Mojo for Murder: A Bertie Bigelow Mystery by Carolyn Marie Wilkins

Author:Carolyn Marie Wilkins [Wilkins, Carolyn Marie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Pen-L Publishing
Published: 2016-10-02T20:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY

Wednesday, October 25—4:00 PM

As David Mackenzie’s BMW inched along North Fullerton Avenue, Bertie looked out the window at the profusion of sights and sounds around her. Though it was only four o’clock, the sun hung low in the sky, backlighting the trees in Lincoln Park in a wash of autumnal color. It seemed to Bertie that everyone had chosen that very minute to savor the last remaining days of Indian summer. Purposeful professionals made their way through an obstacle course of joggers, nannies wielding oversized strollers, and elderly couples taking their poodles for a stroll. After circling the block several times in search of a parking space, Bertie and Mac got lucky when a green MINI Cooper pulled out of a space two blocks from Jabarion Coutze’s brownstone.

After being buzzed into an elegant foyer and clambering up two flights of stairs, Bertie and Mac arrived at Jabarion’s apartment. The door was made of polished wood and adorned with a heavy brass knocker that reminded Bertie of the ones she had seen on her last trip to London. Just as she prepared to use it, Jabarion—wearing a silk do-rag, low-slung jeans, and a sleeveless white undershirt—opened the door and waved them inside.

“Sister Destina was one of the few people who cared about me,” he said in a soft, high-pitched voice. “I can’t believe she’s gone. Please, come in.”

Jabarion’s apartment featured twelve-foot ceilings and a large bay window overlooking Lincoln Park. The walls in his living room were painted a soft tangerine and lined with miniature paintings of men embracing in various positions. As Bertie sat down next to Mac on the sleek leather couch facing the window, a whip-thin white man glided into the room and placed a protective hand on Jabarion’s shoulder.

“This is Roddy Frazier,” Jabarion said, giving the man’s hand a squeeze, “my roommate.”

“And lawyer,” Roddy said. His tone was light, but his eyes were hard. From the gray hair showing at his temples, Bertie guessed the man was in his mid-forties. Unlike Jabarion, he was elegantly dressed in a pair of Italian loafers, Calvin Klein jeans, and a lavender cashmere sweater. “I told Jabarion that he was not legally obligated to speak with you people, but he insisted. I am here to make sure his good will is not abused.”

Mac nodded. “Not to worry, Mister Frazier. I represent Mabel Howard, one of Sister Destina’s clients. I’d like to ask Mister Coutze a few questions.”

“Fire away,” Jabarion said. He took a seat in the low-slung armchair across from them and lit a cigarette. “Pay no attention to Roddy. He’s just an old mother hen. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“Very well, Mister Coutze,” Mac said. “Tell me about the nature of your relationship with Sister Destina.”

“She was my friend,” Jabarion said simply. “When your father is doing time for murder, people automatically make assumptions. But Sister Destina understood me. She accepted me on my own terms.”

Bertie nodded sympathetically. “It must be difficult having such a famous name.”

“It’s hell,” Jabarion said.

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