8 The Witch Who Saw a Murder

by Emma Belmont

  “Maris,” he said. “Are you okay?”

  Her momentum carried her another half step before she could stop. “Yes,” she said, a bit breathless. She took a moment to adjust the purse on her shoulder. “I’m fine,” she said too quickly, “and you?”

  He smiled a little. “We’re good here, I think.” He glanced at his customer, an older man, who nodded and shrugged.

  “Good,” Maris said, pushing her hair back a bit. “Good.” As they continued to stare at her, she added, “I’ll just, um, have a look around.”

  “Okay,” Guy said. “If you need any help, just let me know.” He turned back to the older man. “They’re normally in Aisle Fourteen.”

  As they ambled off, Maris watched them go, and took a good look at the store. Nothing seemed out of place and neither Guy nor his customer appeared alarmed in the least—unless it was at her. Taking her time, she went back to the stairs in the corner. She climbed them almost all the way to the top, then stopped and surveyed the first floor. Two more customers were browsing at its edge in the lighting section.

  “Hmm,” she muttered.

  There was no way to know when the precognitive vision might actually become reality. Often in the course of an investigation, she’d see its relevance as facts unfolded. But she’d never seen a death before it happened.

  Up on the second floor, it was also business as usual, though there were no customers. To her relief, there were also no bodies on the floor. She went to the stairs and started down, noticing the hallway in the other corner of the large space. She’d just take a peek in there, before going back home.

  Careful to avoid Guy, she quietly approached the hallway. A directional sign for the bathroom was at its end. As she passed it, she thought again of letting Mac know. Though he wasn’t one of the magick folk—and the unwritten rule of Pixie Point Bay dictated silence when it came to normals—this was a case of life and death. For all she knew, he wouldn’t even believe her. But if there was even the slightest chance that her gift could save a life, shouldn’t she reveal it?

  Maris grimaced at the thought and found herself near the end of the short hallway. To her right was the door marked ‘Restroom.’ Ahead was an unlabelled door that presumably led to the alley behind and the store’s loading dock. To her left was a door with a drab and crooked little sign that read ‘Office.’ She checked over her shoulder to make sure no one saw her, and then quickly opened the door, stepped in, and closed it behind her.

  “Oh,” she said. “Excuse me. I must have…” Her voice trailed off as she stared at Rudy Schmid’s hunched back. His face was turned away from her and he apparently hadn’t heard her come in.

  Was he taking a nap?

  Quietly she crept forward. He was slumped on top of a metal desk, which she recognized immediately. This was the office that Claribel had shown her. In front of him was the old computer as well. He’d apparently been working. She had to be on the right trail. But as the seriousness of that realization dawned, it also occurred to her where she was: a small and confined space. In addition to being worried about being caught snooping around, the anxiety of her mild claustrophobia piled on top of it.

  If Rudy was napping, that was too bad.

  “Mr. Schmid,” she said loudly. “I’m sorry to disturb you.” Though she waited for an answer, he didn’t move. “Mr. Schmid,” she said again, raising her voice as she took a step closer. “Are you asleep?”

  His hand was on the computer mouse, but now she could see that his head was on the keyboard. It would be almost impossible to sleep like that. A bolt of fear shot down her spine.

  She grasped him by the shoulder and shook him. “Mr. Schmid,” she said loudly. “Can you hear me?”

  His head lolled around, pressing the keys on the keyboard.

  Grasping him by both shoulders, and with a giant heave fueled by alarm, she pulled him away from the desk and back into the office chair. His head flopped against its back, where it came to a rest. Now that she could see his face, there was no mistaking his fate. His slack mouth was open and his lifeless and half-lidded eyes stared past her.

  Rudy Schmid was dead.

  18

  Maris stood with Guy and Mac as the familiar scene unfolded. While the coroner and his assistant rolled the gurney from the store to the waiting van outside, the forensics team passed him on their way in.

  “Sheriff,” Lucille said. Mac was back in the usual khaki pants, long-sleeved shirt, and tie of the sheriff’s uniform. “Didn’t expect to see you so soon.” She nodded to Maris. “Or you, Maris.”

