May Day Murder

by Jennifer David Hesse

  He pursed his lips. “I ran into Everett Macy in front of the courthouse this morning.”

  “Oh.”

  “I asked him if he’d met with you yet. And do you know what he said?”

  “I haven’t the foggiest.”

  “He said he preferred not to trust his personal affairs with someone who seems frivolous and disreputable.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Frivolous and disreputable,” he repeated. “Naturally, I jumped to your defense. I said, ‘That doesn’t sound like the Keli Milanni I know.’”

  “That was nice of you.”

  “That’s when he told me about a newspaper article he’d read. Do you know the one I mean?”

  I shifted uncomfortably. “Yes. I saw it.”

  “I saw it, too, after I looked it up. And I was appalled. Aren’t you appalled?”

  “Yeah, I can’t say I liked it. This whole situation has been very unpleasant.”

  “It’s more than unpleasant. It’s outrageous. I presume you’ll demand a retraction, if you haven’t already.”

  “What good would that do? My name is already out there.”

  “I’m not talking about the release of your name. I’m talking about the tarnishing of your name. The article practically called you a witch. You must write a letter threatening to sue the Daily Beat for libel, if they don’t publish an immediate retraction. Those journalism students need to learn what happens when they engage in sloppy tabloid-style reporting.”

  I looked away. “I don’t know if that’s really necessary. It was such a stupid, little article.”

  Crenshaw frowned. “Are you serious? You’ve already lost business because of that ‘stupid, little article.’ Not only that, but now Mr. Macy thinks I make referrals to unsavory characters. This reflects poorly on me, too, you know.”

  I almost laughed. Leave it to Crenshaw to bring the issue back to himself.

  He fell silent, possibly realizing how selfish he sounded. He took a sip of coffee and looked around again. After a moment, he set down his cup. “Was it worth it, Milanni?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Leaving the firm. Are you happier now?”

  I considered the question, then nodded. “Yeah. I’m still finding my feet, but I’m enjoying my freedom. Going solo brings a whole new set of challenges, but I think it will be worth it in the end.”

  “Being called a nut isn’t going to help,” he said drily. “Do you really want potential clients to think you fancy yourself a broom-riding sorceress?”

  “The article didn’t say that,” I objected.

  “It lumped you in with the murder victim’s friends. And the implications about them couldn’t have been clearer.”

  “Come on. It wasn’t really that bad.” I stood and took my cup to the table in the corner. “Besides, Wicca is a legitimate religion. Not all modern witches are . . . nutty.”

  “What are you saying?”

  I turned to face him. “I’m saying . . . maybe the article wasn’t entirely untruthful.”

  “You mean, you really were a friend of the murder victim?”

  “No. I didn’t know her at all. That much was false.”

  “Then, what—” He broke off as the door swung open. Startled, we turned as one. I should probably keep that door locked, I realized. The pop-ins were always so jarring.

  “Is this a bad time? I don’t want to interrupt an important lawyer meeting.” It was Billy, wearing his electronics store uniform and holding a bouquet of flowers. He looked like an awkward teenager on his first date.

  Speaking of Denise’s friends. “Come on in, Billy. What can I do for you?”

  He glanced nervously at Crenshaw. “I wanted to apologize about last night.”

  Crenshaw’s expressive eyebrows shot sky-high. He quickly recovered and made a prim bow. “I need to go. Think about what I said, Milanni.”

  When Crenshaw was gone, I took the flowers from Billy and invited him to have a seat.

  “I can’t stay long. I just feel so bad about how the evening ended last night. Erik told me what Viper did to you. I’m so, so sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault, Billy.” I wanted to ask him why he remained friends with such a troublemaker, but that seemed a bit rude. As if reading my mind, he offered an explanation.

  “Viper and I have been best friends since we were little kids. We’ve stuck by each other through a lot of things. You know how it is. When you have a bond with someone like that, you can’t just cut them out of your life when they behave badly. He’s like family.”

