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  “Erin had been a customer for a long time. She was a very sweet lady. Sweet, but she had a lot of negative energy around her. We were building up her psychic shield to reflect the bad energy.”

  “Well, if she’s dead, apparently it didn’t work,” Red mumbled. Rachel kicked him under the table. She knew Red didn’t believe in psychic powers, witches, or anything of that sort.

  Madame Verdene ignored the remark. “After Erin’s last visit, I knew it wasn’t working. She was doomed. I didn’t have the heart to tell her, so I asked her to be careful and to be aware of her surroundings. I think she knew something bad was going to happen.”

  “What do you think happened to Erin?” Rachel asked. She knew Red was mentally rolling his eyes at the question.

  “She got herself killed.”

  “Who did it?” Rachel asked.

  Madame Verdene closed her eyes for a moment before answering.

  “A dark force had entered her life years ago. I don’t know a name if that’s what you’re asking, but I can tell you whereabouts to find her body.”

  Rachel nodded for her to continue.

  “She was dumped in a swampy area near an old fishing boat. In my vision, I saw a sign that had the words ‘fish camp.’ You should look that up.”

  Rachel pulled her notebook out, while Red scrutinized Madame Verdene.

  “What about her kids? They dead, too?” Red asked.

  “Her kids are still alive.” Madame Verdene closed her eyes again. She started to make a weird humming noise. Rachel sneaked a glance at Red, who was shaking his head. She knew he was reaching his I’ve-had-enough-of-this-shit limit. She was going to have to get him out of here quickly.

  “They are being held somewhere close by. Near a body of water. I’m sorry, but I can’t see them as strongly as I can Erin. I do have a feeling that you don’t have much time to find them.” Madame Verdene stood up from the table. “The husband was found, you know.”

  “You see that in your vision, too?” Red asked in a snarky tone.

  “No. I saw that on the news.”

  Rachel stifled a laugh.

  “Anyway, if you need anything else, just give me a call.” Madame Verdene handed Rachel a business card. Then she turned to Red. “You better keep watching your diet. That heart of yours is still healing.” She tapped him on the chest with her six-inch-long blood-red nail and walked back out to the front of the store.

  Rachel and Red followed her, then headed straight for the exit.

  “Thanks for your time!” Rachel called out as they left the shop.

  “Lucky guess,” Red said as they stood out on the sidewalk. He shook his finger at Rachel. “Don’t even go there.”

  She went there anyway. “How in the world would she know you had a heart attack?”

  “She didn’t say specifically ‘heart attack.’ Hell, most men my age have some kind of a heart problem. High blood pressure, high cholesterol, you name it.”

  “But she said your heart was still healing.”

  Red waved her off. “Let’s go eat.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Agent Krapek walked carefully around the swamp, her heels sinking deeply in the Louisiana muck. As thick fog rolled eerily through the hundred-year-old cypress trees hanging with thick moss, Krapek rubbed the goose bumps popping up on her arms. She would have to remember to keep an extra pair of boots and a sweater in her bag.

  “This is where they found the body.” The sheriff’s deputy pointed to a large cypress tree. “Well, I should say remains. After the gators were through with it, I’m surprised there was anything left.” He spit out a stream of brown juice.

  Agent Krapek tried to clear her mind and not think of mangled body parts and ten-foot alligators. She swallowed hard and put on her best professional face. “What body parts were found?”

  “Body part,” the deputy corrected. “A left arm, hand and fingers attached. A wedding band was still on the ring finger.”

  “Who found it?” Krapek asked the deputy. Her tone of voice was crisp. She refused to show this piddling local officer that this whole situation was putting her on edge.

  “Local fisherman. Aaron Boudreaux. He was checking his line for gators and pulled up an arm instead. Called us in and we secured the scene until the detective could come in. Then the medical examiner came and bagged it. You can check with her.”

  “Nothing else was found? Clothing, personal items?” Agent Phipps asked.

  The deputy adjusted his trousers by his belt and the chew in his mouth at the same time. “No, sir. Just the arm.”

