Mostly Murder by Linda Ladd Page A

fluids. Fascinated, he wandered there among the symbols of death and destruction. He stole some of the skulls and other stuff and later read everything he could find about voodoo rituals. He learned about voodoo queens who tortured and killed and caused people to turn into zombies. He saw gruesome photos of a body that had been dug up and had body parts removed. He found stories of people who had been cursed and died horrible deaths and disappeared into the swamps never to be found again. Wow, he didn’t think he’d ever been so excited. This was it. This was his destiny. He would become a voodoo doctor, and he would use spells and terrifying rituals to scare his victims. And he would do it out in the swamp, where it was dark and sluggish with hanging veils of gray moss and alligators sliding into the water and gliding around. The alligators would be his garbage disposal units, after he’d gotten all the fun he needed out of his victims. It was perfect. It would be his perfect little Garden of Evil.

Chapter Seven
    Jack Holliday’s house was indeed located in the world-renowned Garden District, on St. Charles Avenue, in fact. He lived close to where the nostalgic streetcars still clanked by. Wow, talk about an exclusive abode. Claire and Zee found his primo address with no trouble and parked in front of a stately home built circa early 1830s, about half a block down the street from the Holliday house. They walked slowly up a magnolia-shaded sidewalk, admiring one Christmas-decorated, beautiful old home after another. Great evergreen wreaths hung on every door, with velvet ribbons and expensive gold and glass ornaments. None of the historic houses had anything on Holliday’s domicile, however. He had an elegant old mansion, well kept, with lots of dark green wrought iron fashioned into intertwined roses and ivy.
    Two long galleries graced the front, upstairs and down, entwined with lights that would probably be beautiful when turned on. Garlands of fresh greenery and wreaths were tastefully displayed in swags tied with huge red velvet bows. Claire and Zee stopped at the front gate and stared up at the house. The sidewalk fence matched the balustrades, ornate with medallions of roses and ivy and another huge wreath, this one plain except for one large red bow.
    â€œI cannot believe we are going to walk right in there and meet Jack Holliday in person,” Zee said reverently. “Nobody back home’s ever gonna believe me. I’m nervous as hell.”
    Claire stopped there, her hand on the gate’s latch. “Do you think you can control yourself around this guy, Zee?”
    Zee revealed openly that he was offended. “Man, Claire, lay off. Anybody’d be excited to meet him. He’s a legend around here.”
    â€œThis is not about meeting a football hero. Don’t forget that, and please, let me do the talking.”
    Now Zee looked annoyed. “You’re sellin’ me short, Claire. I ain’t exactly some rookie officer who never interviewed a suspect before.”
    â€œNo, you are not. But I can see that wowee-I-get-to-meet-the-big-Tulane-super-star gleam in your eyes. It’s a little unsettling, to be perfectly honest.”
    â€œAww, c’mon, I’m not all that excited. Get real.”
    â€œWell, I hope not. Let’s go. Remember, I’ll do the talking.”
    â€œOkay, whatever you say.”
    Zee was miffed, but Claire had meant what she’d said. He was a little too enthralled with Holliday to remain neutral. On the other hand, she was not enthralled with him at all.
    Claire opened the gate, and they walked up a red-bricked sidewalk laid in a herringbone design and climbed the front steps. She could smell citrus and found lots of real oranges and apples in the large floral arrangement beside the front door. She considered picking a few pieces off to snack on later, but decided that would be tacky. They stood in front of the most beautiful