May Day Murder

by Jennifer David Hesse

  “Hello! Keli Milanni here.”

  “Keli, this is Carol Peters. There’s something I need to tell you.”

  “Would you like to come by my office?”

  “No, I don’t have time. But this has been bothering me, and I realized I need to tell you everything.”

  “Go ahead, Carol. I’m listening.”

  “Well, you know my ex-husband is trying to portray me as being irresponsible, et cetera, because I’m Wiccan. And his new wife is telling everybody who will listen that I’m exposing the children to inappropriate things. It’s all total B.S. I know you know this. But then I started to think about all these examples they could use. Like, I woke the kids up in the middle of the night so they could see the eclipse—which they loved. But could that be seen as bad parenting? And I’ve taken them out of school early on nice days, so we could go to the park and enjoy nature. I only did that a couple times, and their attendance is really good otherwise.” She was speaking quickly, and I could tell she was nervous.

  “Carol, you didn’t do anything wrong. Besides, I’m sure non-Wiccan parents have done the same thing.”

  “There’s one other thing. Last summer I took the kids to Wicca-Fest up north. I told their dad we were visiting friends, which was sort of true. Don’t get me wrong. The festival is kid-friendly. Some of the ceremonies can be a little intense—a few people get real into it and wail and writhe, the whole bit. But we steered clear of that sort of thing. And one of the circles does allow participants to go skyclad, if they choose, but that section was for adults only. Anyway, the kids had a great time. They thought some of the costumes were funny. But now I’m looking at everything through a judge’s eyes, and I’m worried about how this might look.”

  I thought about my answer before speaking. Carol was right that her ex-husband could make a big deal of the fact that she took their children to a religious event without his knowledge. However, he always knew she was Wiccan, and it wasn’t until recently that it had become a problem for him. “At this point, I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. If he finds out about Wicca-Fest and tries to make an issue of it, I’ll argue there was no harm done. It’s really not much different than taking your children to a music festival or a Renaissance Faire, which is something lots of people do.”

  “That’s true. Okay, I feel better. By the way, he doesn’t know this either, but I’m taking the kids to the Beltane Festival next weekend. I had to stretch the truth a little to get him to switch weekends with me, but only because his wife is so repressed. Anyway, the kids have been looking forward to it for months.”

  “I’ve heard it’s a fun event.”

  “For sure. Maybe we’ll see you there!”

  After ringing off with Carol, I blew on my nails and considered her predicament. How sad that she had to hide such an important part of her life. Of course, I hid aspects of my life, too, but I didn’t let it bother me. At least not too much.

  There were no more calls or messages. For the next hour, I did little more than stare at the walls. That’s it, I decided, as I shouldered my purse once more. I’d been putting it off long enough. I needed to perform an abundance spell. Otherwise I won’t even have these walls to stare at for much longer.

  Besides, there couldn’t be a more auspicious time for a prosperity ritual. It was springtime during a waxing moon, following the new moon in Taurus. And it was a Thursday, Jupiter’s day, which corresponds with financial matters and success. On top of that, Beltane was coming up. As a holiday that celebrates abundance, growth, and increase, Beltane presented a prime opportunity to think about what I wanted to attract more of in my own life.

  As soon as I got home, I gathered the supplies I would need for the sympathetic magic I had in mind. I would perform a ceremony that symbolically represented what I wanted to create in my daily life. In this case, I would plant some literal seeds, tend to them, and watch them grow—just as my business would grow and flourish. I hoped.

  With both neighbors away from home, and the back of my yard shielded by a wooden fence and tall trees, I felt comfortable working a little magic outdoors. First, I did some tidying up, sweeping the walkway and filling the birdbath. Then I selected a sunny patch near my vegetable garden and marked out a circle, about six feet in diameter. Taking four flat stones from the border around the patio, I placed them at each cardinal direction to use as candle holders. I carefully placed and lit the candles—green for money and new growth, naturally—and silently called the spirits of the elements at each direction. Once the circle was cast, I faced north, the direction associated with earth energies, and invoked the Roman deity, Ops, Goddess of Plenty, and her husband, Saturn. Together, they inspired visions of sparkling wealth, gifts of largesse, bountiful crops, and joyous feasts.

