The Seer Renee (14 page)

"It was my grandmother's home
and where I was raised." I shut off the lights and locked the door as we
left. He was driving a two or three year old silver Acura, which looked like
new inside and out. I was pleasantly surprised when he stopped in front of the
Court of Two Sisters restaurant, which was only a few blocks away on Royal Street.
He had reservations, and the hostess led us to a table in the courtyard. It was
beautiful with the green canopy of leaves from the trees, fairy lights twisted
around the trunks and branches, the tables covered with white tablecloths, and
well separated from each other.

"It's lovely," I said
surveying the courtyard. For hors d'oeuvres, we shared an order of corn-fried
Louisiana oysters, while he talked about growing up in a small town in Texas.
He came from a middle-class family, who owned a small grocery store, and had to
work his way through college. He was the youngest child and had two sisters.
They tended to be tomboys, and he kept me laughing with stories about them.

For dinner, I had a seafood-stuffed
filet of trout; Jim had a beef filet with mashed potatoes. Afterward, we
lingered over coffee and shared an order of bananas Foster. By the end of the
evening, I felt my age again instead of a thousand years old.

When he pulled up in front of the
shop, he slid his arm around me and pressed a light kiss on my mouth that I was
happy to return. He pulled back for a moment and smiled into my eyes before we
kissed again, this time deeper, our lips and tongues exploring and tasting.
After a few more kisses, he sat back. “You’re a lovely woman.”

"Thank you. This has been a wonderful
evening. It's been a while since I'd been out on a date." I smiled at him
over my shoulder as I opened the car door.

"I've enjoyed myself. You're
wonderful company. Working my way through med school and internship did kill my
social life, but that’s behind me. I'd like to see you again if you're
interested," he said, looking like an expectant father.

"Yes, I'd like that." To
my relief he didn't push to see me into the house. I had enjoyed his company
but wanted to take it a bit slow for now. I wasn't sure if that were for his or
my sake. "Call when you get free time."

Willis sat relaxing in an oversized,
leather office chair with his feet resting on a double pedestal desk as he waited
for the clock to strike ten. Smoke from his La Corona filled the air. He
smiled. Smokers thought the price of cigarettes was expensive. One puff of his 1937
La Corona cost more than a carton. He liked expensive things, and acting as a
go-between for the wealthy and the crime world was how he afforded them. His
clients had the money, and he had the connections.

As the hour hand ticked onto the
twelve, a Big Ben chime from the antique clock began to sound the hour, and the
monitor on the desk lit. One by one, colored boxes with smiley faces began to
appear. When all six were lit, the Blue smiley face spoke.

"Well, Mr. Willis, have you
set up the test case that will determine if Renee Mathur has her grandmother’s talent?"

"I had it set up for next
week, but had to cancel when Ms. Mathur disappeared." Mr. Bishop was lucky
Sheila had been able to cancel the contract. "Those kinds of arrangements
may not work twice and are expensive to cancel. Professionals don't like
dealing with amateurs who don't know what they want."

"That was unfortunate timing,
and we will pay you whatever is necessary to ensure the person is well
compensated for his inconvenience. The issue has been resolved, and you should
continue with the test," Blue said.

"I'd like to wait for four or
five weeks. I think a new development may provide a more reliable test than the
previous one we had arranged. But it needs time to develop." The money the
committee was offering would keep him in luxuries for life, and he wanted no
mistakes. A botched test could alert the Renee woman and blow his chances of
earning the commission. Worse yet, it could make him a loose end for Black.

"I think that is a wise
decision. Time is running out, so we don't have time to experiment. Besides,
this Renee isn't stupid. If she figures out we are testing her, she may leave
town," Orange's smiley face said.

"I agree," Blue said, sounding
determined. "You will have a definitive answer for us in five weeks."

"What if there is
another—"

"Mr. Black will be available
each night at ten. He will assist you in the event you need help, and he will
keep us advised of your progress," Blue’s smiley face interrupted. "Mr.
Black is adept at solving problems." Blue sounded amused. Mr. Willis
wasn't. The message was clear. He would have a solution in five weeks, or he
would become Mr. Black’s problem.

