Allure (The Hoodoo Apprentice #2) (Entangled Teen) (11 page)

She shakes her head. “Good Lord, child. How did you not tell me all this when you walked in?”

I shrug. “Because you were in the middle of something. And I suppose there’s a chance Claude and the sheriff are right and it really was natural causes. Or something.” I twist the top to loosen the seal and hand it to her. “It’s just I’ve never seen this stuff before and thought maybe you’d have a clue what it is.”

With a shaky hand, she draws the bottle close and lifts off the cap. The rank smell from yesterday fills the kitchen except the scent of rancid garbage and skunk roadkill has ripened into something truly ghastly. Now, along with those festering odors, there’s a hint of fermented decay laced with death. If putrid has a smell, this is it.

She pulls the bottle away and coughs. “This was on her body?”

I blink my stinging eyes and nod, then take the bottle back from her and close the lid. “Yeah. And on the carpet in the bedroom. That’s where I took this sample.”

She knits her brows. “And the sheriff didn’t pay it any mind?”

“Not really. Though they could have been putting on a good show, trying to see if anyone would admit what it was. But to be fair, it didn’t stink that bad yesterday. It’s…evolved into something truly nasty. Maybe I should have kept it in the refrigerator or something.”

She scoffs. “I doubt it would have made much difference. Decomposition is a natural process. No matter how cold you keep something, it’ll happen eventually.”

I stare at the bottle of dried, chunky gunk. “Is that what this is?”

She nods. “Must be to smell like that.”

“Have you seen anything like it before? Do you know what it is?”

She shakes her snowy-white head. “Can’t say I have. But it doesn’t take much to know it’s not something you want to mess with. The stink alone is a warning to stay away.”

My pulse picks up. “Do you think it’s some sort of curse or something? Maybe it killed Missy.”

Miss Delia pats my hand. “Don’t let your imagination run ahead of you, Emma. Not everything has a supernatural cause. Sometimes, as strange as it may seem, things are exactly as they appear.”

“But—”

“But what?” She shoots me a look that clearly tells me not to question her further.

Dropping my gaze, I flip open the flap on my messenger bag to stow the bottle. I don’t understand why she’s so calm and disinterested. After all her talk about dark forces, I’d think she’d at least be a little intrigued by this stuff. Instead, she seems as indifferent as Claude and Sheriff Walker. Which is weird, because I’d have bet she’d be as suspicious as I am of Claude’s influence over the sheriff.

“Why don’t you leave that vial with me? Maybe I can find some kind of spell to test it.” Her voice is kind and sweet as she extends an open palm.

“Really?” I fish out the bottle. “Do you want to look now? I could grab your spell book and we could go through it together. I bet there’s something in there that will help.”

“Maybe later. When I’m feeling more up to it.” She slips the bottle into the pocket of her housedress and then places her finger on her wheelchair’s joystick and maneuvers out of the kitchen.

I spend the next few minutes cleaning up after her explosion experiments, putting away the crocks of ingredients, and cleaning the ancestors’ mortar. Just as I’ve wiped its smooth stone and gold-filled interior, the front screen door slams. A moment later, raised voices carry into the kitchen. It’s Taneea and Miss Delia.

“Tell me where you got that.” Miss Delia’s voice is firm but heavy with fatigue.

“It’s none of your business,” Taneea snaps.

That’s it. I’m sick of her crap. Tossing my rag on the counter, I race though the swinging kitchen door to the living room. “What’s going on?”

The scent of Taneea’s spicy perfume smacks me in the face. It’s especially strong, as if she just sprayed it on. Today she’s wearing a skintight, black and white zebra-striped tank with a chunky belt over black capri leggings. Her neck is dripping with beaded necklaces and her arms are covered with bangles. But she seems especially protective of the quilted, white leather handbag that’s slung over her shoulder, its handle gripped in her curled hand. An alligator-foot key chain dangles from one of the gold loops that connects the straps to the bag.

