by Ally Shields
“We don’t have any suspects. But her interest in witchcraft is an angle we’ll be pursuing.” Maggie slid a paper and pen toward her. “Can you give us Lizzie’s full name and contact info? And anyone else in the coven. We’d like to talk with all of them.”
“I can put you in contact with Lizzie, because she’s a long-time friend, but I don’t know anyone else. I should have discussed this with Mom, but it made her happy, and I… She was at a loss after my father died, and I think Lizzie hoped this would distract her from her grief. And it did.” Lorna scribbled a name and phone number on the paper and handed it back. “Lizzie must be devastated…if she knows yet. They’ve been best friends since high school.”
“It was on the TV news and in the morning paper,” Maggie said. “She’s probably heard.”
Lorna looked up sharply. “Was it bad? The coverage, I mean.”
“Colorful, for sure.” Josh handed her a copy of the newspaper, open to the second page and the lurid headline covering the first three columns, Suspected Occult Murder. The precinct’s phones had been ringing all morning.
Lorna’s face paled, her mouth dropped open. “This is awful. I never imagined… I have to call Lizzie, and my husband. He’s an attorney. He’ll know what to do.”
Good luck with that. The press didn’t pay much attention to lawyers or lawsuits.
The interview went downhill from there. Lorna was in shock, denial, not yet able to organize her thoughts around the new reality. She couldn’t offer a single name of someone who’d harm her mother or even the vaguest reason. Her focus grew scattered as she brought up things she should be doing or people she should call. Maggie finally suggested they’d talk again another day.
As soon as Rafferty left, Maggie called Elizabeth “Lizzie” Porter and set up a meeting at her apartment for early afternoon. The woman choked up so much she could barely carry on a conversation. If Lizzie didn’t pull herself together in the next couple of hours, it would be another short interview. Hopefully Rafferty would make that call. Sharing their grief might help both women.
Josh glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’m having lunch with Harry. Why don’t I meet you back here about one-fifteen? We can take my car to the Porter interview.”
Maggie swallowed a twinge of regret at being excluded and lied. “That works out fine for me. I have shopping to do, so I’ll see you then.” She quickly left before he saw her disappointment. Was this what it would be like from now on? She loved seeing Harry. A week ago Josh would have invited her. Couldn’t they still be friends?
She gave a dispirited sigh and blinked away the moisture pooling in her eyes. She didn’t want to lose Josh as either a partner or a lover. Was that what she’d set in motion when she moved out? How could she be happy with one without the other? Truthfully, stalking out of Josh’s apartment had been impulsive…a trait that had gotten her in trouble before. She didn’t know what she wanted. They needed to talk, but the fact they were both avoiding it wasn’t a good sign.
Needing a sympathetic ear, she grabbed her phone and invited her best girlfriend to lunch.
* * *
Southern-born-and-bred Annie Lynn Moore waved vigorously from a booth along the west wall of their favorite cafe, making her chestnut curls bounce against her shoulders. Her pixie face, charming drawl, and ready smile invariably made those around her feel better, and they worked their magic today.
Maggie’s mouth curved upward in response, and she waved back as she crossed the room. “You’re just the tonic I need.” She slid into the booth and glanced at her friend’s bright pink fingernails. “Have you been to the nail salon?”
“Do they look that good?” Annie inspected her right hand. “My article comparing summer visitors with New Orleans’ snowbirds isn’t going well, so I spent half an hour giving myself a spa-style manicure.” Annie was a freelance writer of human interest articles. She got to regulate her own time, but she also had to produce regularly if she wanted a roof over her head. She’d honed her skills and become a researcher extraordinaire with computer skills that allowed her to hack into anything hackable. It was fortunate for Maggie’s peace of mind and their continued friendship that Annie was an ethical black-hat. She didn’t put anything in her articles that hadn’t been verified by a legal source.
“Sorry, your muse is giving you trouble, but I have troubles of my own.”
