Unsympathetic Magic - Laura Resnick [102]
“I’m glad I’ve got a sword,” Biko muttered. “And when I find out who created those creatures that killed Gilligan . . .”
“Well, I know who gets my vote,” I said. “The nasty voodoo priestess who doesn’t seem to like anybody, and who could easily have an agenda of her own.”
“What?” Puma shook her head. “No! Absolutely not. She’s a mambo.”
“I wish everyone would stop saying that as if it makes her a saint,” I said irritably.
“She’s not a saint,” Puma said. “But I can’t believe that she’s an evil bokor who’s committed murder.”
“That’s because you have trouble believing ill of people,” I said. “And although that’s an admirable trait, it’s not very practical.”
Jeff entered the room. “Ah! So this is where they keep the beautiful women!”
Looking upset, Puma said, “We should go downstairs. It’s almost time for the ceremony to begin.”
She brushed past him and ran out the door.
Jeff looked puzzled. “Did I do something wrong?”
Biko said to me, “I don’t like Mambo Celeste, either, Esther. And that snake gives me the creeps. But she’s been a mambo a long time around here. And Puma studied with the same teacher as she did. I just don’t know.” He shrugged. “And now we’d better go attend the service, or Puma will be hurt.”
He followed his sister out the door.
“Hi, Biko,” Jeff said. “Bye, Biko.”
“Max,” I said. “Are we really going to attend a ceremony where someone who might be an evil bokor is raising spirits? Doesn’t that seem a little dangerous?”
“Our adversary is secretive,” Max said. “And secrecy is the usual nature of a bokor. If Mambo Celeste is the guilty party, she will not risk revealing that identity to her community by doing anything untoward at a public ceremony. I believe her behavior at the ceremony will be exemplary, either because she is innocent, or else because she is determined to seem so.”
“All right.” I resigned myself to it. “I guess we might as well go downstairs now.” I took Max’s arm and exited the room. On our way out the door, we greeted Jeff.
Following us, he said, “I’m getting the impression that I’ve missed a lot.”
“You have. But do you really want to know what?” I said.
“Come to think of it, no.” He obviously had other things on his mind. “I wonder if Mike Nolan has talked to the casting director about me yet?”
I didn’t feel like talking about that right now, so I ignored the implied question.
When we reached the lobby, I stumbled to a halt and stared in surprise. “Lopez?”
He saw me and walked over to us. “I thought you would be here.”
He wore khaki slacks, sandals, and a white cotton shirt, open at the neck. He looked nice, but more casual than usual.
“You’re not on duty?” I guessed.
“Not officially.”
“Greetings, detective!” Max beamed at him.
“Hi, Max.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Well, on a quiet Friday afternoon, there was a bloody riot in the lobby of this building,” Lopez said.
“I have missed a lot,” said Jeff.
“So when Dr. Livingston told me that people here today would be invoking the spirits, communing with the ancestors, and drinking rum, I thought it might be a good idea to come keep an eye on things.”
Jeff stuck out his hand. “Hi, I’m Jeffrey Clark. And you must be Detective Lopez.”
Lopez frowned thoughtfully as they shook hands. “Have we met before?”
Jeff shook his head. “No, I’d remember a name like Connor Lopez.”
“You look familiar,” said Lopez.
“I’m an actor. Maybe you’ve seen me in something?”
“Oh.” Lopez nodded. “Maybe.”
“If you guys will excuse me, I’m going to go find Puma,” said Jeff.
“We’ll come downstairs shortly,” Max said to him.
Lopez asked me, “What are you wearing around your neck?”
“I could explain, but then we’d wind up in a long digression that would just give you a headache.”
“I withdraw the question.”
I asked him, “Did you get my message?”
“Yes. I thought I’d tell you in person. Frank Johnson is alive and well.” He paused. “Or, he’s alive, anyhow. I’m not so sure about well.”
“What do you mean?”
“He didn’t answer his phone or