That Old Black Magic by Mary Jane Clark Page A

in the direction of the shaded front window. “Plenty of tourists are marching up and down that sidewalk out there every single day. They just ain’t necessarily stopping here. No sir, the tourists read about Central Grocery online or in their N’awlins travel guides and put it on their lists of places to go while they’re in town. Then they return home and tell their friends, who make it a point to stop when they come down. Herd mentality.”
    â€œI suppose the fact that Central Grocery originated the muffuletta also has something to do with it,” said the customer, reaching down into the shopping bag.
    â€œYeah, yeah,” said Mike, cutting the sandwich into quarters. “But my daddy made muffs in this very shop, and his daddy before him. Our muffs are just as good as anybody’s. In fact, I’ve had people tell me they’re even better than Central’s.”
    Mike reached for the roll of aluminum foil, his back to the customer. As he ripped off a sheet, there was an insistent knock on the front door.
    â€œThat’s weird. I thought I unlocked that,” said Mike.
    The customer straightened, wrapping a hand around the leather coil in the shopping bag. “You did, but I locked it again.”
    Mike pivoted around and stared warily.
    â€œI thought I was doing you a favor,” said the customer. “You didn’t need anybody else like me coming in this early. I’ll go unlock it again if you want me to.”
    Nodding, Muffuletta Mike turned his attention back to wrapping the sandwich as the customer silently unwound the long leather whip. Slowly, stealthily, the customer edged around the counter, closer to Mike, as the knocking at the front door continued.
    â€œWhat’s the problem up there?” Mike called over his shoulder. “Open the door, will you, and let the guy in.”
    From the corner of his eye, Mike detected a flash of movement. As the whip wrapped around his neck, his hands shot up. He tried to pry the strap away from his skin, but he only felt it grow tighter and tighter, cutting off his ability to breathe. His face reddened and his eyes bulged as the garrote’s pressure increased.
    Death by strangulation took a lot of effort. Mike struggled and fought, but, unable to take in oxygen, he gradually grew weaker. Finally he collapsed, hitting his head hard on the corner of the counter as he fell.
    Mike lay motionless on the floor. The knocking at the front door finally stopped. Bending down, the customer unwrapped the leather strap from around Mike’s neck.
    It was then that the whipping began.

Chapter 18
    P iper was up before dawn, determined to get some hours in at the bakery before leaving for her audition. She showered, dried her hair, and went to the closet to pick out something that would be good for the audition. As she looked inside, she got a weird feeling. Were the shirts, slacks, and skirts pushed to one side of the rack? She was almost sure she’d spaced them more evenly.
    Looking more closely at the door to the dumbwaiter at the back of the closet, Piper wondered about the exposure it gave her. Had someone been in the apartment when she wasn’t there? It was a creepy thought.
    Oh, don’t be ridiculous, she thought. You came home from dinner, tired and a bit buzzed from the Sazerac. Who knows how you left things in the closet?
    P iper was waiting at the front door of the bakery when Bertrand arrived. He smiled broadly when he saw her, and she was suddenly uncomfortably conscious of the lacy shell she wore stretched snugly across her chest. What had seemed an appropriate choice for the audition suddenly seemed all wrong for a morning with Bertrand.
    â€œI didn’t expect you to be here so early,” he said, kissing her on both cheeks. “You needn’t come every day to open up the shop with me, Piper. But I am glad for your company.”
    â€œI wanted to talk with you about the ideas I have