Erik moved over to make room, and Billy sat down. He was a pleasant-looking guy, with dark brown, neatly trimmed hair, bright eyes behind black-framed glasses, and dimples when he smiled. He wore chinos and a navy polo shirt featuring the logo of a local electronics store.
“Do you have to get to work?” asked Erik.
“I’ve got a bit of time,” said Billy. “You can finish your lunch.”
“Thanks, man. If you ever get tired of fixing computers, you can always become a chauffeur. You already drive Viper everyplace, and now me.”
“Viper doesn’t have a car?” I asked.
“Oh, he has a car, but no license. At least, not at the moment.”
“Ironic, isn’t it?” said Billy. “A mechanic who can’t drive.”
For the next few minutes, we made small talk. I recalled Julie describing Billy as a nice, do-gooder type, and the description seemed accurate. When I told Billy I knew Julie from my old firm, his face lit up. “Julie, Julie, Julie. She was such a cool girl. Tell her hi for me next time you see her.”
Erik laughed. “Was she one of the popular kids? Amazing she remembers you.” He grinned at his friend and winked at me. “I love him dearly, but Billy wears his nerd card like a badge of honor. I mean look at him—tucked in shirt, horn-rimmed glasses, a master of tabletop war games.”
“Speaking of which,” said Billy, apparently unfazed by Erik’s ribbing, “don’t forget game night tomorrow.”
“Really?” said Erik. “Don’t you think we should cancel, considering what happened?”
“Not at all. This is a good excuse to get together. It’ll be something to distract us and maybe even cheer us up a bit. Keli, you should come, too. The more the merrier. We could use some fresh energy. What do you say?”
“Thanks,” I said. “That’s nice of you, but I don’t think I can make it.”
“Well, it’s a standing invitation, if you change your mind.”
As I finished my salad, I wondered if it would be in poor taste to bring up Denise again. It was nice to see Erik in better spirits. On the other hand, since I was already mixed up in her murder investigation . . .
“How often do you have these game nights?” I asked.
“Once a week, if we can. Sometimes we miss a week, but not if I can help it.”
“It’s the highlight of his life,” Erik said wryly.
“Did Denise participate in the games?”
There was a palpable change in the mood around the table. Both men dropped their smiles and grew silent. Billy was the first to speak.
“She came a couple times, especially back when she and Erik first started dating. In fact, I’m the one who introduced her to Erik.”
“Yeah,” said Erik. “But she didn’t really like the games.”
Billy looked away, and I had the strong sense he was holding something back. It was clear I’d struck a nerve. I wanted to ask more, but Billy checked his watch, and Erik pulled out his wallet.
There’s definitely more to learn from these guys, I thought. Maybe I should accept that game night invitation after all.
CHAPTER SIX
Back at the office, I checked my calendar and realized I didn’t have any appointments until Wednesday. I really needed to work on a marketing plan. I spent some time brainstorming and came up with a few possibilities, none of which I could implement at the moment. I decided I might as well go to see Mila at her shop.
As far as I was concerned, Moonstone Treasures could have been called “Edindale’s Treasure,” because it was a true gem. Part gift boutique, part witch’s emporium, the store carried a multitude of charms, supplies, tools, and decorations. With the divination parlor in the back and the exotic ambience throughout, it was chockful of Mila’s warm, wise, and wonderful witchy personality.
She greeted me with a hug when I entered, even though I’d just seen her the day before.
“Hello and merry meet! Come on back. Catrina and I were just unpacking a shipment we received from Haiti. Fredeline hooked us up with this wonderful jewelry maker. Fantastic stuff.”
I followed Mila through the beaded curtain to the back room. Today the Japanese screens that usually separated the two sides of the large, open space were set aside. Mila headed to the tea tray sitting on a bureau on the right-hand wall in the divination parlor. I glanced to the left where Mila’s office desk sat in the corner next to a tall worktable and shelves of inventory. Catrina, Mila’s spiky-haired, multi-pierced assistant, perched on a bar stool at the worktable, where she was surrounded by a stack of small jewelry boxes. She looked up when we entered.