Taneea’s upper lip curls as she takes me in, then tucks the key chain into the body of the bag. “Ugh. Why don’t you go back into the kitchen where you belong?” Only it’s not really a question. From her repulsed expression it’s clear she wishes I’d go a lot farther away than the next room. Like maybe Australia. But I’m not going anywhere except to plop on the couch to monitor their confrontation.

“I’ll ask you again. Where did you get that?” Miss Delia’s narrowed gaze zeroes in on the bag.

“In Chicago. Before I came here.” Taneea’s eyes shift down and off to the side.

Miss Delia crosses her arms. “Do I look stupid?”

Taneea’s eyes flicker with light and for an instant she looks as if she might answer the rhetorical question, but sanity must take over because she keeps her mouth shut.

“Smart girl,” Miss Delia says, and then leans forward in her chair. “Don’t think for a second I don’t know what comes in and out of this house. Now, this time I’d like the truth. Where did you get that bag?”

“On Hilton Head.” Taneea’s eyes drop to her patent-leather peep-toe shoes. “In a boutique.”

Miss Delia’s eyebrows shoot up as she grips the arms of her chair. “How did you pay for it?”

Taneea’s jaw juts forward. “With a credit card.”

“You don’t have one.”

“Yes I do. My mother gave me one.”

“She gave it to me. For emergencies. And so far we haven’t had any.”

Taneea shrugs, but her eyes blaze with anger. “Why does it matter whose card I used? It’s my bag, and it’s not returnable.”

“It matters very much. Regardless of who you grow up to be or how rich or poor you are, your character and integrity are all you’ll ever have in this world, the only things you truly earn for yourself. Whether you stole your
maamy’s
card or got someone else to buy that ugly bag for you, they’re shortcuts to getting what you want. You won’t appreciate—or deserve—that bag until you can earn it yourself.”

Taneea rolls her eyes. “Please, spare me the public service announcement. Not everyone can be Miss-Goody-Two-Shoes like Emma over there.” She tosses me a hateful glare, lingering over my cotton shorts and V-neck T-shirt.

Though I know it’s dumb, I suddenly feel underdressed. And completely inadequate. Which only propels me to speak before I think. “Hey, don’t be mad at me. It’s not my fault you bought a hideous bag.”

“The fact that you think this bag is hideous proves how little you know about fashion.” She forces a condescending laugh as she strokes the gold chains hanging off her new purse.

I want to tell her exactly where she can shove that fugly purse of hers and her equally grotesque key fob. I don’t care what she says, she’s the one with a hunk of dead alligator dangling from her handbag. If hauling around a piece of a carcass is
fashion
, then I guess that ends my dream of walking the catwalk. Not.

She leans toward me, a smug expression on her lips. “Don’t worry. Soon I’ll have plenty of money to buy a hundred more just like it.”

Miss Delia crosses her arms. “Really? And how are you going to manage that?”

Taneea smirks. “I stopped by the King Center today. That Claude guy gave me a job as his personal assistant.”

Chapter Thirteen

M
iss Delia’s eyes narrow. “Claude Corbeau did what?”

Taneea shifts her weight and pops her hip to the side. “Gave me a job. So I can earn enough money to buy a ticket back to Chicago and get out of this prison.”

“What makes you think your
maamy’s
going to have you back?” Miss Delia asks.

“If she doesn’t, I’ll go somewhere else. It’s not like I
want to live with her lame husband anyway. Maybe I’ll go back to Kansas City and try living with my real dad again.”

Miss Delia sighs. “Child, no matter where you go, you’ll never settle anywhere until you’re settled on the inside.”

Taneea rolls her eyes. “God, don’t you ever get sick of hearing yourself talk? Seriously, who do you think you are? Some kind of Gullah Yoda?”

Miss Delia turns to me, her brow crinkled. “Yo who?”

I shake my head. “Never mind. It’s a movie thing.” Then I level my evil eye on Taneea. “Nice way to talk to the only person who’d take you in.”

“Just because you suck her butt doesn’t mean I have to.”

Miss Delia throws up her liver-spotted hands. “Enough bickering.” She points her crooked finger at Taneea. “You want to get a job, I won’t stand in your way. But I don’t like the idea of you working for Mr. Corbeau.”