  “This area is frequently used by fishermen, correct?” Agent Krapek tried to take a step forward, but her shoe was rooted firmly in the muck. Cursing under her breath, she stepped out of the shoe before plucking it from the mud.

  The deputy looked at her in amusement. “Yep. It’s a very popular spot for hunters.” He pointed to the east. “And it’s easy to get in and out of here without being seen, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s a good place to dump a body. The gator probably dragged it down below the water and hid it under a log until it was ready to finish eating. The arm could’ve floated downriver and ended up here.”

  Krapek felt her stomach give another lurch. “Let’s get a call into the ME’s office and go take a look at what’s she got.”

  “Our crime scene guys will be combing the area for the next couple of days. I’m not too hopeful we’ll find anything. With all the rain we’ve had, any evidence has probably been washed away,” the deputy said.

  Agent Krapek stared out over the swamp. The fog was getting even thicker, and a low roll of thunder shook the ground. It is the perfect spot for dumping a body, she thought. Gators, quicksand-like soil, lots of undergrowth, and complete isolation. Whoever did this knew the area and knew what they were doing. If this arm did belong to Erin O’Malley, she hoped that Erin had been dead before the gator got to her and that the children didn’t suffer the same fate as their mother. Agent Krapek shuddered again, then passed it off as a coughing fit. Another visit to Matt O’Malley was in the works. He had to know more than he was telling. She didn’t buy his bullshit amnesia story one bit.

  “What’s next?” Phipps asked as they headed toward the car.

  “There’s nothing we can do here until the ME has identified the body. We don’t even know if that arm belongs to Erin. Let’s take a drive over there and see what she can tell us so far.” Agent Krapek drove away from the swampy area and made note of a large sign they passed on the way out. McDaniel’s Fish Camp. Bait. Beer. Groceries.

  CHAPTER 12

  Rachel hung up her cell phone. “That was Chris O’Malley. He asked if we could stop by his house to talk to Matt.”

  They were just finishing up lunch at Emeril’s NOLA restaurant, the spot Red had been so keen to try. Rachel savored her last bite of fried chicken and bourbon–sweet potato mash. It wasn’t fun spending a half hour listening to Red complain that Madame Verdene was a fraud, but at least she was eating a delicious meal while doing it.

  “What does Matt want to discuss?” Red grabbed a napkin and wiped his face.

  “Chris didn’t say. Just that Matt wanted to ask us some questions.”

  “Are you going to tell him about our little field trip to the voodoo place?”

  “We’ll see how it goes.” Rachel wanted to change the subject from Madame Verdene. “How’s the catfish?”

  “Delicious. I have to say that New Orleans has some of the best food in the South.”

  After they settled up the tab, they headed toward Metairie, just west of New Orleans. “I wonder why Chris decided to give up his share of the house and live outside the big city.” Rachel plugged his address into the GPS unit.

  “Maybe we’ll find out,” said Red.

  Fifteen minutes later they pulled up to a spacious ranch house perched at the end of a cul-de-sac. It was of whitewashed brick and had a neatly trimmed lawn. A garden gnome sat at the corner of the flower bed, with a WELCO
ME sign in his stubby hands. Rachel had always thought that garden gnomes were a little creepy: small bearded men with smiles on their faces but distrust in their eyes, like they were plotting something evil. She eased the rental car next to a white Mercedes, resisting the urge to run the gnome over.

  “A lot different from where Matt lives, huh?” Rachel walked up to the front door and rang the bell.

  “Maybe living in a hundred-year-old mansion in the heart of New Orleans isn’t Chris’s style,” Red said.

  “Obviously not,” Rachel agreed as they waited.

  A beautiful blond woman opened the door. “Hello, you must be Rachel Scott?” She held the door open for them. “I’m Melinda O’Malley, Chris’s wife. Please come in.”

