But I had been putting it off. It was never the right phase of the moon or perfect day of the week. Or I didn’t have the best ingredients, the right frame of mind, or enough time.
“Well, I have time now,” I said to myself. Josie gave me an arch look, as if to say: Okay, so what are you waiting for?
I walked to the patio door and gazed out at the dark backyard. For the spell I had in mind, I wanted to plant some literal seeds in my garden. It was only a day past the new moon, so the timing was still ripe for setting intentions. And I didn’t mind working in the dark. All the better for privacy and seclusion. Still I hesitated.
Maybe it was all the talk earlier about karma and unintended consequences. As the old saying goes, be careful what you wish for. What if I cast a spell for lots of new clients and ended up with more than I could handle? I could end up busier than I was before I’d left the law firm.
The jangling of the house phone interrupted my waffling thoughts. I liked to keep a landline for emergencies, but it rarely rang. When it did, it was usually either a telemarketer or my mother.
“Hello,” I answered cheerily. There was silence on the other end. “Hello?” I waited a couple seconds, then hung up. As I started to walk away, the phone rang again. I answered to more silence.
“Hello!” I said loudly. “Is anyone there? I can’t hear you.” No response.
Exasperated, I hung up for the second time. A few seconds later, it rang again. This time, I decided to let the answering machine get it. When it picked up, I expected there to be silence once again. Instead, there was music.
I walked over to the phone and stared at the speaker. The music sounded tinny and distant, like an old music box. My skin prickled as I listened to the strange melody. It was familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
When the music stopped, silence filled the room once more. I grabbed the receiver. “Who is this?” I demanded. I heard a click, then a dial tone. Immediately, I dialed *69, but the last call to my number was “unavailable.”
I paced the living room for the next ten minutes, but the phone didn’t ring again.
“What was that all about?” I wondered aloud.
Josie mewed in response.
I looked out the window again, but I’d lost my nerve. I didn’t much feel like going outside into the darkness anymore. Instead, I got ready for bed and curled up under the covers with a good book. But first, I turned the ringer off on the house phone.
CHAPTER FIVE
The next morning, I walked to work as I often liked to do. Fieldstone Park was damp and glistening from overnight showers. Skirting puddles and dripping leaves, I followed the meandering walkway, admiring tulips, bluebells, and lily of the valley along the way. When I exited the park, I continued a couple more blocks until I reached quaint downtown Edindale, where blossoming trees of pink, white, and yellow lined the boulevards. Before I knew it, I found myself standing in front of the glass windows of the four-story building that housed the venerable midsized law firm of Olsen, Sykes, and Rafferty. For a moment, I felt confused. I had been so lost in thought, I’d followed a well-worn path and wound up at my old office building. I didn’t work here anymore.
Footsteps clicked up the sidewalk behind me, and I heard a familiar voice. “Keli! Imagine! I was just talking about you!”
I turned to see Julie Barnes, the firm’s young receptionist. A petite woman with fuchsia lipstick and trendy tortoiseshell glasses, she had always lent a lighthearted, youthful energy to the law office. She held a cardboard to-go carrier with four tall paper cups of coffee. Seeing my look of surprise, she chuckled. “Crenshaw blew up the coffeepot. I offered to make a run for the partners.”
The partners. Those would be my former colleagues, Beverly, Kris, Randall, and Crenshaw. I glanced at the entry door and felt a small pang of longing. I missed the old gang.
“Going in?” asked Julie.
“Oh, no. I’m just passing by. I—Did you say you were just talking about me?”
“Yeah. First thing this morning, before I’d even turned on my computer, a guy from the sheriff’s office called to ask about you. He wanted to know how long you worked here and who your boss was. Stuff like that. I transferred him to Beverly. Why do you think he was asking?” She leaned forward and gazed at me with bright eyes. Julie was always eager for the latest gossip.
