“Not that I know of.”
“What do you know about Denise’s line of work?”
“Nothing. I don’t think Erik mentioned her job. Unless you mean—” I broke off. I didn’t want to go there, but it seemed I had just been lured.
“Unless I mean what?” he prompted.
“Nothing. I don’t know what she did for a living.”
“Several of the neighbors said she called herself a witch and sold potions and spells and the like. Did you know about that?”
“Erik might have mentioned something like that. But I don’t know anything about it.”
“This Moonstone Treasures shop, where you met Erik. They sell potions and the like there, don’t they?”
I took a deep breath. “Deputy Langham, I have an appointment I need to keep. I really don’t think I can be of much more help to you. So, can we do the fingerprints now?”
He regarded me for a moment, then shut his notebook. “You bet. Wait here and the tech will come to you.” He stood up and opened the door, then paused. “By the way, you don’t have any vacations planned in the near future?”
“No,” I said, bleakly.
“Good. Do me a favor and don’t take any overnight trips outside the county without giving me a heads-up first.”
* * *
From the sheriff’s office, I retrieved my car and went straight to Farrah’s apartment complex. I rang the bell and waited as she unlocked the door with some difficulty. When the door finally swung inward I saw why: she had crutches wedged under both armpits, a bottle of wine in one hand, and a wineglass in the other. She handed the bottle to me.
“She lives,” she said, tapping the side of my leg with a crutch. Her normally rosy skin appeared wan, and her light golden hair was frizzy and unbrushed.
“I’m a terrible friend.” I shut the door behind me and followed Farrah to her living room. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to get here a lot sooner. What’s with the wine?”
“No worries,” she said. “I was just bringing the wine from the kitchen to the living room when you rang. I’m having dinner in my recliner. It’s where I spend most of my time lately.”
I helped Farrah into her chair and looked around. “What dinner? Just the wine?”
“I have crackers, too.” She pointed to a box on the coffee table.
“Oh, honey.” I tsked at her. “Are you that bad off? Let me make you some food.”
I opened the wine and poured Farrah a glass, then rummaged through her kitchen until I found the ingredients for Mexican beans and rice. While the stew simmered on the stovetop, I helped myself to a glass of wine and joined Farrah in the living room.
“How does your ankle feel?” I asked.
“Itchy.” She tossed aside the magazine she had been perusing.
“When will the cast come off?”
“Not soon enough, but I can’t really complain. It’s my own dang fault I ended up this way. Luckily, I haven’t had to miss too much work.” As a legal software salesperson, Farrah was able to conduct a good portion of her business from home.
“But enough about me,” she continued. “What’s your news? Something’s got you upset. I can tell by how fast you drank that glass of wine.”
I looked at my empty glass and laughed without humor. “Let’s eat first.” I stood up to check on dinner. It was only 4:00, but I had skipped lunch, so I was famished. A few minutes later, with steaming bowls on our laps, I brought Farrah up to speed on my adventures with Erik the Druid.
“What does he look like?” asked Farrah, cutting right to the chase. “Was he so hot that you just agreed to whatever he asked without thinking?” She said it without judgment.
“No!” I made a face at her. “I mean, he’s okay looking, but I wasn’t swooning or anything. He’s in his forties, average build. Blondish with a bit of gray.” I paused, reflecting on why it was I had felt so comfortable with the man. “He was really friendly. Seemed normal. He’s a Pagan and knows all about Wicca.”
“Ah,” said Farrah. “That explains it.”
“What do you mean ‘That explains it’?”
“Nothing. Just that you probably have a lot in common with him.” She gave me an innocent look.
Before I could ask her just what she was implying, my phone jingled in my purse. I reached for it, expecting it to be Wes. When I saw the display, I groaned. “It’s Crenshaw. He probably wants to tell me about the workshop he covered for me.”
I adopted a cheerful voice when I answered. “Hi, Crenshaw! What’s up?”