  Melinda O’Malley looked like she had just stepped out of Vogue magazine. She had on a navy-blue pencil skirt with a crisp, white button-down shirt and a hint of lace camisole peeking through. She towered over Rachel in her four-inch heels. Her blond hair was just past shoulder length and was worn sleek and straight. Her green eyes were framed perfectly in flawless makeup that avoided being too heavy. She led them through the foyer and into a spacious living room. The smell of something wonderful baking in the oven wafted throughout the house.

  “Chris and Matt are outside on the deck. I’ll go let them know you are here. Make yourself comfortable.”

  The interior of the house looked like it was straight from a Pottery Barn catalog. Nothing about it seemed warm or lived-in. Two supple leather couches were clustered around a massive antique-looking leather chest that doubled as a coffee table. There was a huge, flat plasma screen mounted above the fireplace and surrounding bookcases. The open floor plan gave the home a roomy, modern feel. Rachel admired the kitchen and breakfast room that were situated behind the living room. From where she sat on the couch, Rachel could see gleaming white granite countertops, stainless steel top-of-the-line appliances, and a gorgeous dark wood table and chairs in the breakfast room.

  “It’s a beautiful house,” Rachel whispered to Red. “But unlike Matt’s place, it looks like a museum. I’m afraid to sit on the couch.”

  “The bail bond business must pay very well,” he said.

  Rachel looked down at her jeans and tennis shoes. “I feel underdressed next to Melinda. Maybe I should’ve changed before we came here.”

  “She’s a real knockout, all right,” Red said, ignoring her comment. He was clearly smitten with Melinda. “She reminds me of that lady in the movie Lost in Translation.”

  “Scarlett Johansson?”

  “Yeah, that’s her.”

  “Hmmm…maybe a little.” Rachel wasn’t surprised that Red found Melinda attractive. She decided not to tell him that she’d taken an instant dislike to the woman, who was clearly trying too hard. Rachel knew a few women of that type back in Miami. They dressed immaculately whether they were making a quick run to the grocery store, picking up their kids from school, or running errands around town. They dressed to impress each other and to stake a claim to their position in the social chain. Money and status were of the utmost importance to these women. And Melinda seemed to fit in the same category.

  Rachel picked up one of several photo albums that sat neatly arranged on the coffee table. Opening the cover, she was met by a picture of a smiling family in front of the famous garden at Disney World: Matt, his wife Erin, and two kids were standing in front of a concrete ledge. Rachel remembered taking a similar picture with her daughter when Mallory was three years old. Right before she disappeared. That trip had been their last time at Disney World together. She flipped through more of the album pages, recognizing all of the most popular places for taking pictures at the theme park. She flipped past Erin and the kids in front of Cinderella’s castle, the kids in front of the Haunted Mansion ride, Erin and the kids posing right out front of Toontown, and the kids in front of the Splash Mountain log ride. Rachel could tell that Matt was the primary photographer on this trip due to his absence in most of the photos. She laid down that album and picked up a smaller one. This one was mostly of Matt and Erin. The couple looked almost like models posing as the snapshots moved from one on a boat, to one in front of a cute bungalow, to another with a gorgeous pool in the background.

  “Little Palm Island, down in the Florida Keys. I took Erin there for our ten-year anniversary,” Matt said.

  Rachel turned to find Matt standing behind her. She closed the album, feeling like she’d been caught trespassing on another person’s memories. She looked up to see Matt staring at her curiously.

  “Right,” she said, clearing her throat. “It looks like you had a lovely time.”

  Matt shrugged. “From what I remember, we always have a good time, no matter where we go.”

  Chris stepped into the room and quickly moved to shake hands with Rachel and then Red. “Thanks for coming over, guys,” he said, gesturing for them to sit back down.

  Rachel observed Matt as he took a seat across from her. She thought he looked a little tired. His eyes were red rimmed and he had stubble on his face. He looked different from the way he did in the pictures she had just been looking at. He seemed to be a shell of the confident, strong man she’d seen in photos. It wasn’t unlike the look of other people she’d worked for who had lost someone close to them. Having a loved one missing had a particular way of taking a toll on someone, and Matt seemed to be feeling his loss. What made him different, Rachel thought, was that Matt claimed not to have any memory of what had happened to his family. She wished she felt more confident. But this was the first case she’d been involved in where amnesia was an issue, and she didn’t feel qualified to make any assessments. Rachel wasn’t even sure where to begin. She raised her eyebrows at Red, and thankfully, he nodded discretely and took the lead.