“Why not?” Taneea asks.

I’m so sick of her and her crap, I can’t stay quiet. “Um, hello? Don’t you remember his little visit here? He basically accused your great-grandmother of doing something shady with her donation.”

Taneea smirks, causing the diamond stud above her lip to glint in the light. “Accusations don’t mean anything unless they’re true.”

“I didn’t do anything I need to explain or justify to you.” Miss Delia’s voice is deep and stern.

Taneea hoists her bag farther up her shoulder. “Then you shouldn’t care if I work for him. By the way, I start tomorrow.”

Heavy footsteps clomp up the walkway leading to the front of the house. A second later Jack and Cooper trudge up the porch steps. They must be finished in the backyard. Cooper wipes his work boots on the mat before opening the screen door. Jack follows and does the same.

Whoa. The air fills with the pungent scent of their hard work and sweat. It stinks but at least it’s overpowered Taneea’s heavy perfume.

Cooper removes his baseball cap, then folds it in half and shoves it into the back pocket of his jeans. “We cleared as much of a path as we could for you, Miss Delia. You should be able to roll your wheelchair back there now, but I still think we ought to lay another stone path for you. I’m afraid you’re going to get stuck in the grass.”

She waves away his concern. “I’ll be fine. Besides, I don’t have much need to go back there anyway. Maybe just one or two trips. Emma can handle the bulk of what needs doing out there from now on.”

Jack collapses on the couch next to me and drapes his arm around my shoulder, unleashing the full brunt of his armpit stench. I catch my breath and jerk out of his grasp. “Gross!” I push him, unfortunately laying my hands on his soggy shirt. “And get off the sofa, you’re going to make the fabric reek too.”

“What? You don’t like
Eau de Man
?” Jack laughs as he flexes his muscles.

I choke on the odor that’s so strong I can almost taste it. “Not really.”

Miss Delia levels her gaze at him. “Neither do I. Get up.”

Jack springs off the furniture. “Sorry, Miss D.” His eyes are filled with contrition.

She shakes her head as her lips strain to hold back a smile.

“Maybe you and Cooper ought to hit the shower before we go home,” I say, not looking forward to the ride back in an enclosed car.

Cooper shrugs. “No point. We didn’t bring a change of clothes.” Turning toward Taneea, he breaks out into a mile-wide grin. “Hey. Nice bag. My stepmom had one just like it.”

My earlobes tingle. For real? Since when did he like anything that was Missy’s? Or even notice her stuff at all?

She beams. “Hey to you. I haven’t seen you around much lately.” She slips her hand into the white, puffy tote and retrieves a tube of hand lotion. Flipping the top, she squeezes a dollop into her palm and rubs it in, spreading the yellow cream across her knuckles and between her fingers. The fragrance is thick and musky. What’s with this chick and her weird scents?

“Yeah, we’ve been busy.” He lifts the bottom of his shirt to wipe the trickle of sweat from his brow, exposing his ripped abs and the tiny mojo bag I made to protect him from black magic. What the heck is he thinking? Maybe he’s dehydrated and delusional from the heat.

Taneea stares at his perfect six pack. “Me too.”

Jack nudges Cooper’s side with his elbow and clears his throat.

Cooper drops his shirttail and laughs. “This is Jack. He’s too shy to introduce himself.”

Jack scowls. “Am not.”

“Are too.” I smirk, trying to keep the mood light. And to keep from yelling at Cooper for flashing Taneea, or at her for gawking at my boyfriend like he’s supper.

“I’m Jack.” He extends his palm but she leaves him hanging, apparently still fixated on what else lies beneath Cooper’s shirt. Jack drops his hand and stares at her, likely waiting for her to notice the lull in the conversation. His gaze travels to her zebra tank. I don’t need our twin sense to know he’s debating whether to ask if she just broke out of the zoo.

Finally Taneea drags her eyes from Cooper long enough to give Jack a cursory glance. “Hi.” Then she quickly steps toward Cooper. “You know we really should hang out more.” She grips his biceps and bats her eyes, then giggles and give him a squeeze. “Wow. You’re strong.”

