Tori Carrington - Obsession

Monique nodded several times. “Yes, yes. I need to make sure that nothing sticks to me.”

Josie knew what she meant. She wanted to make certain that the curse meant for Josie hadn’t transferred to her.

She watched Monique hightail it out of the hotel without another backward glance. What remained was who would want to place a curse on her in the first place. She remembered Drew asking the question last night. Who would want to do this? She hadn’t told him. Mostly because she didn’t want to speak ill of anyone unless she was entirely sure they were behind it. But also partly because she had been too tempted to melt into Drew’s ready arms and let him take care of her.

The temptation itself had frightened her more than the voodoo ritual. She’d never allowed anyone to take care of her. Mostly because there had never been anyone who had offered to take the job. Even her granme had warned her from a young age, “You’ve got to learn how to step up and take care of yourself, Josephine.” Usually these words came after she’d been frightened by something and had turned to her grandmother for comfort. She would give it to her, but in small doses. “Ain’t nobody going to take care of you as well as you can take care of yourself. And I’m not going to be here forever.”

Josie looked toward an undefined spot above herself, wondering at the prophetic content of her grandmother’s words.

The police had come and gone last night, barely making note of the event except for its connection to the murder of the girl. Fact was, voodoo rituals were more the norm than the exception in New Orleans, and if the police followed up on every reported voodoo spell, the city’s crime rate would raise exponentially because they wouldn’t have time to do anything else. Voodoo shops selling do-it-yourself ritual kits were everywhere in the Quarter. On occasion, Josie herself had even browsed through a shop or two, curious. And, of course, Anne-Marie owned one where she also consulted tarot cards and gave spiritual readings. Before her grandmother had passed away, when Josie had had the time and cash for outings, she’d often met Anne-Marie there and they’d gone out for lunch. And now and then Anne-Marie had even set up shop here in the hotel’s courtyard.

Interestingly enough, her friend really hadn’t been by since Granme had passed, except to pay her respects. Even then, she’d commented on some sort of “presence” in the hotel and had appeared uncomfortable.

There was a shadow at the door. Josie turned toward it, her heart giving a squeeze as she found herself wishing it were Drew. Only it wasn’t. Instead, it was a man she was hoping to avoid by not calling the police last night.

“Detective Chevalier,” she greeted coolly, pretending an interest in her nearly empty guest book on the desk.

“Miss Villefranche.” He took off his fedora and put it on the desk on top of the book, forcing her gaze up to him.

N.O. Homicide Detective Alan Chevalier had worked the case of Claire Laraway and, if his presence was any indication, he still was.

“I heard about what happened last night,” he said. “Any idea who might want to do something like that?”

She shrugged, removed the book from under his hat and then closed it. “Probably some neighborhood kids playing a prank.”

And the phone calls? she silently asked. Were those a prank, as well?

“Hmm. Have you cleaned up yet?”

She turned and retrieved the key for 2D. “No. Make yourself at home.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then took the key.

“Don’t mind if I do.” He looked around the empty lobby. “How many guests do you have in residence?”

Josie’s throat tightened. “One.”

His brows rose.

While the Josephine had never been a popular place, she had managed to keep at least half her rooms full most times.

Most times, that is, until the unsolved murder two weeks ago.

“Who?”

“A businessman in for a convention,” she said, hating to describe Drew that way. “A Mr. Drew Morrison.”

“Is he in?”

She shook her head.

“Well, I’ll be wanting to talk to him.”

“He wasn’t here when I found the candles.”

“Nonetheless…”

He left the word hanging as he turned to make his way toward the steps. Halfway there, he backtracked and picked up his hat, folding the brim back as he looked at her. Then he turned away again.

“Detective?” she found herself saying as he climbed the first couple of stairs.

He slowed his steps then stopped, apparently waiting for her to continue.

Josie swallowed hard, realizing she had nearly told him of the late-night phone calls.

“Would you like something to drink? A tea, perhaps?”

“Yes. I’d like that. I’ll take it in the courtyard when I’m done.”

