*   *   *

KENDRA WAS KNEELING in the driveway beside the crumpled figure of a man when Joe’s car screeched to a stop in front of the Malibu cottage. She looked up as he jumped out and ran toward her. “Eve?”

She shook her head. “Not here. Neither is Beth. I got here ten minutes ago, and all I found was him.” She nodded at the dead man. “It’s Rick Avery.”

Joe nodded jerkily. “Evidently, the trap didn’t go as planned.” Keep cool. Keep calm. He wouldn’t get anywhere if he panicked. “But he didn’t kill either Eve or Beth. Maybe Drogan had plans, too. He was angry as hell when he phoned me yesterday.” Better not to think of that vicious malice toward Eve now. “Where’s Newell?”

“He took off to check out the houses in the neighborhood and see if he could find any trace of Drogan. I wanted to stay here and look around.”

“What did you find out?”

She shook her head.

“Don’t tell me that,” he said through set teeth. “I know what you can do. This is Eve. You’ve got to—”

“Shut up, Joe,” she said curtly. “I know you’re hurting. But I’m not perfect, and I can’t pull something out of the air if it’s not there. Do you think I don’t want to—”

“Sorry.” He cut her off and reached for his phone. “I’ll call the local police and report Avery’s murder. We can at least set them moving on his trail.” He talked briefly to 911 and hung up. “You said you’d been here ten minutes? There aren’t any neighbors or curiosity seekers around. That bullet in his skull must have come from a gun with a silencer.”

Kendra nodded. “Possibly. But I think he may have improvised this time. Maybe wrapped his gun in rags or a towel to muffle the sound.”

“How do you figure that?”

Kendra knelt at the edge of the driveway and picked up two small, charred, cloth fragments in the tall grass.

Joe took the fragments. They both showed evidence of flash burns and gunpowder residue. “You’re right. But that’s not the kind of information I need, Kendra.”

“I’ve found the car.” Newell was striding down the street toward them. “Drogan made Eve abandon that rental car she was driving. It’s parked down the block and around the corner.”

Joe was already running in the direction Newell was indicating. The Toyota was unlocked, and he jerked the driver’s door open.

Nothing. What had he expected? A miracle? A sign from Eve that would have told them something, anything.

“Nothing here.” He turned to Kendra who was now beside him. “Not a damn thing.”

“That may not be true,” Kendra said slowly, her head lifted. “Not in the front seat. But maybe in the rear…” She opened the rear door of the car. “Yes…”

“For God’s sake, what?”

“A combination, I think.” She turned on her purse flashlight and shined the beam on the carpet. “And one that could come only from Drogan … or someone with similar interests.” She brushed her hand across the floor, and tiny black grains stuck to her fingers. She sniffed her hand. “I think this is…” She held it out to Joe. “Taste it.”

He tentatively touched it with his tongue.

“For God’s sake, I’m not trying to poison you,” she said in disgust.

“You never know.” He tasted it again. “Salt?”

She nodded. “Black salt. Voodoo practitioners use black salt for protection. You said that Drogan believed in that stuff, didn’t you?”

Joe nodded.

Kendra rubbed her thumb and forefinger together. “It’s mixed with the oil I’ve been smelling. Sulfur, again … I smelled it in Beth’s hospital room, too, but it didn’t strike me as too unusual then since sulfur is also used in medicines. It didn’t really click until I was driving here tonight and thinking about what you and Eve told me about Drogan’s being into voodoo. They use various oils in their ceremonies, and sulfur is one of the most-frequently-used ingredients.”

“Ceremonies? In the backseat of the car?”

“Don’t talk. Just let me concentrate for a minute and see how many ingredients I can identify.”

“What difference does it make?”

“Drogan has to get his oils from someplace. We might be able to locate him through his source.”

“Maybe he makes it himself.”

She shook her head. “Not likely. Among other things, the oils are supposed to protect against negative energy. The cults have strict recipes and procedures, and most practitioners only trust holy men to create them.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I spent a summer working in a club on Bourbon Street. You don’t hang around New Orleans long without becoming a little familiar with voodoo lore.”

“And with you, it would be more than a little familiar.”

“It’s fascinating … and dark. It … drew me.”

“And how would you be able to trace Drogan through his voodoo oil?”

“They’re not all the same. The various holy men prefer different ingredients. It’s like a signature. This one is … unusual.”

“Where are you supposed to find a voodoo holy man in the middle of California?”

“You think voodoo is limited to Louisiana and the islands? No way. It’s just not as frequently practiced.”

“I stand corrected,” Joe said. “If you can find a voodoo holy man who will lead us to Drogan, for God’s sake do it.”

“There are tire tracks on the edge of this grass, Quinn,” Newell called from where he was kneeling on the side of the curb.

“I’ll be right there.” He glanced at Kendra before he turned away. “Why is it unusual?”

“I’ve smelled this oil before, but now there’s something else here. The oil is interacting with something else.”

“What?”

“It smells like … cucumbers.”

“Is that part of the recipe?”

“No … it means…” Kendra looked up. “There was a snake in here, Joe.”

He stiffened. “What?”

“He had a snake in this car. Some snakes’ musk glands can give off an odor that’s similar to cucumber. I know that smell.” She gave him a level glance. “And the way the odors blend and interact … I think he may have oiled it.”

“The snake?” He stared at her. “Totally bizarre.”

“Particularly if he spread the oil on the snake with his own hands. That would really be weird.” She made an impatient gesture. “Go check out those tire tracks. You can’t help me with this. I’ll be with you as soon as I’m through here.”

Newell looked up at him. “I think he was driving a truck. There are two treads, close together.”

“Which won’t do us much good.” Joe was tensing with frustration. Time was passing, and they were running into blank walls. “We don’t have time to run those tire prints and identify the usual trucks who use them.”

“I’m done.” Kendra was beside them. She examined the tire tracks. “Not much help here, is there? Not on an immediate basis.” She went a little farther down the curb. “But here’s a footprint…” She knelt and shined her beam. “Men’s size eleven or twelve, fairly common hiking boot…”

Sirens in the distance.

She lifted her head. “There’s the police you called, Joe.”

“Then let’s get out of here.” Joe turned and strode back toward the beach cottage. “I did my duty by calling them. But I can’t be stuck here answering questions and filling out reports. You think you can find the source of that voodoo oil? Let’s do it. Hurry.”

Kendra almost ran to keep up with him. “I am hurrying. I know that you— Who is that?” She had stopped in the street and was staring at the driveway of the Malibu cottage.

A woman was kneeling on the driveway beside Rick Avery, cradling him in her arms and rocking back in forth in an agony of sorrow.

Joe muttered a curse. “Nelda Avery.” He was striding up the driveway. “We may have just gotten lucky.” He stopped before Nelda. “Where is Drogan?”

She didn’t seem to hear the question. “My son is dead.” Tears were running down her cheeks. “My Rick is dead.”

“And Beth and Eve may end up that way before the night is over if I don’t get Drogan. I don’t give a damn about your son. Tell me where I can find Drogan.”