May Day Murder

by Jennifer David Hesse

  * * *

  Why was no one answering their phone? I left messages for Wes, Farrah, and Detective Rhinehardt, and no one was calling me back. With my earlier surge of adrenaline, I’d burst out of my office and run up and down the corridors of my building looking for someone to talk to. Annie’s office was dark, as were most of the other offices. On the second floor, I followed sounds of life to a therapist’s office with its lights on, but a sign on the door said IN SESSION: DO NOT DISTURB. I found myself missing my old colleagues at the law firm.

  Back in my own office, I stared at the mess on the carpet. I longed to vacuum it up, but I didn’t want to get rid of vital evidence—at least what was left of it. I was already regretting my hasty decision to smash the thing to smithereens.

  Finally, Wes texted me back. He said he was in a photo shoot and would call me later. Then Detective Rhinehardt called. He was sympathetic, but not very encouraging. He advised me to come down to the police station and fill out a report.

  Before I left, I used my phone camera to snap some photos of the fairy figurine and the broken camera pieces on the floor. Unfortunately, I had already thrown away the envelope and packaging materials the fairy had been wrapped in.

  I locked the door behind me and exited the building. As I walked down the sidewalk, I tried to make sense of it all. The problem was, it made no sense. I felt like I was working with mismatched pieces from multiple sets of jigsaw puzzles. There was no way to make them fit together.

  When I reached the corner and waited for the light to change, I was startled by the sound of flapping wings. I looked up and saw a large black crow swoop down and land on a nearby utility wire. It seemed to be staring at me, its beady eyes intense and inscrutable. It reminded me of the way Josie sometimes looked at me.

  Making a split-second decision, I turned left instead of right and headed away from the police station. I suddenly had a burning desire to talk with Mila.

  A few minutes later, I pushed open the door of Moonstone Treasures and was greeted by the delicate sounds of flute and harp and the heady scent of fresh peonies. Catrina stood at the checkout counter arranging flowers in a vase—or attempting to arrange them. As I approached, I noticed the surface of the counter was littered with pink petals. Catrina’s pierced lower lip curled in a frustrated snarl.

  “Mila makes this look so easy! I don’t know why I can’t do it.”

  “Can I help?” I asked.

  “Gladly.” She slid the vase away from her as if it were poisonous.

  “Looks like you have too many leaves,” I commented, as I began stripping the stems. “Where is Mila? In the back?”

  “Yeah, she’s with a client. They should be done soon. What’s new with you?”

  I shook my head. “Where to begin? I saw a single black crow on my way here. That’s usually a bad sign.”

  “Is it? Crows and ravens are good omens for me. They can be warnings, but in a helpful way. They can also serve as guides.”

  I thought about this. “You’re right. I guess I’m in a negative frame of mind right now. Somebody’s been stalking me. I’m kind of freaked out right now.”

  “You could have fooled me.” Catrina peered at my face. “I mean, your aura’s a little murky, but you hide your nerves well. Then again, you always seem to have your guard up.”

  “Thanks—I think.”

  “How do you know you’re being stalked? Is somebody following you?”

  I told Catrina about the prank phone calls, including the radio show caller, as well as the dead bird on my porch. “Then I found this.” I showed her the pictures I’d taken of the figurine and the smashed recording device. “It was a tiny video camera, hidden in an anonymous gift. And here I thought someone was being kind.”

  “A nanny cam? It must have been connected to a Wi-Fi system,” Catrina mused. “So they could watch you through a computer without having to change a tape like with older security cameras.”

  “I guess.” I shuddered. “I’m so creeped out. I almost feel jinxed, to be honest. I don’t know what to do.”

  “I don’t recognize the fairy.” She handed me back my phone. “But I know what I’d do. I’d fight back.”

  “How? I don’t know who’s doing this.”

  Catrina glanced at the purple curtain covering the entrance to the back room, then leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire. Know what I mean?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Hang on.” She turned around and unlocked the glass cabinet behind the counter and selected an amber-colored vial. With another glance at the curtain, she handed it to me. “Mila wouldn’t approve.”

  “What is this?” I asked.

  “It’s a potion booster. What you need to do is cast a reflection hex. Now, I know you’re good at writing your own spells, but here’s one you might want to try.” She took a piece of Moonstone Treasures’ stationery, jotted some words, and folded the paper. “Take this home and try it tonight. All you need is a black candle and any protection herbs. Mix the herbs with the potion booster and use them to anoint the candle. Then light the candle, focus your energy, and say those words. I did it once, and it worked for me.”

