by Harper Lin
Becky was torn between feeling disgust at the spinning yarns she was hearing and absolute terror at these same yarns. If Mr. Gavin were ill, if he had some kind of rash, it wasn’t from anyone but Leelee, and she was punishing him for Earl Tobin. Just like she was punishing her father by ruining his tobacco.
It didn’t take long for Becky to be quickly forgotten and all but ignored for the rest of her appointment. When her nails were dry, she stood up, told the old hens how wonderful it had been to see them, and exited the shop just as Moxley was pulling up.
“How was it?” Moxley asked.
“Like Daniel in the lion’s den. But I got my nails done. Do you think Mama will like them?” Becky wiggled her fingers in front of her.
Moxley began to chuckle. “Miss Becky, I think she might find that shade of red to be a bit too much.”
“Naw. She’ll think it’s ducky.” Becky grinned.
With all the new information she had swirling in her head, Becky tried to sort things out on the ride back home. Martha might offer a chair to sit on that Becky hadn’t considered. But she felt a shiver run over her shoulders as she thought of what Mrs. Russo had said.
“I heard that he sign a contract with spirito malign. Evil spirit.”
Becky thought she was right.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The moon was full as Stephen drove Becky down the dirt road from her house toward downtown Savannah. His car purred, unlike Teddy’s, which had the tendency to belch out a puff of black smoke every couple of miles and sometimes stuttered when it had to ride over gravel.
“It’s on Bryn Mawr. Martha is supposed to meet us there.” Becky drove from the passenger’s side, telling Stephen which way to go.
“You didn’t say anything about Martha coming along,” Stephen said.
“Don’t you like Martha? She’s my very best friend. There isn’t much I do without her.” Becky lifted her chin.
“No, I think she’s swell. A real live wire. But I didn’t think she’d come with her mother being ill and all,” Stephen said casually.
Becky snapped her head in Stephen’s direction. “Her mother is ill? How do you know? When did you hear this?”
“Well, I had run into Teddy when I was given the bum’s rush at your place yesterday. He was on his way up to the Bourdeaux estate with an armful of flowers and a parcel of Bulgarian herb tea. I asked if he’d cheesed off Martha and was trying to mend some fences. He said it was for Mrs. Bourdeaux. Said the doctor had been to their house the morning after your parents’ party and told Martha and her father that she had symptoms of typhoid fever. I thought you knew already; otherwise I would have high-tailed it back over to your side of the fence with the news.”
“Typhoid fever?” Becky gulped. There was no way Mrs. Bourdeaux had typhoid fever. “Are you sure he wasn’t pulling your leg? Teddy can have a strange sense of humor at times. Have you seen how he dresses?”
“I don’t think he was fooling.” Stephen pinched his eyebrows together.
Becky felt her eyes start to burn. The last thing she wanted was for Stephen to see her crying, but her bottom lip began to tremble, too. If he were to look at her, he’d see. Instead, Becky looked down and began to fuss with the hem of her skirt.
Stephen could sense something was wrong. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that when Becky Mackenzie dummied up, there was a problem.
“I’m sure she’ll be okay.” He tried to soothe her as he drove.
“It’s my fault,” Becky whispered.
“Of course it isn’t. Look, from what I hear, Mrs. Bourdeaux is tough as nails. Just because a sawbones tells you one thing, that doesn’t make it so. And wouldn’t Martha have contacted you by now had she really been worried?” Stephen asked.
“I suppose so.”
“Well, she’s your best friend. I can’t imagine her not wanting your shoulder to lean on at a time like this. That’s what makes me think it ain’t worth worrying about just yet.” Stephen raised his chin and smirked. Had it been any other day and any other time, Becky would have agreed and put the worry out of her mind. But this made three catastrophes in less than a week since she’d gone onto the Tobin property. All people she knew and loved.
What was she even going to see Cecelia for? She should have Stephen turn the car around right now and go rattle the rafters at the Bourdeaux house. Cecelia had all but said that there was nothing she could do. Hoodoo was a type of witchcraft she knew nothing about and didn’t want to go anywhere near.
Poole County was in the opposite direction. Martha’s family was behind them. Becky slumped in the seat and shook her head as her thoughts tumbled and tripped all over themselves. Nothing was clear.