"I'm sure the situation will
be resolved in five weeks, especially with Mr. Black's help if an unforeseen
problem like the sheriff arises," he said, smiling a smile he didn't feel.
The damn delays weren't his fault. The committee had screwed up with Mambo
Eshe, and the yokels had been responsible for the latest problems. But of course
that didn't matter. They would see failure as his fault, and he would be the
target of their disappointment. As he watched, the colored boxes disappeared
one by one, except for Black.

"Tomorrow at ten, Mr.
Willis," Black’s smiley face said and then blinked out. Willis sat
sweating for a long time. Mr. Black’s message seemed clear. He could replace
him if necessary.

* * *

Sheila had been up for some time.
She had woken early in anticipation of Willis's call. She knew his masters
would be pressuring him to take action, although the latest delay wasn't his
fault. But that wouldn't matter. He was paid help so delays were his problem to
solve. She had gone to breakfast when the hotel dining room opened at six a.m.,
and now she sat in her room drinking coffee. She smiled when her disposable
cell rang.

"Good morning, Mr. Willis.
You're up early," she said cheerfully.

"We need to meet, this
afternoon. The situation has changed."

"I hope you were able to
resolve the problem with my contact." Sheila frowned. She had arranged for
Mr. Bishop to be killed during the course of a robbery of his nightclub after it
closed. The details had been worked out and everything set when Ms. Mathur
disappeared. Sheila had called her contact, but he was unable to contact his
operative once the details had been arranged. Her only alternative was to
intervene personally, which was a lousy idea. She would have to stake out the
nightclub and intercept the operative in person. The worse situation she could
imagine—she would learn his identity, and he was unlikely to be happy.
Even if she didn't get killed, he would know her identity. With little choice,
she staked out the nightclub's back entrance, hoping he wasn't going to use the
front. The club closed around one a.m., and around one thirty she noticed a man
wearing dark clothes enter the alley. When he reached the dumpster she stood
behind, she stepped out, gun drawn.

"I'm afraid our date for
tonight has been called off. I'll make sure you get everything you were
expecting plus extra for disappointing you." They stood eyes locked,
evaluating each other. He wasn't happy, and she was sure he was debating trying
to kill her. Although she stood ready to kill him, she actually didn't blame
him. "I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want another date, but it will be
worth your while, I promise."

She—Sheila suddenly realized
it was a woman—stood deathly still while she evaluated Sheila and the
surrounding area. After several minutes, she nodded, turned, and exited the
alley. Sheila didn't relax until she was in her car and driving away. The
operative had felt as cold as ice and had dead-eyes devoid of emotion—a
scary woman.

"Yes. We will make things
right with him. But the situation has changed, and we need to meet today. I'll
have Tony call you with a time and location."

* * *

Tony called thirty minutes later.
"Sheila, one o'clock at the Maison Dupuy hotel, room 201."

"I know where it is. One
o'clock," I confirmed and hung up. Since Willis wanted to meet so quickly,
she knew his employers were putting pressure on him, which meant pressure on
her. She'd have to be careful as it was likely his employers would consider the
same fate for her as him if things didn't go right.

* * *

Exactly at one o'clock she knocked
on the door tagged 201, and seconds later Tony opened the door. He nodded and
waved her in. The room was smaller than the last one, more a junior suite.
Willis sat at a small table looking uncomfortable.

"Sheila, what do we need to
make it right with your contact?"

"And me," Sheila said.
"I had to stop the contract personally. People like that prize their anonymity.
They are not happy with me."

"Pay whatever will put you and
him on good terms again. I've had Harold watching the Renee woman. She's
friendly with that FBI woman who saved her shop from that firebomb, and her
husband, Ron. Harold did some checking and found Renee and Ron are friends from
their college days. And she has begun dating a doctor. If it gets serious over
the next couple of weeks, I think that he may be the ideal target. If not, then
her college friend." Willis paused to get a cigar from his pocket. He
looked at it for a while like he was considering lighting it but returned it to
his pocket reluctantly. "We're only going to get one chance at this, and
it has to be decisive. Our bonus and reputation will hang on it."

The meaning was clear. If this deal
gets blown, powerful people were going to be terribly unhappy, and that
unhappiness would spill over onto Willis and her.