“Hey, Catrina. How’s it going?” I pulled out a chair at the round, cloth-covered table where Mila gave palm readings and tarot interpretations. As I sat down, I noticed Catrina seemed to be gazing at a point above my head. I twisted around but couldn’t figure out what had captured her attention. “Um, what’s up?” I asked.
She set down her pricing gun and joined us at the table. “Sorry. I was trying to read your aura.”
Mila poured steaming herbal tea into painted fortune-telling teacups. “Keli might not want her aura read,” she admonished gently.
“Oh, I don’t mind,” I said. “What do you see?”
Catrina squinted at the space around me. “It’s not entirely clear. It’s kind of a brownish gold.” She glanced at Mila for confirmation.
Like Catrina, Mila gazed at the space around the border of my head. Then she looked into my eyes. “Your underlying divinity is apparent, as is your own strong intuitive abilities. But it appears you’re also experiencing some stress right now. I see some insecurity, particularly over material matters.” She paused and smiled. “I’m sure you didn’t need me to tell you that.”
“No,” I murmured. “That all sounds about right.” I took a sip of tea and winced as I burnt my tongue.
“You know what?” said Mila. “You need something to take your mind off such grave matters. With spring on the horizon, this should be a joyful, playful season. Maybe you could plan a fun getaway with your boyfriend. Oh! And definitely come to the Beltane Fire Festival on the first of May. My coven is leading the maypole ritual.”
“Beltane Festival? You’re the second person to mention that to me.”
Suddenly the beaded curtain parted, and a freckle-faced young man stuck in his head. “Mila, can you help me out for a second?”
Mila excused herself, and I looked at Catrina for an explanation.
“That was Steve,” she said. “He’s a college student working here part-time. Nice kid, but a bit slow on the uptake.” She snickered, then leaned forward. “Hey, I heard you were at the scene of the Fynn Hollow murder.”
I flinched, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“So, are we talking about an isolated incident here?” she asked. “Or was it the work of a serial killer? Should we be worried?”
“I have no idea. I haven’t heard anything about other murders.”
“That’s good. The Witches’ Web has been going crazy with rumors and speculations. You never know what to believe.”
“The Witches’ Web? What’s that?”
“Are you joking?”
“Um, no.”
“You are such a loner, aren’t you?” teased Catrina. “The Witches’ Web is an online social network for Pagans. If you ever came out of your little solitary broom closet, you might know that.”
“I like being a solitary,” I said, feeling defensive. “My spirituality is personal. Besides, I have you and Mila for Wiccan socializing.”
“I suppose. Well, for those of us who want to connect with even more Pagans, the Witches’ Web is a great resource. It has chat rooms and message boards and stuff. You can ask questions on any topic or jump into an ongoing conversation. Do you want to see?”
“Yeah, sure. I’d like to see what they’re saying about the murder. Are there people on there who actually knew Denise?”
“I think so. But nobody uses their real name, so you wouldn’t n
ecessarily know who’s talking. It’s all meant to be anonymous.”
I dragged my chair over to the desk and joined Catrina at the computer. With a few clicks, she brought up the website. It had a spare design with a black background and very few pictures. Animated fairy lights along the margin provided a whimsical touch. After logging in, Catrina showed me the discussion chain that had begun as soon as word spread of Denise’s death.
“See what I mean?” she asked. “People are freaking out. More than one person called the murder proof of a witch hunt. They’re saying it’s a sign of the Burning Times all over again.” She angled the screen and slid the mouse toward me.
“Wow.” I scrolled through the messages, looking for anyone who professed firsthand knowledge of Denise—or DeeDeeStar, as she was called on the website. I browsed some of the comments:
I knew DeeDee, and she was always nice to me . . .
I knew DeeDee, and she had some personal issues . . .
I knew DeeDee, and she messed around with dark forces . . .
