We were each silent for a moment, and my mind returned to the success of my abundance spell the night before. “Hey, Erik, let me ask you something. Have you thought about casting a spell to bring forth answers about what happened to Denise?”
“Sure, I’ve thought about it. I lit a candle for her and tried to send her a blessing of peace. I even set aside the money I owed her and decided to dedicate it to something in her name. I’m just not sure what yet.”
“That’s really nice, Erik. I think that sounds lovely. But I think there are other things we might try in the meantime.”
For the next hour or so, Erik and I compared notes about spells and rituals we’d conducted, especially around protection, banishment, and drawing energy for specific purposes. I told him about past cases where I’d used magic to find lost objects and clues to puzzling mysteries. He was both intrigued and excited about the possibilities.
A few times during our conversation, I was aware of Wes walking by and giving me questioning looks. I flashed him a small smile each time, to let him know there was nothing to worry about. I wasn’t sure he was entirely convinced. When I finally hung up and joined him upstairs, he appeared very put out. “Finally off the phone?” he huffed.
“What’s the big deal?” I asked, as I slipped on my pajamas.
“Nothing. You just seemed awful chummy with the guy. He’s the one whose girlfriend was murdered, right?”
“Ex-girlfriend. So?”
“So, I just think you should be careful, that’s all. What do you really know about this guy, except that he’s friends with the creep who defaced Farrah’s cast?”
“I know a little more than that. He’s a nice guy, Wes. I think you’d like him, if you gave him a chance.”
“Hmph. Nice or not, I don’t trust him.”
I kissed Wes good night and turned out the light. In the darkness, I allowed myself a small smile. If I wasn’t mistaken, it sounded like Wes was a tiny bit jealous of Erik. Of course, it was completely unfounded.
As I lay in bed, I thought about my client meetings earlier in the day, and recalled the first time I’d met Neal Jameson at his masquerade party. That was quite an experience. Literally everyone at the party was in a mask.
Suddenly, I recalled the vision at my altar the night Denise was killed. In it, she was surrounded by masked men and women. Everyone around her was hiding something.
Perhaps I shouldn’t be so quick to trust Erik after all.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I spent the first part of my Saturday doing title research online. I was going to do everything in my power to get answers for Neal Jameson faster than he could imagine. If I could help him get a good price, and a fast closing, on the property he wanted, it would be a real boon for my new business. As soon as I completed the research and typed up my notes, I shot off a secure email to Mr. Jameson. Then I joined Wes in the backyard where he was taking pictures of insects. I asked if he’d like to go to the art fair with me and he agreed.
He was unusually quiet on our walk to the park, but I didn’t think much of it. I was absorbed in my own thoughts. When we passed through the balloon-festooned archway that marked the entrance to the fair, I paused and took in the lay of the land. Rows of white pop-up canopy tents lined sections of the roadway intersecting a wide lawn. The vendors seemed to be roughly organized by medium, though the wide variety of displays created a kaleidoscope effect. Silk scarves fluttered near tie-dyed shirts, while glazed ceramics gleamed beside boldly modern canvas art. Strains of bluegrass music filled the air from somewhere beyond a line of brightly painted food trucks. I scanned the area for the crafts section.
“I want to see if Fern Lopez is here,” I said. “She usually sells her beadwork at events like this.”
“Okay. I’m gonna check out the photography booths.”
“Oh, you don’t want to—?”
Wes took off across the lawn before I could finish the sentence.
“Alrighty, then,” I said to myself. I had thought we would stick together, but it didn’t matter. I imagined Wes wanted to support his fellow photographers, and possibly even decide if he should rent his own table next year.
I headed to a line of vendors selling assorted crafts and handmade jewelry. It didn’t take long to spot the woman I sought. Fern Lopez was unmistakable with her long, brown braid and Southwest-style shawl. She had been a friend of Aunt Josephine back in their commune-living hippie days, and Fern still lived close to the land on her homestead in the country. But she wasn’t exactly a free-spirited poster child for peace and love. From the first time I’d met her, she struck me as more of a suspicious-minded cynic, always distrustful of “the man.” I was pleased when she’d finally warmed up to me over the past year. She even smiled when she saw me approach her table. That had to be a first.
