Crescent City Chronicles (Books 1-3) Page 8

  Alex shook her head and was a little defensive when she said, "His wife has terminal cancer. He's probably upset about her. And now this voodoo stuff. I think Raccine's a good man. Not as popular as he was at first, but still well-liked here and the first lady is loved.”

  "Time will tell," he said. "In the meantime, is everything else okay?" He peered at her over his glasses.

  "I guess," Alex replied. "We'll have to hope Mrs. Raccine recovers. Have you talked with grandmother today? I need to call her. Is everything okay at the farm?"

  "Yeah. She's fine. I miss the old girl. I managed to get an earlier flight out this evening. Should arrive in Washington a little after nine with the time change. We've a late date." Adam winked at her, his eyes twinkling.

  "I'll call her soon. I've got a date too. I need to go."

  "Wait just a moment, young lady. A date with whom? Who is this man?"

  "You'll meet him. When the time's right. It's not serious. He's a close friend. Very attractive. I like him a lot." Alex smiled at Adam who obviously wanted to know more. She stood to leave. "How’s my mother? Is she doing okay?"

  "The same. Never changes. Hug me, girl, and come home soon. Place's quiet without you. Alex, focus on getting out of this God-forsaken place."

  "Will do, Granddad. Love you."

  As Adam Lee watched Alex leave, his heart overflowed with pride at her beauty and accomplishments. Chip off the old block, he thought. I deserve her. Of course, her beauty came from her mother.

  ***

  Alex barely had time to jump out of the shower and change clothes before Mitch was at the door. He appeared with a bottle of barrel-fermented special reserve Virginia chardonnay harvested and bottled at The Lake Anna Winery, a winery and vineyard not far from Alex's grandparents' estate in Hanover county. It was Alex's favorite wine.

  "I've been saving this for a special occasion but knew you could use a boost. I'd saved it for the Extravaganza."

  "Oh Mitch, you're wonderful, so thoughtful. It's perfect." Alex hugged him.

  Mitch gave her a light kiss on the forehead and returned her hug. Once again, he felt a pang of guilt that was paralyzing. He smiled warmly and continued, "I also stopped at the French market and picked up some fresh-baked baguettes, some cheese, and fruit. Put your feet up, and let me wait on you."

  "Deal. Need any help?"

  "I'll find everything. It may not be perfect, but it'll be good," Mitch replied on his way to the kitchen.

  Alex sat in her favorite chair and mentally reviewed the events of the day. She still couldn't believe what had happened.

  Mitch returned shortly with two crystal wine goblets and the bottle of chardonnay chilling in a silver wine bucket. A beautiful silver tray was piled high with bread, cheese, and roasted almonds. Grapes, strawberries, and apricots added color to the presentation.

  "Mitch, it's beautiful. Such elegance." Alex was genuinely impressed. This man is perfect, she thought.

  He placed the tray on the coffee table, went over to Alex's CD player, and selected a compact disc. He then lit several candles.

  They made light conversation as they ate their dinner. The wine, food, and music made Alex relax and drift through the meal. She closed her eyes for several seconds until the day's events jerked her back to reality.

  "What do you make of the situation at CCMC?" she asked, remembering that Mitch had grown up in New Orleans.

  He paused for a few minutes, as if collecting his thoughts and searching for the correct words. "Well, I really don't know what's happened, except what I read in the newspaper."

  "The story in The Times was perfect. It was as if the reporter had discovered Mrs. Raccine. It was disarming in its accuracy."

  "Sounds like a good newspaper reporter to me. Mrs. Raccine doing okay?” Mitch gazed at her intently.

  Alex shrugged her shoulders. "She's stable, but hasn't moved or spoken since the attack. She had some heart trouble initially, but that seemed to have cleared late this afternoon. When I saw her, she seemed to be almost in a catatonic trance. She was apparently very frightened and traumatized. She looked literally scared to death.”

  “I'd imagine so. I would think that being voodooed is pretty horrible, at least that’s what I’ve heard." He was saddened, as he'd always liked Grace Raccine.

