by Cindy Stark
Time and the Blessed Mother must have worked their magic and erased all traces of that long-ago tragedy. If only Clarabelle could do the same and find her peace.
As far as Hazel knew, she was the first of her family to return to Stonebridge. Maybe her presence and encouragement would help Clarabelle to move on to a brighter and happier place where she could return to the light and discard darkness once and for all.
She muttered a quick plea to the Blessed Mother to help her in this endeavor.
With a renewed sense of purpose burning in her heart, she turned to head back to Peter.
A wave of anguish slapped her hard, and she inhaled sharply. But this wasn’t old fear. It was new, tightened, fresh and concise. With her hand over her heart, she looked back to the pond to discover the source.
The sight of an odd-shaped, large object several hundred feet out in the pond caught her attention. She squinted, her eyes fighting the glare of sunshine bouncing off the water as she tried to discern what it was.
Too big to be a fish…
Then she noticed hair fanning on the surface and gasped. Her stomach roiled as she filled her lungs, and then she screamed.
Seven
The sound of a scream pierced Peter’s daydreams and brought him upright, his heart pounding. He blinked as he glanced around, trying to get his bearings.
Picnic. Hazel. Nap.
Hazel?
Panic ripped through him when he realized she was missing, and he bolted to his feet. The sight of her racing across the grass toward him should have reassured him, but the look of sheer horror on her face was a knife to his heart.
He ran toward her. When she was within reach, he caught her in his arms, halting her stride. Her breaths were short and desperate.
“Body.” She breathed. “In the water.” She grabbed his hand, and together, they sprinted toward the pond with Hazel leading the way.
The sound of their shoes hitting the wooden dock echoed around him. Hazel screeched to a stop and then pointed over the water. He scanned the surface, hoping she’d mistaken a shadow from the overhead clouds or debris for the body.
But, no. He spotted the object she pointed at, and dread sluiced over him like pouring rain on a cold day.
He jerked his phone from his pocket and dialed the station. Hazel watched him with eyes full of fear, and he reached for her hand to comfort her. “John. Get a unit out to Redemption Pond now. I’m out here, and we’ve discovered a body in the water.” He hung up without waiting for a reply.
He shoved his phone into Hazel’s hands and gripped the bottom of his shirt, pulling it over his head. “You should wait in my truck.” He pulled off his boots, trying to remain calm despite the adrenaline flooding his veins.
She shook her head vehemently. “I want to stay. I need to know who it is.”
He unbuttoned his jeans and shimmied out of them, knowing the weighted fabric would slow him down once he hit the water. “Dead bodies aren’t pleasant to look at, Hazel. The sight can stay with you forever.”
“I watched Mr. Winthrop die.”
“That’s different than a bloated body that’s been in the water a while.” Without waiting for her reply, he dove in, hoping she’d do as he asked.
With strong, powerful strokes, he swam across the pond, trying to focus on something other than what floated ahead of him. He couldn’t wait for help to arrive if there was the slightest chance the person might be alive, but from his point of view at the dock, it was unlikely.
He wished Hazel would listen to him and stay away from what would likely be a gruesome sight, but he doubted she would.
He loved that she was made of strong material. Any woman he might consider having in his life would need to be with his line of work. Sarah had always balked at hearing about some of the events he dealt with, so he’d minimized any discussions about them with her. But sometimes, the things he witnessed ate at him, and he’d wished he could have someone to help release those burdens.
Not the guys at the station. He couldn’t be vulnerable with them. But sharing with someone like Hazel would be so good for him. She had a strong will, that one.
As he approached the body, he mentally curtained off his emotions as he took in details including the long, dark hair fanned on the top of the water and the curve of a trim waist that widened at the hips.
A woman.
When his hands bumped into her body, he stopped swimming and treaded water. The woman’s body bobbed, and he knew right away from the color of her skin and lack of motion that she was no longer breathing.
