And now he was seeing ghosts and getting anonymous mail from the area near his former residence, a place he’d sworn never to set foot in again.

Something definitely smelled rotten in the Golden State.

And he needed to find out what it was, even if that meant he was playing right into some sicko’s hands. That bugged the shit out of him, but there was no way around it.

He clicked off the computer and realized Olivia was due to clock out at the shop in fifteen minutes. Which was perfect. Like it or not, it was time to tell her what the hell was going on.

Outside, the day had taken a turn for the worse, the clouds overhead thickening darkly. The air was dense and sultry, threatening a storm. He climbed into his car, rolled up the windows, and drove toward the French Quarter, where he managed to find a parking spot two blocks from Jackson Square.

Using his damned cane, he made his way to the shop, little more than a tourist trap, at least in his opinion. Olivia liked meeting people and working with Tawilda, a thin, elegant black woman who had been at the store forever, and Manda, a later addition to the staff at the Third Eye. So Livvie had decided to stay on while finishing school and setting up her practice.

The place gave Bentz the creeps.

The little storefront was filled with shelves displaying an assortment of New Age crystals, religious artifacts, books on voodoo, Mardi Gras beads, and tiny alligator heads complete with glittering eyes. Then there were the dolls—all kinds of dolls that reminded him of dead children with their painted faces, false smiles, and eyes that were shuttered by squared-off fake lashes. The dolls were a recent addition to the store and, according to Olivia, a hit, the rare, high-priced ones boosting the shop’s profits.

Bentz didn’t get it.

He’d once made the mistake of asking, “Who the hell buys this voodoo garbage?”

Olivia, standing at the kitchen window while adding seeds to her parrot’s feeder, hadn’t been offended. She’d just looked over her shoulder, offered him an enigmatic smile, and said, “You wouldn’t want to know. Careful, Bentz, someone you crossed or sent up the river might want to place a hex on you.”

“I don’t believe in that crap.”

“Not yet. Just wait until you break out in a rash, or…your eyes turn red, or…oh, I don’t know…you lose your ability to make love, even to the point that your favorite appendage just drops off,” she’d teased, raising a naughty eyebrow. That was all it had taken.

“You’re asking for it,” he’d warned, advancing on her.

“Oh, yeah, and who’s gonna give it to me?”