  "You're a native. Do you believe in it?" Alex asked, once again almost fearing his answer.

  "It's hogwash. Junk. It's just a way of scaring people. Of course, I don't believe in it. Did you think I would?" Mitch noted the expression of relief cross Alex's face.

  "I don't know. I learned today that some prominent New Orleans families do."

  "Really, who?" Mitch replied and waited for more information.

  "Well..." Alex hesitated.

  "Don't tell me anything you're not comfortable with. Besides, I don't even know if I understand this stuff enough to be helpful. All I can really do is listen." Mitch picked up on her hesitation.

  "It's not a matter of comfort... it's about confidentiality and ethics. In a nutshell, I found out that some board members do believe. They're all educated, prominent people. Guess I'm just not used to the culture here," Alex ended on a plaintive note.

  "New Orleans does have its own culture, that's for sure. Any leads on who's responsible?" Mitch's face was intense as he waited for her answer.

  Alex appreciated the objectivity she heard in Mitch's voice. "Not a one. The police Captain certainly isn’t sharing anything. He grilled all the staff and presented himself at the board meeting as macho man, claiming voodoo and black magic as the reason for the attack on Mrs. Raccine. He's a real act. He had a toxic reaction to me, hate at first sight. Of course, I shared his feelings," Alex admitted.

  "Who's the Captain?" Mitch said.

  "Captain Francoise, a real jerk."

  "Oh, I know Jack. We went to school together. Your evaluation of him is correct. He seems like that initially."

  Alex was stunned. "That's impossible. He looks like he's at least ten or fifteen years older than you."

  "Hard living, I guess." The ringing of Alex's cell phone interrupted Mitch's discussion of the Captain.

  "Excuse me, Mitch, I better get that. Who knows, maybe it's the hospital with another voodoo attack." Alex smiled, feeling brash and a bit reckless from the wine.

  Mitch continued sipping his wine and thinking over Alex's comments, and wished she had revealed more. He hadn't learned much.

  He could hear Alex talking softly on the phone. Her voice was the sound of rustling silk. Once again, Mitch wished he could do things over again. He would never make the same mistakes. He'd never thought things would go this far.

  "Of course, I'll see you. You probably need to talk. Come over in about thirty minutes,” Mitch heard Alex say before she hung up the phone.

  When she returned to the living room, Alex appeared a bit harried, piqued in fact.

  "Trouble?"

  "No, not really, at least I don't think so. That's Robert Bonnet. He asked if I'd see him for a few minutes later tonight. Do you mind?" Alex had a chagrinned look, and her face was streaked red. Was she blushing? Her face felt hot.

  Mitch picked up on her embarrassment and reassured her. "No, no, of course not. Should I mind that you are dismissing me to spend some time with your ex-husband?” He smiled and winked at her. “Let me help you clean up. Is Bonnet involved in this stuff at CCMC?"

  "Only insofar as Robert is Mrs. Raccine's surgeon," Alex replied cautiously. "Only normal that he should be upset, I suppose."

  "I suppose," Mitch replied in a noncommittal tone.

  As Mitch and Alex cleaned up together, Mitch said, "I know this voodoo stuff is foreign to you and probably seems ridiculous in many ways. Just know I'm here for you and will help you all I can. Call me anytime. I'm a good listener." Mitch smiled warmly at Alex and kissed her cheek.

  "Thanks, Mitch. It means a lot."

  "Well, let me get out of here before your company arrives. I'm sure he wants to see you alo
ne. He'd probably feel bad if he thought he'd interrupted your evening," Mitch replied while gathering his things.

  As he leaned over to give Alex a good night kiss, something fell out of his pocket. Mitch retrieved it quickly.

  "My new cell phone," Mitch explained hastily. "I have it for the Arcadian project." Then he gracefully lowered his head to Alex's engaging her in a long kiss. "Take care, call if you need anything."

  After Mitch left her home, Alex touched her cheek, still flushed from the kiss. Well, she thought, maybe we're getting somewhere. He's such a nice guy. Any other date would wisecrack about entertaining your ex-husband this late at night. Mitch's just about as perfect a man as I've ever seen. She continued to think as she went into the bathroom to brush her teeth. Maybe he is just a little too perfect.

