Page 24 of Hextreme Measures

“Thank you.” Ofelia forced a smile, but her gaze was roaming through the house. She was familiar with the New Orleans aesthetic — a lot of people felt they had to decorate everything voodoo chic to celebrate their roots — but this house was something else entirely.

“Ms. Purcell likes a good theme,” the maid explained as she watched Ofelia take it all in.

Ofelia stopped to stare at the cross on the wall. It was different from the crosses that often adorned the homes of Christians. It was still a cross, but the ends were wider. They also had decorative carvings in them.

“This is hoodoo,” Ofelia said before realizing she’d spoken out loud.

The maid watched her closely for a reaction. “Does that bother you?”

Ofelia shook her head. “No. I just wasn’t expecting it.” She was already calculating what, if anything, in the hoodoo religion might be able to help Angelique. “Sorry,” she said finally. “It’s a nice cross.”

“You and Ms. Purcell will get along fine,” the maid assured her. “Some people judge her faith. She has no use for those people. You don’t seem to care either way.”

“I don’t believe in any one religion,” Ofelia admitted. “I believe there is room for every religion.”

“Scientology?”

Ofelia chuckled at the well-delivered question. “Even Scientology, although I think that there are limits for every religion. If you’re hurting others, which seems to happen with Scientology on the regular, I’m not interested in protecting that form of worship.”

“Yes, you and Ms. Purcell will get along fine.”

Ofelia allowed the maid to lead her into a beautiful parlor. The walls were a dark gray color, and there were candles everywhere. There was also an ornate altar pushed against one wall, and from what Ofelia could see from across the room, there were a bevy of crystals and potion ingredients on the altar.

“Ofelia Archer,” a woman’s voice said from the gray settee in the center of things.

Ofelia turned and found a beautiful woman with mixed-race skin. It was hard for Ofelia to pick a color to compare it to because she’d never seen anything like it before. The woman’s hair was a majestic silver color. Not gray. Not white. It was actually silver. “Hello.” Ofelia held out her hand. “You must be Ms. Purcell.”

“I am.” The woman bobbed her head and gestured toward the settee. “You may call me Ellen.”

“Are you sure?” Ofelia asked, thinking of how the maid had referred to her boss. “I can call you Ms. Purcell, if that’s what you prefer.”

To Ofelia’s surprise, Ellen burst out laughing. “If you’re asking that because Rutina insists on calling me ‘Ms. Purcell,’ don’t bother. That’s something that she refuses to let go of. I think her mother instilled it in her. I’m still trying to break her of it.”

“Ah.” Ofelia allowed herself to relax. She didn’t know this woman well, but so far she liked her. “I’m assuming Pascal called to clear the way for me.”

“He did,” Ellen confirmed as she reached for the majestic teapot on the coffee table. “Is tea okay? I can get you something else if you prefer.”

“Tea is great,” Ofelia assured her. She was more of an iced tea drinker, but it didn’t matter. She would be fine with hot tea.

“Pascal and I have been friends for a great number of years,” Ellen started once she handed over Ofelia's cup. “We didn’t meet until after I was cured, however. Did he tell you about that?”

“He told me that it was better I hear the story from you.”

“Of course he did.” Ellen sighed. “That is his way.”

“It is,” Ofelia agreed. She was prepared to give this woman as much time as was necessary since it was the only lead she had. Impatience gnawed at her stomach, however.

“It happened 30 years ago,” Ellen started. “Actually, I think it was 31. No matter.” She waved her hand as if swatting at a pesky gnat. “I was engaged at the time to a man named Leonard Hebert. Have you ever heard of him?”

Ofelia had to search her memory. The name was familiar. When she finally landed on the answer, she looked at Ellen in a new light. “Are you talking about the oil tycoon who took a header off the Hancock Whitney Center in the CBD 30 years ago?”

Ellen nodded, seemingly relieved. “So, you have heard of him.”

“Yeah. He had a terrible reputation for screwing smaller businesses when he purchased them. He acted as if he had altruistic reasons for buying up the property — he was going to help the little guys by letting them rent from him — but he jacked up the rent on everybody to make himself rich.”

“Yeah, he was a real turd.” Ellen frowned at the memory. “Like … a real turd. I knew that when he asked me to marry him, and I still said yes.”

“How come?”