  Filled with the energy of abundance, I took up a stick and poked small holes in the earth, making a circle within the circle. In each hole, I buried a small offering and recited a corresponding rhyme:

  Cinnamon and clove will dreams ignite

  Powdered root for blessings bright

  A crystal quartz clears blocks where stuck

  Copper coins bring riches and luck

  In the center of the circles, I made three more holes and placed a single sunflower seed in each one. As I sprinkled them with soil and a splash of water, I voiced my intention. “I plant these seeds of hope for my success and prosperity.”

  Finally, I stuck three whimsical glass-and-metal garden stakes in the ground and chanted my new mantra:

  People to serve

  Business to grow

  Clients to help

  Abundance to flow

  I awoke the next day to sunlight streaming through my bedroom window. Now that I was my own boss, I’d stopped setting an alarm clock. But getting up was no problem. I had a good feeling about today.

  After a quick shower, I took my morning brew out to the garden and sat in a lawn chair for a few moments of contemplation. A big part of magical working is what the witch brings to the spell. In other words, her mind-set. For my spell to work, I had to believe it would.

  I repeated to myself the words I’d uttered the night before: “People to serve, business to grow. Clients to help, abundance to flow.” I held the sentiment in my mind as I dressed in a lightweight pants suit and slipped on jade-and-gold jewelry: a pair of delicate drop earrings and a ring on the index finger of my right hand. I continued to replay the mantra in my mind during my walk to work. By the time I arrived to my building, I’d said it so many times I wasn’t one bit surprised to find a man waiting for me outside my office door.

  His appearance, however, was a little surprising. He had long, curly black hair that draped over his burly shoulders, and he was clad all in black, from his long, beltless trench coat to his clunky buckled boots. Perhaps most striking, though, was the amount of hardware he sported, which included skull rings on every finger, spiked leather cuffs on each wrist, and multiple earrings studding the length of both ears. I couldn’t decide if he’d fit in better with a motorcycle gang or a steampunk club. Then I saw the silver pentacle, hanging like a medallion around his neck.

  “Hello,” I said politely. “Can I help you?”

  At that moment, steps sounded behind me, and I turned to see Annie patter up the hallway.

  “Good morning, neighbor!” she called. “How are you this lovely—” She stopped short when she caught sight of the imposing stranger.

  “Good morning, ladies,” he said. “I hope I’m in the right place. I’m looking for the Witch Lawyer.”

  Annie wrinkled her brow. “I’m sorry. Did you say ‘witch lawyer’?”

  He nodded as he reached into his jacket pocket. “I don’t use the title myself. I’m a necromancer. But it’s not too far off. Let’s see.” He squinted at the paper he retrieved from his pocket. “Yes. I’m looking for a gal by the name of Miss Keli Milanni, Lawyer to the Witches.” He looked at me expectantly. So did Annie.

  I swallowed, then raised my
hand slowly, like a timid student who wanted to hide under her school desk.

  “That would be me.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Sometimes the Goddess has a wicked sense of humor. In my experience, manifestation spells don’t usually produce such immediate results. They have to simmer for a bit, while the cosmic gears shift and the stars move into alignment. Yet, if I’ve learned anything in my years as a witch, it’s that life is full of mystery and wonder. During my interview with the necromancer, my phone rang no less than eight times, and two other potential clients came knocking on my door.