  Ten minutes later, Robert arrived at her door. He looked fatigued and disheveled. He had a tortured look in his eyes. His appearance was untidy and his clothes looked as though he'd slept in them.

  Robert kissed her on the cheek as he came in, and she smelled bourbon on his breath. Oh well, not my problem and he can probably smell wine on mine.

  Robert immediately began talking. "Thanks for seeing me. Hope I haven't interrupted your evening." Robert's eyes scanned the flat and saw its beautiful furnishings and neatness. "This place looks great. I recognize some of the antiques, though." Robert smiled carefully, his emotions clear on his face as he struggled to gain control.

  "Suppose you do." Alex returned the smile, touching his arm for support. "Some of these things have been with me a long time. You know me, I find something I love, and I can never quite give it up."

  As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized the implications of what she'd said. "The furniture of course," she added hastily, turning red with embarrassment, her heart beating frantically.

  Robert grinned at her and replied, "I understand what you mean. I'm the same way. Anyway, the place is beautiful. The floors are in great shape. You did a lot of renovation?"

  "Yes, a complete renovation. I lived in the warehouse district the first year I was here, while this house was being renovated. Can I offer you some brewed decaf and chocolate raspberry mousse pie?"

  "My favorite, as you may remember. Yes, on both accounts." He accompanied Alex into the kitchen. Robert looked around and noted the silver tray and wine decanter in the dish drainer. He immediately felt guilty. "I'm so sorry, you must've had company."

  He remembered walking past two men several houses down. One of them seemed familiar to him; probably someone he'd gone to school with but now wondered if one of them was Alex’s beau. He felt a pang of jealously and was surprised by it.

  Alex followed his gaze and simply said, "I had a friend over for dinner. We'd finished when you called. It's okay. Don't worry about it. Coffee is almost ready."

  As they drank coffee and ate pie, Robert once again admired the beauty of the hand-rubbed kitchen cabinets and the colors of the hand-painted tiles. He hesitated for a moment before he continued. "I didn't have anyone else to talk to. No one I could really trust. I trust you, and you know what happened. There's something strange going on, and I can't sort it all out. I'm hoping you can help me."

  Alex intently gazed at Robert and said, “What do you think is wrong?"

  As he searched for the best words, Alex watched him carefully, looking for signs of anxiety and discomfort.

  Robert replied, "I know you may think this is stupid and that I'm reading into things and perhaps I am... however, I feel as if someone is trying to hurt or destroy me. I don't know why. It's just a gut feeling."

  "What makes you think so? Anything specific?"

  "Some specifics, but nothing concrete to validate my feelings. I've had trouble with some business dealings. I've been pressured to sell some land, but I've refused. In and of itself, that's really not a big deal. I've been dating a woman for several months, and that relationship has been deteriorating. It's probably my fault. I just don't trust her anymore. Don't know why exactly. It's just a feeling. She's a real-estate broker, very successful, and she's been pressuring me to sell the same land. Of course, I realize she has a vested interest in the sale, but I have plenty of other property she could sell, and probably make more money. She brought me a generous offer on the property from some out-of-town venture capital group. I have a suspicion that someone must want to develop that last bit of riverfront with a casino or hotel, because only an investment like that could pay off. I don't remember who the venture capitalists were. I turned it down. Anyway, since then I've gotten several threatening phone calls suggesting that bad things would happen to me, or people I cared about, if I didn't sell the land. Truth is, it’s not really mine to sell. I own it jointly with my father. I know he won't sell, so I haven't even asked." Robert paused for a moment to think and then continued, "I got another phone call at Gulf Shores this past weekend, sort of a 'sell or else' call. I hung up on them. Then, this morning I got to work and found out about Grace Raccine. I can't help but think that all of this is possibly tied together."

  Alex interrupted him saying, "I hardly think someone attacked Grace Raccine because you wouldn't sell some land. Think about it. Whoever attacked her is certainly bad, very evil, but don't you think it's more likely a political maneuver?"