  “I found the body,” Maris replied.

  “Guy,” Mac said. “Could you hang a ‘Closed’ sign on the front door?”

  The sheriff had spoken to the few customers who’d been in the store at the time, before ushering them out. Guy was the only person left. But he seemed not to have heard, and was staring out the front window at the coroner’s van.

  “Guy?” Mac said again.

  The hardware store employee blinked and then stared at him. “I’m sorry. What?”

  Maris gave him a sympathetic look. He was likely in a bit of shock.

  “If you hang a ‘Closed’ sign on the door,” Mac said, “that’ll keep customers out.”

  Guy nodded. “Oh sure, Sheriff, sure.”

  “When you’re done, just wait here. We’ll be right back.” He looked at the senior investigator and her young assistant. “Let me show you where the office is. Maris can describe what she saw.”

  He led the way, followed by Lucille and Sefina. Maris brought up the rear.

  “Does the coroner have any theories?” Lucille asked.

  “It could very well be another case of botulism,” Mac said.

  “Another?” Sefina said. “But…”

  Mac glanced over his shoulder. “I know. We found no traces at Ms. Castro’s house.”

  “You didn’t?” Maris asked. “Nothing?”

  Sefina glanced back at her. “Right. Either she cleaned her kitchen super well, or it didn’t come from there.”

  Mac had put yellow police tape across the door in an ‘X’ but took it down to allow the investigators in. Already in their hazmat suits, they added face masks and gloves before proceeding in.

  “Where was the body?” Lucille asked.

  “He was sitting in that chair but slumped on top of the desk,” Maris said, pointing from the hallway. There was no way the office would hold more than two people—and she was glad to wait outside. “His head was on the keyboard.”

  While Sefina unpacked some supplies, Lucille looked at Maris. “Why did you come in here?”

  Maris cleared her throat. “I was, um, looking for the restroom. I opened the door and found him on the desk.”

  Lucille exchanged a look with Mac who pointedly looked at the ‘Office’ sign on the door, and then at the ‘Restroom’ sign on the opposite door, before returning his gaze to Maris.

  “I didn’t touch anything,” Maris continued. “Just Rudy. I thought perhaps he was napping, but then he didn’t respond. I was worried and pulled him back from the desk.”

  “All right,” Lucille said, and turned back to Sefina. “Let’s get out the evidence markers.”

  “We’ll leave you to the crime scene,” the sheriff said.

  “Crime scene,” Maris said lowly as they turned away.

  “Right,” Mac said. “I can’t afford to take chances. We might have a serial poisoner on our hands.”

  They headed back up the hallway. “Then Joy might have been murdered,” Maris said.

  As they made their way into the lighting aisle, Mac said, “I have to entertain that possibility now.”

  They found Guy at the cash register, putting the cash in a zippered money bag. He looked up as they approached. “Closing out the till,” he said, his face glum. “Normally Rudy would do this.”

  Mac took the notepad from his pocket. “When was the last time you saw Mr. Schmid?”

  Guy paused and put the money ba
g on the counter. He looked up at the round clock above the front door. I’d say a couple of hours ago. Maybe about nine o’clock.”

  Mac nodded. “And where was he?”

  Guy blinked and looked down at his feet. “Right here.” He stared at the cash register. “He was ringing up a customer. I went to help someone find the right nails in the hardware aisle.”

  “How did he seem?” Maris asked.

  The store employee shrugged his big shoulders. “Same as always.” He grimaced and shook his head. “I wish I’d known. Maybe I could have done something.” He looked at Maris and then Mac. “What did he die of?”

  “We won’t know until the autopsy report is back,” Mac said.

  Guy tugged on his red soul patch, his eyes cast down. “I wish I’d known something was wrong.” He grimaced and shook his head. “I’d have done anything for the man.”

  “Were you close?” Maris asked.

  He looked up at her. “Not really, but Rudy was the only one willing to take a chance on me.”

  “When were you released?” Mac asked.