“Keli, I had two very interesting phone calls this afternoon. As a result, I can’t help but feel you weren’t entirely forthright with me yesterday.”
Crap. How was it that, after six years of working side by side with this guy, he was still able to make me feel like a teenager in trouble with my parents? I could just picture his ginger-bearded chin jutting forward in that smug way of his.
“Who called you?” I asked.
“First, I heard from an acquaintance at the coroner’s office, who informed me that one of my former colleagues was on the scene of a murder yesterday. Evidently, a woman had been poisoned? Then I heard from a contact at the public defender’s office who had just come from the sheriff’s station. She said she happened to see one Keli Milanni enter the interrogation room with the lead detective assigned to investigate said murder. I said to myself: Keli Milanni? The same Keli Milanni who assured me yesterday that all was well?” His voice was even, but I could tell he was perturbed. I was starting to feel annoyed myself. Crenshaw seemed to be more informed about the case than I was.
“I was going to tell you,” I said defensively. “But I was a bit preoccupied.”
“I’ll say.”
For the next five minutes, I listened to Crenshaw chide me. His attitude ran the gamut from annoyance to concern to curiosity. In the end, I managed to convince him that I was simply an innocent bystander, nothing more. When I hung up, I looked over at Farrah, red-faced.
“What was that all about?” she asked.
“Word travels fast,” I said. “And the word on the street is that . . . I’m a murder suspect.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Farrah pointed to the kitchen. “Go grab another bottle from the wine rack.”
I obeyed, selecting another crisp white and pouring a generous amount into both of our glasses.
“Are you really a suspect?” she asked. “Or is that just the gossip?”
“I don’t know. The way Deputy Langham acted, I think he thought I was hiding something.”
“Why would he think that?”
I shrugged. “I was nervous. And embarrassed. And I might have gotten a little defensive when I felt his questions were getting too personal.”
Farrah looked thoughtful. “I can hook you up with a good criminal attorney, but you might want to hold off on that for now. Appearances, you know.”
“Oh, I know. Believe me, I know.”
She assumed a reassuring expression. “I’m sure they’ll find the murderer before too long. From the way you described the scene, the killer must not have been very careful.”
We were both silent for a moment, each absorbed in our own thoughts. When Farrah spoke again, I knew her line of thinking had paralleled my own. We had both transitioned to detective mode.
“What do you know about the victim?” she asked.
“Nothing—except that she liked the color purple.” I recalled what I had seen in her house. “Also, she painted landscapes, collected various witchy objects, and had a special workroom where she gave tarot readings and performed magic spells. Oh, and she had a habit of cursing people.”
“Interesting. So, anybody she cursed is a potential suspect. Take your boy, Erik, for example, and—”
“My boy?”
“And the other guy. What’s his name? Snakebite? Cobra?”
I laughed. “Viper.”
“Right. Now there’s a guy I wouldn’t mind meeting.”
; “I’m sure he’s a real prince. But about those curses. I’m not sure Denise was always the one who cast them. I got the impression that people could buy curses from her.”
“She sold spells? Was she like a village witch, doling out love charms and secret potions to back-door customers?”
“I’m not sure. But this one chick who showed up yesterday called her a fraud. Her name was Poppy, I believe.”
“A dissatisfied customer maybe? Sounds like another possible motive.”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
“You know what you should do?” said Farrah. “You should get together with the ex-boyfriend, Erik. See what you can learn from him.”
“I don’t know if that’s such a great idea. Langham made a big deal about me being Erik’s friend. I don’t want to be associated with him or his kooky pals any more than I already am.”
Farrah shifted in her recliner. “Ugh. I hate being cooped up in here, helpless as a baby. How am I going to help you snoop around and tail suspicious characters?”
I smiled in spite of myself as I recalled some of our past exploits. “I don’t think there’s any snooping to be done this time. I need to stay out of this and let the police do their job. They’ll probably catch the culprit on their own, without any help from us.”
