, immediately moving to where an apron hung on a hook and pulling it over her head.
Miss Elva didn’t talk to me – instead she opened a door and stepped into a pantry while I looked around her kitchen. It was fairly small as kitchens go, but unless you’re a millionaire you aren’t getting a huge kitchen in houses in the Florida Keys. It’s just the way it works down here. You pay a high price for square footage, but nobody complains because you spend most of your time outside anyway.
Miss Elva’s kitchen was done up in a soothing buttercup yellow and cream motif, with pots and pans hanging from hooks overhead and a Haitian-style art piece in dramatic colors on the wall. Overall, by the kitchenyou’d never know that a Voodoo priestess lived here, as opposed to the craziness that existed in her front room. I wondered at the dichotomy of it.
“Miss Elva, why does your kitchen not look like your living room?” I asked, and Miss Elva poked her head out of the pantry.
“The kitchen is where I work. You don’t see a surgeon going into a messy operating room, do you?”
Hard to argue with that logic.
Miss Elva came out of the pantry carrying a brown wicker basket with jars piled high and several small burlap bags.
“What are you going to make?”
