Page 33 of Hextreme Measures

“Just trying to keep things light.” Sully put a hand to her back as he prodded her forward.

“I know. I’m being serious, though. Should I keep my mouth shut?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Let me start, but if there’s something you think needs to be asked, you should do it. I’m going to introduce you as a consultant.”

It wasn’t a lie. Ofelia had agreed to consult for the paranormal unit. She reserved the right to accept or decline cases according to her whims. She even had a card that proved she was legitimate, although she rarely carried it.

Sully’s knock was brisk, and it took almost a full 30 seconds for somebody to answer the door. The woman who opened it seemed as if life had been unkind to her. The brown hair pulled back in a messy bun looked as if it hadn’t been brushed in days, maybe even weeks. She wore no makeup, and there were shadows under her eyes big enough for Ofelia to hide in. She was painfully thin, suggesting she hadn’t been eating enough, and her movements were slow.

“May I help you?” she asked blandly.

Sully held up his badge. “Are you Cathy O’Neill?” he asked.

The woman eyed the badge, and Ofelia didn’t miss the flash of irritation that took over her face. Then she nodded. “More questions for a case that you’re never going to solve?”

Sully had thick skin. He didn’t take the woman’s obvious frustration personally. “I’m actually working on a different case, but there are similarities to what happened to your husband. I am sure you’ve been through this before —”

“Multiple times,” she agreed.

“Multiple times.” Sully’s smile was flat. “I understand this is hard for you. I don’t want to make things worse.”

“I used to think the worst thing that could ever happen to me was losing Roger.” Her expression took on a far-off quality. “I was right … and wrong. Things can always get worse.” She pushed back the door. “Come in, but I’m not offering you any refreshments, and I don’t want any judgment for how messy the house is.”

“Of course.” Sully ushered Ofelia in front of him as they entered and watched her closely as she looked around the small Creole cottage. The house itself was in good shape, but it hadn’t been cleaned in weeks. There were dirty dishes piled up in the kitchen and laundry strewn everywhere.

“Let’s go into the kitchen, huh?” Ofelia suggested, catching Sully off guard. “I’ll clean while Detective Sully asks you questions.”

Cathy looked taken aback. “What?”

Ofelia merely smiled. “It won’t take me long. I used to work in my father’s bar when I was a kid, even though that was technically against the law.” She cast a mischievous look toward Sully.

“I’m pretending I didn’t hear that,” he said in a light voice.

“Everybody needs help sometimes,” Ofelia added. She was wearing short sleeves, so she didn’t have anything to roll up. She immediately tackled scraping the dishes. Much of the mess was takeout containers, so she grabbed a box of garbage bags from beneath the sink and went after the trash.

“Sit,” Sully prodded as he sat across from the mourning woman at her small kitchen table. “Can I get you a glass of water or something?”

Cathy buried her face in her hands. “I should be offering you refreshments. That’s what a good hostess would do. I just can’t seem to get myself to do the things I’m supposed to be doing.”

“You shouldn’t force yourself,” Ofelia said as she started stacking the dishes. As far as she could tell, there were only a few bowls and plates intermixed with the takeout containers. Every piece of silverware was dirty, however.

She grabbed the dish soap and put the plug in the sink to start filling it. “Grief is complicated. There’s actually a thing called complicated grief that can freeze you in your tracks for years after the loss of a loved one. You can’t force yourself to do something you’re not ready to do.”

Cathy cast Ofelia an appraising look. “You’re not a cop.”

“Hmm?” Ofelia offered up a slight smile. “No, I’m definitely not a cop,” she agreed. “I am, however, a consultant.”

“A grief consultant?”

Ofelia shook her head and instead pointed toward the painting on the wall. “That’s Marie Laveau.”

Cathy seemed thrown by the observation. “I … yes. What does that have to do with anything?”

“There are other voodoo items around the house. I noticed an altar in the living room when we passed.”

“If you’re going to judge me for my religion,” Cathy started, her dander going up.

Ofelia shook her head. “We’re not going to judge you for that. Trust me. I have some unorthodox beliefs myself.” She tied up a bag of garbage and handed it to Sully. “Take this out, please.”