Read Online Vieux Carré Voodoo by Greg Herren - Free Book Online Page B

me. “Someone had written a book about the
occupation of New Orleans during the Civil War—I don’t remember who or what the
name of the book was, but—” I closed my eyes. I could see us all sitting around
Mom and Dad’s table. Frank was next to me, and had been rubbing my calf with his
foot under the table. Mom, Dad, and Doc had been at the other end of the table.
“The book was a defense of Spoons Butler, and Doc was furious about it.” He had
been. His face had reddened and he had pounded his fist down on the table a few
times to accentuate his points. Benjamin “Spoons” Butler, or Butler the Butcher,
had been the military dictator of New Orleans after the city fell to the
Yankees. He’d been called “Spoons” because he used his authority to steal
everything he could get his hands on—even the silverware. A hundred and fifty
years later, Butler was still reviled in a city that never forgot. “Apparently,
he’d shredded the book and its conclusions. He really enjoyed that kind of
thing, frankly.”
    She made a note on her pad, and asked, “I know it’s a mess
in here, but can you tell if anything is missing?” When I shook my head, she
walked into the hallway.
    I followed her. The mess was just as bad in the hallway. I
didn’t see how anyone could tell if anything was missing—not even his maid would
be able to tell. Room after room was more of the same. Not a single book was
left standing on a bookshelf. The art had all been yanked down from the walls.
Not a single chair or couch had escaped being slashed to pieces. Drawers were
open, their contents dumped on the floor. I tried not to step on anything, but
glass crunched under my feet with every step.
    “Some of this art is really valuable,” I said, pointing at a
ruined canvas tossed into a corner, scarred from the broken glass. “That’s an
original Dureau, it’s worth a lot of money. He lent it for a show at the Museum
of Modern Art last summer.” I shook my head. “This couldn’t have been a simple
robbery. The art is worth a lot of money, Venus. Why would they damage it rather
than steal it? It doesn’t make sense. Whoever did this was looking for
something.” A thought tried to form in my mind, but slipped away.
    “You have no idea what they could have been looking for? Was
there something really valuable he had hidden somewhere in the apartment?”
    I shook my head. “No, Venus, I’m sorry. I just don’t know.”
    I heard a voice in my head.
The entire place was torn
apart.
    Levi’s grandfather’s place had been trashed, too.
    I put that thought aside. It didn’t make sense.
    I walked into his bedroom. The mattress and box springs had
also been slashed and tossed off the bed. The bed covers were piled in a corner.
It was more of the same. The floor was covered in debris from shattered
bric-a-brac, destroyed books, and framed art. The carpeting had even been
slashed methodically.
    “They had to have done this before they killed him,” I said
aloud.
    Venus nodded. “That’s what we think. This kind of
destruction took time. Once he went off the balcony, they only had a few moments
to get away before someone called the police—they certainly didn’t have the time
to trash the place and get away.”
    I winced at the thought of Doc having to witness all of his
belongings being destroyed. “Unless he was already dead when they tossed him.”
But that didn’t make sense, either. In fact, tossing him off the balcony seemed
kind of dumb. While the balcony was certainly high enough for the fall to be
deadly, there was also no guarantee the fall would kill him. He could have
landed in any number of ways that would have caused serious injuries that might
not have been fatal. And if he was already dead, why throw him off the balcony
in the first place? They could have just left the body in his apartment, and
there was no telling how long it would take before he was found. It could have