“Are you all right, Becky?” Stephen asked.
“I’m fine. The place is on Bryn Mawr. You have to take a right up ahead, and then at the place that says Pete’s Sliced Bacon, you take a left and…” Becky stuttered, not even hearing her own words until Stephen interrupted her.
“I know where we’re going,” he replied. “You forget, I lived here my entire childhood.”
“Oh, that’s right. I’m sure at the age of nine, you were swanning down the city sidewalks, looking for your blue serge,” Becky snapped.
“I didn’t have a sweetie at the age of nine. I told you I was waiting on you. No one else would do,” he said in a singsongy tone.
“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a wind sucker. But the more I get to know you, Stephen Penbroke, the more I think Fanny is your type.”
Becky patted her hair into place as she blinked back her tears. There was no use waking up the neighborhood just to tell Martha they were cursed. Martha probably already knew, and that was why she hadn’t contacted Becky. She was mad at her. Why shouldn’t she be? It was all her fault.
“Don’t be daffy.” Stephen shook his head, chuckling. “You’re the monkey’s eyebrows, and I don’t plan on taking no for an answer. Let’s just remember who showed up to take you on this wild-goose chase to some mysterious apothecary in the middle of the night.”
Becky crossed her arms. He had a point. But she knew that if she’d seen Adam first, he’d have taken her to the moon if she asked him. Still, it was nice having Stephen along to keep her from being too nervous. She had no idea what Cecelia had in mind or why she had to show up at midnight. But after looking at her watch, she was afraid they were going to be late.
“Hey, let’s drop the lead on that accelerator. We don’t have much time.”
“Your wish is my command.”
And they flew into the busy nightlife, only to come to a screeching halt at 784½ Bryn Mawr.
“You wait here,” Becky ordered before hopping out of the car and dashing into the store without looking back.
“What?” Stephen barked, looking put out.
“It will only take me a minute. I’ll be right back, and then we can head home,”
“Go home? Oh, no way, sister. You and I have some unfinished business.”
“No we don’t,” Becky said as she slammed the door shut.
“Yes we do. And if you don’t come with me to dip the bill, I might just have to tell your lovely mother and father what you’re up to. And I’ll do it in front of Fanny.”
Becky could tell by the twinkle in Stephen’s eyes that he was dead serious.
“That’s blackmail.”
“That’s irrelevant. Will I need to come get you, or can I trust you won’t sneak out the back way?” Stephen rested his right arm over the steering wheel and winked at her. He was good-looking and a real charmer. But Becky didn’t like being painted into a corner.
“I won’t sneak. But this ain’t over, buster.” She turned and was instantly reminded that there weren’t just three victims of Leelee’s wrath. Cecelia and Ophelia were the fourth and fifth.
The front window of the shop had been boarded shut, and there was a plank of plywood where the glass on the door used to be. A cardboard sign reading Open For Business dangled from a string aroun
d the doorknob. Becky felt a wave of embarrassment that she was the cause of the damage. Inside, the broken windows didn’t seem to deter the customers; a shady group of night crawlers wandered up and down the aisles, looking for the cure to whatever ailed them.
Ophelia let out a loud whistle to catch Becky’s eye. She jerked her thumb toward the stairs without saying a word. Becky nodded and hurried in the direction of the upstairs apartment. She’d gotten used to slipping past the small votive candles and the deceased relatives that were positioned around the stairwell and inside the apartment.
Everyone was easy to maneuver around except for Cousin Mimi, who was still mean even in the afterlife. She hissed at Becky as she walked past. Becky knew better than to roll her eyes or stick out her tongue at the rude woman. The last time she had done so, the feisty ghost had nearly thrown her down the stairs. Instead, she focused on the steps, hurried to the top floor, and knocked on Cecelia’s apartment door.
“Come in! Quickly!” Cecelia called.
Within seconds, Becky was in the apartment and at her side. Cecelia was standing at the small table in front of the windows that led to the fire escape. The moon was in perfect view and shined its full white face at them. She took a large red medallion from around her neck, whispered some words that Becky didn’t understand, then dropped it into a cup filled with tea.