DREW STOOD AT THE PAY PHONE in Jackson Square waiting to be put through to his client. He watched people pass, some natives, most tourists, then glanced toward Bourbon Street a couple blocks up from where Hotel Josephine was located. He hadn’t slept well last night. He couldn’t get his mind off what had happened after he’d left, but more importantly, what had occurred after his return.

Josie didn’t trust him. He knew it wasn’t because he’d tipped his hand. Rather, Josie seemed to be naturally wary of letting anyone too close. He supposed that was due in part to the strong women in her family. As far as he could tell, the past four generations of Villefranche women had had no men in their lives. They’d been fiercely independent and it was only natural that Josie had inherited that trait.

But that made his job all the more difficult.

His client finally came on the line.

“Hello, Morrison,” he said.

Drew got straight to the point. “Who else you got working this case?”

Silence, then, “What makes you ask that?”

“Just answer the question.”

Nothing.

“Look, the person is making my job next to impossible and is only guaranteeing Josie Villefranche won’t sell.”

“More’s the pity.”

Drew let loose a series of curses after putting his hand over the receiver.

“Morrison, we don’t have anyone else on the case.”

His movements stilled.

If there was no one else working the case, then that meant the happenings last night had nothing to do with forcing Josie to sell and everything to do with scaring her.

“Close the deal, Morrison. You have three days.”

Drew hung up the phone then rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. Three days. Such a short time. But if he didn’t make the deadline, he wouldn’t get paid.

And, more importantly, he wouldn’t get a shot at the next contract he wanted.

He strode purposefully down toward Bourbon Street and the hotel.

DUE TO ALL THE ACTIVITY, Josie hadn’t had a chance to distribute the Stay One Night, Get One Night Free coupons she’d made up. She stood at the front desk, fingering the slips of paper, trying to ignore that ten minutes ago a couple of police crime-scene investigators had quietly come in and joined Detective Chevalier upstairs. Philippe had yet to show and she was worried about him.

And Drew…

She took a deep breath and placed the coupons under the desk where she could easily access them later. Drew was an unknown quantity she really didn’t have the time to consider now. Sure, she’d had mind-blowing sex with him, but she’d gone into it knowing that there was no future beyond that moment. And now that the future had arrived in all its frightening glory, her mind needed to be on the matter at hand, not remembering the way it had felt to have Drew’s mouth slide down over her shoulder, dampening her skin and igniting nerve endings that seemed to lead straight between her legs.

She picked up her granme’s hand fan and waved it in front of her flushed face as she sat down, watching the current of people move past her front door without a glance her way.

There were times throughout her life when she’d sat just as she was now, watching the people walk by and feeling like she was being left behind somehow. Like each person represented the ticking of a clock. There went an hour. Six hours. A day.

Usually it didn’t bother her much, the sensation of standing still while time marched on. But lately she’d begun to know a tinge of restlessness. Was she doing what she wanted to be doing? Was marriage something she was even remotely interested in? Did she want a child?

The questions lurked beneath the surface and chose times like these to rise and haunt her.

She’d never really considered the child question seriously. Sure, she’d had her collection of dolls when she was a girl, but given her connection to the hotel, she’d never been around children much. Besides, since hitting puberty, the focus had been on not getting pregnant and “ending up like her mother, stuck with a kid to raise and no man around to help.” Her granme had never said anything along those lines; her mother had, but her grandmother had strongly cautioned her to avoid pregnancy. Getting knocked up had been ranked right up there with driving drunk or taking drugs.

Still, did she want at least one child of her own?

And if she did, what were her options except to raise it herself, alone, without the help of a man?

Drew came to mind and she closed her eyes as much to banish the image as cherish it.

What did it matter anyway? The way things stood right now, she wouldn’t be able to take care of herself financially. To even consider adding a child to the mix was ridiculous and irresponsible and the ultimate in selfishness.

Footsteps on the lobby floor.

“Uh-huh. The rumors are right,” her friend Anne-Marie said, looking warily around the lobby. “You got the voodoo but good.”

DREW HAD WANTED TO MAKE a beeline straight for Josie when he’d returned to the hotel, but was thwarted by the presence of a woman who had to be around Josie’s age but looked at least thirty years older. It was more than the colorful turban and the loose-fitting long dress. Her haunted eyes were older than her years.