  Maris frowned and cocked her head at him, but Guy immediately said, “Almost a year ago now.” He smiled a little at Maris. “Cops always know.”

  Her brows drew together as she looked between the two men. “Know what?”

  “I was in prison,” Guy said. He gazed at Mac. “It’s the tattoos, isn’t it?”

  Maris stared at the scripted tattoos on his neck, but couldn’t make out what they read.

  Mac gave him an appraising look. “The tattoos, the shaved head.” He jutted his chin toward Guy’s arm. “The time you spent in the workout yard.”

  The young man bunched his hand and flexed his bicep under the baggy shirt. “It’s either that or–”

  “Or be a victim,” Mac said.

  “Dog eat dog,” Guy agreed. “It’s not the guards you worry about.” He glanced at Maris. “It’s the other cons.”

  Mac made a note in his pad. “What were you in for?”

  “Stupidity,” Guy said with a chuckle. But when Mac looked up from the notepad, he stifled the laugh. “I sold pot and got six months.”

  Mac nodded. “And how long have you been working here?”

  Guy tugged on his soul patch again. “I’m not sure. Maybe nine months?”

  Maris did the math. “It took you three months to find a job?”

  “A decent paying one,” Guy said. “I didn’t do much time, but no real business wanted to hire me.” He grimaced and looked at the cash register. “Until Rudy.”

  There was a knock at the front door. All three of them looked over to see Heather Schmid through the glass. She banged on it with the flat of her hand. “Let me in.”

  19

  “Mrs. Schmid,” Guy said, as he opened the door, “what are you doing here?”

  “I heard that police cars were still here,” she said. “I want to know what’s going on.”

  Maris had never met Heather Schmid, but up close she was struck by the older woman’s beauty. Her straight, white hair was cut in a cute bob, with bangs straight across her forehead. She was trim and apparently prematurely gray, since Maris would have put her age at around the mid-fifties. In fact the more she looked at Heather, the more she realized she’d likely been exceptionally pretty in her youth. Her aquamarine eyes darted from Guy to Maris and then finally Mac.

  “As I said on the phone, Mrs. Schmid,” the sheriff said, “our investigation is ongoing.” He smiled at her. “I know this has to be a difficult time. There’s no need for you–”

  “My husband is dead, Sheriff,” she said. “I need to know what’s happening.” She glanced at Maris but then focused on Mac again. “If Rudy was in the hospital, I’d be there. But he’s not.” She swallowed hard. “So I’m here, and I think I have a right to know what’s happening here.”

  Mac returned her gaze and then nodded. “All right, Mrs. Schmid.” He indicated the patio and outdoor section with his notepad. “Why don’t we go over here and have a seat.” He looked at Guy. “If you’ll finish up with the till…”

  “Okay,” he said, and went back to the cash register.

  Maris pointed to the small refrigerated unit at the end of the counter. “I’ll just bring some water.”

  “Good,” Mac said. “Thanks.”

  As the sheriff led Heather to the small arrangement of plastic patio furniture, Maris grabbed a few bottles of cold water. When she joined them, Mac was explaining what the forensics team was doing. Maris opened one of the bottles and set it in front of Heather, who immediately took a drink.

  As Maris took a seat, she said, “We haven’t met, but I’m Maris Seaver.”

  “Maris found your husband’s body,” the sheriff added. “I asked her to remain here to give forensics all the details.”

  “Oh,” Heather said, and put the bottle down, staring at it. “I see.” Finally she looked up at Maris. “Thank you. I’m sure that must have been…” A pained expression crossed Heather’s face.

  “I thought maybe I could help him,” Maris said truthfully, while omitting the precognitive vision that had prompted her visit.

  Heather’s eyes looked all over Maris’s face. “I…I appreciate that you tried.”

  “Mrs. Schmid,” the sheriff said, “when was the last time you saw your husband?”

  “When he left for work this morning,” she answered, her voice more sure. “Right after breakfast, like always, at six thirty.”

  “Do you remember what he ate?” Mac asked, as he made a note.

