CHAPTER ONE
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” my father said.
I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was deadly serious.
“Don’t be silly!” my mother laughed. “What could possibly go wrong?”
“What could go wrong?” my father repeated in amazement. “I can think of a million things! But let’s start with: How safe is it to leave the kids with a voodoo priestess?”
What our parents didn’t realize was that all four of us children were huddled outside the kitchen door, listening to their conversation. We knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but after all, this concerned us. And apparently… they were thinking of leaving us with some kind of voodoo priestess!
“She’s not a voodoo priestess,” my mother insisted.
“Oh, no?” our father asked. “I thought your Aunt Henrietta said that she was.”
“Well,” our mother admitted. “Maybe she’s studying to be one.”
We could hear our father sigh. “I don’t know,” he said. “Your whole family scares me.”
Then we heard the sound of our father’s knife rhythmically chopping something on his wooden cutting board. The wonderful fragrance of freshly sliced garlic drifted out to us in the dining room.
Our parents were in the kitchen preparing dinner as they discussed whether our mother’s cousin was or wasn’t a voodoo priestess.
I guess I should correct myself. I said my parents were preparing dinner. Actually, it was my father who was cooking, as he always did, while my mother set the table.
My father is a famous chef. Maybe you’ve heard of him. His name is Simon Belkirk, and he currently works as the head chef at a fancy restaurant that he owns in New York City called Private Stock, right on Wall Street. His cooking has won him many awards, and he’s considered one of the finest African-American chefs in the country.
In fact, it’s because of my father’s cooking that my parents were searching for somebody to take care of us.
Several months ago, my father was contacted by a cruise line. They were organizing a three-week gourmet cruise that would sail from Hawaii to Tahiti. Famous chefs from all over the world were invited to participate. Each one would cook several dinners during the cruise. When the ship arrived in Tahiti, the passengers would vote for their favorite chef, who would win an award and a large cash prize.
My father was always up for a challenge, and thought it would be fun to compete. And, of course, my mother loved the idea of not only enjoying a free cruise from Hawaii to Tahiti, but also, of my father getting paid for it, and possibly winning some money.
The only trouble was – what to do with us children? If the cruise had been scheduled for the summer, the answer would have been easy. We could have gone along with our parents.
But the cruise was planned for the last three weeks of March – a wonderful time to visit the tropics, as my mother pointed out – but right in the middle of the school year.
All four of us children realized that if the cruise had only been scheduled to last a week, maybe – just maybe – our parents would have allowed us to take off from school to join them. But three weeks was too long for us to miss classes. And that left us with a major problem – who would watch us while our parents were away?
Of course, my older brother and sister, Marshall and Tiffany, insisted that we didn’t need anyone to watch us. After all, they argued, they were old enough to take care of everything while our parents were on the cruise.
“You’re sixteen and fourteen,” my father reminded them every time that they complained that they didn’t need a babysitter. Well, that much was true. Tiffany and Marshall didn’t need a babysitter. Just recently, my parents had stopped hiring our neighbor, Mrs. Higginson, to watch the four of us when my parents went out for the evening with friends. “You may not need anyone to watch you when we go out for a few hours to see a movie,” our father agreed. “But you’re not old enough to take care of the entire household for three weeks.”
Marshall and Tiffany both protested that of course they were old enough… but secretly, my younger sister, Kendra, and I were glad that we would not be left in their care.
Marshall is big. He’s almost six-foot-four, and he’s on the basketball team at school. But though he looks like a grown man, let’s face it – he’s not as smart as he is tall. Something always goes wrong when Marshall is around. The last time my parents went out to a movie and left Marshall in charge, my father gave us some money so that we could send out for a pizza. But Marshall decided that he could keep the money, if he cooked us some hamburgers that he found in the freezer. He set up the barbecue in the backyard and lit the fire, but it started to rain, so he moved the barbecue – fire and all – into the garage, and almost wound up burning the house down.
Each time that Marshall insisted that he was capable of watching us during the three weeks that my parents would be on the cruise, my father reminded him of the barbecue incident.
