Hoodoo Murders

By H. L. Chandler

When the small town of Rosemont, Louisiana wakes up to find a bank vice-president murdered, bank funds stolen, and his little stepdaughter, Darla, missing the police and the FBI rush to the scene. However, the parents and grandparents of the missing child wants a more personal touch. They hire Ladonna of the Rose Detective Agency.

As Ladonna searches for Darla she runs into family deceit, hoodoo spells, and the answers to mysteries in her own past. Confronting the kidnapper she learns the shocking reason for the child's abduction. In this terrifying moment she and Darla face death. Like her favorite city of New Orleans, Ladonna is an exotic beauty with a tough, gritty side

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613091210

Book preview

One

Ilistened as Carolyn retold the story of her husband's death.  Murder is never easy to explain.

"The house was dark when I got home from the grocery store. It was around nine o’clock. I thought my husband had fallen asleep in front of the television again. That was what Martin usually did when he stayed home. He would have put Darla to bed at least an hour earlier. I tiptoed in through the kitchen door, not wanting to wake them. I carried my two grocery sacks to the counter and set them down. Then I walked into the family room.

The television was on real low. It was the only light in the room. At first, I didn’t see Martin there, stretched out on the floor. I nearly stepped on him. I stooped right down, put my hand on his back, and called his name. Then I saw all that blood. It was everywhere! On my hands, on the legs of my jeans. So wet, and it looked black in the dim light—I think that was when I started screaming.

Carolyn Warner Burke choked back a sob and covered her thin scarlet lips with trembling fingers tipped in the same glossy red.

I’m sorry, Ladonna. I’m just so worried about Darla.

It’s all right. Take your time, I said.

Carolyn had told her story dozens of times in the first two weeks of June, and I had heard perhaps that many versions of the murder/kidnapping. Rosemont, Louisiana is a small town and when someone kills a bank vice-president, and his four-year-old stepdaughter is missing, it is grist for all the gossip mills.

I was sitting behind the big leather-topped desk in the library of our house at Nine twenty-one South Clair Street. I live there with my Aunt Anna and my Grandfather Justin. Before he retired, Justin was active in Rose Investigations. When I moved back home, I started working the cases that came our way.

Carolyn and Lola Warner, Carolyn’s mother-in-law from a previous marriage, sat in maroon club chairs on the other side of the desk. Lola looked up at her husband, Robert, who was standing near her. Lola’s round blue eyes seemed to search Robert’s stern square face for instructions. Then, as if she had found a command, Lola reached out and patted Carolyn’s shoulder.

Please, Carolyn, go on. Miz Rose can’t help us if you keep breaking down. You want Darla back, don’t you?

Carolyn nodded her blond head, sniffed, cried some more, and dabbed at her sea-blue eyes. Then she started digging in her white leather purse for another tissue. Lola opened her summer purse too, but instead of Kleenex she brought out a three by five color picture. She leaned forward and placed the picture on the front edge of the desk.

This is Darla, said Lola. She is such a sweetheart. It is so cruel of anyone to keep her from us. Whoever took her even took Mr. Binky. See there, in the picture, that rabbit is Darla’s favorite stuffed toy. He is a little threadbare now; Darla keeps pulling out his silly old fur.

I picked up the glossy colored picture of a solemn-faced little girl with a moth-eaten, vile green rabbit clutched in the crook of her arm. My chest tightened as if someone had tugged on my heartstrings. Darla’s light brown hair, large brown eyes, and wistful little smile had triggered my maternal instinct. They had posed Darla on a piano bench in front of a lavender backdrop, one leg tucked under her, as she looked straight into the camera. She was dressed in a frilly pink and blue organdy dress, the ruffled skirt fanned out around her.

Lola’s face crumpled into silk-soft wrinkles, but she quickly blinked and her smooth facade returned.

We had that picture made this past Easter. Isn’t she just a beautiful baby? Darla is our only grandchild, you know.

Carolyn continued to choke and sob.

Lola raised a thinly arched eyebrow in annoyance, then pursed her plump lips and smoothed the crystal pleats of her expensive summer dress. Lola’s aging baby-doll face wore a constant expression of surprised innocence, but the depths of her shrewd blue eyes told another story. Lola re-crossed her thick ankles and her pale silk hose shimmered in a late afternoon sunbeam that filtered through the library’s louvered shutters.