Peter couldn’t help but think about his wife’s death. Sarah hadn’t died in a drowning, but he knew somewhere out there was a family whose life was about to be forever changed.
He gripped the cold arm and turned her over. Belinda’s once-beautiful face greeted him with lifeless eyes, and his stomach lurched. Didn’t matter how many times he dealt with dead bodies, he’d never get used to it.
Wailing sirens pierced the air, and he looked toward them, grateful that his men had made good time. He only wished he’d be bringing them a live person instead.
He steeled his nerves, grasped Belinda’s body under the armpit, and began the arduous process of making his way back to shore.
He made steady progress across the pond, and slowly, the shore grew nearer. When he finally reached the dock, three men and Hazel waited for him. His officers knelt, and on the count of three, they lifted and dragged the water-logged body onto the dock.
One of his men cursed.
“Belinda Atkins,” Jones said softly.
Peter met his gaze and nodded. In a small town like theirs, it was hard not to become friendly with most everyone, and Peter knew the rooky Jones had had a sweet spot for Belinda. Like most of his single male employees.
She’d served Peter coffee only yesterday. In less than twenty-four hours, she’d gone from flirtatious and bubbly to…gone. She ceased to exist in their world forevermore.
He silently said a prayer for her soul.
A despondent mood settled over him like a coroner’s white sheet. “Let’s get her on the gurney and try to preserve what evidence might be left. Hopefully, the coroner will be able to learn something from her to tell us what happened.”
The men lifted Belinda’s body and carried her toward the gurney while Peter hoisted himself onto the deck, water dripping from every part of his body. Belinda had been a looker and a flirt, and even Peter had always appreciated her smile. Yeah, she’d had her share of issues, but any loss of life before a person’s time was unacceptable.
“Don’t look,” he said in a low voice to Hazel.
She nodded as though she agreed to his request and held out a blanket one of his men must have given her, but she didn’t look away until he took her hand. Nothing he could do now about what she’d seen, but once they’d loaded Belinda on the gurney, he intended to send Hazel home with one of his men whether she liked it or not. He’d use his position as chief if necessary.
Eight
Hazel watched in shock as Peter swam to shore and the other officers lifted Belinda onto the dock. Even with damp, limp hair and a bloated body, Hazel recognized her. Her heart clutched at the unexpected, horrific loss of life.
Peter climbed out of the water, but she barely noticed the lack of most of his clothes and dripping body as she handed a blanket to him. She stepped back to let the officers pass as they carried Belinda across the short dock and placed her gently on the waiting gurney. As they did, her lifeless arm flopped over the edge and dangled downward, revealing the underneath of her bicep.
A sloppy, inverted pentagram drawn with thick, black lines looked like a stark brand against her pale, wet skin. With the sounds of the officers’ voices a dim buzz in her head, Hazel moved to follow them so she could inspect the graffiti, but Peter took her hand.
She swallowed in horror. Many believed an inverted pentagram was the sign of the devil, but any witch worth her cauldron knew that wasn’t true. O
r at least it wasn’t originally true. Modern Satanists had claimed it as their own.
Regardless, Hazel was certain that pentagram hadn’t been on Belinda’s arm three mornings ago when she’d found her breaking up with Charlie outside of Cora’s café. She feared that meant someone had marked her as a witch before he or she had killed her. Or even after she was dead.
Peter blocked her view once again, and she glanced upward to his face. Water droplets fell from his hair, and his expression was dire. Of course, it was. He’d jumped in after Belinda like the hero he was, and she realized how disturbingly difficult his job must be at times.
“Don’t look, Hazel,” he repeated. “They can give you nightmares.”
She nodded, allowing him to turn her from the sight of the body. She could look away, but he wouldn’t be able to.
He stuffed his feet back into his boots even though his socks were soggy, and then picked up his shirt and jeans. With the blanket tucked around his hips, he grasped her hand and led her to the passenger side of one of the police units. Outside the door, he paused. “I’m going to ask Sargent Gentry to take you home.”