“It’s nice to see you, Keli. I wondered if I might run into you today.”
“It’s great to see you, too. What a perfect day for a fair.”
We chatted pleasantly for a few minutes, and I admired her latest bead creations. Then I brought up the topic foremost on my mind.
“I suppose you heard about the murder in Fynn Hollow.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Do you know anyone who lives there?”
“I know a couple people. I didn’t know the victim, though. She was a young woman, I believe. It’s sad.”
“Yes. Very sad. What are folks saying about the murder, if you don’t mind me asking? Have you heard any theories?”
She pressed her lips together and nodded slowly. I wasn’t entirely sure how it was that Fern always had the inside scoop on happenings far and wide, though I had a vague idea. I knew she was part of an underground network of environmentalists called the Sisterhood. Perhaps someday she’d let me in on her secrets. On the other hand, maybe I was better off not knowing.
“The prevailing theory seems most likely,” she said. “This one was domestic.”
“Domestic? But Denise lived alone.”
“I mean it was personal, somebody close to her. There’s no conspiracy or cover-up of something larger here.”
“Oh. Right.” Fern had always been quick to suspect corruption and collusion, so I was glad to hear her acknowledge that wasn’t the case this time. Not that I ever thought it was.
“From what I gather,” she continued, “all evidence indicates the killer was known to the victim. It was probably somebody she trusted. Besides, when it comes to intentional poisonings, it’s almost always a family member, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so. Such a shame.”
I bought a colorful bead bracelet from Fern and moved on down the sidewalk. Even though I’d already come to the same conclusion she had, I was still troubled by what she’d said. I couldn’t say why exactly. Maybe it was because domestic disputes usually involved a husband or boyfriend. Or ex-boyfriend.
As I made my way to the center of the fair, the milling crowds became thicker. And no wonder—it really was a gorgeous spring day. I kept an eye out for the other person I was hoping to see, Denise’s friend Poppy. In the meantime, I enjoyed looking at the wide variety of artwork, from charcoal, acrylic, and watercolor, to etchings and prints. I wondered if Denise would have displayed her paintings here, though I didn’t notice any empty tables.
I paused to study an unusual collage that seemed to consist of bits of flower parts glued to fabric and magazine pages, when my ears picked up a familiar sound. It was a high-pitched girlish laugh that reminded me of Poppy’s wail outside Denise’s house. I peered around an easel to the line of vendors one row over. Sure enough, there she was, looking considerably happier than I’d seen her before. Her high ponytail was tied in a bright yellow ribbon, and her short pale green chiffon dress called to mind a butterfly. Her cheeks were flushed. As I moved closer, I saw why. She seemed to be enjoying the attentions of a guy at her table. My view was partially blocked by the dawdling pedestrians, but I saw enough to witness the guy raise his shirt, revealing narrow hi
ps and a nicely toned torso.
Hey, wait a minute.
I knew that torso. And those hips. Very well. That guy was Wes!
I pushed my way through the crowd and rushed up to the table in time to see Poppy crouch down and touch my boyfriend’s bare skin. She traced the edges of the dragon tattoo inked along Wes’s side and lower back. I cleared my throat.
Wes looked up and dropped his shirt. “Hey, babe. Check this out.” He draped his arm casually around my waist and pointed at the framed photos posted all around Poppy’s table. “She specializes in photographing tattoos. Aren’t they cool?”
“Yeah. Cool.”
I couldn’t help noticing a marked change in Poppy’s demeanor. The second Wes had pulled me close to him, her smile dropped off her face. She gave me a stony glare and said nothing.
