The Seventh Night (8 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

The Second Night

R
edefine our relationship? “I don’t know what you mean.”

He grinned, and my heart turned over. “You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for, Christine.”

I was certainly smart enough to know when I was getting in over my head. I was starting to glimpse a bit of the charm that had been so lethal in Chicago, and I knew, if I wasn’t careful, I’d forget all about why I’d come to Columbé.

My father…I had to find my father.

“Is there any place else you can think of where we might look for him?”

Reid’s gaze challenged me. For a moment, I thought he wasn’t going to let me ignore his comment. Then his eyes grew cool again, and he glanced away. “No. There’s no place else to look. We may as well go home.”

“What do you make of all this, Reid?” It still seemed strange saying his name aloud. It made us seem closer somehow. More intimate. Especially with moonlight spilling over us, and the sound of the drums filling the air with their faint echo. “Why would he disappear like this? Why would he go away without telling anyone?”

Reid shrugged. “I told you. Christopher rarely confided in me.”

“You have no idea whether or not something was bothering him?”

“No” was all he said, but something in his tone made me wonder if he was telling me the whole truth.

I glanced at his rigid profile as we followed the trail back out to the car. His flashlight lit the path in front of us, but I could barely make out his features. His stern countenance might have been chiseled from stone, so inscrutable it seemed.

I struggled to keep up with his long strides. “Were…the two of you having problems at the hotel?”

His gaze swept over me. “What makes you ask that?”

“A few things you’ve said—or more the way you’ve said them—leads me to believe you two weren’t getting along. What happened?”

“Nothing happened, Christine.” He scowled at the path, his expression reflecting his exasperation. “There are always problems in business. A partnership is a difficult arrangement. The two parties can’t always see eye to eye. It’s human nature.”

It was a logical explanation, but I wasn’t wholly convinced. Reid was hiding something. I’d almost have staked my life on it. But what? And what, if anything, did it have to do with my father’s disappearance?

I pondered those questions as we drove down the mountain in silence. We neared the cemetery once again, but Reid made a sharp turn onto another road, and we followed the coast this time. This road ascended, too, but the mountains and terrain here were somehow less formidable, less primitive.

Reid pointed out the entrance to the St. Pierre Hotel as we passed by—the first words he’d volunteered in several minutes. The sprawling white structure was brilliantly lit against the night, but I could make out very little definition as we whipped by.

“I could have stayed at the hotel, you know,” I said anxiously. “I don’t want to inconvenience anyone.”

“As I said earlier, you’ve had a bad shock. You shouldn’t be alone.”

Or was it simply that he didn’t
want
me to be alone? The uneasy notion crossed my mind again that there might be more than one reason why Reid would want to keep an eye on me. What if I learned something he didn’t want me to? What if—

Stop it!
I admonished myself sternly.
Don’t let your imagination get the better of you.
In his own way, he was probably trying to be kind and considerate.

But
kind
and
considerate
were two words I found hard to associate with Reid St. Pierre.

“I just hate to impose.”

“It’s no imposition, and besides, it won’t be for long. Just until you feel well enough to travel.”

I glanced up. “What do you mean?”

“I mean until you’re ready to go home. Back to Chicago.”

I looked at him in astonishment. “You don’t actually expect me to leave Columbé until I hear from my father, do you?”

“What if you
do
hear from him?” His tone sounded grim. “What then?”

“Then I guess it’ll depend on what he says, won’t it?” I studied his silent profile for a moment, then said abruptly, before losing my nerve, “Why do I get the impression you want me to leave the island, Reid? Why do you act like you distrust me? What have I ever done to you?”

“Nothing.” Then, under his breath, “Yet.”

As quick as lightning the suspicion was back in his voice. The tension crackled in the car between us, and neither of us spoke again until Reid pulled into a long, palm-lined driveway.

The house surprised me—a Victorian mansion on a tropical island. Nestled amongst palm, banyan and eucalyptus trees, it was a gingerbread creation complete with turrets and towers and lacy filigree—not at all what I’d expected.

Reid brought the car to a stop in the circular drive in front of the house, and we got out. We crossed the garden and stepped up on the wide veranda that wrapped around the front and sides of the house. Reid pushed open the front door and stepped aside for me to enter.