I glanced at the username of the person who had mentioned “dark forces.” WickdThorn. Could that be Denise’s neighbor, Thorna? I clicked on the name and found myself on a page with a short profile of WickdThorn (“Female, Capricorn, member since 2015”), and links to all her comments and posts. Perusing each one would take a while.
“I need to get back to work,” said Catrina, as she pushed back from the desk. “You can keep reading, if you want. Just don’t post anything under my name. FierceGoddess has a reputation to uphold.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, with a smile. Then I returned to the original thread about Denise. I wanted to finish reading all the comments about her death before going down the rabbit hole of past conversations. After scrolling through a string of generic comments expressing astonishment, fear, and sadness, I paused at a brief exchange that stuck out from the rest:
DredShaman: Now you can sleep easy, BalderBoy.
BalderBoy: Don’t. Not now.
DredShaman: But our problem is solved. You should be thanking me.
BalderBoy: Shut up, DredShaman. Just. Shut. Up.
“Hmm. Interesting.” I clicked on DredShaman, whose profile was as sparse as WickdThorn’s. He wasn’t a frequent poster. From what I could tell, his comments appeared primarily in a few discussions on drum circles, Shamanism, and magic mushrooms. Then I saw a snippet of text that included the names DeeDeeStar and BalderBoy. I clicked on it and skimmed the conversation. They seemed to be debating the binding power of blood oaths.
DeeDeeStar: Of course oaths can be broken. There’s always a way.
BalderBoy: Hey, a pact is a pact. It’s very bad form to break a pact.
DredShaman: Not without dire consequences. I once knew a guy . . .
BalderBoy: Come on, guys. Don’t even joke about this.
DeeDeeStar: Whatever.
That was the end of the conversation. Based on the date stamp, it had occurred a month ago. I stared at the words for a long moment. They seemed ominous considering what had happened to Denise. I wondered if Deputy Langham knew about the Witches’ Web.
Mila returned to the back room. “I found that oracle deck I was thinking of yesterday. It’s called Tarot of the Valkyries, and it’s based on Old Norse mythology.” She removed the plastic wrapping and handed me the deck.
I thumbed through the cards. The deck seemed to follow the classic Rider-Waite tarot system, but with Norse-themed images and symbols. I recognized the gods Thor and Odin and the goddess Freya, as well as the majestic site of Valhalla. There were also cards featuring elves and dwarves, and, of course, a Viking warrior. “This is it,” I said, holding onto the Viking card. “This is what I saw in Denise’s hand.”
Catrina hurried over to take a look, as Mila peered over my shoulder. We studied the card in silence. It was the Knight of Swords, as portrayed by a heroic-looking blond Norseman, complete with long flowing hair and a full beard. Instead of riding on horseback, he wielded his sword from the bow of a ship before a background of stormy skies and sea. A stylized letter V was stamped in the lower right-hand corner of the card.
“Is this supposed to help identify her murderer?” asked Catrina, giving voice to the question in my mind.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Not necessarily. Maybe it just happened to be the last card she drew when the poison took effect.” As a lawyer, I was used to looking at problems from all angles. But deep down I felt there must be some significance to the card. “Mila, what does this card usually represent in a reading?”
Mila sighed. “So much of tarot interpretation has more to do with the reader than with the card itself. I’d want to know what questions or concerns were on the reader’s mind. Also, where did the card appear in the overall spread—and was it right-side up, or inverted? Cards have completely different meanings when reversed. However . . . the suit of swords often indicates delivery of a message related to change and conflict. As you can see, the image shows a hero figure, which stands for courage, adventure, loyalty, and truth. But heroes’ quests can have both positive and negative results. And they sometimes involve violence.”
Catrina scoffed. “It definitely involved violence in this case. The question is, who was the perpetrator?”
“As for this card,” I said, holding it up, “the real question is, what did it represent for Denise?”
Of course, none of us could answer that question. Catrina headed back to her pricing gun, and Mila patted my shoulder. “Would you like me to warm up your tea?”