While Carolyn tried to control her sobs, I studied the two people who had brought her to me. Robert Warner was in his early sixties, about five feet ten inches tall, yet heavy-set enough to make him seem shorter. He held his shoulders well back and stood with the demeanor of a man accustomed to getting his way. His iron gray hair matched his grim expression that said he didn’t like any of this, not one bit. He hadn’t liked Carolyn when she was married to his son, Bob, and he didn’t like her any better now that she had somehow managed to deprive him of his precious granddaughter.

I understood Mr. Warner’s feeling of loss. My son, Theodore, who we had called Teddy, would have been eight years old had he survived a house fire four years earlier. I was as heartsick as if it had happened yesterday. Of course we all hoped Darla was still in the land of the living.

Mr. Warner abruptly walked to one of the tall windows that opened onto the wide front veranda. A faint afternoon breeze sifted through the shutters bringing the sweet scent of wine-red roses.

Warner clasped his hands behind his back and turned on the heel of his black, polished wingtip shoes. His square jowls looked carved from pale marble.

We aren’t here to waste your time, Ladonna. I suspect you know most everything already. Do you think you can help us? The police are no better than worthless.

I’ll try, Mr. Warner. But I can’t promise anything.

Lola wrung her soft, muscular little hands.

We completely understand, my dear. It will be a comfort just to know you are looking for Darla. The police are so taken up with Martin’s murder they have forgotten all about her.

I nodded in sympathy, but I knew Rosemont’s small fifteen-man police force thought that by finding Martin’s killer, they would also find Darla. However, that wasn’t what Robert and Lola wanted to hear. They didn’t care for Carolyn and they had less feeling for her second husband, Martin, the deceased.

Mr. Warner was right, I’d started collecting bits and pieces about the murder/kidnapping the day after it occurred. The notebook on my desk already had several pages filled with information, and I had started a file in the computer I shared with Justin. I hadn’t expected to be directly involved, but Anna always said I must have been born asking, why?

Also, it was important to keep my mind occupied.

Mr. and Mrs. Warner, I’d like to speak with Carolyn alone for a few minutes. Is that all right with you?

Lola fluttered her eyelashes and turned to Robert. His strange olive-colored eyes met her questioning gaze and he gave one quick nod. Lola appeared incapable of making even the smallest decision without Robert’s direction. Their marriage seemed more dictatorship than democracy. On Robert’s signal, Lola got up and moistened her Cupid’s-bow lips.

Certainly, Ladonna, if that will help. Shall we wait in the parlor?

I stood up and walked across the dark blue and scarlet Turkish carpet to open the folding doors into the center hallway. To the right was the wide front door with its fanlight and sheer-curtained sidelights. The living room, or what Lola called the ‘parlor,’ was directly across the center hall from the library.

With the sound of the library doors opening, Aunt Anna appeared in the hallway near the staircase. She quickly came forward, a smile on her narrow face. Anna was my mother’s elder, unmarried sister and she had raised me. Anna was tall and thin; she carried her head high and wore her silver hair smoothed back from her face and caught in a bun at the nape of her slender neck. Anna had the grace and beauty of an elegant white egret.

Ladonna, are your guests leaving?

No, Anna. Mr. and Mrs. Warner are going to wait in the living room while I visit with Carolyn.

Anna smiled and motioned toward the living room. Please, do sit down. I’ve just iced a red velvet cake; may I offer you a piece?

As Anna guided them into the living room, Robert and Lola cast one last glance over their shoulders: she questioning and somewhat fearful, he glowering but grudgingly willing. As I turned to the library, my smile disappeared. The Warners were trying to be accommodating, yet I had the feeling they were not happy to leave me alone with Carolyn.

When I closed the library doors, Carolyn was waiting, dry-eyed. Although Carolyn was not a classic beauty, her nose being too sharp and her lips too narrow, she had a set of deep dimples that made up for any detracting features.

I took my time in sitting down and rearranging the notes on the desk. Carolyn crossed and uncrossed her long slim legs. Then she tossed her head and impatiently pushed a lock of blond hair back from her face.

Six years ago, when Carolyn Sims had married Bob Warner, it hadn’t caused much of a stir. The announcements in the Rosemont News were routine, as were the bridal showers and bachelor parties. In less than a year, the young Warners made the paper again, this time in the gossip column. The junior Warners had begun to fight—in public. Robert and Lola were mortified.

Robert was a retired real estate developer. In the late seventies, he had added a medium-sized mall to Rosemont’s southern edge. To out-do his father, whether we needed it or not, Bob Jr. provided Rosemont with its only high-rise apartment building. Although Robert had taken his name off the construction office door, he had not taken his hand off the controls. It was no secret his money had made Midtown Tower possible.

Robert was a hard, demanding man. Things went his way or they didn’t go at all.

