“Madame Destiny was right. They do need our help,” Nestor insisted.
“But she said three people. Who’s the third person?”
“Didn’t you say there was supposed to be a housekeeper?”
“That’s right. My mom did say that.”
“I knew it. Like the movie. They took over their bodies.”
“Wait a minute, Nestor. In the movie, the voodoo people took over the good people’s bodies. The people living in this house didn’t do that.”
“How do you know?”
“Because they don’t look like them, that’s how. These three people are imposters, not voodoo followers. But where are Aunt Delphine, Uncle Antoine, and the housekeeper? That’s the question.”
“Phil, I’m not convinced. You don’t believe in voodoo so you won’t accept it as an explanation. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“Remember our first night here when we heard banging and yelling that sounded like it came from the basement? Suppose my family were taken as prisoners? Suppose they’re downstairs somewhere?”
“Let’s find the door to the basement.”
We walked to the kitchen—the obvious place for a basement door. Nothing. We looked around the other rooms. Still nothing.
“What about the garage?” I suggested.
We looked outside but noticed the garage was freestanding and not attached to the house. We walked around outside—no basement windows.
“There goes that idea,” Nestor announced.
“I don’t get this. We heard noises from below. Angel Not told us the noise was from his TV. He wouldn’t tell us where his room is or where my aunt and uncle’s room is. Isn’t it strange that we never ran into any of them upstairs? There must be a secret passageway that leads to an underground tunnel. Maybe leftover from the days of the Underground Railroad,” I said.
“Let’s check upstairs to see if we find anything.”
“OK, but let’s put all this stuff back. I don’t want anyone to suspect we were here.” I put the file folder at the bottom of the drawer but then had second thoughts. “I’m taking this. Maybe I’ll find the answer to what’s going on. Nestor, please get me a plastic bag in the kitchen big enough to fit this file folder.” I wrapped the phone cords around the phones and put them back in the drawer. We did a quick once-over to make sure everything was in place. If I had learned one thing from Colette, it was to cover our tracks.
We walked upstairs and peeked inside all the rooms. There were five bedrooms in total, including the two rooms we had used. They were all decorated in the colorful Mardi Gras style. Two of the other rooms looked like guest rooms, with empty closets and drawers. The last room was larger than the rest, with its own bathroom. The drawers were filled with women’s and men’s clothing. There were two closets. I checked the woman’s closet, and Nestor checked the man’s.
I held up some dresses and a robe. “These things are way too small for that Chucky doll to wear.”
“And these suits are way too big for the little woodpecker.”
I looked around the room. “Wouldn’t we have heard them if they slept in here?”
“There aren’t any clothes that would fit them, so where’s their stuff?” Nestor said.
“Everybody’s downstairs in the basement, but there is no basement.”
“Voodoo can make people disappear. I think.”
“Don’t start with that again. If we’re detectives, let’s look for clues. We’ve got plenty of questions, but no answers that make sense. Let’s return to the scene of the crime. That’s what they always do in the movies. I’ve got to find the hidden entrance.”
We went to the room where we had slept the first night. ”If Angel Not snuck in during the night, where did he come from? Something opened. But what?” I walked to the closet and tapped on the walls. No change in sound. No hinges or spring mechanisms. No cuts in the walls.
“Why are you banging?” Nestor asked.
“That’s what they do in the movies.”
“What’s that supposed to do?”
“Either the secret door will open to the passageway, or I’ll hear a hollow sound, which tells us it’s a fake wall. That’s what.”
“So voodoo is crazy, but secret doors and hollow sounds make sense to you?”
“Just tap and stop complaining.” I walked to the end of the room in line with the entry door. “Angel Not didn’t step on you even though you were on the floor. He must have come in over here, and that’s why he had a clear path.” I tapped on the wall surrounding the painting of Jackson Square. There it was. The hollow sound I was hoping for. I removed the painting from the wall. A levered handle. I pushed down. Click. Cold air.
“Nestor, I just found the secret passage. We’re going in.”
Nestor was nervous. “But —”
“No buts.”
“It’s dark in there.” Nestor was chickening out on me.
“We’ve got flashlights. If you’re afraid, stay here and I’ll come back to get you.”
”I’m not staying here alone.”
“Walk behind me if it makes you feel better.”
The light from the flashlights illuminated the dark, narrow staircase. We followed it to what appeared to be a dead end. I ran my hand up and down the wall until I felt a handle, just like the one upstairs. I pushed down hard. The wall opened. We were inside the living room. Next to the desk.
I heard a car far away on the gravel driveway. They were back—whoever they were —but were stopping to take the mail from the overstuffed box.
“Nestor, close the door to the passageway. I’ll run up to close the door in the bedroom. Meet me by the kitchen door.”
Luck was with us. The secret doors closed easily. The car pulled up to the front door. They argued when they got out of the car, giving us a few extra seconds. We locked the kitchen doors, ran into the trees, lay flat on our faces, and waited. I was careful not to bend the folder with the important papers. Ten minutes passed, and no one came out. We carefully made our way through the trees, found our bikes, and pedaled as hard as we could.
We rode all the way to Daisy Dukes. We hadn’t had lunch, and our stomachs let us know they weren’t happy. We locked the bikes up against a sidewalk pole; went in; sat at Jennifer’s station; and ordered some burgers, fries, and milk shakes. Jennifer remembered us from the day before, said hello, and asked about Colette. “We’ll probably meet up with her a little later. She’s still in school,” I answered.
A police car pulled up outside. An officer looked at the bikes and then came in. I put my head down and covered my face with my hand. “Nestor, don’t turn around. I think we’re busted. It might be Colette’s dad. He probably recognized the bikes and now we’re done. Don’t look.”
He made his way to the take-out counter. “Coffee. Regular.” He looked at us.
“Those your bikes outside?”
“Yes,” I mumbled. I was afraid to look him in the eye. I held my breath.
“Good thing you remembered to lock them up.”
“Thanks.” I realized it wasn’t Colette’s father. Detectives don’t wear uniforms. Something I should have noticed right away. I needed to work on that.
The people in New Orleans are friendly. They say hello and talk even though they don’t know you. It takes getting used to.
He took a sip of his coffee, said hello to Jennifer and then left.
My conscience bothered me. Lying to my parents. Hiding in Colette’s grandparents’ house. Using her brothers’ bikes without their permission. Taking the file folder. I was sure my face betrayed my guilt. I told Nestor.
“Don’t sweat it, Phil. No one’s the wiser. If you’re not caught, you’re not guilty. Besides, when dealing with voodoo, rules don’t apply.”
It was funny—two best friends walking the same path but each with a different sense of what was real. Was Nestor right? Was I refusing to believe what was really happening because it challenged my beliefs?
I pulled out my phone and texted Colette: Meet us at Daisy Dukes when you can. We’re here now.
Nestor was bored and left to check out the souvenir shops.
I pulled out the file folder and started to read. My mouth dropped opened.
Motive. Staring me right in the face.