With the tub full and steaming, I tossed in a handful of Epsom salts. Using the first two fingers of my right hand, I swished the water in a circular motion, and murmured a blessing:
Mother Goddess, bless this water,
That it may purify, heal, and cleanse my being.
Extract all negative energies,
And bring me to a state of clarity and peace.
So mote it be.
I stepped into the warm, fragrant water and took a deep breath in and out. After several more calming breaths, I reached for a bar of soap. As I washed, I envisioned the suds capturing up any negative energies, so that by the time I pulled the plug it was easy to imagine my stress and worry flowing down the drain with the bathwater. I toweled off, slipped on a robe, and headed to the altar room.
My black cat, Josie, followed me in. She’d lived with us for only six months, but I felt I’d known her forever. She had the run of the house, but seemed most comfortable in this room. I often found her curled up on the quilt-covered bed or perched on the wide windowsill above the altar. Now, she watched me with apparent curiosity, as if she knew something was up.
“You’re right, Josie,” I said. “Today was not what I expected. Not at all.”
I glanced at the Moonstone Treasures shopping bag I’d set on the chair beside the door. It could wait. I wasn’t feeling up to casting the midnight abundance spell I had planned oh-so-many hours ago. Was it just this morning that I had happily browsed among the crystals in the back of Mila’s store?
I shook my head. No. Abundance wasn’t what I needed right now. To cap off my ritual bath, I opted for a healing spell instead—along with a peace prayer for the recently departed and her family.
Given how tired I was, I conducted the short version of casting a circle—I picked up my wand, flicked my wrist, and used my imagination to conjure a shimmering, silvery sphere all around me. Then I placed the wand on the right side of the altar next to a small statue of the Green Man, a Pan-like figure with a face of leaves, and placed my chalice on the left side next to a statue of the Goddess Diana. I lit a white candle in the center and raised my hands in supplication.
Goddess and God, I stand here in sorrow
For pain, for death . . . a girl’s lost tomorrow.
In the midst of such sadness, grant solace and ease.
By your power, send light, love, and peace.
I dropped my arms and pressed my palms together, as I continued my appeal.
Bring peace and healing to the ones left behind.
Bless family and friends, soothe their hearts and their minds.
Bring peace and healing to the one who is gone.
Bless Denise. Free her spirit, guide her soul,
Help her to move on.
I paused, staring at the flame, as I contemplated the death of this woman I didn’t know. I didn’t know her, or Erik, or any of the people who had gathered at her home. But I did know death. I had seen it before. Almost without thinking, I tacked on an addendum to my prayer:
Where darkness has fallen, bring truth to light.
Where evil was done, bring justice and might.
I brought my hands to my heart and let my eyelids fall closed. Almost immediately I found myself in the midst of a dreamlike vision.
I was in a dark, empty room. The walls were moving, like undulating waves. Upon closer inspection, they appeared to be the heavy velvet curtains of an opera house. I turned and noticed something in the center of the stage—a raised coffin. It was open but not empty. I approached with tentative steps and beheld a woman in repose, with her arms folded peacefully, like Snow White in her poisoned sleep. I fixated on the woman’s flowing skirts of purple and silver gauze, and I understood that this was Denise. Fighting back fear, I forced myself to look at her face—only, I couldn’t see it. She was wearing a mask, a hard, flat golden mask.
Suddenly, I realized I wasn’t the only spectator in the room. From out of the shadows emerged a group of strangers holding candles. They were all wearing masks—fantastical Venetian masks, with sharp noses and gilded trim. I stared, mesmerized.
Something touched my legs. I gasped and the vision dissolved. Looking down, I saw Josie circling my feet, mewing. I exhaled.
“It’s okay, Josie. It’s over now.”
As I extinguished the candle and closed the circle, my mind returned to the masked strangers. And the masked dead woman. As a symbol, a mask left no room for misunderstanding. It meant secrets and deception. It meant Denise had been hiding something. And so were the people around her.
CHAPTER THREE
The next morning I awoke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon and smiled. It was kind of ironic that the scent of bacon should make me happy, I mused. As an ethical vegan, I never touched the stuff myself. But it was still a homey smell. And it reminded me that, for almost eight months now, I shared a home with the man I love.
I tied on a short, satin robe and padded downstairs to the kitchen. Wes was shredding potatoes for hash browns and bobbing his head to the rock music blaring from his i-Pad speaker. I turned it down and wagged my finger in a teasing way.
“You’re gonna have the neighbors knocking on our door again.”
Wes looked up. “Who? The St. Johns?”
“Of course. They have a low tolerance level for loud music, remember? They say it excites Chompy and makes him too nervous to eat.”
Wes rolled his eyes. “Everything excites that pup. He’s the most excitable dog I’ve ever met, and pugs are supposed to be mellow. It must be the way he was raised.”
“True.” I chuckled and poured myself some coffee. Then I prepared a bowl of granola cereal with sliced banana and almond milk and sat down to watch Wes cook. He looked so natural at the kitchen counter.
“Want me to make enough for you?” he asked, holding up a potato.
