He pantomimes zipping his lips shut.
I head into the conference room where the agent is waiting for me. He looks like he’s a few years older than me, maybe in his mid-thirties. The guy is all business. He doesn’t even crack a smile when he looks up at me.
“Ben Walker?”
“That’s me.”
He gestures towards the chair across from him. “Have a seat.”
I sit down. The tension in the air is palpable. The state police and the FBI often work together on cases, but that doesn’t mean the relationships are always amiable. Truth be told, there’s a bit of competition between our agencies.
“I’m Special Agent Charles Winston.”
No handshake. Not even a friendly nod. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say so I allow him to steer the ship.
“I heard through the ‘State Vine’ that you’ve been working a case that involves Moreno Industrial Supplies.”
“It might.”
He frowns. “We’re on the same team. If you tell me what you know, maybe I can tell you what I know.”
“It’s still early in the investigation. Nick Moreno and his daughter were killed in the Bookman College fire. A week later, two goons ran his widow, Maggie, off the road. I don’t think it was a coincidence.”
“What do you know about Moreno Industrial Supplies?”
“I know they don’t actually supply industries with anything. It looks like they’re a cover operation.”
“You’re right. Sal Moreno, the company’s founder, has deep roots in organized crime. He had two sons by two different women neither of whom he was married to. The company launders money for the East Coast mob. Lenny, Sal’s younger son, works for his dad, but he’s not the brightest bulb in the socket. And he’s not his dad’s favorite. Sal likes to keep him around because he’s a cleaner. Good at eliminating problems. We were just getting ready to bring Nick in to see if we could get him to flip on his father when he died.”
“I haven’t been able to locate Sal. His son, Lenny, says he’s in Florida...”
Charles shakes his head. “Sal hasn’t traveled in nearly a decade. Ever since he was diagnosed with heart problems. He likes to stick close to home.”
“Why would Lenny lie about that?”
“It’s a good question. Let me know what you find out.”
I hop out of my police car and head up an Italian marble walkway filled with leaves.
The McMansion is a little too big for the lot it’s on. With its over-the-top Greco fountain and faux Roman pillars, it’s much too gaudy for the upper-crust neighborhood in which its located.
I ring the bell. Wait. No response. So, I pound on the door. “State Police. Open up.”
There’s still no answer.
I walk over to one of the ground-floor windows and peek inside.
The interior of Sal Moreno’s house is even more garish than the exterior. He’s got deep red wallpaper with gold accents and trim. An enormous crystal chandelier hangs in the center of the room. There’s even a replica of a king’s throne chair.
As I take a closer look inside, I notice a thin layer of dust covering the ornate furnishings.
Then something catches my attention. I remove the cellphone from my pocket. Turn on the camera. Point it at the mantle. Then zoom in for a closer look.
It’s a left hand that’s been severed from a body, dried like a mummy, and enclosed in a glass case.
The man has a Hand of Glory displayed on his mantle. This case just got a lot more interesting.
I snap a few shots of the relic.
According to legend, a Hand of Glory is the dried and pickled hand of a man who was hanged for murder. The Hand of Glory is supposed to have magical properties, aiding thieves in their work. It’s said to be able to open any locked door and render all those within a house paralyzed until the robber completes his job.
Makes me wonder if old Sal has the object as a conversation piece or if he’s actually used it in his work.
If Sal’s not in Florida, and he obviously hasn’t been home for a while, where could he be?
Chapter 9
MAGGIE
“You’ll need to select your channel for the spirit world,” my grandmother says.
The two of us are standing in the backroom of the Curiosity Shop looking at the various witchcraft supplies and instruments of magic she has laid out on the table for me.
I pick up one of the herbs and sniff it. Oregano. My grandmother removes it from my hand. “Sorry. I use that one to cook with. If you select herbs, you’ll have to grow them yourself.”
“I’m not much of a green thumb,” I admit.
“You could use water, oils, gemstones, or fire.”
Fire. My interest is immediately piqued. I think about my husband and daughter being killed in the blaze at Bookman College. Then I think about my beloved car bursting into flames. Everything that has been taken from me has been taken with fire. It seems only fitting that it would be the instrument of choice for my magic.
“I’d like to use fire.”
As soon as I pick up a large white candle from my grandmother’s table, I have a vision. It’s the two goons who ran me off the road. They are in their black sedan, arguing as they head down a winding country road.
The one who is driving says, “Are you sure this is the right way?”
The passenger holds up his cellphone. “That’s what the app says.”
“It doesn’t look right.”
“How is it supposed to look? The bitch’s house is in the middle of nowhere.”
The driver slaps the passenger’s arm. “We can’t screw up again. We’ve got to kill her this time. If we have a third strike, we’ll be out. I don’t want to be out. Do you want to be out?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about with the strikes and outs.” The passenger shakes his head. “This is supposed to be a hit, not a baseball game. Just keep driving.”
Then the vision fades away.
“What is it?” my grandmother asks. “All of the color has drained from your face. You look like you’ve seen death.”