“Well, that’s no fun.” Farrah pouted. She grabbed a pencil from the end table and used it to scratch beneath her cast. Then she tapped the pencil on the top of her thigh. “Grab my laptop, will you? Let’s look these people up. I want to see what your Druid looks like.”
I hesitated for half a second, then reached for the laptop. I supposed it couldn’t hurt to look. To tell the truth, I was curious to learn a little more about the guy myself.
* * *
It was nearly dusk when I left Farrah’s place. As I sped down Lincoln Boulevard, my eyes kept flicking to the sky, awash in layers of purple, pink, and orange above the setting sun. It filled me with a sense of peace and serenity. In fact, it was such a breathtaking display I almost pulled over. Mother Nature always did have a way of pulling me outside of myself and my petty problems.
Farrah and I hadn’t gotten very far in our attempts at Internet stalking. We found Erik’s profile on a professional networking site and learned that he had been a lab technician for a pharmaceutical company for a number of years. With one click, we learned the company was recently bought out and downsized. That explained why he was laid off. No curse necessary there.
I noticed Erik looked a little neater and more clean-cut in his profile picture than when I’d met him the day before. He also appeared younger. I guessed the photo was at least ten years old. To Farrah’s disappointment, we didn’t find anything connecting him to Druidism or any other Pagan practices.
When we searched Denise’s name, we found she had a shop on a popular online marketplace for handmade and vintage items. She sold prints of her paintings, as well as calendars, journals, and other handcrafted items—all with whimsical, witchy designs. There was nothing dark or sinister in her offerings.
I glanced in my rearview mirror and caught sight of a cop car. Suddenly, my idle reveries careened to a halt.
Shoot! I abruptly let up on the gas. “Please don’t let him pull me over,” I said out loud. My mind started spinning terrible possibilities.
What if the cop smells wine on my breath? I had stopped drinking an hour before leaving Farrah’s place and didn’t even feel buzzed, but would that matter? What if I started babbling from sheer nervousness? Would he ask me to step out of the car and walk on a line? Would he run my plates and find out I was a suspect in a murder investigation?
I cracked the window to let in some fresh air and started to tap the brake when the police car zoomed past me. The officer at the wheel didn’t even look my way. I let out my breath and fanned my face. Jeesh. I had never felt so anxious around the police. What was wrong with me?
At the next intersection, instead of turning left toward home, I turned right. I needed to speak to Mila. Ten minutes later, I parked in front of her house and pulled out my phone to give her a quick heads-up before showing up at her door. But I needn’t have bothered. Before I even pressed the first button, she stepped onto her front porch and waved at me. Her sixth sense was as reliable as any telephone.
As I hurried up her front sidewalk, I saw the look of concern on her face. “I suppose you know what happened,” I said.
Her worry lines deepened. “No. I only felt that you were near. What’s happened?”
I felt my shoulders slump. “Got a few minutes?”
Mila led me to her cozy living room, redolent with the faint scent of patchouli and sandalwood. I sank into her velvet sofa and sighed. I was a little bummed I was going to have to repeat the whole sordid tale. This would make the fourth telling.
She sat next to me and took both of my hands in hers, wordlessly sending me a blessing. Instantly, I felt calmer and safer. Mila’s intuition might not provide her with all the details, but she was an expert at picking up on moods. She knew when something was amiss—and what to do to help make it better.
“Want to hear a funny story?” I began.
She listened quietly as I told her all about mistaking Erik for a friend of hers, giving him a ride to Fynn Hollow, finding the body of his ex-girlfriend, and, ultimately, being questioned by the cops.
“Why did you make me think Erik was your friend?” I asked. “I thought I was doing you a favor by giving him a ride.”
“Oh, my. I’m so sorry. He’s been in the shop a few times, and I always got a good vibe from him. I didn’t mean to imply I knew him other than as an acquaintance.”
“Well, now I know him a lot more than I ever wanted to,” I said ruefully. “Going through a trauma together will have that effect.”
“You poor thing,” Mila soothed. “What a dreadful experience you had.”