Because of his father, Bob Jr. was the object of both pity and envy. When Bob’s marriage turned rocky, it was no more than what people had expected of the spoiled rich boy.

When Darla was born, the talk around town was that the couple would settle down. Instead, when Darla was three years old, Bob and Carolyn divorced. Carolyn immediately married Martin Burke, a vice president at City Southern Bank.

Now Carolyn’s second marriage had ended far worse than her first.

I tried to smile at Carolyn. I wanted to put her at ease, but my forehead kept forming wrinkles. I gave up on the smile; I was too puzzled to appear pleasant.

Carolyn, are you positive you have no idea who might have taken Darla or, for that matter, killed Martin?

Carolyn leaned back. Her dimples deepened and her thin nostrils flared, while her eyes narrowed to blue slits.

Why is it that everyone thinks I know where Darla is? Carolyn’s voice was a low hiss. The Warners are certain I had something to do with it. You might just check into what they are covering up.

But you came here with them.

How could I not? It would look as if I have something to hide. Besides, no one defies Robert Senior.

I couldn’t say I truly liked Carolyn, but that wasn’t important. I was itching to look for Darla; I probably would have even if the Warners had not asked for my help.

Carolyn, I’ll poke and pry into every part of your life, are you willing to cooperate under those conditions?

Well, of course! I’ll do anything to get Darla back. Carolyn brought out a fresh Kleenex and blotted around her eyes, taking care not to smudge the heavy mascara. You just ask away, Ladonna. I have nothing to hide.

I guess your parents are beside themselves with worry.

The Simses lived in New Orleans and I wondered why they hadn’t come to Rosemont to be with their daughter.

I’m the youngest of eight children, Ladonna. I doubt momma and daddy even remember which of their grandchildren it is that is missing. Neither of them is in good health.

Does Bob want me to look for Darla?

Carolyn shifted in the chair. She raised one corner of her thin red lips, and one high arched eyebrow disappeared into her blond hair. I wouldn’t know. Bob and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms.

But you did talk to him the day Martin was murdered, at least I heard you did.

"That is not true! That is just more of Bob’s lies. Why would I ask him to come to the house that evening and then not be there myself? If he and Martin were alone, they would kill each other."

The corners of Carolyn’s eyes wrinkled and she caught her lower lip between her teeth.

"I would never have put the two of them together like that. But Bob was there. You would think his fingerprints on the knife would be proof enough."

As she spoke Bob’s name, Carolyn’s voice dripped with venom. Since the divorce, there had been a bitter, on-going custody battle.

Are you saying Bob killed Martin?

I can’t accuse him of that. Just like I can’t tell anyone that Bob probably took Darla. When Robert Senior heard about the murder, the first thing he did was call his lawyer, Odell Demers. I know Odell is your cousin, Ladonna, but he is a snake. Before Martin’s body got to the funeral home, Bob had legal representation. Odell gave me a stern lecture about making incriminating false statements... Carolyn leaned forward, gripped the front edge of the desk, and brought her voice down to a whisper. ... but if I were going to make an investigation, I’d start with Bob and his parents. Just because Bob was speaking at the Home Builders Association doesn’t mean he couldn’t have done it.

I nodded. Sometimes even a perfect alibi could be shot full of holes.

For now, let’s start with the night Martin was murdered. I’m sorry to have you go through it all again, but I need as much information as possible.

Carolyn slumped in the chair and in lifeless tones repeated her story. "I’d been with Darla all week. Bob had been complaining that I left her with baby-sitters too much. That is one of his custody points, you know. Anyway, Darla had been a fusspot and I wasn’t about to take her shopping with me.

I needed some things at the mall and then I was going to buy groceries. So I called Martin at the bank and asked him if he’d mind watching Darla that evening. I told him I’d leave supper ready, if he’d just feed Darla and put her into bed, that’s all he’d need to do. He agreed. Carolyn lowered her head, swallowed, and wiped a tear off her cheek.

I waited for her to pull herself together. She looked up and a half smile touched her trembling lower lip.

This is hard, you know?

I did know. I knew exactly what it was like to come home and find you had lost everything. Carolyn sniffed a couple of times and picked up her story.

"I had supper in the fridge. All Martin had to do was put it in the microwave. Darla had had her bath and was ready for bed. Martin didn’t mind watching her; he really liked Darla. I went shopping and then I went to the grocery store, the Winn-Dixie out by the mall, and then I went home. It was near nine.