"Work with Harold. Let's
determine who Ms. Mathur will miss the most and what kind of scenario we can
create to test her ability to see the future. We may not be able to give your
contact a lot of advance notice so you might have to help with the
details—time, location, environment, etc."

Willis arranged for an every-other-day
status update, which drove home his nervousness and the seriousness of the
assignment. She sighed—big rewards involved big risks. The question in
Sheila's mind was how the Mathur woman was going to know the future of the
three people they were watching if they didn't request a fortunetelling. They
didn't appear to be the kind of individuals who believed in fortunetelling, and
Renee certainly wasn't advertising she could see the future. According to Ken,
Renee placed her hands over his. Maybe she needed substantial contact for a
period of time. How long did she need it and how far into the future could she see?
And could she turn it on or off at will—like during love making? Necessary
answers to determine who would be the ideal lab rat. Renee wasn't going to stop
a killing if she didn't know it was going to happen.

"Renee, it's Jim. If you
aren't busy Saturday night, I have some time off. We could have dinner or go to
a show or both," he said in a rush.

I smiled at the image of him
holding his cell and his breath and with his fingers crossed. In truth, I had
my fingers crossed for the past few days hoping he would call for another date.
Besides his being handsome, I had enjoyed his company. He was a good conversationalist
and had a great sense of humor. He seemed interested in my life, but I didn't
get the feeling he was rushing me.

"I'd like that. Eight
o'clock?" I said, wanting him to decide where to go and what to do.

"I guess that means you made
enough decisions for the week." He gave a short laugh.

"Good guess. I'm looking
forward to a night out. It doesn't matter where."

"See you tomorrow evening at
eight."

When he hung up, I smiled. I was a
modern woman, running my own business, and a priestess, but every now and then
it felt good to let someone pamper me. Just the thought of seeing Jim and a
night out made my life feel a little normal, and I found myself quietly humming
and singing throughout the day.

* * *

Jim was right on time and came bearing
flowers—a bouquet of red alstroemerias, purple asters, yellow tulips, and
sunflowers.

"They’re beautiful. Come in
while I get them into water," I said, waving him into the back where I retrieved
Granny's vase. I felt like a young girl going to her first prom, and it felt fantastic.
When I finished I gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you. If you are
trying to spoil me, you're succeeding."

"Good. That's the plan. If
you're ready for dinner, your carriage awaits you." We drove in a relaxed
silence. I imagined he was savoring my reaction, and his surprise restaurant,
while I sat pleased with being pampered and looking forward to being surprised.
He had again picked a restaurant in the French Quarter and ironically another
one I hadn't visited—Café Amelie.

"Jim, it's beautiful," I
said, as the hostess led us into the Princess of Monaco courtyard with its sculptured
spiral spruce, shrubs, ferns, and six-foot, two-tiered water fountain. The nice
part was the tables weren't crammed together as too often happens inside even good
restaurants. We started with a glass of Riesling, shared a plate of the café's specialty,
Satsuma pepper-glazed shrimp, for an appetizer, and we both ordered the
oven-roasted chicken breast.

"Are you free tomorrow? I'm
new to New Orleans, and there looks like there’s a lot to do and see," Jim
said, as we sat sipping our wine after finishing the shrimp.

"Yes and no," I said, a
little apprehensive about the "No" part. There were many differences
couples could compromise around, but politics, sex, and religion were usually
show stoppers. "I'm free in the morning and most of the afternoon, but I'm
scheduled to conduct services in the evening from six to around eight."

"Where?"

"
Someday I hope I can have a dedicated place of my own like Mambo Monique,
but for now, I use Woldenberg Park on the river."

"Would you mind if I attended?" he asked. "I'd be interested
in watching a service and having the advantage of someone to explain the
ceremony. I was raised a Catholic, sort of. I went to public school, but I
attended church and received instruction. I can just imagine attending a Mass
without someone to explain what's going on. Our priest was very old-school. He even
occasionally celebrated the Mass in Latin."

I couldn't help but laugh. "I'd love for you to attend. Vodou has
been heavily influenced by Catholicism, and they have much in common. For one
thing, we don't try to convert people to our religion. Like Catholics, we don't
believe our religion is the only path to God."

