Unsympathetic Magic - Laura Resnick [62]
Puma said, “This boy has a hollow leg. Especially after he’s been training.”
“If I may raise the pressing subject of Darius Phelps without ruining anyone’s meal?” Max asked tentatively.
“Well, you obviously won’t ruin Esther’s meal,” said Jeff, eyeing the way I was packing it away.
“Go ahead, Dr. Zadok,” said Puma.
“All things considered,” Max said, “I believe we should work from the hypothesis that there is a bokor among us who has summoned baka and who has raised Darius Phelps from the dead. All for some as yet unknown purpose or goal.”
“I agree,” said Puma.
Jeff’s expression suggested he was rethinking his interest in her. “Are you people even going to consider another theory?”
“Like what?” Biko said.
“How about whatever theory Esther’s cop friend is working on?” Jeff suggested.
We all looked at him.
His gaze swept our unresponsive faces, and he sighed. “Okay. Never mind. Forget I spoke.”
“You’re not a believer,” Puma said kindly. “That’s all right. You don’t need to feel bad about it.”
“I don’t feel bad about it!”
“You haven’t seen the things that Esther and I have seen,” said Biko.
“Fine. Let’s run with that. Great. A bokor has raised Darius from the dead,” Jeff said in exasperation. “Why would anyone do that? And why Darius, of all people? Max, if you had ever met him, youd’d know there couldn’t be a less likely candidate for . . . for whatever you’re talking about.”
“What sort of man was he?” Max asked curiously.
“He was not a guy to dance half-naked around a voodoo altar with a bottle of rum,” Jeff said.
“Please don’t be condescending about our rituals,” Puma said coolly.
“Hey, I’m that sort of guy,” Jeff assured her. “Well, if the music’s good. I mean, I’m game for anything. Within reason.”
“Yes,” I said between bites of chicken, “but if we could depart from the fascinating subject of yourself and return to what Darius was like?”
“He wore suits with vests. He overarticulated his consonants. He kept hand sanitizer on his desk. Darius was a guy,” Jeff continued, “who listened to Mahler, went to poetry readings, and talked about the ‘nose’ on his cabernet.”
“Yeah,” Biko said absently. “I was kind of surprised to find out he was straight.”
“I don’t know much about zombies,” I said, “but I’m going to guess that being erudite—or gay—doesn’t automatically disqualify someone from becoming one.”
“No, indeed,” said Max. “In fact—”
“What makes you so sure he was straight?” Jeff asked Biko. “Don’t tell me you asked him?”
“No, I walked in on him and Dr. Livingston one night at the foundation.”
“Walked in on them?” Jeff’s eyes bulged. “As in . . .?”
Biko nodded. “They were, uh, giving her couch a workout.”
“What two consenting adults do in private is none of our business,” Puma said firmly.
“They weren’t in private,” Jeff pointed out. “They were at the foundation.”
“Their mistake.” I urged Biko, “Go on.”
The lad helped himself to more fried chicken. “It was late at night; I’d been training alone, and I was just leaving the building. I thought I heard Dr. Livingston upstairs in her office, and it sounded like she was in pain or calling for help.”
“Oops,” said Jeff.
“So I go running up there, expecting to find her bleeding to death or something . . .”
“Oh, no,” I said.
“And there she was with Darius. Both of them . . . well, not expecting company, obviously. It was pretty embarrassing.”
“When was this?” I asked curiously.
“About a year ago.”
“So she was a widow at the time,” Puma said, “and perfectly entitled to have a boyfriend.”
“Were she and Darius still involved when he died?” I felt rather sorry for the blond anthropologist who’d lost two men in the space of two years. Even if one of them was a notorious womanizer and the other was a wine snob.
“I don’t know.” Biko shrugged. “I don’t even know if they were involved back when I walked in on them. Maybe it was a one-time thing.”
“Well, were there rumors about them?” I asked.
“I don’t pay attention to gossip,” said Biko.
“That