“I have. My own. Or at least the two guys who want to kill me.”
“Sit down.”
As slide onto a stool, my grandmother lights the candle on the table in front of me.
I stare intently at the flame for several moments. Then I move my hand next to the flame. Without much effort, I’m able to move the fire with my energy.
“That’s good,” my grandmother says. “You’re gaining power very quickly. Much quicker than I did when I was starting out.”
“Weren’t you a teenager when you became a witch?”
She nods.
“I’m thirty. Perhaps that makes a difference?”
“Stare into the flame,” she instructs. “Tell me what you see.”
“It’s my house,” I tell her. “There’s a young couple with a toddler standing at the front door. They are moving boxes in.”
I sniffle. Then wipe away a tear that has escaped down my cheek.
My grandmother takes my hand in hers. “I know how hard it is to lose a child and to lose your spouse. But I promise you that it gets better. You will find love again. Maybe even have another baby.”
I shake my head. Right now, I can’t imagine ever being happy again.
When my cellphone rings, it startles us both.
I glace at the caller ID. “It’s my real estate agent.” I answer it.
“Maggie?” Linda says. “Did I catch you at a bad time? I’ve got great news. I’ve got a buyer who is very interested in your house. A lovely young couple who just started a family. Can we meet? I need for you to sign some paperwork.”
“Of course. The sooner, the better.”
I’m seated at my kitchen table with Linda, a massive pile of paperwork between us.
“I don’t remember having this much paperwork when Nick and I bought the house.”
Linda laughs. “It’s like childbirth. Y
ou never remember is being as bad as it actually is.”
“I know I’ve got to get the place cleaned up. And I have to get Nick and Lizzie’s stuff packed away.”
When we rise from the table, Linda embraces me in a hug. “Normally. I’d tell you to take your time, but I’d like to strike while the market is hot.”
I nod. “I need to get the house sold.”
“Let me know when you’re ready. The buyers are anxious to make an offer.”
I walk Linda to the front door. “Thanks for everything.”
“Don’t thank me until the sale closes and the money is in the bank.” Linda gives me air kisses on both cheeks before she heads out the door.
I glance around the living room. I’ve got my work cut out for me. I grab a cardboard box and head over to the fireplace. I remove the family photos from the mantle and place them carefully in the box.
My entire body tense when I hear footsteps behind me. I slowly turn around. The two goons who ran me off the road are pointing guns at me.
“We’re here to finish what we started,” the guy with the scar says.
My hands start to shake so hard I have to put the box down to keep the framed photos from rattling.
Then I close my eyes and take in a deep breath hoping it will calm my nerves. Once I’ve gained a bit of composure, I look directly at the goons as I begin to chant. “What you do to me will return to you tenfold. What you do to me will return to you tenfold.”
The guys give each other a look like I’m nuts, but it does not deter me a bit. I continue with my ritual, “What you do to me will return to you tenfold.”
The guy with the scar on his face turns to the bald guy. “Smoke her.”
When the bald guy tries to shoot his gun, nothing happens. It clicks but it doesn’t fire. So, he turns to his pal. “You try it.”
When the guy with the scar shoots his gun, it backfires and explodes in his face. He drops to the floor, dead, half of his jaw now missing.
The bald guy’s eyes go wide. “What the hell?”
“What you do to me will return to you tenfold.”
The bald guy flips his gun in his hand then steps towards me as he brandishes the butt of his weapon. “I’m going to smash your head in, you bitch.”
As he lunges for me, he trips on the edge of the carpet, loses his balance, and smashes his head on the sharp edge of an end table. He’s woozy, but he still manages to stand back up. “Why won’t you die? You didn’t die with your family in the fire. We couldn’t whack you in that car accident either.”
It was TAKE YOUR DAUGHTER TO WORK DAY at Bookman College. That’s why Nick had Lizzie with him. I was supposed to meet them for lunch that day, but I was running late and didn’t make it. That was the only reason I didn’t die with my husband and daughter that day. Because I’m perpetually late.
I look deep into the goon’s dark eyes. “Who sent you here to kill me?”
“You can’t stop it. Guys like me are a dime a dozen. They’ll be more. As many as it takes. Until one of them finally manages to take you out.”
When he laughs, the bald guy loses his balance and falls backwards through the glass coffee table. He’s stabbed through the heart with a large shard of glass.
I remove my cellphone and Ben Walker’s business card from my pocket. Then I dial his number.
“Are you okay?” his voice is filled with concern.
“Not really.” I tell him what happened.
“Lock your front door and don’t let anyone in but me.”
Everything is a blur after Ben arrives with a team of police officers, crime scene technicians, and the medical examiner.
He asks me to wait outside and places a State Police jacket over my shoulders when he sees that I’m shivering. “How are you doing?”
“I’ve been better.”
“Two men break into your house. They both die horrible deaths. Yet you didn’t lay a hand on them. What are the chances?”
