The Hoodoo Detective Read Online Free

dressed, and sank into a chair and stared out the window view of a freeway overpass. She itched to call Donovan and thrash it out with him, but with the time difference in Macau, he’d still be sleeping.
    She hadn’t the contacts in New Orleans to get to the truth about any underworld connections the “hit man” might have had. But if he had been involved in hoodoo, someone in the magical community would know.
    Hoodoo still confused her. Everyone she spoke with had a different take. It was Cajun, it was southern, it was Afro-American, it wasn't. Some said it was voodoo stripped of its religion. Others said it was something else entirely. Tonight she cared less about its origins and more about its practice.
    The hotel phone blared, jerking her from her reverie.
    She snatched it up. “Riga here.”
    “It's Sam. Can you come down to the work room? We've got to talk.”
    “Sure.” She lowered her head, frowning. The show was probably being canceled. She could live with the loss. Though the extra income fed her ego, she didn't really need the cash. It would be a blow for Pen, however.
    Jamming her key card in her pocket, she wandered down the hall. If the show did go on, Riga didn’t want her young niece here with a hoodoo murder hanging over their heads. Pen was only beginning to explore her gifts as a medium and their family’s heritage as necromancers. Her magic was raw, vulnerable, and as attractive as hell to those who practiced black magic. Like the necromancer whose file she kept in her hotel room.
    Riga tasted something sour in the back of her mouth. She couldn’t ignore the possibility dark hoodoo might be involved in the killing. Pen was going to have to go. Riga could handle her niece’s fury, but she keenly felt Pen's upcoming disappointment.
    The team's base of operations was a conference room on the hotel's first floor. The walls were a mellow sand color. Tables had been assembled in a U-shape for the team. Computer equipment and monitors lined them, black cables snaking across the thick, red and green carpet.
    Sam sat before a monitor, frowning. Wolfe stood beside him, camera at the ready.
    Riga's jaw clenched. Were they going to film her getting the bad news? That was one way to generate the conflict Sam craved.
    Looking up, Sam waved her to a chair. “Sit down, sit down.”
    She remained standing, crossing her arms over her chest. “What's up?”
    “So... The show so far is adequate. Not great, but it will work.”
    “But?”
    “We're going to be making some changes.”
    “Just tell me Sam. I'm a big girl.”
    “I've been talking to the police department and Dirk’s Mean Streets crew, and an opportunity has come up. We got lucky. This afternoon there was a murder with occult overtones.”
    “Lucky?” she asked.
    “I mean, it’s terrible, of course. But lucky for the police that someone like you, with experience as an occult consultant to law enforcement, is in town.”
    “They want me to consult on the murder of the hoodoo hit man?”
    “The drunk at the restaurant? No,” Sam said slowly. “There was nothing supernatural about that murder. But it turns out, there's been another. I managed to talk them into letting you consult on the case. Dirk was a big help.”
    Riga stared. “What?”
    “He's a great guy, Riga. I think you'll like him once you get to know him.”
    “What?” Her voice went up an octave.
    “I've been going over the footage of you and Dirk, and the chemistry is electric.”
    Wolfe chuckled. “That's one way of putting it.”
    She glared at the cameraman. “Are you saying that we're teaming up with Dirk and his Mean Streets show?”
    “A cross-over!” Sam rubbed his hands together. “What do you think?”
    Riga jammed her hands in her pockets and stared at a blank monitor. Dirk the jerk seemed to have good relations with the cops. It might be a way to get closer to the hoodoo hit man case. “What sort of occult murder?”
    Sam shrugged. “Does it matter? The