I paused, reflecting on her words, then decided I was done feeling sorry for myself. “It was more dreadful for the victim. Did you know her? Her name was Denise Crowley. She was a tarot reader and artist. I’d guess her to be in her early- to midtwenties.”
Mila shook her head. “I don’t think so. But Catrina might have known her. She’s more up on the younger Pagan crowds than I am. I’ll ask her in the morning.” Catrina was Mila’s assistant at Moonstone Treasures, as well as a member of Mila’s coven.
“I’ll try to stop by the shop tomorrow,” I said. “I’m interested in hearing Catrina’s impressions. Evidently, Denise specialized in curses. One of her neighbors implied her death might have been blowback from delving into dark magic.”
“Oh, dear. You think she was attacked for being a witch?”
I considered the possibility. As Mila and I both knew, there was a lot of misunderstanding about Wicca. In spite of the strides Wiccans had made over the years in gaining public acceptance, and even being legally recognized as a legitimate religion, plenty of people still harbored fears. Mila herself had been targeted by a group of scaremongers who believed witchcraft was evil. Yet, I didn’t hear that kind of rhetoric from the people who had gathered outside Denise’s house.
“I don’t really know what to think,” I said. “Except that more than one person talked about Denise’s curses.”
“Ah. That’s not surprising. To curse or not to curse—a question that can have Pagans arguing for hours. As you know, most Wiccans avoid baneful magic if they can help it. Ours is one of the most peaceful world religions ever practiced. On the other hand, some witches feel there are circumstances that warrant the use of a hexing spell.”
“Like for self-defense, right?”
“Sometimes.”
“I’ve heard such spells can be dangerous, because they require you to draw up so much negative energy. It would be hard not to feel the effects yourself, even if you’re trying to direct it at another person.”
“True. Of course, there are ways to protect yourself, but you have to know what you’re doing. In general, I would advise again
st the use of negative magic.”
I thought about Denise’s cute and cluttered house and wondered how often she really worked dark magic there. Then I shook myself. Whether she did or didn’t was really beside the point. The idea that her death might have been the result of a curse gone awry didn’t sit well with me.
“You know,” I said, “I’m all for personal responsibility. That’s one of the things that first attracted me to Wicca, its emphasis on self-governance and personal accountability. But to bring up karma when a woman has been murdered . . . I mean, talk about victim blaming.”
“Definitely in poor taste,” Mila agreed. “People often misunderstand the principle of karma as some sort of cosmic system of justice. In fact, although the concept has many interpretations by its varied adherents, I think of it more as a teacher. We’re meant to learn from our experiences, not to be punished by them.”
“That makes sense. Punishment is definitely a human thing, not a spiritual thing.” My mind flashed to poor Denise lying on the floor of her workroom. I remembered the Viking card in her hand and asked Mila if it sounded familiar to her.
She closed her eyes in thought. “Yes. I do recall an oracle deck that might have a Viking card. When you stop by tomorrow, we’ll take a look.”
I thanked her for the chat and told her good night. It wasn’t until I was halfway home that I remembered Carol, my new client. I’d meant to thank Mila for the recommendation—and also kid her about referring someone to me without letting me know. And a fellow Wiccan, no less.
Oh, well. After all the talk about curses and death and retribution, it didn’t seem so important anymore.
* * *
The house was dark when I got home. Wes was working late at the newspaper office, as he sometimes did when a late-day assignment had to be readied for print the following morning. I didn’t mind the quiet. After talking all day, it felt good to give my voice a rest.
I puttered about the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher and getting dinner for Josie. She was good company—sweet, intelligent, and strangely inspiring. I always seemed to have fresh insights and unexpected ideas when she was around. Watching her now, I thought about the spell I had been wanting to cast. Ever since striking out on my own as a solo practitioner, I had wanted to plant the seeds of intention for my business—namely, that it would grow bountifully and be a great success. In other words, I wanted to cast an abundance spell.
May Day Murder Page 4