Fire roars in my stomach as my nails dig into the soft flesh of my palms. Without thinking I leap to my feet and gape at the sight of her skin on his flesh. A thousand words churn in my brain, crashing into each other, and causing a massive traffic jam that keeps them from traveling to my mouth.

To make matters worse, rather than shirking from her touch, he chuckles. “Thanks.”

I try to say something but she’s still caressing his muscle—and he’s not shaking her off—plus my heart’s racing a million miles a minute, so only a guttural grunt makes it past my lips.

Cooper’s head tilts in my direction. For a second, his blue-gray eyes seem to register my extreme displeasure and distress but then he scratches his temple and the recognition seems to evaporate. He turns his gaze back to Taneea. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. I know you’ve been pretty bored around here. Do you want to come to my stepmother’s funeral? It’s not a party, but there’ll be decent food afterward.”

Jack head snaps in my direction and he mouths, “What the—”
Which is exactly the same thing I’m thinking. I know Cooper is trying to be a nice guy, but this is way over the top. And totally inappropriate.

“Sure. Just tell me when and where and I’ll be there.” She grins and flashes me a glance.

“It all depends on when the coroner releases her body. I’ll let you know.”

“Great. Text me.” She finally releases him to root through her purse for a piece of paper and pen. Leaning against his broad back for support, she scribbles a number, folds the scrap in half, and tucks it into his other back pocket, the one without the baseball cap.

“Dude, I forgot something in the backyard.” Jack charges forward, his normally olive skin magenta, and pushes Cooper backward toward the front door. “I need your help.”

Taneea yawns and pats her mouth. “I’m tired. You don’t mind if I take nap, do you, Great-gran?”

Miss Delia hitches her brow. “Course not. You need to rest up for that job of yours.” Her voice is laden with so much sarcasm you’d have to be deaf not to hear it.

“Thanks. See you later, Emma. At the funeral party.”

My breath quickens as I imagine smearing that smirk from her face but that would only convince her that she’s gotten to me. No, she will most definitely not win this war. Cooper is
my
boyfriend. Not hers.

I plaster the fakest smile I can muster. “Right. See you then.”

She pivots and saunters down the tiny hall to the second bedroom and slams the door.

I turn to Miss Delia, an inferno blazing in my gut. “Can you believe that? Who does she think she is? Literally trying to steal Cooper right in front of me.” I’m so angry I’m surprised I’m not exhaling flames.

Miss Delia’s eyes are cold. “You’ve got to put your boy problems aside. We’ve got bigger trouble in store.”

“What could possibly be bigger than boyfriend stealing?” I sigh, exasperated and so wrapped up in my angst whirlwind that I momentarily forget the curse that threatens Cooper’s soul. Which is horrible because as far as problems go, that’s a biggie.

Miss Delia claps her twisted hands. “Get a hold of yourself, Emma. I don’t give a hoot about who likes who, or who shows up at a party. Claude Corbeau has offered my great-granddaughter a job. Believe me, it wasn’t because he thought she’d make a good assistant.”

That jerks me back to reality. “Why do you think he did it?”

She sucks her front teeth. “I don’t know. But I suspect it was to help him gain information on me. Who knows what she’s already told him? Or what she might have said about what we do in that kitchen? In a big stone mortar.” She glances toward the closed swinging door.

“But she’s never worked a spell with you, right? Or seen you conjure anything?”

She shakes her head. “No.” Wringing her hands, she continues. “But I can’t be awake all day and night. There’s no telling what she might have picked up while I was sleeping.”

My pulse thumps in my chest. “So what can we do?”

“I’m not sure. Yet.”

Chapter Fourteen

I
t took almost two weeks for the coroner to release Missy’s body, partly because of all the tests that needed to be conducted, but also because Beau didn’t seem in a hurry to pick it up. After all the X-rays, toxicology reports, and tissue and body fluid samples, her death was listed as natural causes because there were no discernible injuries and no unusual substances found in her system. Even the stinky, sludgy black stuff was inconclusive. The lab reported it was made of organic matter of unknown origin so their best guess is it was some sort of wacky, dead-plant-and-fertilizer-based skin mask she planned to apply but never got the chance.