“We’d like to come back and find the house still standing,” my father would say.
My older sister, Tiffany, is much smarter than Marshall. She’s one of those girls who’s not only smart, but pretty and popular. And all of us knew that if Tiffany were left in charge she would be so busy running off to the mall with her friends, or attending parties, or going out on dates with her various boyfriends, that she would have no time to stay home and prevent Marshall from doing something stupid like barbecuing the garage.
If anything, Marshall and Tiffany probably need someone to supervise them more than Kendra and I do.
My younger sister, Kendra, is eight, and she’s not only smart, she’s practically a genius. She seems to know everything without having to study. She also has a lot of common sense. When Marshall moved the flaming barbecue into the garage that time, Kendra not only warned him not to, but knew enough to have a fire extinguisher ready, and was the first person to pick up the phone and call 9-1-1 for the fire department. I suppose if one of us had to be responsible while our parents were away on the cruise, I would feel safest with Kendra in charge – but who wants to have to answer to an eight year old girl? Especially a bossy, eight year old know-it-all.
As for me, my name is Corey Belkirk, and I’m twelve years old. I guess some people might consider me a “geek” or a “nerd” because I like to work on my computer, and collect comic books, and build model planes and things – but since I have an oversized sports star for a brother, an amazingly popular and pretty older sister, and a child genius for a younger sister, I like to consider myself the only normal child in the family.
But clearly, because I’m twelve, my parents wouldn’t want to leave me in charge of the others for three weeks. And to be honest, I don’t think I could handle them. Marshall would certainly get into some kind of trouble, Tiffany would disappear with her friends, and Kendra would constantly be criticizing me, saying things like, “No, no, that’s not the way to do it! You’re handling it all wrong!”
So obviously, I agreed with my parents. It was better to bring someone in to watch us… But who?
Our family lives in Glenwood Harbor, Long Island, just east of New York City. We live here so that my father can easily commute to his restaurant. But my father’s family is originally from Chicago. All of our aunts and uncles still live out there and have jobs of their own, and would be unable to take off three weeks to watch us.
My mother’s family is scattered all over the United States, but she has no relatives locally who could take care of us.
My mother and father had considered asking our friends’ parents if maybe each of us could stay with one of their families, but this idea didn’t work out either. Anyone who knows Marshall knows that he is trouble-prone and accident-prone, and wouldn’t want to be responsible for him. I think that the parents of Tiffany’s friends were also a little concerned that once our father and mother were out of town, Tiffany’s busy social schedule might be difficult to control. As for Kendra, she’s always such a know-it-all that many adults find her difficult to have around. And as for me, my best friend, Evan, is one of six children, and we doubted that his parents would have the room – or the energy – to put me up for three weeks.
So, once again, we were left with the problem: Who was going to watch us?
Of course, there was the possibility that my parents could hire someone from an agency, but none of us children were looking forward to being taken care of by a complete stranger.
Kendra had come right out with a perfectly good question when my parents first mentioned using an agency. “What if the agency sends us a serial killer?” she asked.
“Don’t be silly!” my mother had answered. “I’m sure the agency does a thorough background check on a person before they send someone over.”
“Maybe,” Kendra said. “But what if the serial killer murders the person the agency sends us, and then shows up in her place? We’ll never know the difference until it’s too late!”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” my father said crossly, but I could tell that after Kendra’s question, no one in the family – including myself – was convinced that hiring a stranger would be a good idea.
Still, as the date of the cruise approached, my parents had begun making inquiries about reliable agencies that could provide us with someone – hopefully, not a serial killer – who could take care of us for three weeks.
And then, just this morning, my mother’s Great Aunt Henrietta had called from Florida to tell us that a distant cousin of my mother’s had just arrived from Haiti, and needed a job.
This cousin was so distant that even my mother had never heard of her.
And as the four of us children stood in the dining room, listening at the closed kitchen door, our parents’ conversation was the first time that we had ever discovered that we had a cousin who was involved with voodoo.