“I know. Harry told me.” Annie gave her a doubtful look.
Annie and Josh’s younger brother had fallen hard for each other the moment they’d met late last year. Maggie expected an engagement was in her friend’s future…if Harry ever became gainfully employed. Right now he was an unpaid intern at a local veterinary clinic. Despite their obvious charms and striking good looks, the Brandt brothers could be a whole lot of trouble.
“I can’t believe you moved out on him,” Annie continued with a shake of her head. “You’re taking a break? From a hottie like Josh? It’s asking for trouble, girlfriend. He’s crazy about you, but a guy like that isn’t going to chase after someone who doesn’t want him for very long.”
“I do want him.” Maggie scrunched her face into an uneasy scowl. “But Josh put himself in the line of fire to play the macho protector. He might have been killed.”
Annie leaned forward to catch her friend’s gaze. “Is that what’s bothering you? You’re afraid something will happen to Josh, so you’re pulling out before you get hurt? You’re both cops, Maggie. As you’ve told me so often, risk is part of the job. If that’s why you’re freaked out, he doesn’t have a prayer of fixing this. You’re the one with the problem.”
Maggie opened her mouth to make a sharp retort, then closed it again. Freaked out was too strong, but she’d definitely been upset and angry. “He shouldn’t have interfered. I could have handled the situation,” she said somewhat petulantly.
“Yeah, I hear you, but I think Josh saw it differently. He told Harry you were in danger, and he would have done the same for any partner. Is this an excuse to brush him off?”
Maggie’s shoulders slumped. “Is that what he thinks? I’m just trying to do the right thing.”
Annie leaned across the table. “I can’t speak for Josh. This is me, your very best friend, wondering what’s going on.” She paused as if waiting for Maggie to say something. “I know you better than anyone else. If I don’t understand this, how can he? So, tell me again what happened that night.”
Maggie rolled her eyes but gave a concise, monotone report. “We chased two suspects inside a warehouse. When they split up, Josh followed one while I went after the other. I lost track of my suspect, and the dirtbag jumped me from a stack of crates. When I hit the concrete, my gun was knocked loose, and I had to scramble after it. I’d almost reached it when Josh appeared out of nowhere, getting between me and the suspect. I heard the shooter’s gun hammer click.” Maggie drew in a quick breath before she could go on. “Nothing happened…because his mag was empty. But Josh didn’t have time to get off a shot, and he could be dead now.”
“Or you could be. Geez, Maggie, a close call for both of you.”
They were silent for a few seconds.
Maggie shook her head. “I can’t let him take that kind of risk again. The next gun won’t be empty.”
“That’s a horrible, scary thought,” Annie said, taking a sip of her iced tea. “But what should he have done? What would you do in his position?”
Maggie didn’t hesitate. “The same thing. Because it was Josh. And I’d be just as wrong.”
“Would you? Isn’t that what cops do, especially partners? How would it have been different if it had been Capt. Jenson or any of the others in your squad?”
Maggie firmed her jaw and refused to state the obvious. Of course, she would back up any cop. She got the point, but it was still different. Josh…her Josh…could have died protecting her…and she wasn’t sure she could live with that. “OK. I get what you’re saying. Can we talk about something else?”
Annie made
a stinky face. “Sure, but it won’t change anything. Don’t drive him away.”
“It won’t come to that. We need space, a little perspective is all.” Maggie swallowed uncomfortably, less confident than she sounded. She picked up her menu. “Now can we order? I have an interview in less than an hour.” And Josh would be there.
CHAPTER THREE
Josh stole quick glances at Maggie as he drove toward Lizzie Porter’s address. She kept her head and those telling blue eyes averted from him and hadn’t said much since he’d picked her up at the precinct. Her stiff shoulders were a dead giveaway to her mood, but he wasn’t sure what had ticked her off. Unless it was not inviting her to lunch. That had to be it…especially if she thought he was making a point. He wasn’t. He’d needed a break from the unspoken words that hung between them.