  Billy’s use of the word bond triggered something in my memory. I recalled the “pact” Denise had talked about on the Witches’ Web. I decided to take a chance. “Was Denise like family, too?”

  “Denise?”

  “I know you were all friends in high school. Julie told me, remember? And I haven’t heard anything about Denise’s actual family.”

  “Oh, right. Yeah, Denise was an only child and her parents weren’t married. Her father took off when she was little, and her mom passed away a few years ago. She has some cousins someplace, but I don’t think they were close.” He paused, but I waited him out. He shrugged and continued. “I knew Denise in elementary school. We became closer in high school when a group of us got interested in Paganism.”

  I sat down in one of the waiting room chairs, hoping he’d follow my lead. “I became interested in Paganism in high school, too,” I said affably. “For me, it started in middle school when some friends and I got a hold of some videos and books and decided to play around with magic.” I chuckled at the memory. “Part of the allure, I’m sure, was the exotic style of it all.”

  Billy mustered up a small smile, but quickly let it drop. I wondered why he seemed so uncomfortable. “It was all in good fun when we started out,” I continued. “We raised energy and tested our psychic abilities. Hauled out the Ouija board at slumber parties, like a lot of kids. Of course, we had to concoct a spell to curse the school bullies.”

  “That’s dangerous, you know,” said Billy, his expression earnest. “Kids shouldn’t mess around with things they don’t understand.”

  “Sounds like the tag line for a movie,” I said, trying to lighten his mood. He looked like he was about to bolt from the room.

  “It might not work like in the movies, but magic is real. I thought you knew that.”

  “I do. But most kids don’t have the ability to cause any real damage through magic. Anyway, my friends were more interested in attraction spells than curses.”

  Billy edged toward the door, clearly trying to leave but being too polite to interrupt me. So, I kept talking. “The commercial spell books we bought were definitely more style than substance. But I couldn’t deny the charge I felt when working with nature. I wasn’t sure if my friends really felt the same. So, once I got more serious about Wicca as a spiritual path, it became more private for me. My friends found other hobbies, and I continued my studies in secret.”

  Billy relaxed a little and nodded. “I know a lot of Pagans have to keep it secret, but that was never an issue for me. My family didn’t have a problem with my interest in Druidry—I guess it seemed like a natural extension of my passion for sci-fi and fantasy.”

  “That’s cool. Fynn Hollow, as a whole, must be a remarkably accepting community.”

  “We have our share of Fundamentalist bible thumpers, but they mostly leave us alone. I think we’re viewed as just another part of the artsy, hippie trail around the region.”

  “That makes sense. Denise was an artist, right?”

  “Yeah. Well, I need to get to work. Again, I’m sorry about last night. Viper is sorry, too. He’s just not very good at expressing himself.”

  I stood up and reached out to shake Billy’s hand. “Thank you. But I don’t think self-expression is Viper’s main problem. Did he get along with Denise?”

  Caught off guard by the question, Billy stammered in reply. “Did he get along—? Yeah, sure. I mean,
they had some disagreements. Some differences of opinion. But nothing serious. Nothing that would—anyway, I gotta go. Sorry.”

  I opened the door for him. “Good-bye, Billy. Thanks for stopping by.”

  When he was gone, I went to my computer to pull up the Witches’ Web again. Differences of opinion, huh? Like whether or not it’s okay to break a pact?

  Just what kind of pact had these three made?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I spent the next few hours on the Internet, exploring the Witches’ Web and researching the pantheon of Norse gods. I had been pretty sure before, but now I was entirely convinced about the identity of Denise’s online friends. BalderBoy had to be Billy. Balder was a beloved Norse god of purity and light, known for his generosity and all-around goodness. And BalderBoy’s comments sounded like the virtuous, ultra-nice voice of Billy.

