Witch Hunt

by Cate Conte

  Although now was probably not the time to think of that. “Right,” I said. “I have an appointment.” I left him sitting on the desk. On my way into the main room of the shop, I paused and looked back.

  My desktop was empty, except for the piles of papers I still hadn’t gone through.

  He’s a cat, Vi. What do you expect? My little voice chided me. He jumped down and is hiding somewhere until you leave. That’s it.

  I saw a woman waiting at the door and hurried over to unlock it. My first appointment, and thank goodness, she was the real deal, not another Mazzy.

  I threw myself into the consultation. As I got into my routine speaking to my client, I started to feel almost normal again. In this moment, there was no Carla, no murder, no Fiona. And no police. When my client left forty-five minutes later with her stones and a tearful thank-you, I felt like my place in the world had been righted. She was going to be fine. I could feel it. And I would be too. I’d needed this.

  I checked my book for my next appointment. Not for an hour and a half, which gave me time to unwind and clear my energy field for the next person. And usually the best way for me to do that was by working with some stones. I went out back to get one of the boxes from my as-yet-unpacked shipment and came face-to-face with my new friend, the black cat.

  We regarded each other for a moment. I blinked first.

  “So what can I do for you?” I asked him finally.

  He blinked, slowly. I was pretty sure it was a he. Just a feeling I got.

  “Do you need a home?” I asked.

  Another long, slow blink.

  “Did Fiona send you? Are you some kind of witch posing as a cat to spy on me?” I asked. Sadly, I was only half kidding.

  I could’ve sworn he gave me a scornful look.

  “Then how do you keep getting inside?”

  He wasn’t interested in conversation. He leaped gracefully off the desk and came over to twine himself around my legs. I reached down to pet his sleek body. His fur felt like velvet. He looked like one of those true Halloween cats, the ones you see in all the depictions of witches on brooms with their arched black cats balancing next to them.

  The comparison didn’t escape me.

  I lugged the box out front and used a box cutter to slice it open. It was filled to the brim with stones wrapped in Bubble Wrap. I turned some music on and started unpacking, reveling in the brilliance of each stone. I’d placed this order from one of my favorite suppliers at a recent gem show, and as usual, the product didn’t disappoint.

  As I worked, I saw out of the corner of my eye people stopping outside. Potential visitors checking the place out before committing to walking through the door, I assumed, turning to look. And was shocked to find a guy with a camera and a woman with a notebook speaking into a microphone.

  As much as I would love to believe they were there to cover my shop, I had the sinking sensation that this might be about Carla. Clearly word had gotten out that I was the person who’d been dragged down to the police station last night, in the aftermath of her unfortunate demise. That sinking sensation in my stomach made me want to run for the back room and hide, but that didn’t last. Instead I felt angry. This was crap. And the police needed to get their heads out of their rear ends and work on finding the real killer before my reputation went down the drain. Not that I wanted anyone else to go through what I did, but why hadn’t they dragged Andrew down there if he had been the last known person to see her alive?

  I set down the stones in my hand and went to the door. Before I even registered what I was doing, I’d thrown it open, startling them out of their conversation. I saw a glimmer in the reporter’s eye as she realized it was me and snapped to attention.

  “Can I help you?” I asked.

  She flashed a dazzlingly white smile at me. “Ms. Mooney?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  She kept the smile in place. “So nice to meet you. We were hoping to get a quick comment from you relating to the death of Councilwoman Fernandez.” She shoved a microphone in front of my face at the same time I saw the red light flare on in the camera. It was still filming.

  “I have no comment. Please leave.” I turned to go back inside.

  “Oh, come on,” she said, her voice taking on a cajoling tone. “You’ve spoken to other media. It’s only right that you give our viewers the story too.”

  I turned back, indignant. “I have not spoken to any media!” What was she talking about?

  “It’s got to be shocking,” she went on as if I hadn’t spoken. “To know that someone was murdered in cold blood right in front of all our noses, in broad daylight, has to be unnerving. Is it making you think twice about being a business owner in town?”

  I tried to keep a neutral expression on my face. I was well aware of how they could cut this footage to make me look bad. “I’m confident the police will get to the bottom of this quickly,” I said. “I have no worries about North Harbor being a safe place. I firmly believe this was a one-off incident.”

  There. That should shut her up. I turned again to go back inside, but the reporter’s voice followed me. “So you think someone was targeting Ms. Fernandez?”

  Just go inside, Violet. No comment is the best comment.

  I pushed open my door.

  “Is it true that you and Ms. Fernandez were on bad terms?” she persisted. “That you two had gotten into a very public argument not long before she was killed?”

  I paused, closing my eyes and counting to ten so I didn’t say something I’d regret. Once I got to ten, I took a small amount of pleasure picturing their camera smashing into a million pieces on the ground, then, feeling much better about my answer, I turned around.

  At that exact moment the camera fell from the strap around the cameraman’s neck, smashing on the pavement. It probably shouldn’t have broken into so many pieces given the height it fell from, but it must’ve hit at just the right angle. The three of us watched it fall, almost in slow motion, the cameraman’s cry of dismay lodging itself in my consciousness.