I tried to keep my voice light. “Oh, it’s nothing. Standard procedure. I was a witness—that is, I and another person found a woman who had died. So, you know . . .” I trailed off. There was just no good way to explain it.
“So, it’s true! You were one of the friends the newspaper was talking about. You found Denise Crowley’s body? I didn’t even know you knew her.”
“I didn’t know her. I happened to be with her ex-boyfriend and . . . It’s a long story. But wait. Are you saying that you knew her?”
“Yeah. I grew up in Fynn Hollow. Nothing like this has ever happened there. I don’t think there’s been a murder in, like, a hundred years. Last time a crime made the news was when somebody stole some cash from an overturned armored truck—though kids do regularly lift candy from the general store. It’s like a rite of passage or something.” Julie laughed. “Denise was one year ahead of me in school.”
“Oh! Interesting. I didn’t realize she was that young.” Not that it should matter to me, but that meant Erik was dating a girl at least fifteen years younger than he.
“Well, she always dressed a little out of time, if you know what I mean. In high school, she wore gypsy skirts and beads, stuff like that. She was a little odd.”
Speaking of “a little odd,” I thought about the people I had seen at Denise’s house. “Did you know a woman named Thorna when you lived in Fynn Hollow?”
Julie shook her head. “I don’t think so. Is that her real name?”
“I’m not sure. But she’s older than you anyway. How about a woman named Poppy? Or a couple of guys named Billy and Viper?”
“Yep, them I remember. They all hung out in the same crowd as Denise. Kind of an artsy, misfit sort of vibe, you know? They were nice enough, I guess. Especially Billy Jones.”
Any uneasiness I’d felt before was now overtaken by curiosity. “Why especially Billy?”
“He was just real sweet and caring. He was the only black kid in his class—small town, you know. But everybody liked him. Senior year, he got into fund-raising for charities and petition drives and stuff. One week it was “save the owls,” and the next it might be “cure AIDS” or “help senior citizens” or something else. He meant well.” Julie tapped her chin, as she thought. “He was also kinda nerdy, into cosplay and reenactments and stuff. Probably still is, as far as I know.”
“What about Viper? I heard he was busted for possession recently.” I said it casually, as if just passing along a little gossip.
“Doesn’t surprise me. He was always a stoner, and probably the least ambitious of that group. He was harmless, though. His real name is Edward Vikers.”
“And Denise and Poppy? Were they close?”
“I didn’t know them well, but I think they were pretty good friends. Poppy’s real name is Penelope, by the way. Penelope Sheahan. She and Denise were both into art and New Age woo woo stuff.”
I grinned at her choice of words. That was one way to describe it.
“Anyway, how’s the new practice going?” Julie asked. “I still can’t believe you left. It’s not the same without you.”
“Aw, that’s sweet. I miss you guys, but I’m not far away. And the practice is going fine. Speaking of which, I need to get to work. Tell everyone ‘hi’ for me.”
I hurried off to my new digs, which were located in a much older building on a narrow side street off the square. The rust-red brick structure, a former bank, had been converted to office space a number of years ago. I’d rented one of the smallest units, but it served me well.
My door, so noted by a shiny brass nameplate, was one of the first off a short interior hallway. I unlocked
it and flipped on the light in the small waiting room, which was outfitted with two flea market armchairs and a couple of small wooden tables. There were two doors off the waiting area, one to a closet and the other to my inner office, where I spent most of my time.
I liked my work space, in spite of the close quarters. As I settled in at my tidy oak desk, I surveyed the cozy room. The wall to my left held floor-to-ceiling book shelves, while the one on my right featured my framed law degree, various certificates, and artistic photos taken by Wes. A small window behind me overlooked an alley—not the greatest view, but at least it let in some sun. I’d placed several plants on the cabinet beneath the window.
