CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Jean opened the old family Bible, turning to the pages to where he remembered seeing Genevieve’s name. Sure enough, she was below her father, Raphael. Each child had a story; each daughter was listed with the man they’d married and their children. All except Genevieve.

It nearly crushed Father when Genevieve ran off to marry that man. Hilda even said she’d accepted a ring. She barely knew him, and Father hadn’t approved the marriage. She’s never done anything so impetuous in all her life.

Jean tried to flip the pages and realized there were two stuck together. Probably from Rafe’s sticky sucker fingers when he was a kid. He’d spend hours in the library reading the books but always had a sucker in his hand. That kid could make a sucker last for an entire day.

Jean shook his head, separating the sticky pages.

“Damn,” he muttered to himself. “There’s more.”

I know Father loves his new wife, but none of us believe she wants him or us to be happy. Genevieve is the last of us at home, and the poor lamb has been sick since her arrival. Matilde and I suspect something is a foul, but Father will hear nothing of it.

She has no concept of the plants in the gardens. Just the other day, she was picking hemlock for tea. Hemlock! Matilde and I are worried that she was giving it to Genevieve. If she has, there is no telling where our dear sister has gone to.

What makes this all the more mysterious is that Madame Brouvon was out here just the other day conversing with Stepmother. Why would she be speaking to such a woman? We will continue to search for our beloved sister and pray for her soul. My own dear husband has gone after the young man in question.

“Young man in question? Could you not give me a fucking name?” growled Jean.

“Trouble?” asked Luc.

“I definitely think there was trouble. I don’t remember any stories at all about Raphael’s second wife, do you?”

“None,” said Luc, shaking his head.

“This is pretty disturbing.” Jean turned the book toward his brother, watching as he separated the sticky sheets as well. “Rafe?”

“Probably,” laughed Jean.

“Damn. The sisters thought the stepmother was poisoning her. Genevieve did say that she was pushing for her to get out of the house. But I say again, I’ve never heard of a second wife for him,” said Luc.

“I tell you what. You help me with Genevieve, and I’ll help you with Archie,” said Jean.

“Deal. What first?”

“I think we need to find out if this Madam Brouvon is still in the area, or her descendants. People like that kept notes and maybe even a diary. Hopefully, her family can tell us something about it,” said Jean.

“Let’s take a look,” said Luc, searching the name on his phone. “What do you know? Madam Brouvon – Voodoo Priestess – Fortunes Told – Sickness Healed – Since 1822.”

“That’s an old woman,” smirked Jean. “Where is she?”

“Where else? Bourbon.”

Luc and Jean nearly missed the entrance to the courtyard where Madam Brouvon was located. The gate was weathered, the boards cracking from the water and wind. As they opened it, the creaking made them both raise their brows.

“Excellent effect,” smiled Jean.

Inside the courtyard were a number of outdoor seating spaces. The plants were hanging from wrought iron hooks, the sound of the fountain trickling in the center of the courtyard.

“What now?” asked Luc.

“Beats me. I don’t see anywhere to knock or check-in.”

“Can I help you?” said a woman. Both men jerked slightly, startled by the sound of the voice.

“Sorry, we didn’t see you.”

“That’s the idea,” she smiled. “I’m Madam Brouvon. How can I help you?”

“Well, it’s nothing for us but more for a friend.”

“A spirit,” nodded the woman. Luc stared at his brother, then back at the woman. “You don’t have to believe, but I would think, being Robicheauxs, you would believe in something so basic.”

“How – never mind,” said Jean, shaking his head. “Then you know why we’re here?”

“I know that you’re here to help a spirit.”

“Genevieve Robicheaux. We believe she was murdered more than two hundred years ago, perhaps by her father’s new wife. We found a Bible entry by her sister claiming that an ancestor of yours with the same name went out to visit her.”

“My ancestor would not have gone out to Belle Fleur,” she said, shaking her head. “But there were many that claimed they could conjure spirits, combine potions, and help others to do harm.”

“I’m afraid that’s not very helpful,” said Jean, raking his hand through his thick head of hair.

“It’s very helpful,” smiled the woman. “There are only three places that would have been in existence for the timeframe you’re speaking of. Madam Marie Laveau, myself, and Mistress Cora. Madam Laveau would not have helped the woman.”

“How can you be so sure?” asked Luc. The woman smiled at them, letting out a small burst of laughter.

“Do you know nothing of your family’s history? Nothing of who you are? No one would have dared to harm a Robicheaux. Not even Madam Laveau. Mistress Cora was inexperienced and trying to make a name for herself. Her shop is still open on Harbor Road.”

“Thank you,” said Jean. “What did you mean, no one would have dared harm a Robicheaux? Did my family threaten your family?”

“Threaten my family?” she laughed. “No, Mr. Robicheaux. Your family protected our kind as long as we did no harm to others.”

Luc and Jean stared at one another, unsure of what to ask next. They looked around the courtyard, trying to find the door from which the woman had appeared. When they looked back, she was gone.

“What the fuck just happened?” asked Luc.

“I don’t know,” said Jean, shaking his head. “I think we need to add this to the million other questions we have for Mama. For now, let’s find this Mistress Cora.”

The storefront for Mistress Cora was much easier to find than the last one. There was a big neon sign on the front of the small home with an eye staring at you. She claimed to provide potions, lotions, teas, and spiritual guidance.

Opening the door, the bell rang, and a woman called out that she would be right there. The overwhelming smell of incense nearly knocked them to their knees. Bins of crystals and rocks, talismans and voodoo dolls filled the small shop. The walls were painted a hideous shade of purple with black trim.

“Don’t touch anything,” whispered Jean.

“May I help you?” asked an older woman.

“Are you Mistress Cora?” asked Luc.

“Yes. Did we have an appointment? I don’t remember having an appointment with anyone today. My memory isn’t what it used to be,” she frowned.

“Well, that could be tragic for us,” said Jean. “We think an ancestor of ours might have been at the end of a very unsavory plan by her stepmother. Two hundred years ago.”

“Oh,” said the woman. “Did you want me to attempt to reach her?”

“Uh, no. We’ve got that covered. We were hoping that you might have records back that far that could tell us whether or not your ancestors ever met with her stepmother.”

“What was her name?”

“Hilda Robicheaux,” said Jean. The woman smiled, clapping her hands together. “Is that exciting?”

“For me, yes. The Robicheaux family has been one of the most prominent families in New Orleans for centuries. They are insanely wealthy but just as insanely generous. My ancestor was competing against the likes of Marie Laveau and Madam Brouvon. When Mrs. Robicheaux came in and paid her, she framed the receipt.” The old woman pointed to the wall.

Luc and Jean couldn’t believe it. They walked toward the weathered frame hanging crooked on the wall. Jean straightened it, unable to help himself, then read the receipt.

“Advice on botanicals and their uses. She asked about the plants?” asked Luc.

“It appears so. She didn’t purchase anything other than advice, but my ancestor was so excited, she had to show her other clients that she was bringing in important people.”

“I see,” said Jean. “We were hoping for more, I’m afraid.”

“Have you checked your family’s apothecary diary?” asked the woman.

“The apothecary diary?”

“Yes. Every large farm or plantation would have kept one. It would log in the medicines, tinctures, botanicals, or holistic items they had on hand, then it would record every time someone needed something.”

“Miss Cora, you’ve been tremendously helpful. Thank you!” said Luc, kissing the old woman’s cheek. She giggled. Then Jean picked her up, hugged her tightly, and kissed her as well.

“Oh! That was exciting!”