But lunch with Harry had been as bad. Josh had resisted bringing up Maggie…again. They’d already been over that topic enough on the phone. Instead, he doggedly stuck to estate issues—and Harry had blown up over those.
“You did what? Well, I won’t accept.” Harry had stuck out his jaw.
“Too damned late. It’s a done deal.” Josh had tried to make him see reason, that signing away his half of their father’s trust to Harry was logical. “I don’t need it, you do. You’ll be able to re-enroll in veterinary school. It’s what Dad and Mom would have wanted.”
Harry had dropped out of school in his second year in Boston in order to help their mother when she was diagnosed with cancer. Or at least that had been his intention. Instead, he’d gotten in trouble with the law. That episode was finally behind him due to his part in last winter’s arrest of crime boss Paul Castile. With recommendations from a local New Orleans’ vet, the U.S. Marshalls’ Witness Protection Program, and Captain Jenson, Harry recently had been accepted for the coming term at the animal husbandry school in Baton Rouge—as long as he came up with the money. Now he could.
Despite Harry’s angry reaction, Josh hadn’t relented. He wasn’t the least bit sorry and couldn’t think of a better use for the funds. But dammit, now he’d alienated both his girlfriend and his only brother. He stifled a sigh. Some days a guy just couldn’t win.
He pulled into a parking space a half block from Lizzie Porter’s residence. He and Maggie got out and approached the canopied entrance of an upscale, redbrick apartment building with balconies on every floor. A doorman in a blue uniform with gold trim admitted them and announced their arrival over an internal phone system.
“You’re expected,” the man said, displaying no curiosity over a visit from the PD. He was doubtless well paid to notice no more than what management wanted him to notice. He gestured toward an elevator. “Fourth floor.”
After their brief ride, the elevator door slid open to a champagne-colored hallway, walls and carpet flowing together in one overall impression of neutral elegance. A petit woman no taller than five feet two with short, silver hair walked toward them. Lizzie Porter wore tan slacks, a cream-colored blouse, tiny pearl earrings, and a reserved but polite smile. She held out a manicured hand to Maggie. “You must be Detectives York and Brandt.”
Maggie introduced herself, so did Josh, and the older woman relaxed into a warmer smile, suggesting they call her Lizzie.
“Please come in. May I get you something to drink?”
Josh and Maggie declined, pleading they’d just returned from lunch, and followed her into the first apartment on the right. The hall had three additional doors on this wing, indicating the apartments were larger than he’d expected. But then, a building like this was way above a cop’s pay grade.
The interior was a reflection of the owner. Excellent quality but understated furniture, feminine touches in rosy colors and white accents, highly polished floors covered with a rose carpet in the living room. She gestured toward a seating of off-white furniture.
Josh lifted a brow at finding a woman in gray slacks and a matching tailored jacket already sitting there. She watched them approach, her gray eyes assessing. The salt-and-pepper hair hinted she might be younger than their hostess. She was taller, close to Maggie’s height of five eight, more rugged than Lizzie, heavier boned, and Josh doubted she spent much time on spa treatments or manicures. But the facial resemblance between the two women was undeniable.
“My sister, Fiona Gordon,” Lizzie explained. “She came over after hearing the news. Since she knew Val, I thought you might want to talk with her too.”
“If you’d rather speak with Liz alone, I can busy myself in the kitchen,” Gordon said, waving toward the back of the apartment suite. Despite her words, she made no attempt to rise.
“No, that’s fine,” Maggie said. “I know how difficult this must be for both of you.”
“It’s a dreadful business.” Liz held a handkerchief in one hand and used it to wipe her eyes. “How can I help you? If there’s anything I can do, just tell me. I spoke with Lorna, and she said the terrible details in the news were true. I hope it was all right for her to tell me,” she added, suddenly anxious.
“Of course, it’s all right,” Gordon said. “Don’t be silly, Liz. All the lurid details were made public.”
