“Who was…?” Eden began, but Mary had already ended the call, grabbed her hand and started dragging her toward the bedroom.
Eden yanked free. “Are you crazy? Who was that?”
“A neighbor. The cops came again. Lisa’s been taken in for further questioning.”
A streak of lightning over the old city caused the power to flutter for several seconds. Eden rubbed her wrist.
“Go on. I know there’s worse to come.”
“They have a witness.”
“Someone saw Lisa murder Maxwell Burgoyne?”
“Apparently.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No, that’s New Orleans.” Thunder shook the foundations of the old building. Mary’s eyes glittered. “You know the justice system, Eden. All it takes is one bad cop. He wants Lisa guilty, bam, she’s guilty.”
“It’s hardly that simple, Mary.” And Eden didn’t want to go there in any case. “What’s your point?”
“Look at you, Eden.” Planting both hands on her shoulders, Mary propelled her to a plantation mirror in the hall. “Look at your face. Look at your hair—dark, thick, long. Green, green eyes. Gorgeous features.”
Eden saw it coming. She might be a step behind, but only a baby step.
“You and Lisa are ringers for each other.” Her sister sounded both triumphant and relieved.
Eden resisted the idea. “Mary, we’re not…”
“To a stranger, you are.” She caught Eden’s glare and shrugged. “Well, okay, you’re close enough, or you will be once I fix your hair and you put on a pair of jeans and a pink T-shirt.” She frowned. “I think that’s what Lisa was wearing today. Pink or peach.”
“I don’t have a pink T-shirt.”
“Close’ll do, Eden.” Exasperated, Mary tugged and twisted until Eden’s hair was wrapped in a messy bun. She found a pencil on the hall table and stuck it though the knot to secure it. Then she stood back. “It’ll work.” She spun Eden around. “You have to do this, okay? Lisa’s our sister, and we both know whoever he or she is, this witness is lying. Lisa doesn’t even swat flies. She wouldn’t hit a man on the head and kill him.”
“Mary…”
“Please, please tell me you don’t have an alibi for Sunday night.”
“I don’t need one.”
“Stop being difficult. What did you do on Sunday?”
For Lisa’s sake, Eden relented. “I had dinner with Dolores at her place.”
Dolores Boyer was their natural grandmother and the only family member Lisa, Mary and Eden all got along with. She made her home north of New Orleans in the bayou and only came to the city when she absolutely had to.
“That’s perfect.” Mary arranged strands of loose hair around her sister’s face. “She’ll go along with you when she realizes what’s at stake.” She stopped styling. “You were alone, right?”
“Yes.” Eden removed the pencil. “Look, Mary…”
“There’s no look. Our neighbor specifically said the word lineup. You have to be in it.”
Eden studied her reflection. Lightning forked through the night sky, threatening the power once again. But even though the lights trembled and faded and the hall was poorly lit, she saw Lisa’s features in her own.
Struck dead in a graveyard, Mary had said. No way had Lisa done that. But there was a witness…
“Must’ve been drunk,” she decided. With a sigh, she took the pencil from her sister, wound her hair back up and headed for the bedroom.
“Where are you going?” Mary demanded.
“I have an old red T-shirt somewhere. I also have to phone Dolores and tell her about Sunday night.” The lights popped off then on. “Look, let’s get this done while I’m still feeling halfway sane.”
For some reason, the words Mary had recited earlier ran through her head.
“‘…For deeds long past, chère child will reap, my vengeance curse, of death—or worse.’”
It was a family curse, Dolores had told them, passed through her to their birth mother Lucille, then on to Lucille’s eldest child. In the para-scientific world, that made Eden the target of its voodoo wrath.
And for the first time since she’d heard it ten years ago, the malice behind it made Eden shiver.
ARMAND LAMORTE stood in the shadows on the glass side of a two-way mirror and regarded the assortment of women behind it.
Without looking away, he spoke to the officer who’d just entered, a veteran cop with a gimpy leg and a ratty clipboard. “What’s the woman’s last name, Al?”
“Mayne, Lisa. She’s twenty-eight. Owns two big garden supply shops and a catering company in the city. You know the family?”
“I’ve heard of them. She inherited well.”
“Every dime of the old family money. She was the sole heir, adopted at twenty-two months. She has two blood sisters but no siblings in the legal sense.”
“The three were split up?”
“At a young age. Don’t know the story there.” Al flipped through the wad of papers on his clipboard. “I do know the other two weren’t as lucky moneywise. The youngest crapped out totally. Her old man lost his job and turned to alcohol. Her ma died when she was ten.”
Armand’s gaze settled on the most striking of the women behind the glass. She wore a snug fitting red T-shirt that ended just above the waistband of her equally snug jeans.
Al followed Armand’s gaze. “That’s Eden Bennett, one of the sisters. She’s older than the suspect by a year.”
Armand half smiled. “I met her ex once.”
“Then you’ll know she’s not a fan of cops or cop stations. She called in a favor and got herself into the lineup. I’ve seen the pair of them close up. There’s a strong resemblance.”
“That should confuse your witness nicely.”
“You don’t have to sound amused,” Al grumbled. “I’m stuck with the paperwork on this one, and trust me, between Burgoyne and his holdings, a tardy witness, no murder weapon and now a doppelganger tossed into the mix, I’ll be filling out reports for the next six months.”
Armand kept his eyes on Eden. “You think Lisa Mayne hit him?”
“Personally? No. Poison’s a woman’s weapon.”
Armand’s lips curved. “Some would call that a sexist remark.”
“I’m sixty-two and deskbound. I’m entitled. I told you, I’ve seen the woman. In my jaundiced opinion, she wouldn’t have bludgeoned the guy.”
“Maybe she has a Jekyll and Hyde personality.”
“Not from what I saw. A little off in space, maybe, but hey, she’s rich.”
Armand couldn’t resist a grin. “You need to get out more.”
“What I need is for Parker to get his butt in gear. He’s handling the witness. Name’s Robert Weir. He looks like a librarian.”
“Credible?”