“I want to stay.” It wasn’t that she wanted to see Belinda again, but the thought of going home alone after this seemed unbearable. She needed to know more, needed to talk with Peter about what had happened.
Concern reflected in his eyes. “I’m going to be here awhile, documenting notes, waiting for the coroner, interviewing witnesses.”
“I could help with that.”
He reached up and tugged a stray strand of hair from her face. “You know I love your help, but this is an official police investigation. You can’t help right now.”
She knew he was right, but that didn’t make her feel any better.
He opened the passenger door of the SUV, and she had no choice but to climb inside.
“I could bring back dry clothes for you.”
He gently shook his head. “One of my men can. But, there is something you can do. Go to Cora’s. We both know she cared about Belinda, and this will be a hard blow for her. There are enough witnesses to ignite the gossip fire before long. You’ll be doing her a kindness if you break it to her in private and give her time to prepare before the onslaught of questions and comments come her way.”
Hazel closed her eyes for a long moment, imagining the pain she’d find on her friend’s face when she told her. “You’re right. I need to be the one to break it to her.”
He nodded in agreement and then patted her leg. “I’ll send Gentry right over, and he can drive you.”
Knowing that she had a purpose made leaving easier. “Okay. You’ll call me later?”
“I’ll call you when I can.” With that, he shut the door and strode away.
A few moments later, the older officer with sandy-blond hair and intense blue eyes climbed into the SUV. “Cora’s Café?”
“Yes, please.”
Hazel and the officer both remained silent during the ride back to town. She had a million questions, but she knew he wouldn’t be able to talk to her about them, and generating everyday chit-chat to fill the void just seemed wrong.
When he pulled alongside the curb in front of the café, she grabbed her backpack and quilt and opened the door. “Thanks for the ride.”
“No problem, ma’am.”
She heard him pull away as she reached to open the door. Instead of entering, she paused and silently asked the Blessed Mother to give her enough strength for her and her friend because she knew Cora would have none of her own.
After taking a steadying breath, she stepped inside.
Cora looked up from behind the counter, a smile blossoming on her face when her gaze connected with Hazel. “Hey, lady,” she called and motioned her over. “How about some ice cream, and you can tell me all about your hot date?”
Hazel swallowed and moved forward, circling behind the counter instead of sidling up to the opposite side like she usually did. Thankfully, only a few people occupied the booths, and Cora had hours before the dinner crowd arrived.
As Hazel neared, Cora’s happy expression dropped to concern. “Oh, no. It didn’t go well?”
Unexpected tears sprang to Hazel’s eyes as she tried to form the appropriate words to say. She came up empty.
“Cora…” She took her hand and tugged her into the kitchen. Bernard shifted his gaze from the grill he scraped to them. Heavy-set and in his fifties, he eyed them with raised brows as though he wanted to know why they’d dared to enter his lair.
“Could we have a few minutes, Bernard?” Cora asked. She thought she was sparing Hazel from an uncomfortable moment. Little did she know…
He agreed with a dip of his head. “Sure. I need to step out back for a moment anyway.”
Smoke break, Hazel thought and wiped tears from her cheeks. When the door closed behind him, Hazel took both of Cora’s hands and met her gaze.
Cora must have sensed something because she started shaking her head as though she knew what was coming.
“There’s been an accident.” Or possibly murder, if anyone asked her. “It’s Belinda.”
Heartbreak exploded in Cora’s eyes. “No.” She gripped Hazel’s hands tighter. “No.”
She gave her a gentle nod. “They…” Not they. “I spotted her floating in the water at Redemption Pond.”
Cora shook her head rapidly and then released Hazel’s hands, using the wall to steady herself instead. “That can’t be right. Belinda is a good swimmer. Maybe it wasn’t her.”
Hazel tugged her toward a stool and forced her to sit. “It was her, Cora. I saw her. Peter did, too. He sent me to tell you before you heard it from someone else.” She admired that, even in dark times, Peter thought of others.