  "Maybe, but remember that the Raccines and my family have been friends for years. Grace is practically my second mother. Their son, Ron, was my best friend until he was killed five years ago in Afghanistan. Ron Raccine and I were practically brothers, and I virtually lived at the Raccine's house when I was growing up. I think they, whoever they are, are trying to get at me, maybe through the Raccines. When I put all this together, particularly when I factor in what you told me yesterday about the malpractice actions and the internal complaints, I can't help but wonder if the events are related, you know, like a conspiracy." Robert paused and carefully watched Alex's reaction.

  Alex shook her head but her response was pensive as she clicked through Robert’s concerns. She remembered the tragic death of Ron Raccine. It was shortly after their divorce, and she had witnessed Robert’s sadness. He was devastated. It seemed as if his world was crashing down. She had met Ron Raccine, a West Point graduate, several times, and had really liked and respected him, especially his patriotism when he easily could have been dismissed from entering an unpopular war.

  “I don’t know, Robert, I’m not sure. Some of these things are totally unrelated to the hospital. It just doesn't make sense. Anything else going on?"

  "Just one more thing and it just happened a couple of hours ago. I got a phone call from a man. Said he had to warn me that someone wanted to kill me. Told me to be careful, that he thought they were planning to kill me very soon."

  "What! That’s awful. What else, did he say anything else? Did you call the police?" Alex could feel her heart thudding in her chest.

  "Not really. Said he called to warn me because I'd been good to him. He said I'd helped him out in the past when no one else would."

  "Who do you think it was?" Alex felt tingly all over while chill bumps popped up on her arms. She was scared and anxious for Robert.

  "Don't have a clue. Could be a patient, or a family member. Could be some patient from the free clinic I run. I just don't know. He sounded young and scared." Robert repeatedly tapped his spoon against the table.

  Alex shook her head. "This is frightening, extremely frightening. You should call the police."

  "No, maybe later. I just wanted to tell someone. I'm going to wait a few days and see what turns up."

  Alex's forehead was creased into frown lines as she considered Robert's story. "Do you believe in voodoo?"

  He thought carefully before answering. "I believe in forces of good and evil. I think voodoo is simply a manifestation, an instrument of evil, but whether I believe in it or not is irrelevant at this point." Robert appeared sad. "Alex, I feel responsible for what happened to Grace Raccine. I think someone used her to get at me."

 
; Alex sighed and spoke, "Robert, it's late and we're both tired. We’re not thinking very well or objectively. Let's talk later and try to figure this out. In the meantime, please, please, please be very careful. Please call me if you need help. Is Mrs. Raccine better?"

  Robert nodded. “I will keep in touch and let you know. Grace was the same at nine tonight. I stopped by the hospital to make late rounds." Robert paused and added cautiously, "When I say okay, I mean okay physically. There's no improvement in her level of responsiveness... she’s in a catatonic state."

  Alex shook her head sadly. "Let's pray she improves." Then she smiled and yawned for her king-sized Euro mattress.

  "It's getting late. I'll talk to you soon. Thanks for letting me come over. It means a lot to have a friend, someone I can trust." Robert looked grateful and smiled sheepishly. He reached out and hugged Alex, and she hugged him back.

  As soon as Robert left, Alex remembered she'd forgotten to ask him about the new board member. A small sense of fear swept over her, and she wondered if Kevin Anderson figured into Robert's troubles. The thought kept returning to her as she prepared for bed. Alex slept fitfully the entire night, with dreams of bloodied roosters, snakes, and angry realtors interrupting her night's rest.

  Chapter 7

  Alex walked to work the next morning. The day was crisp and beautiful, and the sun was shining brightly. New Orleans was lovely in February. The air was fresh and fragrant from the smell of lilacs, and the tulip trees were in full bloom. The walk also made Alex long for a simpler time, like springtime on the family farm in Virginia.

  The walk was invigorating and gave Alex time to clear her head and figure out the best way to handle yesterday’s events. She entered the hospital and was pleased that everything seemed normal. There'd only been one news truck in the parking lot. Good, she thought. Maybe we're old news.