Even though I’ve read the report a hundred times, something still doesn’t feel right. I suppose it’s technically possible for a healthy twenty-two-year-old to just drop dead, although it’s seems pretty unlikely.

But there’s no sense in questioning the facts anymore. Jack thinks I’m emo enough and it would definitely rub Cooper wrong. He’s already on edge, what with his birthday just four days away and no viable cure for the Beaumont Curse in hand
.
To keep his mind off his potential tragic destiny, he’s been lying low at the Big House helping my dad clean and repair the rooms Missy trashed. In the meantime, Miss Delia and I have been frantically searching for a
Break Jinx
, only taking this morning off so I can attend Missy’s funeral.

Dad, Jack, and I take a golf cart to the Beaumont family cemetery at the far northeastern corner of the plantation, along the banks of a salt marsh. Usually, this place is off-limits. During our first summer on the island, Jack and I ventured here once, with Cooper, because he wanted to leave flowers on his mother’s grave. But we never found it because I fell down an old dry well and nearly broke my neck in the process. After it took all day to fish me out and seal the hole, Dad banned us from visiting this part of the plantation unsupervised.

Though I remember that day with perfect clarity, I barely recognize this place. It’s overgrown and wide swaths are choked with kudzu, the clingy, invasive vine that’s the scourge of the South.

Which is totally weird considering how pristine my father keeps the rest of the plantation. As far as the eye can see, every shrub, ornamental tree, and flower, even the blades of grass are pristine and perfectly manicured. High Point Bluff is my father’s pride and joy and the perfect outlet for his anal-retentiveness and neat-freakism. So why has the cemetery been allowed to grow so wild and out of control? It looks like it’s been forgotten. Or willfully neglected. It would make a pretty awesome, though slightly deranged, painting.

I turn to Dad. “This place is a total mess.”

He stiffens. “This is the way Beau wants it.”

“But—”

“No buts. Beau’s the boss and the boss gets what he wants. Simple as that.”

I want to push it, protest that this is not the way to treat your dearly departed ancestors, but it’s no use. Dad’s not interested in debating the finer point of Beau’s management style. My only solace is knowing that, like so many other things, it’ll be different when Cooper is in charge. So long as we break the Beaumont Curse in time.

We pass Cooper’s parked golf cart and walk deeper into the cemetery, past old, gothic-looking gravestones, to a tent that covers the open gravesite and offers needed shade. Even though it’s still morning, the sun is already baking. A hot breeze blows off the marsh, carrying the scent of briny water, mucky earth, and dead fish, which doesn’t help matters.

At the front of the tent, the reverend from a local church comforts a heavily made-up blonde woman in a spangly, purple minidress, who can only be Missy’s mother. She’s weeping and stroking Missy’s closed casket that lies waiting to be deposited into the earth. I say a silent prayer of thanks that the lid is shut. I don’t know if I could deal with seeing her again, especially since I have to make nice with my other least favorite person, Taneea who’s apparently hitched a ride with Cooper. She’s dressed for the occasion in a black, see-through crocheted minidress with a neon pink bra and sparkly hot pants beneath. Way to class it up.

“Emma, Jack! Come sit next to us.” Taneea grins as she pats an empty folding chair next to her. She and Cooper are perched in the middle of the second row, amid a sea of empty seats. Despite Missy’s gaggle of friends, none of them have shown up. Even Beau stayed back at the Big House claiming he couldn’t take the pain of watching his beloved laid to rest.

Taneea’s crazy if she thinks I’m not sitting next to Cooper. Jack reads my mind. After shooting me a quick glance, he takes the spot next to her and I squeeze past them, climbing over her outstretched legs. She’s too busy slathering her skin with her stinky hand cream to tuck them in. Which is rude, but not as rude as polluting the air with that horrible musky scent. I don’t know why she likes it so much. It’s not exactly feminine.