“No, thanks. I don’t have much time.”
Although it was Sunday, I needed to go into the office. I had made an appointment with a prospective client who couldn’t come in during the week. With my business so new, I found myself making a lot of accommodations like that. I was still building my clientele and couldn’t afford to turn anyone away. The thought made me check the clock. I needed to get a move on.
After a quick shower, I pulled on some white trousers and a floral blouse, applied a little makeup, and twisted my long hair into a low, loose bun. Back downstairs, I took my coffee cup to the sink and glanced at Wes, who was now editing photos on his laptop. I was starting to regret my decision to go into work. What was the point of being my own boss, if I never had any time off?
I was gathering up my things when my phone buzzed. It was a text from Farrah: Hey, busy chick, she wrote. My neighbor said she’d pick up groceries for me. You didn’t already do that, did ya?
“Dang it! I suck,” I said to Wes. “I was supposed to go to the store for Farrah.” I texted her back: So sorry!!! I’m heading to the office, but I’ll stop by later. Promise. I have lots to tell you.
Just then the house phone rang. Wes answered. A few seconds later he handed me the phone. “It’s a cop,” he said.
I frowned as I took the phone. This couldn’t be good. The person on the line identified himself as Deputy Ike Langham. He said the county was taking over the Fynn Hollow investigation, and he wanted to ask me a few questions. He asked if I would stop by the sheriff’s office sometime today, the sooner the better. I said that I would.
“Now what?” asked Wes, after I’d hung up.
“Now I need some aspirin. It’s not even eight-thirty, and I already feel a tension headache coming on.”
I scarcely had the words out when there was a tap at the patio door, followed by the shrill voice of Mrs. St. John. “Yoo-hoo!” she called.
“Ugh,” I sighed, rubbing my temple.
“You go,” said Wes. He handed me my trench coat. “I’ll take care of her.”
I raised an eyebrow at that, and he laughed. “I mean, I’ll duly
apologize and make nice and all that.”
I smiled and kissed him good-bye. Everything’s fine, I told myself, as I stepped out into the brisk morning. I need to relax. There’s nothing to worry about.
The knot in the pit of my stomach didn’t mean anything. Not a thing at all.
* * *
As it happened, Carol Peters, my new client, was half an hour late and then could stay for only twenty minutes. She was a single, working mother whose ex-husband was suing her for full custody of their children. “Between raising my kids and working two jobs,” she said, “I feel like I’m stretched thinner than the elastic in my old underwear.” She laughed out loud and tugged nervously at the collar of her waitress uniform.
I smiled. “It’s no problem, Carol. We can chat for a few minutes now and talk again later by phone. I charge a flat rate for this kind of case, so you don’t have to worry about extra fees every time we speak.”
She relaxed a little and handed me a copy of her custody agreement. As she explained, ever since her divorce a year ago, she’s had primary custody of her two school-aged kids, while her ex-husband took them on most weekends. However, he had recently remarried and joined his new wife’s church, and now he was arguing that the kids would be better off with him full-time.
“My kids are perfectly fine with me,” she insisted. “They’re well cared for. They’re happy. Their lives were disrupted enough with the divorce last year. They don’t need to be disrupted again.”
I nodded and jotted a note on my legal pad. “You raise a good point. Usually, judges aren’t inclined to revise a previously agreed upon custody arrangement so soon without a significant change in circumstances. Has anything changed other than your ex-husband’s new marriage?”
She shook her head. “It’s this new wife of his. I know it. She’s convinced him that I’m a bad influence.”
“In what way?”
“Well, you know.”
I stared at her. I know?
Her confused expression must have mirrored my own. “I thought I mentioned it,” she said. “Mila Douglas referred me to you, because you’re Wiccan, too. My ex was never bothered about my religious practices, but his new wife is something else. She’s the type who thinks witches consort with the devil and such nonsense. I’m afraid of what they’ll say to the judge.” She pulled at her collar again. “I can’t lose my kids, Keli. I just can’t. I think I’d die.”
I assured her that I’d do everything I could and briefly explained the next steps. She was in a hurry to get to her job, so she signed the retention agreement and stood up to leave. I promised to be in touch as soon as I’d drafted a response to the lawsuit. She said she had faith in me.
As soon as she left, I could only shake my head. Without knowing it, Carol had dropped quite a revelation on me. To think—I’d just been hired based on the exact thing I’d kept hidden from my colleagues my whole professional life!
I didn’t have time to dwell on it. I was eager to get to my next appointment—and get it over with. As I exited the boxy brick building that housed my new office, I wondered what the local news was reporting about the murder in Fynn Hollow. I hadn’t been contacted by any reporters, which was always a good sign. I pulled sunglasses from my purse and put them on against the bright sun filtering through the newly budded trees along the boulevard. Who knows? Maybe my name won’t come up at all. I tried to garner some optimism, but that nervous feeling in my stomach refused to go away.
The sheriff’s office was across the street from the courthouse, which was just a few blocks from my office. I entered the building quickly and looked around. Almost immediately, Deputy Langham came out to meet me. He shook my hand, thanked me for stopping by, and asked me to follow him.
