The Axeman's Jazz

shop, along with touristy gris-gris, incense, and a few books.
    “I wonder if you know a woman named Di? Diamara Breaux?”
    ”Am I supposed to?” The young woman had a full mouth, wore no lipstick, and could have been a movie star.
    “I don’t know. I thought maybe this might be a kind of center for people who’re into voodoo.”
    The voodoo woman shrugged.
    “I need to find her.”
    “I don’t know her.” Her mouth hardened and she went back to her book.
    Skip hadn’t mentioned her job because she didn’t want to tip Di’s voodoo friends that a cop was asking about her. But she believed this woman; she seemed authentically not to give a damn.
    She pulled out her badge. “I’m Skip Langdon. New Orleans police.”
    “Oh.” The woman laid the book down, her face serene.
    “Good book?”
    “I’m sorry. I thought you were a weirdo. We get ’em in here.”
    “Could I ask your name?”
    “Kendra. Kendra Guillory.”
    “Pretty name. Listen, you’re not in trouble and neither is the woman I asked about. I’m just trying to verify whether she’s really who she says she is. I gather by your book that you work here because you’re interested.”
    Guillory waited.
    Skip wondered why she felt so embarrassed. She had a feeling there was something secret about practicing voodoo, that people didn’t like being asked about it. “I don’t know how to say this, exactly,” she said, “but is there a sort of voodoo community in New Orleans? Do people who practice get together? Do they know each other?”
    “We prefer to call it Voudun.”
    “Sorry.”
    She shrugged again. “This woman says she’s a priestess, right? She offers to do spells and gris-gris for a price—is that the idea?”
    “I can’t really talk about that.”
    “I hate these frauds, I swear I do. We don’t do it for money. It’s a religion. People don’t get that. You know what she probably did? She probably read a couple of books”—she swept an arm around—“and now she says she can raise the dead or something. Maybe she channels Marie Laveau. You wouldn’t believe some of these people.”
    “You’re sure you don’t know her?”
    “Don’t know the name. What’s she look like?”
    “White. Very small, black hair with a lot of curls, perfect figure—extremely pretty woman. Maybe forty, maybe fifty; I don’t know.”
    “Look, membership is secret. If she were an initiate, I couldn’t tell you. But I hate these damn frauds. So, okay, I don’t know her.”
    “Well, that’s a big help. How do I know you’re not protecting her?”
    “You don’t. But I’m trying to help you.”
    “Do white people do this stuff? Just tell me that.”
    “Whooo! You’d better believe it. Here’s something—have you seen her altar?”
    “Her altar?”
    “Yeah. If she’s for real, she’ll have an altar with spirit water on it, maybe an ancestor picture, some statues and shells or something. It’d be kind of spooky-looking, I guess; to you. There’s one in the museum—you can go look if you want.”
    “Where would she have it?”
    Guillory shrugged. “Could be anywhere in her house.”
    Skip cursed herself for not taking an investigative trip to the bathroom. “How about stars and crescents?”
    “On her altar?”
    “On some kind of velvet cloth with a crystal ball on it.”
    Guillory rolled her eyes. “Forget it. Look, I’ll even make some calls for you.”
    Skip perused the literature, catching up on the seven African Powers while Guillory made her calls.
    “Nothing,” she said finally. “If she were really practicing, she’d have to shop at a botanica. There’s only one, and there’s one magic shop where you can get incense and stuff. I just checked them out. Nobody’s ever seen this babe.” Guillory’s earrings were made of brown feathers with white dots. They swung with the rhythm of her indignation.
    “Uh-oh. Maybe you should put a gris-gris on her.”
    “That’s not what we do. This museum is here for educational purposes and I’m going to educate you right now. Listen to this and listen good—we don’t go around hexing people. You ever heard of Elleggua the Trickster? I saw you looking at those books, maybe you have by now. You start hexing, what do you think Elleggua’s going to do? He’s probably going to remind you that what goes around comes around: If that woman’s a fraud, let him deal with her; I don’t want him dealing with me.”
    She was frowning, and failing so utterly in her