“The world works in mysterious ways. Maybe it was karmic justice.”
He looks deep into my eyes, his expression serious. “Tell me what’s really going on.”
“Someone killed my husband. They killed my daughter. Now they want me dead. I have no idea why, but I’m going to find out.”
“Why don’t you let the law handle it?”
“In an unjust world, sometimes you have to create your own justice.”
“If I can’t stop you from doing your own investigation of the case, let’s at least work together on it.”
I rub my hands together as I consider his offer.
“It would make me feel better if I could protect you,” he adds.
I gesture towards the Medical Examiner as he loads the bodies into his van. “I’m not sure I need your protection.”
He heaves a sigh. “I could use your help.”
“I’ll think about it.”
He stares at me for several moments. “I like what you did with your hair.”
I haven’t had the time to see my hairdresser. I’ve still got the white streak. “Thanks. I guess.”
He continues to look at my head. “It suits you.”
Chapter 10
BEN
I stand at the entrance of the Curiosity Shop. The place is so odd looking. I flip open my notepad just to double-check the address and make sure I’ve got the right place.
This is it. This is where Maggie’s grandmother lives. This is her shop. It’s not what I was expecting. I thought a witch would own a shop that looks a little more menacing. This place looks like Willie Wonka’s Chocolate Factory on a bad acid trip.
As I enter the store, I glance around at the knickknacks and collectables. It’s a lot to take in. Every inch of the place is covered with colorful wares.
A few moments later, an older woman enters from the back room. I assume that it’s Maggie’s grandmother.
“I’m Detective Ben Walker. I’m here to see Maggie. Is she available?”
She gives me the stink eye. “And who are you?” The woman is intimidating, which says a lot. Other people rarely intimidate me. When her gaze lands on my facial scar, she stares at it for what seems like an eternity. “Does Maggie know?”
I frown. “Know what?”
She points to my scar. “Maggie did that to you when you were children.”
My jaw drops as the realization hits me like a brick. Maggie Moreno was Maggie Russo growing up. We went to kindergarten together. I had a huge crush on her. She always wore her dark hair in pigtails and she always had pink sneakers on. I’d always try to make her laugh because when she laughed she snorted.
Now I know why she seemed so familiar to me when we met.
“I’m here about the Bookman College fire case,” I explain.
Rita disappears into the backroom. A few seconds later, Maggie emerges. “We meet again.”
For this first time since I interviewed her, she’s actually smiling. It’s not a huge grin. More of the hint of a smile. But it lights up her face.
“Your grandmother must have told you…” I can feel my cheeks heat. They are probably reddening with embarrassment.
“That you’re little Benji, my friend from kindergarten. She never mentioned it.” As her grin gets a little wider, her dark eyes twinkle.
For just a moment, I’m mesmerized by her. “No one has called me Benji since grade school.”
“I kind of like it. Benji.”
When our eyes meet, there’s an exchange of heat between us that I’m not expecting.
“I’m sorry about that.” She points to the scar on my cheek.
“You maimed me for life,” I tease.
“It adds character. No one should be too perfect looking.”
Does she find me attractive? I remind myself that nothing can happen between us. Not only because of the case I’m investigating, but because she’s a witch and I’m a witch hunter.
“You told me you’d help me with the investigation,” I say with as much profess
ionalism as I can muster.
“I didn’t think you came here to reminisce about our childhoods.”
“Your brother-in-law, Lenny, says his dad is in Florida. But there are no records of Sal leaving the state. Do you have any idea where he might be?”
“I assume you’ve checked his estate?”
“Is that what you call it?”
“That’s what he calls it. I call it an eyesore.”
“He’s not there. It doesn’t look like he’s been there for a while.”
“He’s got a place at the shore. He bought it for one of his girlfriends. She dumped him before it was finished being built. He doesn’t have a very good track record with women.”
“Do you have an address?”
Maggie shakes her head. “I don’t know the address, but I can show you how to get there.”
As our eyes meet, the exchange of energy between us is palpable. I know it’s not a good idea for us to spend more time together, but what choice do I have? I need to get to Sal’s beach house.
“Let’s go,” I tell her.
The ride to the shore is quiet, mostly because Maggie sleeps nearly the entire way. When her eyes finally open again, I can tell we’re almost there. I can smell the ocean air.
She wipes the sleep from her eyes. “I must have dozed off.”
“You call that dozing? You were asleep for over two hours.”
“I don’t normally do that.”
“I hope I’m not that boring.”
“Not at all. I find that I need a lot more sleep these days. I must feel comfortable with you.” She glances out the passenger window. “We’re getting close. Take the next right. You’ll see his beach house on the left.”
I park my car next to a shiny new Mercedes convertible. Sal’s beach house is a lovely white cottage right on the ocean. It’s fancy enough to be on the cover of one of those home and garden magazines. The place must be worth a fortune.
As Maggie and I exit the vehicle, I point to the Mercedes. “Is that Sal’s car?”
“Yup.”
Playing With Fire Page 137