  “How are you feeling, Matt?” Red asked.

  Matt rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. “Better. Still no memories. Chris brought over some of our family photo albums from the house, hoping we could jog my memory. I’ve been poring over them trying to recover the last couple months of my life, but it’s not working.” He motioned to the albums. “After hours of staring at photos…nothing. Well, nothing and everything. What I can remember is how much I love my wife and my kids.”

  Rachel thought how strange it must be for him to look at all the pictures of him and his beautiful family and not know what happened to them. Chris cleared his throat. “In addition to being up all night looking at pictures,” he said, “I’ve been talking over the last couple of months with Matt in detail, covering work and family stuff that happened, but he doesn’t remember anything. The doctor told us it could take some time for him to get his full memory back.”

  Melinda brought in a tray of drinks. “Homemade lemonade and chocolate chip cookies. Please help yourself,” she said, putting the tray down on the huge leather chest. Rachel thought she caught a look of annoyance as Melinda picked up the photo albums and carried them back to the bookshelf.

  Rachel reached for a glass of lemonade, while Red grabbed a bottle of water.

  “Thank you,” Rachel said. “It’s been really humid outside.”

  “The calendar says it’s fall, but we all know summer isn’t over yet,” Melinda said cheerfully. She took a seat beside her husband.

  “Are you and Erin close?” Red asked Melinda.

  “Yes. Of course. Erin and I have known each other since high school.” She looked over at her husband and smiled. “That’s how we all met.”

  “We always do things together,” Chris added. “Wednesdays were always our night to get together. We took turns having family dinner at each other’s houses.”

  “Matt,” Red said, continuing with his questions. “Did anyone know your schedule? Your daily routine?”

  Matt shook his head. “Just the people at the office. Our office manager and some of the employees. I always left early on Wednesdays to coach soccer practice. Everyone knew that.”

  “Did Erin ever mention going to a voodoo shop in
New Orleans?” Rachel asked, changing the subject.

  Melinda laughed nervously. “Madame Verdene?”

  Rachel nodded.

  “I went with her a couple of times.”

  “Erin’s interested in voodoo?” Rachel asked.

  “She’s an artist and a bit of a free spirit. She’d been having trouble lately coming up with what she called her creative juices. Erin felt she was getting some bad juju or something. We went to see Madame Verdene for help. Erin got some white sage to burn in her studio and around the house. Verdene also got her to do a spiritual cleanse.”

  “What does that entail?” Rachel asked.

  “Verdene uses a combination of special herbs on the body and even does the purification herself. She had Erin strip down to her underwear and smeared her with this special potion. Then she burned white sage and did some weird chant while blowing the smoke from the sage all around Erin. Verdene believes that when you are stuck with negative forces and energies, you must cleanse the body to get rid of them. Erin thought it was great, even though I never understood why she felt like she needed it. She has a picture-perfect family.” Melinda gestured toward the photo albums she’d returned to the bookshelf.

  Rachel thought she caught a look of irritation that Chris tossed Melinda’s way.

  “After the cleanse, Erin said she could already tell a difference. She said she felt lighter and more free,” Melinda continued.

  Rachel turned her attention to Chris. “You don’t believe in spiritual cleansing?”

  “No. I think Madame Verdene sounds like a quack.”

  Melinda punched her husband in the arm. “Madame Verdene is well-known in New Orleans as the voodoo queen. She’s helped people from all over. There are celebrities in Hollywood who have her on speed dial.”

  “Did you know about the altar Erin had set up in her studio?” Rachel asked Melinda.

  “That was another part of the ritual. Madame Verdene suggested she set one up and do daily prayer and meditation to complement her cleanse.”