Before I could answer, Steve came rushing into the back room again. “Mila!” he hissed. “Could you please come out here? There’s a policeman asking all kinds of questions I can’t answer. He’s really intense. And kinda judgy. He’s making me nervous.”
“Langham,” I said.
“Do you want to leave out the back door?” asked Mila.
I hesitated, knowing that I absolutely wanted to leave out the back door—and feeling ridiculous about it. I bit the inside of my cheek. “No,” I finally said. “It’s okay. I should go, but there’s no reason I shouldn’t leave out the front door. Besides, I want to buy this tarot deck.”
“You’re not buying it. It’s my gift to you.” She squeezed my hand, then disappeared through the beaded curtain. I took a deep breath, then dropped the cards into my purse, and followed her.
Langham stood at the back of the store, scrutinizing the shelves of boxed herbs and potion bottles. He turned as Mila approached and flashed her a thin-lipped smile. Then he noticed me, and his eyes narrowed.
“Ms. Milanni. I’m surprised to see you here.”
I ignored his baiting tone. “How’s the investigation going, Deputy? Do you have any leads?”
His false smile twisted, and his eyes took on a cold, calculating gleam. “As a matter of fact, we do have leads. The autopsy report is still pending, of course, but we received some interesting information from the forensics team.” He paused, waiting for my reaction. I was beginning to like the man less and less.
“What kind of information?” I asked.
“There were two teacups in the victim’s sink. They had been rinsed, but not thoroughly enough. There was a substance stuck to the bottom of one of them. Turns out the substance contained atropine.”
“Oh, dear,” said Mila.
“What’s atropine? Some kind of drug?”
“It’s used in some drugs,” said Langham. “But not in the form found in the teacup. No, this substance was pretty raw. Like mashed leaves and berries.”
I glanced at Mila, whose face was flushed. “I don’t sell—”
“You see, Ms. Milanni?” Langham interrupted. “Ms. Douglas knows what I’m talking about. Atropine is found in the belladonna plant, otherwise known as deadly nightshade. Ring any bells? It should. It’s a classic ingredient for you witches.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
It wasn’t until I was seated behind my desk in the safety of my quiet little office that I
finally breathed a sigh of relief. What a jerk! I knew Langham was sharing details of the case only to gauge our reactions, but he didn’t have to be so gleeful about it. I had been so flustered after his provocative comment, I couldn’t think of an appropriate comeback. At least, not a civil one. I mumbled something about having to get back to work and fairly flew out of the store. Now that I was alone I felt sheepish about running out on Mila like that. Some friend I was.
A tap on the outer door startled me from my thoughts.
“It’s open!” I called, as I stepped into the small waiting area. The door opened, revealing an older woman with gray hair and cornflower-blue eyes. She sported slacks and a light sweater, and wore a pleasant, curious expression.
A new client!
“Hello!” I said. “Come on in! I’m Keli Milanni. Please have a seat. Can I get you a glass of water? Or a cup of coffee or tea? I have an electric kettle that heats water in a jiffy.”
“Sounds nice, only I can’t stay,” she said briskly. “But I’m glad to finally meet you. I’m Annie, your next-door neighbor.”
Oh. Not a client. I maintained my smile in spite of my disappointment. “It’s great to meet you, Annie. I was beginning to think I was the only occupant in this building.”
“There are a few vacancies,” she admitted. “And the rest of us are mostly part-timers. I only come in when I have a scheduled appointment. Because of our odd hours, deliveries usually get dropped off with whoever happens to be here.” She held out a bulky envelope. “This came for you last week.”
“Thanks.” I took the envelope and set it on the coffee table. I hadn’t anticipated receiving packages that wouldn’t fit through the mail slot. That could be a problem. “Are you sure you can’t stay for a cup of tea? It’s a slow afternoon for me.”
“Another time. I’m on my way out for the day. Toodles!”
When she left, I dropped into one of my waiting room chairs and listened to the quiet. Then I picked up the package and turned it over. It had a local postmark, but no return address. “A mystery package, huh? How exciting. And now I’m talking to myself.”
May Day Murder Page 6