"I think I'm like many individuals in scientific fields. I believe
in God but I’m not sure He's as interested in our daily lives as most religions
preach." He gave a wry smile.

"I believe his direct intermediates, who the Catholics call saints
and we call Loa, are hard to interest and get personally involved. But I'd like
to believe that some of us are called to help in human ways."
Yes, I was sure of that. People like Eshe,
Monique, and, hopefully, me.

"I hope that means I can watch Mambo Renee at work." He took my
hand and gave me a warm look.

"Yes. It not like a service in a church or meeting hall. We meet
outdoors. There will be my regular congregation who will be participating,
friends of those in the congregation there to watch, people who have heard
about me and may be thinking of joining, and tourists who were just passing by
and stop to watch."

"Can we make a day of it? I'll pick you up in the morning, and we
can do some sightseeing before the evening service."

"I'd like that." We left the café after ten and strolled down Bourdon
Street and stopped in a few clubs to listen to music and dance. He dropped me
home around two in the morning. I was still reluctant to invite him in, and to
his credit, he didn't suggest it.

* * *

I had just finished dressing when he knocked at the door. He stood there
smiling with one hand full of tourist brochures.

"Unless you already know where you want to go, I thought we could
look these over."

"I had nowhere in mind. Come in and I'll make some coffee, and we
can decide." As I put on a pot of coffee, he spread out the pamphlets on
the table and sat.

"I had a great time last night, Renee. You're a comfortable person
to be with."

"It was a nice evening. You made me feel young again."

"You are young. You're still in your early twenties."

"In years, that's true. But with everything that has been
happening... Sorry."

"Don't be. I'd love to know more about you, and I'm a decent
listener if you ever want a shoulder to lean on."

"Thank you, Jim, but you don't want to listen to me whine."

"Whining can be good. Putting your thoughts and concerns into words
sometimes helps to put them in perspective. I'll bet you do that with people in
your congregation when they have problems."

"Are you offering to be my therapist?"

"No, but I'm offering to listen because I'd like to get to know you
better."

"That's sweet." I put a cup of coffee in front of him and
kissed him on the cheek and gave him a quick hug. "My granny dying was a
horrible shock. She was more like a mother and friend. Her death left me alone with
the responsibility to manage this shop and become a mambo with a congregation.
I should have had years to get ready." I sat fighting back tears.
"I'm sorry."

Jim leaned over and put an arm around me and pulled me close. "I
don't know if your granny can see you, but I'll bet if she can she is very
proud of the woman she raised." He handed me his pristine handkerchief.

"Thank you," I said while wiping my eyes. "All right, you
pick three, and I'll pick three. If any are the same, we can do those
first."

"And if not?" He grinned.

"We can put them in a hat and draw one at a time." I handed him
one of the two sheets I had retrieved from a notebook. "Write your
selections on this."

We spent the next fifteen minutes looking over the pamphlets. When I
finished and looked to Jim, he had his three selections. When I showed him
mine: St. Louis Cathedral, New Orleans Museum of Art, and Aquarium of the
Americas, he laughed and produced his: New Orleans Museum of Art, Aquarium of
the Americas, Saint Louis Cemetery. "I know visiting the cemetery is
really a cliché, but it’s so unusual, I’d love to get a close look. You can
sure see why they call it the
City of the
Dead
with all the elaborate crypts and mausoleums. I thought it would be
interesting to do more than drive by."

I laughed. "I agree. I debated putting it on my list but hesitated
because...you being a doctor."

"We don't win them all, and a lot of those people made it to ripe
old ages because of good doctors." He tore off four pieces of paper, wrote
an attraction on each sheet, and rolled them into balls. Then he picked them up
and threw them into the air. When they settled onto the table, he nodded at
them. "Pick one."

I did, then him, and finally me. "Seems appropriate for a
Sunday," I said, looking at the order of the list: Saint Louis Cemetery,
St. Louis Cathedral, Museum of Art, and the Aquarium of Americas. "We
won't make them all so it’s a good excuse for another date," I said and felt
my cheeks heat. He nodded with a smile.

"An excellent list for that reason if none other."