I took a sip of coffee from my travel mug and opened the morning paper. News of the Fynn Hollow homicide was on the front page. I skimmed it quickly to get the gist, then read it a second time more closely. The paper described Denise as a freelance artist who lived alone and worked from home. It quoted some unnamed friends, who described Denise as “sweet” and “talented.” Another friend, Poppy Sheahan, said she had gone to see Denise earlier on Saturday morning, but there was no answer to her knock.
Or was there? I wondered what time Poppy had supposedly tried to see Denise.
There was also a statement from a neighbor, Vanessa “Thorna” Attley, who said she didn’t see or hear anything from Denise’s house, but that it wasn’t unusual for Denise to receive visitors at all hours.
Visitors looking to buy spells or curses? Or was something else going on?
I read on, but didn’t learn much else that I didn’t already know. The county sheriff’s department was handling the case, and they made no comment other than to say that the investigation was ongoing—and that they were in the process of questioning a number of persons of interest.
Persons of interest. I swallowed hard. Did that include me? I could understand being questioned as a material witness, but how could I be a person of interest? As far as the public was concerned, a person of interest was basically a suspect who hasn’t been formally charged. One would never aspire to be a person of interest.
I folded the newspaper and set it aside. I was being paranoid. The cops had a procedure to follow. They have to cross all their T’s, et cetera, et cetera. I couldn’t fault them for doing their job.
For the next couple of hours I busied myself with client work, including Carol’s custody case. When I finally looked up, I was surprised to see that it was only 11:30. It was amazing how much I could accomplish without interruptions. On the other hand, the absence of any phone calls was not necessarily a good thing. While some of my old clients had elected to stay with me when I left the firm, most of them did not have ongoing legal issues. My work was largely transactional—real estate closings, contracts, wills, and divorce work. In other words, one and done. I was going to have to find a way to attract new clients.
I stood up, stretched, and took a little walk down the hallway outside my office. It was eerily quiet. There were shared restrooms on each floor of the two-story building and numerous offices, but I didn’t see a single person. All the doors were closed and many were dark. It appeared that my fellow tenants kept odd hours. There were a few therapists, an accountant, and a couple property management companies. I had a feeling half the offices were vacant.
When I returned to my desk, I checked my voice mail, which had zero messages, and my email, which had one new message. It was from Erik Grayson. Seeing his name filled me with a weird sense of dread mixed with solidarity. Because of our shared experience on Saturday, we had a connection now. And I kind of resented it.
I opened the message and read the brief note: Can you meet me for lunch today? I’ll be at the Cozy Café from 12:00 to 1:00 or so.
I hesitated, then grabbed my purse. I needed to eat anyway.
* * *
As I entered the café, I scanned the room for signs of anyone who might know me. After Deputy Langham had made such a big deal of my supposed friendship with Erik—which I had firmly denied—it would be mighty embarrassing to be seen hanging out with him.
Luckily, I didn’t see any familiar faces—except for Erik’s, looking so downtrodden, I immediately forgot my concerns. He was slumped in his seat and wearing the same wrinkled jacket he’d worn two days ago. He appeared to have aged since I last saw him, though he brightened slightly when he saw me. “You came! I wasn’t sure if you’d see my message in time.”
I sat down across from him. “How are you holding up?”
He shook his head. “Man, it’s been a rough couple of days. I still can’t believe Denise is gone. Even though we’d split up, I figured we’d always be friends, you know? I wanted to make things right with her. Balance the scales, so to speak.”
“I’m sorry for your loss. She sounded like a really interesting person, from what I’ve heard.”
“Yeah. She was.”
We sat silently for a minute, with Erik twisting a plastic straw and me trying to convey a sympathetic presence. I didn’t know what else to say. I felt sure he’d asked me to meet him for a reason, but I didn’t want to press him.
A waitress brought us drinks and took our orders—salad for me and a vegetarian burrito for Erik. I wondered if he was a vegetarian and almost asked but decided against it. It seemed too inconsequential under the circumstances. I took a sip of my iced tea and waited for Erik to speak.