When I got there I found Martin. Soon as it sunk into my mind that Martin was dead, I ran down the hallway to the bedrooms calling for Darla. I nearly stepped on the knife; it was on the floor in the family room near the kitchen door. There was blood on it, too. I started screaming. When I couldn’t find Darla, I went nuts. I ran from room to room and then outside screaming her name. Finally I had enough sense to call the police. I think Avery and Marie Parker, the next-door neighbors, must have called too because the police were there in minutes.

I glanced down at my notes.

When you came home, are you sure you didn’t see anyone outside the house? You said Martin’s blood was ‘so wet.’ You must have arrived right after the stabbing. Blood gets sticky in a short time.

Did I say that? Well, Ladonna, you understand I just don’t know what I am saying half the time. I didn’t see anyone. Maybe the blood was sticky.

Carolyn had turned pale beneath her golden tan and her sea-blue eyes had acquired white rings around the irises. She looked stretched to her limit. I closed my notebook and stood.

Thank you, Carolyn. We can talk more later. Do you have a house key for me?

Carolyn had moved out of the house the night of the murder. However, she didn’t have money to rent a place, so the Warners had insisted that she move into one of the tenth floor apartments in Midtown Tower. It seemed strange they would show her any kindness, but considering the Warners thought Carolyn was their only link to Darla, they wanted to keep an eye on her.

Carolyn opened her purse and worked a single key off a full ring. Then she put the key on a small gold chain and handed it to me. Carolyn carried a surprising number of keys.

What are all the keys for? I asked.

Carolyn shrugged. House keys, car keys, keys to Bob’s house, now the apartment keys. I need to put them on different rings.

You have Bob’s house keys?

Carolyn looked at me as if I didn’t understand even the simplest things. Well, of course. We have join custody of Darla. She is always leaving things there and Bob can’t be bothered to bring them to me.

When I walked Carolyn into the hallway, Anna brought the Warners in from the living room. Carolyn hurried onto the porch, paused only a second to say I could call her any time, and then rushed to her red Acura and drove off. The Warners stood beside me on the wide shady veranda. Two huge moss-draped oaks shielded the front yard, and the porch roof had a deep overhang supported by four Greek revival pillars. A trellis, heavy with climbing crimson roses, completed the sunscreen.

As we watched the shiny car speed away, Mr. Warner squared his shoulders and wiped his hand across the lower half of his face, but his hand didn’t hide the disgust in his stony eyes. Lola looked up at him, then like a small plump hen, she puffed up and ruffled invisible feathers in indignation. She turned to me, her eyelashes fluttering.

Bob bought Carolyn that car. He let her keep it after the divorce. Just like he gave her all their household goods. Even gifts I had bought for them. I did their entire kitchen. Carolyn wouldn’t know a potato peeler from a can opener. I doubt she ever cooked. When Bob moved out and didn’t take a thing with him, I went right out and replaced everything, item for item. Maybe he was right not to want anything to remind him of her.

Mr. Warner placed his hand under Lola’s elbow to guide her down the steps. Then he turned toward me.

Call me the minute you find anything. I want to know everything. If you stay on Carolyn’s trail, it won’t take too long to find Darla.

I watched the Warners navigate the six wide cement steps down to the walkway. They didn’t look back as they crossed to the carriage drive and got into their brown Lincoln.

Two

As the Warners drove away, the setting sun tinted the two huge moss-draped oaks with an apricot glow and painted golden bars across the veranda floor. A bumblebee buzzed in the fragrant climbing rose and the crickets had begun an early evening concert.

Killers and kidnappers might run rampant beyond the boundaries of South Clair Street, yet here calm reigned. The house was a refuge from a violent, unstable world. At least it was for me. The library used to be Justin’s office, and memorabilia from his days as an insurance investigator cluttered the shelves. Justin had retired at seventy-five. At ninety-three, he was too heavy, walked with a cane, and his joints ached, but Justin’s mind showed no signs of deteriorating. He frequently reminded Aunt Anna and me of this fact.

When I had married Daniel Penne and we moved to New Orleans, I didn’t think I would live in Justin’s house again. Yet after my world exploded in loud popping flames, I came running back. Anna and Justin had welcomed me home.

Justin remodeled the entire attic floor to provide me with private living quarters. For the last four years, I had lived under the eaves of the great sloping tiled roof and every night I thanked God for that house and for my family.

The screen door squeaked and Anna came outside. She raised her soft eyebrows with an inquiring look. Well? Are you going to help them?

I’ll try.

Anna shook her head and clicked her tongue. I don’t know, Donnie. Do you think you should...? Anna let her gentle voice trail away.