  Of course, none of the other prospects were quite as interesting as the necromancer, aka Arlen Prince. He was a polite, talkative guy, if somewhat intense. Though I was familiar with the practice of necromancy, or divination through communication with the dead, I was still fascinated to hear about Arlen’s technique. And he was eager to share. As he explained, he’s an animal necromancer. He collects animal bones, feathers, shells, and other physical items found in the wild and uses them to commune with animal spirits. Oftentimes, before using bones in magical work, he must clean and purify them in a ritual that serves both practical and spiritual purposes. Unfortunately, some of his neighbors caught wind of the practice and were none too happy. They thought he was engaging in animal sacrifice and reported him to the authorities.

  “I don’t sacrifice animals,” he told me. “I leave offerings for animal spirits, but that’s totally different.”

  “Was that clear to the county officials?” I asked.

  “Yeah, that much was. But they still didn’t like the whole thing. I could tell. They were just looking for something to charge me with. They pawed through my collections looking for parts from endangered species.” He shook with indignation. “In the end, they gave me a ticket for engaging in taxidermy without a permit.”

  “Taxidermy? Do you do that as well?”

  “Not really. I do mount antlers for hunters sometimes, as a side business. But I work on a barter basis—they give me some of the meat. I didn’t think that should require a license.”

  He showed me a copy of the citation, which indicated his hearing date was on Monday—three days away.

  “I have to tell you, this isn’t exactly my area of expertise. You might be better off finding an attorney more familiar with the county administrative hearing process.”

  “No.” He shook his head adamantly. “It has to be you. My friend Carol gave me your name, and the bones confirmed it.”

  “I see. Well, I’m willing to research the law and represent you at the hearing. Why don’t we start there and see where that takes us?”

  “Perfect.”

  While Arlen was my most unique visitor that day, the one who came by in the afternoon was the most exciting for me. He’d called first and was delighted I could see him so soon. So was I. Neal Jameson was a prominent restaurateur, hotelier, and philanthropist with loads of money and influence. I’d met him last fall at the benefit masquerade ball he’d held at his country estate. I was actually a little surprised he’d called. He was my former boss’s client.

  “Lovely to see you again, Keli,” he said, as I invited him into my office. A spry, trim man in a tailored navy blazer paired with white trousers fit for the poshest of yacht clubs, he exuded a sparkling, easygoing manner. I appreciated the fact that he didn’t bat an eye at my modest workplace.

  “It’s lovely to see you as well. Though I have to admit I was a little surprised to receive your call.”

  “Of course, of course. Beverly usually handles my legal matters. However, she has a conflict of interest in this case. I know I would have been in capable hands with one of the other attorneys at the firm. But when I learned you’d opened your own practice, I knew at once that this was the way to go. The fewer people who know about my plans, the better.”

  “Well, it’s only me here. I can assure you, our conversation is one hundred percent confidential.”

  “Perfect. That’s what I like to hear. You see, I have a little surprise planned for a dear friend of mine. I’m going to purchase her childhood home and land, a twenty-acre property called Red Gate Hollow. It will be a gift for her, a dream come true. In fact, she’s been wanting to buy the property herself. She’ll insist on giving me a fair price, which is why I absolutely must get the best price possible.”

  I nodded. So far, it sounded like a standard real estate negotiation. The goal is always to get the best price possible.

  “There’s only one small catch. The land is currently owned by Gretta Harrison. As you know, the Harrisons are longtime clients of the Olsen law firm, which is the conflict I mentioned. But the real problem is that Gretta and I have a history, if you will. If she knows how badly I want the property, the price will quadruple. So, we must play our hand close to the vest.”

  “I understand.”

  “I knew you would. This is really important to me . . . and to my friend—I hope she’ll also be my business partner. You see, the land currently contains an established apple orchard that has been transitioning to organic growing methods for the past three years. It’s very close to meeting the requirements for USDA certification. I would love to use those apples in my restaurants.”

  “Organic apple pie? That sounds wonderful.”

  “Yes, indeed. And . . . that’s not all. The property abuts another farm owned by one of my suppliers. It’s also being certified organic, and it’s downwind of Red Gate Hollow. So, you see, I need to have control over Red Gate to ensure it never reverts to conventional methods, thus threatening the purity of my supplier’s produce. You understand?”