I couldn’t contain my curiosity as he escorted me through a steel door and past a warren of cubicles. “Do you have the toxicology results back yet?” I asked. “Do you think the death could have been accidental?”
He ignored my questions and led me to a small interrogation room. Shutting the door behind him, he motioned toward a sturdy metal chair at a plain, narrow table with a scratched and marred surface. He took the chair facing me.
As I sat down, I found myself wishing I’d put on a business suit that morning and skipped the open-toed sandals. Then I might not feel at such a disadvantage with the stern officer. With his buttoned-up uniform, trim mustache, and military-style buzz cut, he gave me the impression of a general about to declare war. Either that, or a drill sergeant.
He opened a notepad and took several seconds to read whatever was written there. Then, scowling, he flipped back a page to reread something he had already read. All the while I sat there feeling increasingly on edge. Was he doing this on purpose? Finally, he looked up at me and cleared his throat. “How long have you lived in Edindale, Miss Milanni?”
“Oh, um, about eight, almost nine, years.”
He nodded curtly. “What brought you here?”
“I came here for law school and decided to stay when I was offered a job at Olsen, Sykes, and Rafferty. I really liked it here. This is a lovely town.”
“Mm-hmm. And when did you first meet Denise Crowley?”
“I never met her.”
“You didn’t know her before yesterday?”
“I didn’t know her at all.”
“Had you ever been to her house before?”
“No.”
“What were you doing there yesterday afternoon?”
“As I told the Fynn Hollow police, I had just given Erik a ride to her house. I was dropping him off, but he invited me inside to meet Denise.”
“Why is that?”
“Because, he was afraid—I mean, I guess he didn’t want to be alone with her. They had recently broken up, and he thought she . . .” I trailed off. Why was I having to explain this? Shouldn’t he be asking Erik these questions?
“He thought she what?” asked the deputy.
“He thought she wasn’t very happy with him because he owed her money. He had sold some books in Edindale and had the money to pay her back. That’s why he wanted to stop at her house.”
“How long have you been seeing Erik?”
“Seeing him?”
“Dating him.”
“I’m not dating him. I barely know him.”
“Hmm.” He flipped through his notebook again. “Apparently a couple neighbors seem to think you and he are friends.”
“Oh. Well, I might have said we were friends. But we actually just met yesterday morning.”
He frowned and looked at the notebook again. “Sounds like he thinks you’re friends, too. He said as much to the bookstore owner. A Mr. Satterly?”
I didn’t say anything. What could I say?
Langham stared at me. “Do you often give rides to men you’ve just met?”
I felt a flush rise up my neck and into my cheeks. I shook my head. “No. I thought Erik was a friend of a friend.”
“You thought? Who did you think he was friends with?”
“Mila Douglas. She owns Moonstone Treasures. That’s where I met Erik.”
Langham wrote something in his notebook, presumably Mila’s name. Then he stared at me again. “What time were you at Moonstone Treasures?”
I tried to think. “I got there around ten o’clock, and left a little after ten-thirty or so.”
“Did you buy anything?”
“Yes. I bought—” I stopped myself. He didn’t need to know about the magickal crystals and powdered High John the Conqueror root. “I bought something. Why?”
He wasn’t going to let me off the hook that easily. “What did you buy?”
Suddenly, I felt my hackles raise and I sat up a little straighter. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was going to be treated like a suspect. I thought you just had a question or two about the statement I gave yesterday. Unless I’m being charged with something, I think I’m finished answering your questions.”
My heart thrummed in my chest and my palms fel
t slick, but I held my ground. I knew my rights. Still, I didn’t want to seem uncooperative. The last thing I wanted to do was come across as suspicious to the deputy.
“You’re not being charged with anything,” he said coolly. “Let’s see, I do want to confirm something from your previous statement.” He looked at the notebook again. “How long were you in Ms. Crowley’s house before you found her body?”
I licked my lips, then internally kicked myself for acting guilty. I couldn’t help it. I felt guilty. “About ten or fifteen minutes, I think. Erik was going to leave her a note.”
“Did you touch anything while you were in there?”
“Yes. While I was waiting for Erik, I looked at some of Denise’s things.” I cringed, thinking how that sounded. “Only things she had on display,” I hastened to add.
“Okay. We’ll have to take your fingerprints to compare with all the prints found on site.”
I nodded. Terrific.
“One other thing. Just to confirm. You were with Erik for five hours yesterday? From about ten thirty A.M. until the time he called 9-1-1 at 3:25 P.M.?”
I thought about it. Was that right? “Not the whole time.” I mentioned my meeting with the community director at the civic center. Langham wanted to know what happened after that, and I told him about running into Erik. I explained that we had walked to my car and headed out of town, stopping off first for a quick bite of lunch. I also told him about having papers signed at my client’s house.
“Seems kinda chummy for two people who just met,” he commented, after writing in the notebook again. Before I could respond, he asked another question. “Was Denise expecting Erik to drop by?”
May Day Murder Page 3