Anna didn’t want this case to bring up painful memories of the son and husband I had lost. Still, it didn’t matter; Teddy and Daniel were never long out of my mind. At times, my lowest times, I wonder if Daniel wasn’t lucky to miss the constant ache a surviving parent feels. Daniel had died trying to save Teddy. I wasn’t there to help. Maybe I could help save Darla.

If only I knew who had set the fire, and why? Deep in my heart, in a cold dark spot, lurked a question with no answer: was it something I did that brought the conflagration down on my innocent family?

At that time I hadn’t begun investigating for other people. I was busy searching for the identity of my father. Surely none of my poking around could have stirred up such a violent reaction. Still, I wasn’t sure and that possibility threatened to drive me crazy. That was why I had to stay busy. I welcomed the Warners and anyone else who needed my services. Hard work held the demons at bay and kept my mind from dwelling on the past.

Justin still had contacts in the investigation field and on occasion they called him for help. Atlas Investigations and a couple of the information-gathering services understood that when they called Justin I did most of the work, under his direction, of course. The requests were infrequent, which left plenty of time for other cases.

I put my arm around Anna’s thin shoulders and gave her a hug. Come on, I’ll tell you and Papa Justin all about the Warners and the Burkes.

EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, sunbeams flooded the kitchen. The white tile counters sparkled and the lemon-yellow curtains at the back windows were translucent with the light. Anna, Justin, and I sat at the round oak table eating breakfast. Justin had his usual plate of eggs and grits along with toast and coffee. He needed to lose weight; Anna was always telling him this, but other than his aching joints, Justin was in good health and he saw no reason to change his habits. Justin’s snow-white hair and beard gleamed with silver highlights and his bright blue eyes sparkled. He was never as alive as when he was directing me in matters of investigation.

Start with the neighbors, Ladonna. They always know more than they think they do. And consider all that you hear to be rumor until you can prove it otherwise.

Anna picked at her slice of cantaloupe and nibbled at her toast. She clenched a tiny muscle at the back of her jaw. She wanted to say something, but was biting her tongue to keep it back. I set my white china cup down and caught Anna’s eye.

What is it, Anna? You’ll stew and fret until you get it off your chest.

Oh, all right, it’s what I mentioned yesterday. I still don’t think you should get involved in this particular case. Little Darla Warner is too close in age to what Teddy was. There now, I’ve said it. I don’t want you to be hurt.

Justin wiped his mouth with a blue linen napkin and shook his head. Anna, Anna, don’t get overwrought. Ladonna has her wits about her. Haven’t you, Ladonna? Justin reached across the table and patted my hand. I wondered if he felt how stiff and cold it was.

I suspect you are more worried about her talking to Martin’s father, Carl Burke, Justin said to Anna.

Anna’s fair skin blanched to an even lighter shade and a spark of anger flared in her violet-blue eyes.

Papa, sometimes you don’t know when to keep still. And neither do I. Anna stood and swiftly gathered the breakfast dishes.

I looked from one of them to the other. It was like being a child again and they were talking over my head, protecting me.

Justin pounded his mahogany cane on the black and white linoleum tile floor.

Well, you know she’s bound to run into Carl. Wouldn’t be a good investigator if she didn’t.

What is this about Martin’s father? I asked.

Anna set the dishes in the gleaming white sink, and with a sigh turned to face us. Carl Burke is of no concern to me. He is a total alcoholic and hasn’t told the truth in years.

You never know when he might start, Justin put in.

Well, I doubt it will be now, Anna snapped back.

I carried my coffee cup to the sink where I rinsed it. Please, just tell me what you think Mr. Burke might have to say. That is, if he were to accidentally start telling the truth.

Justin fidgeted in his chair and the legs creaked under his weight. Well, Anna is probably right. It was a long time ago, the man didn’t have any information then, and I don’t even know why I mentioned his name. Just forget it, Ladonna.

Anna dried her hands on a blue cotton towel and shook her head. That won’t do, Papa. Now that you brought it up, we’ll have to tell Donnie. Anna turned to me. Carl was your mother’s contemporary. Oh, he was a few years older, maybe nearer my age. He wasn’t in our group. However, just before Alice took it into her head to leave, she had started running with a crowd that sometimes included Carl. Of course, papa questioned every one of them, Carl too... Anna’s voice trailed away.

Even after all those years, what my mother had done had the power to hurt her father and her sister. Somehow the pain wasn’t that great for me. I never knew my mother.

Alice Rose was a late nineteen sixties rebel. One of the flower children. My mother’s story wasn’t that different from many