  “Same thing he always had. Three eggs, rye toast, and four links of sausage.”

  As Mac noted all of that down, Maris had no doubt he was thinking the same thing that she was: had there been anything that might have fostered the growth of the Clostridium botulinum bacteria—and more importantly, its toxin?

  “Coffee?” Mac asked.

  “Yes,” Heather replied. “Always coffee, and he took a cup in his travel mug too.” She glanced at the back of the store and deflated a little. “Oh, I guess I’ll have to figure out how to get his truck home.”

  “I’d like to take a look at it first,” the sheriff said. When she turned back to him, he added, “Just to be complete. Then I can have it delivered to your home.”

  She nodded slightly. “Thank you.”

  He set his notepad and pen on the glass tabletop. “How long were you and Mr. Schmid married?”

  A wistful smile softened her features. “Next month it would have been thirty-five years.”

  Maris arched her brows. “Goodness. You must have gotten married as a child.”

  Heather shook her head, her smile evaporating. “We met in college and married very quickly.” She looked down at her wedding and engagement rings. The pear-shaped diamond was a large solitaire. “I quit my degree to take care of the home.” A brief look of embarrassment crossed her face as she glanced at Maris. “I know it sounds ridiculously old fashioned, but he took care of me, and I took care of the house and everything that entails. I’ve never worked outside the home.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with old fashioned,” Maris told her, smiling. “Honestly, when you put it like that, it sounds positively romantic.”

  “Mrs. Schmid,” the sheriff said, “I want you to think carefully about this next question, and take your time.” Both she and Maris looked at him. “Are you aware of anyone who might want to see harm come to your husband?”

  Heather made a derisive sound and frowned. “Every woman who ever came in the store.”

  Maris’s mouth dropped open but she quickly shut it.

  “I see,” Mac said, picking up the notepad again. “Anyone in particular?”

  “No,” she said simply. “I wish I could tell you, but I was hardly here.” She paused and turned to look at the front of the store. “The only person who I ever saw was that woman in the plaza on picnic day.”

  “Joy Castro,” Maris said, looking out at the Towne Plaza. She could see the place where Joy
had died.

  Heather turned back to look at them. “I never knew her name.”

  “So you say you were hardly here,” the sheriff said, “and yet you say every woman who ever came in would have wanted to see harm come to your husband.”

  “He was a bully to women,” she said bluntly. “I witnessed it many times, even his own mother.” Her earnest look took them both in. “But never me,” she said firmly. “Not once. He was always different with me.”

  Rudy Schmid was sounding decidedly less romantic with every little bit that Maris learned.

  “All right,” Mac said, noncommittally.

  “Honestly,” Heather said, “the love had gone out of our marriage long ago, but there was always the partnership. He relied on me and I relied on him. He never once let me down, and I always stood by him.”

  “And where were you this morning?” the sheriff asked.

  “At home,” she said, “like most days, unless I have to shop.”

  At that moment, Guy returned with the money bag and put it on the patio table. “I’m not sure where this is supposed to go. I always gave it to Rudy.”

  Heather stared at it, but said nothing.

  “Is there a safe?” Mac asked standing.

  “I don’t know,” Guy answered, tugging on his soul patch. “I never went in the office. There might be one in there.”

  As Heather got to her feet, Mac helped her and pulled out her chair, and Maris discreetly tapped her temple.

  “There was no safe in the office that I could see,” Maris said, standing as well.

  Mac picked up the cash bag and held it out to Heather. “Then I suggest you keep it, Mrs. Schmid.”

  “Me?” she said, almost recoiling from it. “But I…I never handled the money.”

  Maris lightly touched the other woman’s shoulder. “I think you might have to start,” she said gently.

  Heather stared down at the bag. “Oh,” she said, and tentatively took it from Mac.

  “I’d like the shop to stay closed for the rest of the day,” he told both her and Guy. He fished in his breast pocket for some business cards and handed them each one. “If there’s anything else that either of you remember, please call me.” Both Guy and Heather took the cards and glanced at them.