“Drink this.” She picked up the delicate cup and handed it to Becky.
“What is it?”
“It’s arsenic. Now hurry up. We’ve only got a couple of minutes to get this right,” Cecelia replied. “That’s your problem. You ask too many questions. You want to know too much. Well, now you’re going to know all you want to. Sit.”
Cecelia pulled out the chair on the far side of the table and urged Becky into it.
“I’m sitting.” Becky coughed as she swallowed the last gulp of tea. “This tastes like licorice. What’s in it?”
“Wart of a frog. Spider eggs. A sliver of tombstone,” she said seriously before starting to chuckle. “It’s made with anise and fennel. Now shush.”
Cecelia sat down across from Becky and pulled out a small book. It looked old, and the spine was cracked from use. After opening it up to a page marked with a red velvet ribbon, she began to read. At first, Becky thought the words sounded like Latin, but other parts made her think maybe it was Gaelic. Her head began to swim a little, as if she was drunk, only without the queasiness or dizzy spells or feeling that her tongue had become too big for her mouth.
Then Cecelia took the medallion out of the teacup and placed it on a blue silk scarf. She folded the scarf over it, took Becky’s hand, and placed it in her palm. In her other hand, she grasped a mason jar of dirt just like the ones Becky had seen at the Tobin place.
“What are you doing with that? What is it? I don’t want it,” Becky said fearfully, trying to pull her hands away.
“It isn’t what you think. This is from the Ruthmeyer property. It holds the essence of what happened there,” Cecelia soothed. “You have to trust me. Give me your other hand, Becky. We don’t have a lot of time left.”
Becky swallowed hard and reluctantly put out her other hand. Cecelia dumped the dirt into it. All of a sudden, Becky was on the Ruthmeyer property. She was in the house, and Mr. Ruthmeyer was there with Mr. Tobin. The men were smiling and talking while sitting on the floor.
“They’re laughing like they are friends,” Becky said as she watched the scene unfold in front of her like a movie. “They’re sitting in a room with a couple of washtubs in it. And it looks like…they’re making bathtub gin.” Becky smiled. “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle! I’ve drunk that gin! I recognize the label!”
Then Becky saw the two men sitting at a table in what looked like a kitchen. They were counting money—stacks of it. The bootlegging business had been going well from the looks of it. The men talked civilly to each other. There was no sign of anger or even a slight difference of opinion. But in the background was a shadow that floated back and forth. It wasn’t just a dark form; it was Leelee. She was watching them as she went about her chores like a gator that barely peeked above the water to let its prey get good and comfortable before attacking.
“They were friends. It looks like they were good friends. Golly. What could have happened?” Becky muttered. Then she saw it—Mrs. Tobin. Only she hadn’t been Mrs. Tobin at the time. She was Miss Stella Heade.
“I should have known. It was a woman that came between the men,” Becky said out loud.
She was right that it was a woman, but it wasn’t Stella Heade. It was Leelee. The hoodoo witch watched Miss Stella Heade pay more attention to Mr. Ruthmeyer than she did to Mr. Tobin. She didn’t like that.
“Why? What business was it of hers if Stella liked Mr. Ruthmeyer more?” Becky asked but got no answer.
It wasn’t long after Stella came along that Leelee was whispering in Mr. Tobin’s ear things that weren’t just gossip. They were worms of jealousy and hate, and they ate at Mr. Tobin’s mind.
“You need her,” Leelee hissed to Mr. Tobin. “You can’t do this without her.”
“She doesn’t love me,” Mr. Tobin said bitterly. “She loves John. I know it. I can see it in the way she looks at him. In the sound of her voice.”
“Then give everything to Ruthmeyer. You have wasted everything I’ve taught you. This was your business. I made sure of that. Do you really think you could have done all this without me? Do you think the coppers would have left you alone? Do you think your neighbors wouldn’t have stolen your moonshine? Do you not believe in my magic?” She scowled as if she was daring him to contradict her.
“But Leelee, you taught him, too. You said we were stronger together. The gin and the moonshine was just the beginning, you said.” Mr. Tobin was like a child pleading with a teacher to not tell his parents he was being naughty in class.