* * *

I took a flower with me from the bouquet he had brought me, for a special
purpose. When we paused at the huge tomb of Vodou priestess Marie Laveau, I
laid my modest flower alongside a statue of a monkey, a wedding cake couple
circled in honey, and a candle. I doubted Marie was interested in my current
trials, but it couldn’t hurt. The rest of the cemetery was interesting, and we
spent several hours wandering around reading the epitaphs and admiring the
hundreds of statues and above-ground crypts that looked like small houses. Then
we visited the St. Louis Cathedral. When we arrived there were no services, and
the church was relatively empty, a few people in the pews and a few like us
walking around admiring the stained-glass windows and architecture. Afterward,
he and I spent a while kneeling in silent prayer. To me, any church is a good
place to reflect on your life and seek the comfort of God, or his saints if
He's busy.

My life had gotten more complicated since I met Jim. I should have been
ecstatic at having finally met someone as nice as him and at having a social
life again, but I couldn't help feeling guilty dragging him into my dangerous
world. I certainly couldn't explain the real problem and let him decide. I
should just send him packing before he got hurt.
Loa, if you are listening, I could use some help.
I waited in
silence. Nothing. Maybe tonight's ceremony would convince him I'm a nut case,
and he'd decide to drop me. I wanted him to stay for my sake; I wanted him to
leave for his sake.

We decided to leave the museum for another day. After a quick tour of the
gift shop, we stopped in at the Gumbo Shop where we had a leisurely afternoon
brunch. Jim ordered a roast beef po-boy, and I ordered a blackened chicken po-boy.

"It's been a wonderful day, Renee. I'll drop you at the shop. I need
to freshen up and change clothes. I can pick you up and drive you to the
ceremony, if you like."

"No, I'll meet you there if you're still interested. The ceremony
will start at seven. People usually start gathering around six," I said,
giving him an out if he wanted it. After he dropped me off, I washed and
dressed—a
white blouse and flared skirt, a white tignon wrapped in elaborate folds around
my head, and a red scarf around my waist. I felt whole and would have sworn the
horsehead tattoo moved in agreement.

I received some smiles and looks
from the tourists as I made my way down St. Louis Street to Woldenberg Park. I
arrived a little before six-thirty and began greeting people and answering
questions,

"Do you mind if we
watch?"

"Can we take pictures?"

"What kind of a ceremony is
this?"

I didn't mind people watching or
taking pictures and let everyone know I'd be glad to answer any questions after
the ceremony. By six-forty-five, my regulars were arriving, and I spent time
greeting them, so it was well after seven when I entered the pavilion and began
drawing the ve've for Legba-Papa Labas with cornmeal.
Thanks to my Maman drummer, I now had a Segon and Boula drummer, giving
me a complete set. By the time I finished, my congregation had all entered the
pavilion, and I began the opening prayer. Next, I drew the ve've for Dhamballah
and lit a large candle, for he was known to speak through flame when he
appeared. When I finished, the
drummers began beating a rhythm, and the
dancing began while I chanted to Loa Dhamballah— considered the father of
all Loa—to bless them. As happened last time, I became lost in the dance,
feeling a connection through the flame to the Loa and from the Loa to my
congregation who felt his presence. Some time into the dance, I collapsed. I
woke with my head in Jim's lap.

"All you all right?" he
asked, looking pale.

"Yes, just tired. Vodou is a danced
religion, where the sound is a magic all of its own, which heals and creates
the energy to invoke the Loa. It's the mambo or houngan's function to create
that energy. Sometimes, it becomes overwhelming, and you feel a Loa is within
you. When that happens, it can be exhausting." I was sure he now thought I
was crazy, Vodou was Hoodoo, and that was the last I’d see of him. I'd miss him
although I thought it best for him.

"Do you want me to take you
home?" he asked as he played doctor, feeling my head, looking into my
eyes, and taking my pulse.

"You don't think I'm
crazy?" I asked. Vodou was a strange religion, especially for people whose
services tended to be very structured and solemn.

"Passionate, devoted, genuine,
but definitely not crazy—"

"Jim, you're crazy," I
said and put my arms around him, pulled him tightly to me, and gave him a long,
deep kiss. "Help me up, please. You can hold my hand to keep me steady
while I talk with those who have questions."