Not quite all, Josh thought. They’d withheld facts that only the killer would know—the grab marks, the number and placement of the snake bites, and the method of entry—but the exotic cause of death had indeed been spread by the media.
“We’re sorry for the loss of your friend,” Maggie said. “I understand you’d known her a long time.”
“Thank you. Oh, yes, Val’s been my best friend…forever. Since high school. We talked daily, traveled together. I can’t imagine what it will be like without her.” Lizzie dabbed at her nose before going on. “You’re going to ask who would do this, but I can’t even guess. She didn’t have enemies. I would have known. Everyone has people they get along with better than others, but this…” She gave a helpless gesture.
“You and she had joined a coven. Is that right?” Maggie asked.
Gordon sat up straight. “You told them about that?”
Liz’s smile was sweet, somewhat embarrassed. “I didn’t tell them, Fiona, but why wouldn’t I? It was all for fun, a good excuse for friends to get together.”
“The skull, the black robes, looked serious to me,” Josh interjected.
Gordon’s head whipped around to stare at her sister. “Lizzie! That’s going a bit far. Why would Valerie have those things in her home? I knew you should stay away from that group.”
“Why is that?” Maggie asked.
“Need you ask? Witches, now skulls? It’s hardly the pastime for mature women.” Gordon gave an audible sigh and sat back. “But Liz has always been independent, at least when she had Val to encourage her.”
Lizzie frowned at her sister. “You’re lecturing me? Especially now? There’s no harm in anything we were doing, Fiona. Although the skull was a bit over-the-top. It was Carmen’s idea. I didn’t like it, neither did Val. But Carmen had already ordered it online. She was new and enthusiastic, and no one wanted to offend her. But it did change things.”
When Lizzie stopped there, Maggie followed up. “Changed…in what way?”
“More serious, I guess. Carmen was more of a true believer, shall we say, than the rest of us. We’d all known each other for years—used to play cards together. Still did sometimes. But when one of our friends passed away, we asked Carmen to join us.” Lizzie’s mouth tightened. “No one knew she wanted to be part of a real coven. I guess we should have gotten to know her better before extending an invitation. It’d only been a few months since we met at the Witching Hour Ball.”
Josh’s interest peaked. So witchcraft was more than a bi-weekly meeting. Worth exploring. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had killed in the name of religious beliefs. “I’m not familiar with the event. Is it a ball for witches only?”
Maggie flashed a smile. “It’s one of New Orleans’ Halloween parties. A fancy affair for those who believe in witchcraft, and a chance f
or those who just like to dress up for the occasion to mingle with practitioners.” She turned back to Lizzie. “Did Carmen believe she had occult powers?”
“I’m not sure. She believed such powers existed.” The older woman’s attention moved back and forth between the two detectives. “But I’m positive she didn’t harm Val, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“You’d be surprised what innocent-acting people are capable of,” Josh responded. “We’ll have to talk with her to be sure.”
“That’s just it. She isn’t around. Carmen went to Los Angeles a month ago to help with her daughter’s wedding. I doubt if she’s talked with Val since she left.”
Josh rubbed his chin. So much for that hot lead. Oh, they’d check it out, but as alibis went, it sounded good.
Lizzie related a lot of miscellaneous details about her friend, her habits, her hairstylist, her part-time charity work for a local cancer foundation, everything except what they needed—a motive for her death. Fiona even chimed in once the conversation centered on childhood stories and nostalgic reminiscing. Maggie and Josh had a hard time getting away, but they left with a list of the card-playing coven members and Lizzie’s repeated assurances none of them had held even a minor grudge against the victim.
* * *
The afternoon at the station passed slowly as Josh and Maggie accessed online files and made numerous calls, digging through the lives of the twelve remaining coven members, including Lizzie Porter. One of the two men had a twenty-year-old DWI, but the rest had nothing but a scattering of traffic citations. Not likely candidates for suddenly turning violent.