  The three of us looked at each other. “Jeez, Matt,” the reporter said, an edge in her voice. “How did that happen?”

  “I . . . have no freaking idea,” he said, sounding crestfallen as he bent to assess the damage.

  The reporter looked at me, clearly torn between pinning me down for a quote and dealing with the fact that she couldn’t get my response on film.

  “I have no comment,” I said with a sappy sweet smile, then slipped back into my shop, locking the door behind me. Part of me felt some satisfaction in the mishap. The other part of me felt kind of sorry for him. Journalists didn’t make a ton of money, and now he’d need to buy a new camera.

  And a third, quieter part of me wondered, How on earth did that happen? The camera’s descent had been almost exactly what I’d pictured in my mind.

  CHAPTER 31

  My next client was a teenager named Alice who’d saved up her babysitting money for a personalized crystal consult. She confessed with a nervous giggle that she was going to school late today just so she could come in to see me. Alice had concerns about her grades, which she called average, and dating, which she said she wasn’t having much luck with. But as soon as she sat down in front of me and allowed me to tune in, I could feel an overwhelming sadness enveloping her. I don’t think she even realized it was there.

  I did love a challenge.

  I chose a pink lemurian seed crystal, a citrine, and an aventurine to help combat her depression and promote feelings of happiness and improved communication, and threw in a pink opal to help with her relationship and self-love. I could tell she was feeling better even before she left the store, and felt a huge sense of satisfaction that I’d helped someone today.

  Josie had come in while I was busy with Alice, and had picked up where I’d left off earlier unpacking boxes. “Morning,” I said, making my way over to her. It seemed like ages since I’d seen her last.

  “Morning, sweetie.” Josie rose
and wrapped me in a hug. I let the familiar scent of patchouli settle over me and thought I could stay here forever. “How are you holding up?” she asked.

  “I’m fine,” I mumbled into her chest. Guess she knew.

  Josie stepped back, holding me at arm’s length. She was a lot taller than me, so she had to look down to see my face. “Really?”

  I shrugged. “I think so. How did you hear? About . . . me?”

  “The police chief’s wife was at the event I went to last night,” she said. “Everyone knows Connie has a big mouth. Plus she was friendly with Carla, so she made it her business to know what they were doing about it.”

  I was always surprised at how much Josie knew about everyone in town, although at this point I shouldn’t be. But something else she’d just said bothered me.

  “What event were you at last night?” I asked.

  “The paint party for the rescue league. At Anna’s,” she said.

  “Really? I thought you were watching Presley last night since Syd went to that?”

  Josie shook her head slowly. “Syd wasn’t at that event.”

  I frowned. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. There were only about twelve people, so it wasn’t like I missed her in a crowd. Why?”

  “No reason,” I said, brushing it off. I needed to sort that out in my head. Why had Sydney lied about where she’d been last night? Did it have something to do with that Rain guy?

  “Anyway, don’t get me wrong, no one deserves to be murdered, but that woman was a classic troublemaker. And no one in their right mind who’s ever spent five seconds with you would ever think you’d kill anyone,” Josie went on. “They were just checking a box to show that they’re on top of things. Don’t give it another thought, Violet.”

  I hoped she was right. But since I’d decided my mother was also right about me not sitting back and letting myself get steamrolled for this crime, I knew I needed to be proactive about making sure the cops were sniffing up the right tree. I needed to get myself eliminated as a suspect. Josie would help.

  I checked my watch. My next appointment wasn’t until after lunch, and no one was in the store at the moment. Now was as good a time as any, I figured. “Jos. I need your help. And I need to talk to you about something.”

  Josie studied me for a moment, then pulled out the chair I used for my consults. “Sit,” she said.

  I sank down into the chair. Josie perched against the counter facing me.

  And the black cat appeared from out of nowhere, winding his way between our legs.

  “Hey.” Josie pointed. “Who’s that?”

  “I don’t know. It’s been following me around since yesterday morning. Showing up in my apartment and here.”

  Josie frowned. “Really,” she said.

  I nodded and wondered if I should talk freely in front of this cat. What if . . . God, Vi. Get. A. Grip. All this talk about magic is getting to you.

  “I’m not sure how he or she keeps getting in. Hey, by the way, what was the deal with the smell? You never said anything else about it.”

  “Oh, that.” Josie brushed it off with a sweep of her hand. “False alarm. A recipe gone wrong next door. You know how it goes over there.” The pub next door didn’t have the best reputation for food. I was a little annoyed that my shop had been closed down because of it, and made a note to go talk to the cook when things settled down. I sat across from her, clasping and unclasping my hands.

  “So what do you want to talk about?” she asked.

  “I need to figure out who killed Carla. I need to get them to stop thinking it’s me,” I said. I braced myself for the same protests as Sydney had voiced, but Josie didn’t say anything for a full minute—just watched me. I shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny. But when she spoke, she didn’t tell me I was crazy, or to leave it alone. “Tell me what happened yesterday,” she said instead.

  Grateful she was at least letting me talk, I went through my day yesterday after I’d left my store—the trip to town hall, my long nap, the cops showing up at my door and asking me to come to the station. She listened impassively until I paused abruptly at the point where I was left in the interview room alone. I had no idea how she would react to this.