  DredShaman, on the other hand, posted a lot about marijuana and other psychotropic substances—in a careless, lazy manner that sounded exactly like Viper. I could totally picture Viper making threatening comments about the consequences of breaking a blood oath. Even more troubling, though, was the callous way he talked about Denise’s death. Hidden behind the anonymity of his screen name, he’d had no shame in saying her death brought about the end to one of his “problems.” Despicable.

  But what did it all prove?

  I shut down my computer and decided to call it a day. As I walked home from work, enjoying the late-afternoon sun on my shoulders and back, I contemplated my next move. Part of me wanted to tip off Deputy Langham about the conversations on the Witches’ Web. But the other part felt I’d be selling out my fellow Wiccans. The Witches’ Web was their space to be themselves, and Langham didn’t strike me as a very open-minded person. Besides, I didn’t fully trust him.

  My cell phone rang, so I paused on the side of the path to answer it. When I saw the name, I couldn’t help smiling. It was someone I had been thinking about lately and had even thought about calling. Was it coincidence that he called me first? I rather thought it was the work of the Goddess.

  “Detective Rhinehardt! Hello!”

  “Hi, Keli. How are you?”

  “I’m doing well. What can I do for you?”

  Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so cheerful, considering all my past encounters with Adrian Rhinehardt had involved dead bodies. He was a top officer and the sole homicide detective for the Edindale Police. Yet, in spite of all the grim circumstances, not to mention the detective’s generally somber, impassive demeanor, I’d always liked the guy. Behind the gruff exterior was a fair and kindhearted man. I wished he were the one handling the Fynn Hollow murder investigation.

  “Keli, this is an unofficial call, but I’ll get right to the point. You’ve been helpful to the police force in the past, and I’ve always found you to be a credible, upstanding individual.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “That’s why I wanted to let you know about a phone call we received on our tip line this morning. The tipster claimed to have seen you early on Saturday morning, around eight-twenty or eight-thirty, at the gas station on Old County Road, out near Rural Route 17. This person thought the police would be interested in the information, given the time of day and the fact that 17 leads out to Fynn Hollow.”

  “I see.” This wasn’t at all the kind of conversation I’d hoped for. “I suppose this person saw my name in the Daily Beat in connection with the Fynn Hollow murder.”

  “It’s possible. The sheriff has gone on record saying the homicide occurred shortly before nine A.M.”

  “Well, I wasn’t heading to Fynn Hollow at that hour on Saturday morning. I was on my way to Briar Creek. River Road is near that gas station, too.”

  The detective paused, as if that wasn’t what he expected me to say. “So, you were on the outskirts of town early Saturday morning. Anybody see you out at Briar Creek?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Too bad.”

  “So what if I was getting gas on the edge of town?” I said reasonably. “That doesn’t prove anything. I could have been going anywhere. The fact is, I drove out to Briar Creek, as I often do, for an early-morning hike. You believe me, don’t you?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I believe. I have nothing to do with the Fynn Hollow case. However, I am obliged to hand over this tip to the county. I’m just giving you a heads-up, that’s all. Of course, I’m sure you probably already told the sheriff about your whereabouts Saturday morning, so this won’t be news to them.”

  “I’ve answered all their questions,” I said, feeling petulant. “I have nothing to hide.”

  “That’s good.”

  I thanked him for calling and hung up. With slow steps, I continued my walk home, in a far less optimistic mood. The wind shifted, bringing a cold breeze in from the north. I shivered.

  It was true that I had answered all of Langham’s questions. But he hadn’t asked me where I was before I’d met Erik. At least not yet. He’d asked Mila that question. It was only a matter of time before he circled back to me.

  I had to do something. I couldn’t just sit back and wait for things to happen. I was itching to take action. As I approached the Fieldstone Park fountain, I pulled out my phone again. At this point, all I could really do was to keep asking questions. I decided to take Farrah’s advice and try to get more information out of Erik. Luckily, he had given me his number when he emailed me about lunch the other day.

  A few seconds later, I had him on the line. “Hello?” he said, sounding slightly rushed.