The foyer was wide and spacious, and a dramatic arrangement of bird-of-paradise blossoms sat atop a gleaming, ironwood table. The floor was black-and-white mosaic tile, with a strange-looking symbol inlaid in the center.

Reid must have sensed my fascination, for he said behind me, “That’s a
vévé,
a symbol used to invoke the
loa.
Spirits,” he translated, his eyes holding just a hint of amusement when I looked at him in surprise. “That’s what the priest traced on the ground at the ceremony earlier.”

“Which spirit is this a symbol for?” I asked with studied casualness.

The dark eyes gleamed. “
Damballah Wedo.
His image is the snake. But I’m sure you gathered that much for yourself.”

“Is he sort of the patron saint of Columbé?” I asked dryly. “I assume that’s why everyone wears those rings here on the island.”

“Don’t assume anything in Columbé, Christine. Things are often not what they seem.”

I frowned at his obscurity. “You used to wear one of those rings, as I recall.”

“So you
do
remember that first meeting.” His tone was faintly mocking. “And I was so sure you’d forgotten all about me.”

“Well,” I said defensively, “I remember that ring. Why don’t you still wear it?”

“I lost it years ago. Besides, I’m not a
serviteur,
one who serves the
loa.
Some might consider it a sacrilege for me to wear it.” His voice lowered, and I thought I detected a hint of real concern. “Make no mistake,
Christine. There are many on the island who
are
true believers, and they take their religion very seriously. That’s why I didn’t want you to interrupt the ceremony earlier.”

“What would they have done to me?”

He hesitated, a brief shadow gathering in the blue depths of his eyes. Then he shrugged and smiled, “Who knows? Maybe they would have convinced you to become an initiate, a devotee. Voodooists can be quite persuasive. Their methods can be very cunning and subtle. You’d find yourself falling under the spell before you knew what had hit you.”

He was teasing me, I knew, but I didn’t find it amusing. Not after everything I’d been through. “What about the police?” I asked, shivering in the gloom of the foyer. “Are they true believers as well? I noticed Captain Baptiste wore one of the rings—”

“That’s a question only Captain Baptiste can answer.”

Before I could query him further, a movement on the landing drew my gaze upward. A woman stood at the top of the stairs looking down at us. She remained motionless for a moment, then slowly descended the steps toward us.

She was in her fifties, I judged, but still a handsome woman, tall and slender, with an arrow-straight bearing. Her dark hair was streaked with gray, and she wore it pulled straight back from her face. Her plain gray dress looked something like a uniform, and her shoes were crepe-soled and soundless.

“I was beginning to worry…” she began, then trailed off as she reached the bottom of the stairs. She gazed at me for a long moment, her eyes scanning my features with an almost apologetic precision.

“Mrs. DuPrae, I’d like you to meet Christine Greggory,” Reid said. “Mrs. DuPrae keeps the household
running far more efficiently than some of our departments at the St. Pierre,” he added.

Mrs. DuPrae acknowledged his compliment with a graceful inclination of her head. She had beautiful eyes, I noticed as she moved closer to us. They were dark brown flecked with gold, and they tilted up at the corners, giving her an exotic, almost feline expression. I smiled tentatively and extended my hand. It took her a moment to respond, then she clasped my hand in her surprisingly strong one and smiled with warmth.

“Christine. Please forgive me for staring, but the resemblance to your father is striking. I’ll have to get used to it, though, since Reid informed me that you’ll be staying here with us.”

No inflection of annoyance from her, I decided, merely an observation. “Only for a few days,” I hurried to assure her. “I feel I’m putting you to a great deal of trouble. I could easily stay at the hotel.”

“Nonsense. We have plenty of room. Christopher would want you here with the family. I’ve made up the guest house out back for you. I thought you might want your privacy, but if it isn’t suitable…” Again she trailed off, twisting the top button of her high-necked dress as though afflicted by some internal agitation. Or perhaps she was just a worrier, I thought. Someone who tried a little too hard to please.

“It’ll be fine, I’m sure. Thank you for your thoughtfulness.”