  “Thanks, Trina.” I slipped the paper and the vial into my purse. “I’m getting to the point where I’m willing to try anything.”

  “Have you made a witch bottle yet?”

  At that moment the curtain parted and Mila emerged with a pretty middle-aged woman in jeans and a long sweater. They were chatting and laughing, as they walked to the front door. Mila hugged the woman good-bye, then joined Catrina and me.

  “What’s this I hear about a witch bottle?”

  “Keli has been hexed,” said Catrina.

  “I don’t know that for sure. But somebody has been messing with me. And spying on me.”

  “Spying on you?” Mila furrowed her brow, her expression the picture of motherly concern.

  I told her about the camera and showed her the pictures on my phone. “The creep apparently intends to damage my reputation and my business. They exposed information that was shared with me in confidence, causing me to lose at least one important client.” I didn’t want to mention Jameson’s threat to sue me for malpractice. Somehow I feared that voicing it might make it more likely to happen.

  “She’s had bad luck, too,” Catrina added. “Like being mixed up in the Fynn Hollow murder investigation.”

  “Thanks for reminding me.”

  “I’m not sure if a witch bottle is the best way to go here,” said Mila, looking from me to Catrina. “It’s a tad dark.”

  “I’ve heard of witch bottles, but I’ve never made one. It’s really old magic, isn’t it? Based on folklore?”

  “Yes,” said Mila. “They were used hundreds of years ago in Europe, and later in the eastern United States. The ironic thing about them is that they were an anti-witchcraft tool, back when witches were feared and condemned for being evil.”

  “It’s still a powerful way to combat dark magic,” insisted Catrina. “They can be used for both protection and deflection.”

  “They can be powerful, yes. As with all spells, your own beliefs, intention, and energy are what determine the effectiveness of the magic. You should just be careful if your intention is to mirror the negativity rather than capture or convert it. Trying to send the darkness back to the perpetrator has some tricky ramifications, both ethically and karmically.”

  I glanced at Catrina who studiously avoided my eyes. What Mila said applied equally to the reflection spell she had just given me.

  “I might make one for protection purposes,” I said. “Do you have a glass bottle I can buy?”

  “I’ll get one for you,” Catrina volunteered. She slipped into the back room.

  “You know what to put in it?” Mila asked.

  I nodded. “Anything sharp and dangerous, right? Bent nails, tacks, broken glass.”

  Catrina returned with a bottle. “You’re talking about
what goes in one? Don’t forget to include a piece of mirror if you want to add a reflection component. A shard from an old makeup compact works well.”

  Mila shook her head but kept silent.

  “Then you’ll need to add a liquid.” Catrina grinned, and I knew where she was going with this. “Wiccans usually use consecrated wine or salt water. But you know what they used to use in the old days?”

  “All right, Catrina,” said Mila, holding up her hand.

  “Their own urine!” Catrina laughed. “Can you imagine? And sometimes other bodily fluids, too.”

  “That’s enough, Catrina,” said Mila.

  “Um, yeah,” I said, as I reached for my wallet. “I won’t be peeing in the bottle. I might be desperate, but I’m not that desperate.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  From Moonstone Treasures, I popped into Callie’s Health Food Store and Juice Bar for a quick snack. I’d felt calm enough in the presence of Mila and Catrina, but now I was on edge again. I lingered on the sidewalk in front of the store, munching on a protein bar and trying to decide what to do next. Farrah still hadn’t responded to my calls and texts. I tried her again. As I listened to the phone ring, and then to her perky outgoing message, I felt a growing uneasiness in the pit of my stomach. It wasn’t like Farrah not to send a quick reply, even if to say she’s busy and will call later.

  Where is she?

  I tossed the last two bites of the snack bar into a nearby trash bin and headed back toward my office. The more I thought about Farrah, stuck in her apartment with a broken leg and unable to drive, the more my worry increased. I walked faster and faster until I was jogging down the sidewalk, my boot heels clicking loudly on the pavement. When I reached my building, I went straight to my car and took off for Farrah’s apartment.