From the kitchen, we could hear the chopped garlic sizzle as my father tossed it into the frying pan. It made an evil hissing noise that seemed to be the perfect background sound for a discussion about voodoo.
“Whether she’s an official voodoo priestess, or just studying to be one,” my father said. “I don’t want her watching the children. After all, we don’t know anything about her, and we certainly don’t know anything about voodoo.”
On the word voodoo, Marshall began wiggling his long, bony fingers at us, as if he were placing us under an evil spell.
“Ooooohhhhh! Voodoo!” he moaned, trying to sound spooky. “I bet she’ll try turning us into zombies!” Marshall suddenly held his arms out in front of him, and began to walk stiffly, as if in a trance. But being Marshall, he tripped and fell forward onto the kitchen door. The door swung open, and suddenly, all four of us were revealed to our parents, as we stood in the doorway, obviously eavesdropping.
“What are you kids doing there?” my father asked with annoyance.
My mother turned to face us, clearly disappointed in our behavior. “Don’t you know that it’s wrong to eavesdrop?”
All four of us were embarrassed at being caught, but as usual, my younger sister, Kendra, was the first to recover.
“It’s a good thing we did!” Kendra argued. “What’s all this about leaving us with a voodoo priestess?”
“No one is going to leave you with a voodoo priestess,” my father said. “It wouldn’t be fair to her.”
Tiffany sniffed irritably. “How can you even consider doing such a thing? What would I tell my friends?” Suddenly, Tiffany gasped in horror. “What would I tell Bryan Leland?”
Bryan Leland is a handsome boy who recently moved into the neighborhood. Tiffany hadn’t met him yet, but she had developed a serious crush on him. All we had been hearing from her for the last few weeks was “Bryan Leland! Bryan Leland! Bryan Leland!”
Marshall laughed. “Maybe the voodoo priestess could put a spell on Bryan Leland, and make him your love slave!” Once again, Marshall stuck his arms out in front of him, and began to walk stiffly, imitating a zombie.
Unfortunately, this time Marshall’s outthrust arms wound up knocking a plate of breaded pork chops off the stove, where my father had placed them so that he could add them to the frying pan in a few minutes.
My mother stooped down quickly to pick the pork chops off the floor. “Marshall!” she sighed. “Now, look what you’ve done!”
My father kneeled to help her. “It’s all this talk about voodoo,” he grumbled. He turned to face us. “Now, I want all four of you to wash up for dinner. And there’ll be no more talk about voodoo!”
But, of course, there was…
We were seated around the dinner table, enjoying the pork chops that my father had prepared – and, believe me, there is nothing better than having a father who is a professional chef.
Even though we had been told that there would be no further discussion of voodoo, I couldn’t help being curious.
“How come we’re related to a voodoo priestess?” I asked.
My father looked up in amusement. “Your mother comes from a very strange family.”
“Simon!” my mother protested. “You know that isn’t true!”
“Isn’t it?”
My mother paused for a moment to think it over. “Well…” she finally admitted. “Maybe I do have some colorful relatives. But no one else is involved with voodoo.”
“Then how are we related to her?” I asked again.
“She’s a distant, distant cousin,” my mother explained. “One of my grandmother’s cousins once married a man from Haiti. They had a daughter, who moved back to Haiti years later, and she had a daughter there, who’s my Cousin Coco.”
“Coco!” We all laughed at the unusual name.
My mother nodded. “Her full name is Coco LaFitte.”
“Sounds like a stripper,” my father chuckled.
Again, everyone laughed.
“She can’t help it,” my mother said. “It’s her name.”
“Yes,” Kendra agreed, once again turning into Little Miss Know-It-All. “Haiti was a French colony, so they all have French-sounding names.”
My mother smiled. “Very good, Kendra.”
Her praise inspired Kendra to continue her lecture. “I wonder if she’s related to the famous French pirate, Jean LaFitte.”
My father nodded wearily. “With your mother’s family… it wouldn’t surprise me.”