“We’ve held dinner for you.” This she said to Reid. “We were becoming quite concerned. You said you’d be here hours ago.”

“Our plans changed,” Reid said, not bothering to explain. “Where are Angelique and Rachel?”

“In the living room.” She made a vague motion with her hand, but her eyes never left mine. “I’m sure they’ll be anxious to meet Christine, but first I’d like to know…” She hesitated, the fingers still working at the
button as her dark eyes flashed almost reluctantly to Reid again. “Has there been any word?”

“No,” Reid replied. “I was hoping you might have heard something.”

“Nothing. This is all very awkward, I’m afraid.” She smiled at me, her eyes misty with concern. “It hasn’t been much of a welcome for you, has it, my dear?”

“I’m very worried about my father.”

She reached out and patted my hand. I was touched by the gesture because I had the impression she was a woman who normally restrained her emotions. “I’m sure there’s no need to worry. Christopher can be quite impulsive.” But even as she said the words, a veil dropped over her eyes, as if she were afraid of revealing her true emotions.

She was worried about my father, too, and that fact alone drew me closer to her. No one else had shown the slightest concern, not even the police—and certainly not Reid. If anything, I could almost believe he was relieved my father was gone.

Now, if he could just get rid of me, I thought.

Reid took my elbow, and the contact startled me, making me jump.

“I’d almost think you had a guilty conscience,” he murmured in my ear as he steered me toward the living-room.

Choosing to ignore the comment, I looked around. It was an impressive room. Floor-to-ceiling windows, with beautiful, ornate molding, formed one wall, while bookcases—crowded with books and objets d’art—lined another. A grand piano dominated one large corner of the room, and two white brocade sofas flanked the fireplace. Hanging from the cathedral ceiling, a crystal chandelier tinkled softly in the breeze from the open terrace doors, and thick, Aubusson rugs adorned the polished hardwood floor.

Two women who looked to be about my age, or perhaps
a little younger, were seated on one of the white sofas, sipping drinks. When we entered the room, one of them set aside her glass and rose. The other remained seated, curling her legs under her and eyeing me with an insolent stare.

“I’m Rachel DuPrae,” the woman who came toward us said. She was a younger, prettier version of her mother, with the same quiet, unassuming grace. She wore a red dress, which accentuated her dark complexion and the thick black braid hanging down her back.

Her eyes, like her mother’s, were brown, but for some reason they seemed less vibrant than the older woman’s, less expressive. We shook hands briefly, and she retreated to an obscure corner of the room.

“Angelique, come say hello to Christine,” Reid ordered, speaking to the other woman as though she were a child.

In fact, she wore an expression I’d seen on some of my more precocious fifth-graders, and one I had become very suspicious of.

Put more succinctly, there was no way I would turn my back on her.

She rose slowly, revealing slender, tanned legs displayed beneath a daring black mini dress. Her lustrous black hair had been piled on top of her head in an arrangement that looked carefully disheveled, and long silver earrings dangled from her lobes. Her berry-stained lips curved upward, but her smile was devoid of warmth.

“Sister, dearest. We meet at last,” she said, and the animosity in her tone shocked me.

“Hello, Angelique.” I cleared my throat and tried to smile as I gazed up at her. She was a tall woman, at least five-eight or five-nine. At five-four, I felt positively diminished, which she seemed to relish. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” I said.

Her kohl-rimmed eyes glared at me. “Why?”

“Well…I’ve always been curious about you.”

“Really? I’ve never given you a second thought.”

“Angelique.” The warning note in Reid’s voice was unmistakable. Angelique smiled at him. “So you’ve decided to play the gracious host, Reid. How gallant. I wonder how long you’ll be able to keep it up.”

Mrs. DuPrae came in then, carrying a tray laden with drinks. I accepted one, and she and I chatted for a few minutes while Reid and Angelique drifted away. Out of the corner of my eye, I observed them from across the room. Their discussion had grown into an argument.

Angelique’s blue eyes sparked angrily as she glared up at her brother, but Reid’s manner remained calm, and in a moment, Angelique appeared to back down. She nodded her head, and then, as Reid leaned forward and whispered something in her ear, she laughed, her gaze meeting mine in triumph.