  “And?” she prompted.

  I sighed. “Now you’re really going to think I’m crazy.”

  Josie smiled. “Try me.”

  I described the experience as best I could. As I talked, I remembered how vividly I experienced being in my grandmother’s chair, smelling her scent on the blanket draped over the back. My voice faltered, once again on the verge of tears. I wasn’t usually a crier. I’d barely even cried at my dad’s funeral.

  “I don’t know what happened. I must’ve blacked out,” I said, avoiding her eyes. “It was crazy. But then . . . the cops came back and seemed to think I hadn’t been in the room, so that freaked me out too.” I risked a glance at her to see if she was completely weirded out by me at this point. Her face hadn’t changed.

  “And then?”

  I hesitated long enough that Josie reached out and put her hand over mine. “Vi. Whatever it is, you can tell me. I can’t help if I don’t know.”

  She was right. I took a breath. “They let me go and Gabe told me someone was here to pick me up. My mother, he said.” I waited. Josie was the only one who knew the real story about my mother taking off when I was a kid. She also knew my alternate version of the story, though she’d never commented on that.

  Josie sucked in a breath and sat back. “Go on.”

  “So I walked out into the lobby and these two women were out there. One allegedly my mother, the other allegedly my sister. Can you believe that?” I shook my head. “Just like that, after almost thirty years.”

  “That’s wild,” she said. “So what happened?”

  I’d expected more from Josie when I dropped this bombshell. She was way too calm about all this. “I thought at first that he’d made a mistake. I mean, how would she have known to come to the police station, of all places, even if it really was her? So I tried to just leave, but she stopped me. She wanted to talk. It was kind of crazy talk.”

  “Crazy how?”

  I looked around the room, trying to figure out how best to answer her. I trusted Josie with everything. She’d been my friend and mentor since I was a kid. I also didn’t want her to think I was nuts. My eyes fell on the cat, sitting at our feet. He watched me too, his eyes as piercing as Josie’s. Apparently he was also eagerly awaiting the answer.

  When the silence threatened to stretch on, she sighed. “Vi. Are you going to share, or do I need to keep pulling teeth by asking a million questions?”

  She was right. I was wasting our time. Time that I might not have.

  “Do you believe in witches?” I asked abruptly. I waited for her to laugh, or at the very least, to ask me if I was feeling well.

  Instead she said, “I believe in strong, powerful women who understand their connection to the earth, and who know they are natural healers. Sometimes those women have . . . powers that other people don’t have. Is that what you mean?”

  I had no idea if that’s what I meant. My mind automatically went to the pointy hat and striped tights, which I knew was silly and pure Halloween marketing, but other than that I had nothing with which to associate the word.

  “I don’t know. She said she’s a witch,” I said, throwing up my hands. “And that I’m mostly a witch. Three-quarters witch, to be exact. Apparently my dad was half a witch. And Grandma Abby was a witch.” That still blew my mind. “That she found me because my necklace that Grandma Abby gave me broke. It apparently had a spell on it that kept her from finding me.” I risked a glance at Josie. She would know what to do, how to handle this. If she didn’t run screaming from the building, or call an ambulance to take me to the psych ward.

  But she didn’t do either of those things.

  “Well? Is that not the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard?” I demanded finally when she still didn
’t say anything.

  Josie still said nothing. Her face was unreadable. I wasn’t sure if this was a good or a bad sign, but my patience was wearing thin.

  “Josie. Say something. You’re kind of freaking me out, staring at me like that. I wasn’t even going to tell you because I didn’t want you to think I was crazy enough to believe it—”

  “Violet,” Josie interrupted. “Calm down.”

  She waited until I had lapsed into a fretful silence. “Now, let me show you something.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, spinning it around so I could see the screen. As I watched, all the apps dissolved in front of my eyes—it was left with just a blank screen. She tapped with her index finger.

  As I watched, wide-eyed, the blank screen turned into a picture of a bedroom. A child’s bedroom. One that I had to admit I would’ve fancied if I’d had a child—or been one. Not any of that sickly sweet pink that graced so many kids’ rooms. Instead, the room was done in an array of purples, from lavender to deep violet. The fabrics ranged also, from soft, fuzzy-looking pillows on the bed to a puffy down comforter to velvety curtains.

  I glanced at Josie, curious. “Cool, but how did you get your phone to—”

  “Shh,” Josie said. “Watch.”

  Frowning, I refocused on the phone. And my eyes widened as I watched a woman walk into the room, holding a redheaded child, maybe four years old, by the hand. Instinctively, I reached up to touch my own hair and leaned closer to the phone, my heart starting to pound in my chest. I only had a side view from where they were standing, but I swore I recognized that dress. A purple tutu that I’d worn nearly nonstop during one point in my childhood. There were so many pictures of me in that dress that the image of it was seared into my brain. My dad used to tease me that they could barely get it off me to wash it. And that braid. I’d worn my hair that way too. Without thinking, I reached out a finger to touch the screen as the child ran off camera and returned holding a teddy bear against her chest. I could see her face clearly now, and man, did she look a lot like me.