“Simon! We are not related to pirates!”
“No,” my father agreed. “Just to voodoo priestesses.”
“Why did she become a voodoo priestess?” Tiffany asked.
My mother shook her head. “I don’t really know.”
“I do!” Kendra said. “Voodoo is a religion in Haiti. It’s based on magic that slaves brought over with them from Africa.”
“Thank you, Kendra.” My mother always tried to encourage Kendra to share her knowledge, but I had the feeling that right now my mother wished that Kendra wouldn’t go into any more detail about voodoo.
“A lot of it has to do with contacting the dead,” Kendra continued. “And they also sacrifice animals, and sometimes it involves snake worship.”
“Kendra,” my mother said firmly. “Your dinner’s getting cold.”
Kendra took the hint, but now Marshall had become interested. “And don’t they use voodoo dolls?”
“Of course,” Kendra said. “Why do you think they’re called voodoo dolls?”
“All right,” our mother said. “Now, that’s enough talk about voodoo.”
“But why did Cousin Coco leave Haiti?” Tiffany asked.
My mother looked somewhat uncomfortable. “I – I don’t really know.”
My father glanced up from his plate. “Didn’t your Aunt Henrietta say that Coco was thrown out of Haiti?”
“She wasn’t thrown out,” my mother corrected him. “Aunt Henrietta said Coco had to leave Haiti… for political reasons.”
That sounded interesting! “Political reasons?” I asked. “What does that mean?”
Again, my mother looked uncomfortable. “I – I don’t know.”
“I do!” Kendra piped up. “Haiti used to be a dictatorship, and many people thought that the dictator used magic to control his enemies. When the dictator was overthrown, voodoo became very unpopular. Sometimes when people get caught practicing voodoo there now, they’re asked to leave the country.”
Tiffany suddenly looked concerned. “So you mean Cousin Coco was thrown out of her home because she practiced voodoo?”
“Maybe,” my mother said.
“And where is she living now?” Tiffany asked.
“She landed in Florida,” my mother explained. “But she doesn’t really know what she’s going to do. She’s staying with my Great Aunt Henrietta for the moment, but she doesn’t know where she’s going to live, or what she’s going to do for work.”
“I guess there aren’t too many job openings for voodoo priestesses,” my father chuckled.
But Tiffany was not amused. “It isn’t funny, Dad. She’s all alone in a strange country, and she’s probably frightened.”
Marshall broke into laughter. “Frightened? I can’t imagine a voodoo priestess being frightened!”
“Why not?” Tiffany asked. “How would you like it if you were thrown out of the country, and had to live in a foreign land where you didn’t know anybody?”
“Except your mother’s Great Aunt Henrietta,” my father added. “Which is frightening enough in itself.”
Everyone laughed, except my mother, who was about to say something, but Tiffany spoke first.
“Maybe we should help her,” Tiffany said. “After all, she is family.”
I could see that our mother was grateful for Tiffany’s support. “That’s how I feel.”
My father sighed and shook his head. “I still don’t think it’s a good idea to leave you children with a total stranger.”
“Yeah,” Marshall snickered. “Especially when she’s a voodoo priestess.” Again, Marshall wiggled his fingers at us while he waved his hands in circles, as if casting a spell. Once again, he managed to knock something over – this time, the half-full salad bowl off the dinner table, dumping lettuce, tomatoes, cucumber slices, and croutons onto the floor.
“Marshall!” our mother sighed.
But Tiffany was not distracted by the fallen salad. “The cruise isn’t for another few weeks. Can’t we invite Cousin Coco to come visit while you’re both still here? And then, by the time you leave on the cruise, she won’t be a total stranger.”
“Tiffany!” our mother said, her eyes sparkling with delight. “That’s a wonderful idea!”
Our father shook his head. “I still don’t like it.”
“But you don’t have to leave Cousin Coco in charge if you don’t like her,” Tiffany said.
Our mother nodded, happily. “Simon, she’s right... And after all, how strange can Coco be?”
Little did we know, we were about to find out…