He raked a hand through his hair, then sat back and heaved a sigh. “This is so crazy. I’m trying to process this horrible thing that’s happened, and . . . and the cops are grilling me like I did it! I was at the station till midnight that night. And the next day they came to my house with more questions. They kept looking around like they wanted to search my place, but they didn’t have a warrant. It was like they were hoping I’d trip up and confess or something. Unbelievable.”
“Would you like help finding a lawyer?” I asked. “I don’t practice criminal law, but I know a lot of lawyers.”
“Nah. I don’t think I can afford one right now. Besides, I have an alibi.” He gave me a halfhearted smile, and I realized he was talking about me.
“Right. Except we don’t know the time of death. She might have been killed before you and I met at Moonstone.” I grimaced and looked away.
“Oh. I didn’t think of that. But it doesn’t matter. I’m innocent. The cops have nothing on me.”
At that moment, the waitress appeared with our orders. She stopped in her tracks at Erik’s last statement but recovered quickly. As soon as she left, I asked Erik the question I’d been holding back.
“Erik, do you have any theories about Denise’s death? Did she have any enemies?”
“Enemies? That’s such a goofy word.” He stared at his lunch plate as if lost in thought. “Denise could be . . . difficult. She was moody and opinionated. She argued with people, even her friends. Not long ago she had a falling-out with her best friend.”
“Who was her best friend?”
“A girl named Poppy Sheahan. They went to school together.”
I recalled that Poppy was the one who had called Denise a fraud, and then seemed upset when she learned Denise was dead. That made sense if they’d once been best friends. But if they were no longer friendly, why would Poppy have gone over to her house on Saturday morning? “What was the falling-out over?”
Erik shrugged. “Who knows? Like I said, Denise could be unreasonable. But I can’t think of anyone who would consider her an enemy.”
“The newspaper reported that a neighbor mentioned people coming and going from Denise’s house at all hours. Do you know why that would be?”
Before Erik could answer, my phone buzzed in my purse. “Oh, sorry.”
“That’s okay.” He waved away my apology. “Go ahead and take it.”
Erik stuck a fork in his burrito and took a large bite. I saw that the call was from Wes, so I answered.
“Hi, there,” I said. “What’s up?”
“Hey, babe. Just checking in. I have a break before my next phot
o assignment. Have you had lunch yet?”
“Actually, I’m at lunch now. Sorry.”
“Where are you? I can come and join you.”
“Oh. Well, I’m at the Cozy Café, but I’m not alone.”
“Got it. Client meeting?”
“Um, no. I’m having lunch with . . . Erik.”
“Who?”
“You know. Erik Grayson?”
At this point, I could feel my face growing red hot. Erik looked up and regarded me curiously. Why was this so awkward?
“I have no idea who you’re talking about,” said Wes. Then it must have dawned on him. “Wait. Is that the guy you took to Fynn Hollow? The one whose girlfriend was murdered?”
“Yeah,” I said shortly. “Anyway, I gotta go, hon. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” I hung up and dropped the phone into my purse. I forked my salad and avoided meeting Erik’s eyes. When I finally looked up, he appeared to be amused.
“So,” he began, “there’s something I wanted to tell you.”
“Yes?”
“When the police were questioning me, they asked about you a couple times.”
“That’s not surprising. They questioned me, too, you know. What did they say?”
“Well, they were on a fishing expedition, like I said. They wanted to know if we were a couple and wondered if there might be some jealousy between you and Denise.”
“You’re kidding. Where did they get that idea?”
“I assured them they were barking up the wrong tree. Although . . .” He trailed off, leaving me hanging.
“What?”
Just then, the café door opened, and a young guy entered and looked around. Erik stood up and waved at him. “Over here!” he called. To me, he said, “That’s Billy. He’s my ride today.”
Billy approached and smiled at me. “You must be Keli. How nice to meet you.”
May Day Murder Page 5