Tears flowed unfettered now, and Cora repeatedly shook her head. “No. I can’t believe it. She can’t be gone.”
Hazel located a box of tissues in a nearby pantry and opened it, giving Cora several. She’d likely need them and more before the day was over. “Peter doesn’t have any answers yet. He was still investigating when I left, and it sounded like he’d be there a long time. But I’m sure he’ll tell you what he can when he can.”
“Oh, Hazel. I just can’t…” Cora’s voice broke on another sob, and Hazel wrapped her in a caring embrace.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “Cry all you need.”
“She was so young. So smart and beautiful.”
“I know. I know.”
Cora tilted her tear-stained face toward Hazel and sniffed. “Do you think someone found out?” she half-whispered, half-sobbed.
The image of the inverted pentagram reared in Hazel’s mind, but she didn’t feel she could tell Cora. At least not now. Either way, it seemed Belinda hadn’t been so smart after all. “I don’t know.”
Cora stared, her red-rimmed eyes full of anguish, the look on her face leaving Hazel anxious. “Do you think that had something to do with her death?” Hazel asked. “Maybe one of the others discovered her heritage?”
“I don’t know.” Cora’s voice hitched. “But I do know she was a darn good swimmer.”
Hazel sighed and shook her head, not knowing how to process this tragedy, let alone help her friend. “I don’t think you’re in any shape to handle the café tonight. Is there someone I can call to cover for you?”
“Lobster Lucy.” She sniffed.
Hazel still couldn’t call the lovely older lady by that name, even though everyone else did.
“She ran it for a couple of days when I cut a tendon in my thumb and needed surgery,” Cora continued. “Her number’s in the small black book near the phone in the office.”
Cora’s office was really a four-by-six closet that held a small desk complete with computer, phone and a chair. There wasn’t room for anything else. Hazel located Lucy’s number and called her.
A few moments later, she returned to Cora to find her sobbing into her hands. Hazel grabbed more tissues and rushed forward. “I’m so sorry.” She hugged her ag
ain.
“Lucy’s on her way,” Hazel continued. “Should be here shortly. We can walk the couple of blocks to my house, and I’ll make you some wonderful tea, okay? I think you should spend the night, too. Blessed Mother knows I’m not up for being alone right now, so I’m sure you’re not, either.”
Cora nodded. “Thank you, Hazel. You’re a good friend.”
“Of course. Anything you need.” Hazel might even brew Clarabelle’s recipe for chamomile tea that she’d been dying to try.
Nine
Something soft brushed Hazel’s cheek, stirring her from her sleep. She smiled at the comforting feeling and allowed drowsiness to consume her again.
More lovely caresses feathered across her face, and she struggled to discern if they were part of her dreams or came from reality. Either way, they were so nice…
Smack.
This time, the touch was not loving.
She opened her eyes abruptly and found Mr. Kitty perched atop her chest, glaring at her with impatience. She blinked a few times and then glared back. “Did you just slap me?”
He released a meow full of irritation, as though to confirm that he had indeed attacked her while she slept. “I should throw you out of the house right now.” Her words came out scratchy, making her throat hurt.
Mr. Kitty chuffed, gave her an “as if” look, and then sprang off her chest onto the floor. She swore the force of his jump was strong enough to leave bruises on her. She sat up, prepared to fling curses at him, and then realized she wasn’t in her bed, but on the couch instead.
She must have fallen asleep there after sharing Cora’s grief. Memories of the previous night flooded her throbbing head…crying, laughing, too much of Clarabelle’s relaxation tea, and her thoughts left her in a panic.
Cora?
Hazel quickly scanned her living room and would have missed Cora lying on the floor on the opposite side of the coffee table if not for catching a glimpse of her toes peeking out from the end.
At least her friend hadn’t wandered out into the night alone with Hazel passed out on the couch.
