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"Yes," I said, trying to smile.

Sophie needed only one look at my eyes. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Why aren't you happy about it?"

"Oh, Sophie, it's not my brother; it's my mother," I cried and threw myself into her comforting arms.

After I calmed down, I tried to call Daddy, but he had already left his office. I went straight home, hoping Mommy had returned, but Aubrey shook his head glumly when I asked, his hazel eyes full of worry. He had instructed the maid to put Jean's room back in order and refold his clothing. The dresser drawers in her own room were still open and had also been rifled, but I could find no clues as to what she had taken, what she was up to, or where she had gone. The sight of the torn picture of the twins put a chill in my heart. She had ripped Jean away from Pierre just as death had, and although I knew that pictures couldn't change expression, Pierre seemed to be gazing out with forlorn eyes.

I wandered down to Mommy's studio and looked at the eerie picture she had been painting. It was completed now. To me it looked like Jean's soul was fleeing Uncle Paul's floating body. When I looked closely, I saw she had made Uncle Paul's body look like a snake's. Farther away in the canal, nearly hidden by the draping Spanish moss, was a tiny face that resembled Mommy's. Surely this whole scene had come right out of one of her horrid dreams, I thought. I covered the picture and returned to the sitting room. Aubrey came to tell me Daddy had arrived and had immediately gone upstairs, thinking I was in my room. I hurried up to him.

"Where's Ruby?" he asked emerging from the master bedroom.

"Oh, Daddy, didn't Aubrey say anything?" "Say anything about what?"

"She's gone. She took something from Jean's dresser, tore off his picture from the portrait of the twins in your office, and left carrying a small satchel."

"Where did she go?"

"I don't know," I moaned and sat down on a hallway bench.

"What are you saying, Pearl? What's going on?" "I didn't get a chance to tell you because you were gone by the time I went down to breakfast this morning, but Mommy left the house last night while you were asleep. She went to Nina Jackson's tomb, where she met with that voodoo lady. She had wanted me to go along with her, but I refused and got her to say she wasn't going. But she went anyway. I went looking for her and found her there,"

"All this went on last night?" he cried in disbelief. "Why didn't I--"

"I tried to wake you, Daddy," I wailed.

He stared at me a moment and then shook his head. "I'm sure you tried. I seem to be letting everyone down lately," he said.

"She made me promise not to tell you, but I was going to tell you anyway," I said and wiped away a fugitive tear. "Only I waited too long. I forgot about it when I arrived at the hospital and saw Pierre's progress and spoke with the doctor. I got so excited. I should have told you when we spoke."

"It's all right, Pearl," Daddy said, coming to me. "It's not your fault. I should have heard or seen her leave last night. I shouldn't have drunk myself to sleep. This hasn't been easy for any of us. I know she's been acting strange, those damn supernatural beliefs," he muttered. "I should be paying her more attention. Where do you think she's gone?"

I swallowed and thought. "Maybe back to Nina Jackson's sister's house. That's where it all started."

"Right. Do you remember the address?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Then we'd better go looking for her."

I nodded and took a deep breath. "What about Pierre?" I asked.

"I've already arranged for the nurse. She'll be here by five. We can pick Pierre up after we locate your mother. Let's go."

"I'll get something for Pierre to wear," I said. After I did so, we hurried down the stairs.

On the way to Nina Jackson's sister's house, I told Daddy about the ritual Mommy had performed the night before and how she kept saying she knew what she had to do now. "She claimed Nina had spoken to her through the black cat."

"These people should be arrested and shipped out of here," Daddy complained. "They cause more trouble . . . but then again, your mother was brought up believing in a lot of this--faith healers, evil spirits, protecting your home with candles and statues of saints. It's the age of interactive television, and these people are still living in the fifteenth century," he said shaking his head.

"Look at this place," he muttered when we arrived. "Who in her right mind would want to go in there: feathers dangling, bones clinking, powder on the steps to ward off evil. Are we in the twentieth century?" Daddy cried, his face crimson with anger and frustration.

I put my hand on his shoulder, and he took a deep breath and calmed down.

"Let's go get your mother and take her home," he said in a tired voice.

We went to the front door and knocked. Daddy's Rolls-Royce had drawn the attention of some neighbors who stood outside their homes watching. Daddy knocked again, more vigorously this time.

Nina Jackson's sister finally came to the door wearing a tattered robe. She was barefoot, and her hair was dripping wet. Daddy's mouth fell open.