Night Mist

Staring at the rounded, broad-planed face that looked more like forty than the sixty-something Adorabella claimed was Jewel’s true age, Rachel thought it might be fascinating to learn if Jewel really could see out the back of her head, as well as through walls. On the other hand, Rachel’s world was already overwhelmed with mystery and mayhem—did she need to be taking on any new challenges?

“Actually,” she began, taking a step backward, “I was about to—”

“I done poured your coffee. C’mon.”

As fast as it had appeared, the head withdrew, leaving the door to swing back and forth like a beckoning hand. Rachel wiped her palms on her jeans and advanced toward unknown territory.

From the moment Adorabella had introduced her to her tall, bone-thin housekeeper, Rachel had felt an undeniable awe. Because of the control in the older woman’s eyes, she’d told herself. She’d never known anyone with more confidence than Jewel Bonnard, reverentially called “Widow Jack” by almost everyone else in town. That nickname was a result of being the longtime widow of the unfortunate “Handsome Jack” Bonnard, as well as the parish’s most celebrated hoodoo woman.

Rachel had heard the first of many outlandish tales about Adorabella Levieux’s longtime companion and employee at the café. Because of Jack’s roving eye and philandering ways, Jewel had been influential in his early demise. The law never filed charges—fear of being hexed themselves, some insisted. That story proved to be the cornerstone of her theory that Nooton was hardly the innocuous hamlet it appeared to be.

Having no idea what she was walking into, she pushed open the kitchen door. On the other hand, she reasoned, could anyone truly prepare for a close encounter with a voodooeinne?

The kitchen was larger than some dance floors she’d seen, no doubt built to accommodate the lavish entertaining that was reputed to have gone on in the house decades ago. Jewel made it her own place by scent alone. Rachel tried not to react to the malodorous concoction simmering on the great stove on the opposite side of the room, certain she didn’t want to know whether it was a cure or a curse.

“Are you sure I’m not taking you away from anything?”

“Just washing the evilness out of these sheets.” Jewel stirred the contents of the black cauldron, her size-twelve feet planted solidly in a pair of men’s leather loafers. “Promised Miss Adorabella I’d make the she-cat see the error of her ways.”

“I…see.” Rachel guessed this had something to do with the divorcée on the second floor. Cecilie—no Celia something-or-other. Maybe the less she knew about that story the better. “I suppose Mrs. Levieux isn’t up yet?”

“Won’t be until noon. Sit.”

Rachel took a seat at the chrome-edged table where a cup of pitch-colored, steaming coffee indeed waited. “That’s late even for her. She didn’t overdo it with the pills?”

“Told you about them, did she?”

“The bottle fell from her pocket one day while we were chatting.” Rachel added a little sugar to her coffee before tasting it. She didn’t usually, but it was a potent-looking brew. Besides, she reasoned, extra energy wouldn’t hurt either. “You’re aware they’re sleeping pills, aren’t you, Jewel?”

“Who do you think went with her the first time the prescription needed filling?”

Rachel moistened her lips. “Aren’t you concerned about her mixing alcohol with drugs?”

“I’ve been taking care of her for years and years,” Jewel replied, without turning around. “Ain’t nothing gonna happen to her until the Lord calls her home.”

It took what little patience Rachel had left not to explode. But she’d seen too many deaths that were a result of exactly this to keep silent. “Faith is a wonderful thing. But, Jewel, we’re talking about a potentially lethal combination here.”

“Nothing lethal about baby aspirin. Not in the doses I give her.”

Rachel had been lifting the cup to her lips…and stopped it an inch away. “I beg your pardon?”

“She’s been taking baby aspirin for three years now and ain’t figured out the difference yet. Also been weakening her drink with peach juice. I know my business,” she added, shooting her a sidelong look. “Knew it long before you were sucking on your mama.”

It was on the tip of Rachel’s tongue to drolly inform the woman that her mother had never let anyone get that close to her, but she decided the technicality was insignificant to the lesson learned. Not knowing whether to be relieved or amused, she covered the awkward silence by finally tasting the coffee. It was as strong as she’d suspected, but welcome.

“It would seem I owe you an apology,” Rachel murmured at last.

“You’re just young, child. Ain’t nothing for me to take offense over.”

So much for backhanded compliments, Rachel mused, glancing out the window on her left and sighing at the fog. “Well, at least someone is getting some rest. I don’t know how she does it in this weather, though.”