  “Yes. That makes perfect sense.”

  “Wonderful. This is a rare opportunity all around. Of course, I’m not the only interested buyer. So, we have to act fast. And, again, discretion is of the utmost importance. We mustn’t appear overly eager.”

  “Do you have a Realtor you’re working with?”

  “Oh, I never work with Realtors. It’s not necessary. I’d like you to submit an offer on my behalf, the sooner, the better.”

  “Certainly. I’ll perform a title search and make sure it’s clear. I can also find the fair market value and let you know as you decide on your offer. I can have the information by Monday.”

  “Very good.” He stood and shook my hand. “The truth is, I must have that property and will pay any price. But the seller doesn’t need to know that.”

  “Of course.”

  * * *

  It was after dark when I arrived home after work, almost like the old days when I used to spend long hours at the firm. Wes had dinner already made and waiting on the stovetop. I inhaled the delicious aroma of linguini with tomato sauce and fresh asparagus as I entered the kitchen. As he filled our plates, I couldn’t resist encircling his waist and kissing the back of his neck—which had a slightly distracting effect on both of us and led to a slight delay in the actual eating of the dinner.

  I was in quite a good mood when we finally sat down to our warmed-up meal. Not only did I have a satisfyingly busy day at work, but I’d also had a blissfully free interlude from Deputy Langham. Wes and I clinked wineglasses and shared the highlights of our day. Afterward, we were in the midst of clearing the table when the house phone rang. I froze, immediately on alert again.

  “I’ll get it,” said Wes, who was closer anyway.

  As I corked the wine bottle, I listened to Wes say “hello.” A moment later, he called out, “It’s for you. Some guy.”

  I traded him the wine bottle for the phone receiver and said a tentative “hello.”

  “Hey, Keli! This is Erik. Do you have a minute?”

  “Erik! Hi. Why are you calling me at this number?”

  “This is your phone, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but it’s not my cell.”

  “Oh. Right. I accidentally erased your number from my phone and had to look you up. This is the number I found. Listen, I have some news.”

  “Good news?”

>   “It could be. It’s sort of a good news-bad news situation right now.”

  I glanced at Wes, who was eyeing me suspiciously. I mouthed the words “It’s okay,” and settled onto the sofa with my legs curled beneath me. Josie appeared and hopped onto my lap.

  “Go on,” I said to Erik.

  “A buddy of mine from the Order is seeing this gal, Soleil, who was a client of Denise’s.”

  “Soleil? That’s a pretty name.”

  “Yeah, that’s her craft name, but she pretty much goes by it all the time. Anyway, Soleil has been all upset these past few days, understandably. She went to the cops and asked them if they’ve examined Denise’s appointment book. Soleil figured if Denise had an appointment Saturday morning, it would be written in that book.”

  “That sounds logical.”

  “For sure. I’d forgotten about that datebook, until my buddy mentioned it. Then I remembered. It’s an unusual book, bound in leather and embossed with fancy designs. And it has a lock, like a diary. Denise was real protective of her clients. So, the good part is that you and I won’t be in that appointment book, which means we should be off the hook in the investigation.”

  “That’s great! That’s fantastic news. Maybe that’s why I haven’t heard from Langham lately. As of Wednesday night, he was still interested in me enough to track down my boyfriend and grill him about me.”

  “Well, now for the bad news. The datebook seems to be missing.”

  “What? How do you know?”

  “’Cause Langham was just here asking me about it. He wondered if I’d seen it when we found Denise.”

  “Dang. I guess he’ll be asking me the same question.”

  “Probably. I don’t remember seeing it that day. I’d love to go look for it, though.”

  “What, in her house? You shouldn’t go back there, at least not without the police. If you think you know where it might be, you should let the cops know.”

  “I know. You’re right. I told them it would probably be in her workroom, but I’m sure they’ve scoured the place.”