“Don’t you contradict me! Ain’t I been the one to take care of you your whole life? Ain’t I been the one to show you the magic and teach you the ways of my people? Now it’s time for you to put everything I taught you to use.” She sneered.
“I thought it was copasetic, Leelee. I really did,” Mr. Tobin said.
“Fine. You leave me no choice. I’ll make her come to you. Is that what you want?” Leelee’s eyes were on fire as she spoke to Earl Tobin. “That is it, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he croaked.
“Fine. She lives with her mama and sister, don’t she? Her daddy been dead some time? Ain’t no one else looking out for them,” Leelee said, already knowing the answers.
Again, Earl nodded his sweaty, heavy head.
After that, something took hold of Mr. Tobin. He changed. It was as if those words Leelee had growled at him were a poison. Becky saw how he became not just pushy with Mr. Ruthmeyer, not just mean but cruel. It didn’t take long before it was cruelty for sport.
“You’ll marry me,” Mr. Tobin said to Stella as Leelee looked on with a sinister grin on her face. “You’ll marry me and say yes in front of him.”
“You’d better do as he says, Miss Stella. We know where your mama lives. You want your mama to live a long time, don’t you? To be happy in her old age?” Leelee hissed. You’ll make Earl happy, won’t you? If you don’t, your mama won’t be on this earth much longer.”
Mr. Tobin married Stella in a strange wedding that Leelee oversaw. It didn’t look like a Christian wedding. It looked more like a sentencing. And in Mr. Ruthmeyer’s home, he cried as he carved strange symbols into his house, on the walls and floors, and began collecting strange things in mason jars, too.
“They were friends, and Leelee split them up using Mrs. Tobin. Why?” Becky muttered. “Was it just to keep Earl Tobin happy? How could he be happy knowing his wife loved another man?”
Becky blinked as the images paraded past. Stella Tobin didn’t let that strange ceremony keep her away from Mr. Ruthmeyer. They did have an affair. Becky saw them confess their love for one another. John Ruthmeyer held Stella in his arms, a
nd she cried into his chest. It wasn’t scandalous or sordid like the ladies at the hen coop had said. It was sad.
Then, like a glitch in the film, Becky suddenly saw Mr. Ruthmeyer in his attic. He was unconscious. Smoke was filling up the room quickly.
“I don’t want to see any more,” Becky whispered, but it was as if no one heard her. Mr. Ruthmeyer’s hair was matted to his head as he slowly began to come around. His shirt had become dark in the front, and when he sat up, the entire right side of his face was red with blood.
“I don’t want to see any more, Cecelia! Oh, Mr. Ruthmeyer was hurt. He was hurt and left in the attic.” Becky stared straight ahead as she watched Mr. Ruthmeyer crawl toward the door. It wouldn’t open. He was trapped as the smoke became thicker and thicker.
A man stuffed a pack of matches into his pocket and then picked up a mason jar of clear liquid. He took a long, deep drink as he watched the Ruthmeyer house go up in flames. It wasn’t Mr. Tobin. It was the man, Edward, who Becky had danced with at the Crazy Calico. That man had held her as tightly as he had Mr. Gavin while Leelee put that hex on him.
“I don’t want to see any more, Cecelia!” Becky cried. “Edward was the one who set fire to Mr. Ruthmeyer’s house! He locked him in the attic and left him! Mrs. Tobin was too late. She was running to help him, but she was too late!”
Becky saw the flames start to lick up the walls of the attic. The small window was his only hope. She heard her father’s voice yelling for Mr. Ruthmeyer. He stumbled to the window, but his injury was too much. He couldn’t stand. The flames were getting higher. The heat was unbearable.
“Cecelia! Make it stop! I don’t want to see any more! Please! Make it stop!”
Becky cried as she stared ahead in horror, seeing Mr. Ruthmeyer cough and gasp as he tried to escape only to have the entire floor give way to the flames. Mr. Tobin told his wife her lover was dead. He smiled and laughed insanely as he told her as if even he couldn’t believe it.
“And you and Leelee are my alibis. I’ve been here with you the entire time.” He laughed. “No one would ever suspect Edward of anything. You could scream it from the rooftops, and no one would believe you. Just remember that. No one would believe you.”