  “Hi, Erik? This is Keli Milanni. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “Keli! Not at all. I’m at Thorna’s house attempting to fix a leaky faucet. But, as I tried to tell her, plumbing is definitely not my forte.” He laughed, and said something I couldn’t hear—presumably to Thorna. “Hang on. I’m just leaving.”

  I continued making my way through the park. A moment later, Erik was back. “Okay. I can talk now. How are you? I was afraid I might not hear from you again after what happened last night.”

  “I’m fine.” I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. It seemed apparent Erik wanted to develop some kind of friendship with me. And I did like the guy, in a way. But I had to make sure he knew it wasn’t more than as a friend. “Viper was really drunk,” I said, “but at least he backed off, and no one got hurt. And Billy stopped by my office to apologize, which was nice. But if anything like that ever happens again, you can bet my boyfriend will not be as understanding.”

  “It will never happen again. I promise. I told Viper if he doesn’t grow up, I’m kicking him out of my drum circle. As it is, the council of our Druid Order is going to have a serious talk with him.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Look, I know it’s not my business, but I can’t help wondering—did the reason you and Denise break up have anything to do with Viper?”

  “No, it was nothing like that. She was friends with him long before I was. Denise and I argued about a lot of things, but Viper wasn’t one of them. Not especially.”

  “What kinds of things did you argue about?” I asked, trying to keep my tone conversational.

  “Stupid stuff, mostly. She ran hot and cold, you know? She was probably bipolar, now that I think about it. One minute she’d be fine, the next minute she’d be snapping at me for no reason. And she would act angry sometimes, when there was absolutely nothing for her to be angry about.” He paused. “It feels wrong talking about her like this, now that she’s gone.”

  “I’m sorry. Do you know if there are any services planned?”

  “I think Poppy is planning some kind of memorial. But she’s waiting for . . . you know. The killer to be caught.”

  “That’s understandable.” I remembered Erik telling me Denise had had a falling-out with Poppy. But if the woman was planning her memorial, they must have been closer than I’d realized. “Have you heard any news on the investigation?”

  “No. Luckily, I haven’t been harassed by any police
officers lately.”

  “That’s good.” I slowed my steps as I approached my town house. I wanted to press Erik for more information about Denise, and was just formulating my next question, when I saw something that stopped me in my tracks.

  “What is that?” I said.

  “What?”

  “There’s something on my front porch.” I edged closer to get a better look and gasped. “Oh, no! It’s a dead bird.”

  “What kind of bird?” asked Erik.

  “I don’t know. A black bird. I’ve got to let you go. Talk to you later.”

  Stepping carefully around the bird, I unlocked the door and went inside. “Wes! Are you home?”

  Josie sprang down from the windowsill to see what I was doing. “You haven’t been outside today, have you?” I asked her. “Somebody left us a present on the porch. But it doesn’t look like you did it. I don’t suppose you saw who did it?”

  Josie only mewed.

  The house was dark, so I checked our usual spot for leaving notes in the kitchen. Sure enough, there was one from Wes: Jimi asked me to cover a shift at the Loose tonight. Be home late. In addition to his work at the Edindale Gazette, Wes was a part-time bartender at the Loose Rock, a casual nightclub on the other side of Fieldstone Park.

  With a sigh, I found some disposable gloves under the kitchen sink, some old newspaper, and a plastic shopping bag. Then I went back outside to wrap up the bird and look around. The neighborhood was quiet. The St. Johns, the older couple who lived on one side of me with their frisky little dog, had left this morning for their long-awaited anniversary cruise—pet-friendly, of course. The young family on the other side hadn’t come home from work yet. I glanced at the front of my town house. The door was made of wood, not glass, and the front windows were to the side of the porch. I’d never had a problem with birds flying into the window, but if they did, they’d land in the bushes—not on the welcome mat.

  After disposing of the bird, I came inside and puttered around the house, my mind churning. What did this mean? Some people might not think twice about finding a dead bird, but not witches. We know that an encounter with a bird—dead or alive—is usually an omen.