I glanced at her photos again. They actually were pretty interesting. The portraits were rich in color and detail, while also showcasing their subjects in a way that was strangely moving. I supposed she might be considered her own kind of tattoo artist. As Wes studied one of the photos, I gathered he had no idea who she was. I’d never told him the names of Denise’s friends, other than Erik.
Putting on my friendliest smile, I said, “You’re Poppy Sheahan, aren’t you?”
She nodded curtly and pointed at the banner above her table. It prominently displayed her name.
Undaunted, I kept up the winsome attitude. “You probably don’t remember me. I’m Keli Milanni. I’m a friend of Erik Grayson.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized I was perpetuating the very thing I kept denying.
Oh, well. At this point, maybe we really are friends.
Poppy wasn’t impressed. Worse, at the mention of Erik’s name, I’d felt Wes stiffen beside me. He dropped his arm and backed up a step.
“And Julie Barnes,” I went on, belatedly remembering our other mutual acquaintance. “I know Julie, too. Anyway, I just wanted to say I’m really sorry about Denise. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Poppy turned her back on me. I looked toward Wes, but he was no help. He’d drifted away and was now looking at the photo displays at the next table.
I inched closer to Poppy and spoke to her back. “I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions. How was Denise acting in the days before her death? Did she say anything about any conflicts she was having?”
Poppy whirled around. Her eyes brimmed and her lower lip trembled. “I don’t have to answer to you,” she spat. “I’ve already spoken to the police.”
“Oh. Okay. I’m sorry.”
She’d already turned away again, so I retreated, feeling like a heel. I caught up with Wes two tables down.
“I’m ready to go home,” I said. “What do you say?”
“Actually, the Gazette has a table here somewhere. They’re trying to get new subscribers with a raffle or something. I should stop by and say hi. I’ll see you at home.”
He took off, leaving me alone.
Fine.
I left the fair and walked home at a brisk pace. As I left the park, I decided I should change into running shoes and head over to the rail trail. Maybe I could outrun my frustrations. But when I turned the corner onto my street, I had a sudden change of plans. There was a cop car in front of my house. One look at the overgrown Boy Scout standing at my door told me all I needed to know. It was Langham, and he looked impatient.
Dang it.
I knew I couldn’t avoid him forever, but I could sure try. With my eyes on the deputy, I walked backward a few steps, then turned and trotted back to the park. No need to go home just yet. It is such a beautiful day, after all.
This time I bypassed the fair and walked alongside the playground. Kids chased each other, shrieking with joyful abandon. One little tyke whooped as he slid down the slide, while another little girl soared in the air on a swing, pumping her legs and tilting her face up to the sun. I slowed my steps and smiled.
I wish—
My phone buzzed, interrupting my thoughts. The display informed me it was the Edindale County Sheriff’s Department. It had to be Langham. I let the call go to voice mail.
Why is he wasting his time with me? Does he truly have no better leads?
I exited the park and kept walking until I ended up at the Cozy Café. It was well after the lunch rush, so I had the place to myself. I ordered a cup of tea and shot off a text to Farrah: How ya doin? Need some company?
A minute later, she sent her reply: I’m good. Just wrapping my cast in plastic for a much-needed, if somewhat awkward, bubble bath. Chat later?
You bet.
I withdrew a notebook from my purse and opened it to a clean page. As I sipped my tea, I filled the page with doodles and tried to sort out my thoughts. Before long, the spirals, stars, and flowers became names and words:
Denise: Artsy, moody, interesting, reckless.
I paused. Was she really all those things? I only knew what people had told me. I added a question mark after the list, then moved to the next line and wrote another name:
Erik: Ex-boyfriend. Still cared for her, but she was angry with him. Because of money?
I tapped my pen on the table, as I called to mind Erik’s friendly, guileless face. Would a woman have cursed him simply because he owed her money? Or was there more to the story?
Moving on, I thought of Denise’s other friends.
Viper: High school friend . . . and sometime lover? Sketchy with a criminal record.
