Page 18 of Camino Ghosts

When the bowl was filled with his blood, she lifted it and followed the witch doctor out of the village and back to the beach. With Joseph and the rest behind them and watching from a distance, she walked along the surf, dipping the bowl and leaving a trail of blood in the sand.

When the bowl was empty, the curse was complete. Woe to any white man who ventured onto their island.

By morning the other two were dead. Joseph ordered them cut down and dragged to the small dock hidden from the ocean. Using a boat they had confiscated from the last slave traders who’d paid a visit, they took the bodies out to sea and dumped them without ceremony.

The island had no place for a white man, dead or alive.

6.

The meeting was sure to be one of the more unusual ones in the history of Bay Books. Bruce tidied up his office, cleared away the debris from his desk, and straightened all of his first editions on the shelves. He had hundreds of them, but never enough.

Mercer and Thomas arrived first and took seats at the wine-tasting table Noelle had found in the village of Ménerbes, in Provence. Most of his furniture had been selected by his wife and came from the South of France. Her store next door was packed with fine antiques, so many that she often displayed the extras at the bookstore. It was not at all unusual for her to sell a beautiful table Bruce was using to display his bestsellers.

Steven Mahon was next and coffee was poured. Bruce cautioned them that the meeting might not go as planned. According to Miss Naomi, Lovely was hesitant about discussing important matters. “And, I’m not sure she really trusts white people,” Bruce said.

“Can’t blame her for that,” Steven quipped.

“No, I’m serious. Several years ago Miss Naomi tried to convince her to prepare a will. Lovely has no blood heirs, supposedly, and no one knows what happens to Dark Isle when she dies.”

“Could be a real mess,” Steven said.

“No doubt. But she wouldn’t do a will because there’s not a black lawyer on the island.”

“That’s been a problem all over the South,” Steven said. “It goes back generations, and it’s the reason a lot of land owned by blacks has been foreclosed. No last will and testament, too many distant heirs, no clear title, so the land gets sold for unpaid taxes.”

Thomas looked at Steven and asked, “You think she’ll trust you?”

“What? Look at this face. The glow of complete honesty.”

“Sorry I brought it up,” Bruce mumbled as he stood. “They’re here.”

The kids’ section of Bay Books took up half the ground floor and always had customers. Busy moms could drop off their kids for story time or just to browse and forget about them for an hour or so. The staff was always ready to read to the little ones and gently shove new releases to the older ones. Other than bestsellers, the kids’ section was the most profitable in the store.

Miss Naomi’s granddaughters loved the place and were excited to visit.

They were lost in books by the time she and Lovely entered Bruce’s office and said hello. He introduced them to Mercer, Thomas, and Steven, and offered coffee. They politely declined and took seats at the table.

Lovely was stunning. She wore a bright yellow robe that flowed almost to the floor. On her head was a tall turban-style wrap that set high and was a mix of loud colors. Her necklace was a row of large shark’s teeth.

Miss Naomi was stylish too, dressed for church or some gathering, but no match for her friend. Mercer guessed her age to be around sixty-five. Lovely claimed 1940 as her birth year, making her eighty, but she looked younger than Miss Naomi. Her eyes were a lighter shade, still brown but not dark. There was distant white blood in the family.

Around the table they struggled with the small talk. Bruce carried the ball and asked what the girls liked to read. Thankfully, Miss Naomi was a chatterbox and she and Bruce went back and forth. Steven, the lawyer, was hesitant to jump in. He was there to meet a potential client for a case he didn’t really want, and there was an excellent chance the prospective client had no use for him. At some point, Mercer would be forced to tell Lovely that she wanted to write a book about her and her island, but she wasn’t sure how to broach that subject.

Lovely sat regally in the leather chair and offered a tight smile, as if it was difficult. She seemed to be taking in everyone and everything and debating whether or not she liked what she was seeing. Her eyes glowed with a fierceness that did not spread to the rest of her face.

When Bruce began to flail, Mercer said, “I just read your book, Ms. Jackson. It’s a great story.”

The smile widened and she said, “Please call me Lovely. Everybody else does, including children. Jackson was the name given to my ancestors. They didn’t ask for it, didn’t like it, but they had no choice. For years I’ve thought about changing my name but, I’m told, that would force me to go to court.”

“Court” was the opening Steven needed, but the timing seemed bad. He let it pass.

Lovely said, “I’m so glad you enjoyed my book.” A careful voice, rich with a soft Southern accent. Mercer was floored when she said, “And I enjoyed yours. Tessa. I knew her, your grandmother, but not well. I met her once. I remember when she died. Just awful. I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” Mercer said. It seemed odd receiving condolences from a person whose family had suffered as much as Lovely’s, but that was ancient history now. Or was it?

Mercer continued, “If possible, I’d like to talk to you about writing your story. I find it fascinating.”

“But I’ve already written it. And we’ve sold how many copies, Bruce?”

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