A Ghost to Die For by Elizabeth Eagan-Cox Page B

teller mannequins composed of wood or plastic, this one was created from the finest doll quality bisque porcelain and highly detailed. Marie wore a long blue dress with a full skirt that reached to her ankles. She was life size and was standing, as one would behind a counter. Her dark hair was arranged up and secured by a seven-point knotted yellow silk tignon , the kerchief typically worn by African women of color in New Orleans of the 1800s. Warm brown glass eyes gazed out from thick dark lashes. Her skin was a hue of dark golden honey that historians claimed was the true complexion of the real Marie Laveau, otherwise known as the one and only Widow Paris . This Marie Laveau was an unmistakable representation of the portrait painted by renowned artist George W. Catlin in the 1830s. Behind her on a shelf stood small baskets filled with small colored candles crafted in wood, and made to appear as wax. Mentally I ticked off the colors and their symbolism: pink for love, green for money, blue as an appeal to Saint Peter for entrance into heaven and as a protection from harm, red for victory over enemies, yellow to drive off enemies, lavender to bring harm to, or remove, an unwanted person, brown for luck in gambling, white for peace and to uncross a curse; and of course, black for disease and death.
    Satisfied that whomever crafted Marie Laveau for this purpose, did, at the very least, pay homage to her memory with keeping the display authentic. I turned to Alex and said, “She was crafted and prepared by an expert in knowledge of voodoo.”
    “This is supposed to make feel better?”
    “Well, at least she has not been completely commercialized. Someone, probably the display’s designer cared enough to keep her authentic. That is, except for the crystal ball. That is just plain stupid. A voodooienne would not, does not, use a crystal ball.”
    “Does not? As in present time?” Alex asked.
    “Of course, as in present time. Yes, in New Orleans there are present-day practitioners of voodoo. That silly crystal ball should be a large snake, a python.”
    “Shannon, your off-the-cuff knowledge of voodoo is surprising. I have to admit, it kinda creeps me out.”
    I looked at him and smiled. “Robert Tallant, who did an in-depth study and field research of voodoo in New Orleans wrote a book in 1946 and said Voodoo is of another race, dark and strange and complex even to those who practice it. Alex, voodoo is another world, unto itself, and for many people it is their religion. Look, the reason I am so appalled by this display is out of respect for the religious practitioners. If this was a likeness of the Archbishop of Canterbury up here in the fortune telling booth, doling out paper prophesies, can you honestly tell me that Anglicans and Episcopalians, espec ially here in San Diego, would not be queasy about it?”
    “Point made. But Shannon, the display is here to stay. I’m sorry, I respect your appreciation for not wanting to commercialize Marie Laveau. But, on the other hand, this particular coin-operated machine plays a mysterious part in local history.”
    I nodded my head. “I understand, but I do not agree. Thankfully, my work is done here, so I need never set my eyes upon this contraption again. Shall we go?”
    Alex took my hand in his and as he did so, the crystal ball lit up, we turned to see the mannequin in action. She (I refused to call her Marie) waved her hands over the crystal ball, then she reached into the small box, pulled out a card and deposited it. Alex reached for the card, but I stopped him. “It is for me.”
    I held the card up and read, “See as I see.”
    “What? This is not a prophecy.” Alex took the card from my hand and read it. He turned to me. “This is odd. What does it mean to you?”
    “Nothing.” I stood in front of the mannequin, and turned to the side to face Alex.
    “I have an idea. Humor me, please? Shannon, turn around so that your back is against the glass, as if you are