Then I remembered something. Viper was in jail on Saturday morning. Billy had to bail him out, which was why Erik was stranded in Edindale that day. I wished I knew for sure what time Denise had been killed. The timing was important, not only for my own alibi, but for everyone else’s.
Billy: Childhood/high school friend. Loyal. Somewhat nervous, especially when Denise’s name comes up.
Poppy: Best friend since high school; also artsy. Close enough to plan D’s memorial, but they’d had a falling-out. Called D a fraud. Also claimed she tried to visit D earlier Sat. morning.
It was too bad Poppy wouldn’t talk to me. Was it because she was too distraught at the loss of her friend? She sure didn’t seem distraught when she was flirting with my boyfriend, I thought uncharitably.
I outlined the question marks scattered all over the page and thought of another thread tying all these people together: witchcraft. Given the manner of Denise’s death and all the talk about Denise dabbling with dark magic, I couldn’t ignore that aspect of the case.
Without thinking, I grabbed my phone and dialed Erik’s number. He sounded pleased to hear from me.
“I was just thinking of you, Keli!”
“You were?”
“Must have been a premonition you were about to call. What’s up?”
“I was wondering if you could tell me more about Denise’s witchcraft. How long had she considered herself a witch?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Since high school, I think.”
“Was she in a circle or coven? Was she part of your Druidic Order?”
“No, she wasn’t a Druid. I’d say she was mostly solitary, except she would join in group rituals sometimes. And I think she might have had a circle in the past. Billy would know better.”
“How long had you been seeing her? I’m just curious.”
“About two years, off and on.”
“Do you happen to have anything that belonged to her? Maybe something she made?”
“Yeah, I think so. I have some little cards and pictures someplace. What do you have in mind? A summoning spell? Do you want to come over and see what I have?”
For some reason, the question startled me. I hadn’t really thought this through. “Uh, no. I can’t today. Maybe another time. I’m not exactly sure what I have in mind, to be honest.”
“No, it’s a great idea. I’ll see what I can find and let you know.”
After we said good-bye, I hung my head and ran my fingers through my hair. What am I doing?
My phone buzzed. I
t was a text from Wes. Where are you?
I told him I was at the Cozy Café, and he sent a two-word reply: Stay there.
I ordered another cup of tea and read through my scribbled notes. Something was missing. Actually, a lot of somethings. My broad generalizations about Denise and her friends lacked any kind of detail. That bugged me.
The café door opened and Wes stepped inside. My breath caught at the sight of him. With his windswept dark hair, perfectly fitted jeans, and faded black T-shirt, not to mention the tribal tattoos encircling his arms, he was the picture of a model rock star. But it was the intensity in his dark eyes and the set of his jaw that made me lean back a little. He slid into the seat opposite me and put his elbows on the table.
“Hey,” I said, my voice coming out in a rasp. I cleared my throat. “What’s up?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, white box. He set it on the table in front of me.
I widened my eyes, as my heart skipped a beat. “What’s this?”
“It’s a gift. Open it.”
I lifted the lid, then frowned in confusion. Whatever it was, it wasn’t a ring. With my thumb and forefinger, I picked up the object to have a closer look. It seemed to be a miniature collage of seeds, crystals, and feathery herbs encased in a glass covering. I flipped it over to see a gray backing and understood. It was a refrigerator magnet.
I started to laugh. I figured it must have been sold by the same artist who’d made the mixed media three-dimensional creation I’d checked out at the fair. “I love it,” I said.
“It seemed like something you’d like. Plus, the title of the series is ‘Peace Offering.’”
“Is that what this is? A peace offering?”
He nodded and took my hands. “I’m sorry I’ve been kind of a jerk lately.”
“You haven’t been a jerk. Maybe a little distant . . .”
I trailed off, and he nodded. “After you left the fair, I walked around, people-watching. I saw lots of couples, young and old, and suddenly it hit me. It was like an epiphany. I realized I was doing it again.”
May Day Murder Page 12