  As I pulled into the lot behind her apartment building, I automatically looked toward her assigned parking spot. Farrah’s sporty Jeep was exactly where it should be. Far from cheering me, it only spurred me onward. I raced inside, punched the elevator button, and bit my lip as I rode up to the top floor. At Farrah’s, I rang the bell several times, then started pounding with my clenched fist.

  “Farrah! Are you in there? Open the door!”

  A door opened, but it wasn’t hers. Her neighbor, a wide-eyed older woman in a caftan, stuck her head out cautiously. “Everything okay?”

  “Have you seen Farrah lately? Her car is downstairs, but she’s not answering her phone.”

  “Oh, she’s not back yet? I saw her leave last night, just as I was getting home.”

  “She left? When? How?”

  “Yes, it was around nine o’clock. She was with a young man. One of those ‘bad boy’ types some girls go for. You know, not bad-looking, but a little rough around the edges. They got in an old car—one of those classic types, a Camaro, I think. It made a lot of noise. I remember thinking they must be in a hurry.”

  Viper. It had to be. Never mind that he supposedly didn’t have a driver’s license. I already knew he was one to flout the law. But what was Farrah doing with Viper?

  “How did she seem?” I asked. “Did she seem worried or scared?”

  “I don’t think so. Let’s see.” The woman stared down the hallway, as she tried to remember. “I was on the other side of the parking lot, so I didn’t see her closely. I think she had on those big sunglasses she wears. And I did notice she was sort of leaning on the man—because of her leg, I imagine.”

  “She was leaning on him? What about her crutches?”

  “I saw just one crutch. Either she was holding on to him, or he was holding her.” The neighbor looked at me curiously. “I saw them for only a few seconds, but nothing struck me as out of the ordinary. Why are you so worried?”

  I shook my head, then turned and tried Farrah’s doorknob. Naturally, it was locked. “Did you happen to see which way the Camaro went?”

  “No, sorry. Ed might have, though.”

  “Who’s Ed?”

  “He’s the super. His apartment is on the ground floor near the parking lot. He was on his patio grilling out last night. I remember thinking he was having a late supper.”

  “Thanks.”

  I took off down the hall and waited for the elevator once more. I didn’t know what else Ed the super would be able to tell me, but at least this gave me something to do. Otherwise, I was at a loss. Why in the world would Farrah be with Viper? How did he even know where she lived? Whatever was going on, I had a really bad feeling about it.

  Once on the first floor, I headed for the last apartment before the back exit. A nameplate on the door said SUPERINTENDENT. Before I could knock, the door opened and a man stepped out carrying a stepladder.

  “Excuse me. Ed?”

  He set down the ladder. “Yes, ma’am. Can I help you?”

  Speaking quickly, I introduced myself and explained that I was trying to track down Farrah. I knew I must sound borderline hysterical, but frankly I didn’t care. “I don’t think she left with this guy voluntarily. Did you hear them talking at all, or see which way the car went?”

  His expression betrayed a mixture of amusement and disbelief. “Now, now, let’s not get carried away. I did see your friend, and she looked perfectly fine to me. She had on nice jeans and a pretty top with—” He paused and waved his fingers in front of his chest. “Buttons. And she had her hair up in one of those big ponytails. She looked good.”

  “Did you talk to her?”

  “Nah. They were in a rush. But she’s always coming or going with some guy or another. All different types. She has a wide variety of tastes.” He grinned, and I felt like punching him. His powers of observation were woefully skewed.

  “Which way did the Camaro turn?” I asked, biting back what I really wanted to say.

  “I don’t know, but I bet the skid marks are still out there. They peeled out with tires squealing. Show-off.” He chuckled.

  “Thanks, Ed.” I pushed through the exit door and ran out to the parking lot to look for tire tracks. Like a true detective, I thought grimly. Farrah should be at my side looking for clues.

  The late-afternoon sun cast an orange glow on the border shrubs and wrought-iron fence along the perimeter of the small parking lot. Residents would be coming home from work soon, but for now the place was quiet. With my gaze trained on the ground, I headed for the driveway leading out of the lot.

  A glint of bright pink caught my eye. Like a forgotten plastic Easter egg, it poked out of the muddy grass near the curb. And it looked familiar. When I got closer, I saw it was a cell phone in a hot pink case. I picked it up and turned it over. The small snow bunny sticker in the corner clinched it. This was Farrah’s phone—the one I’d been calling all day.

  With heart thudding, I pulled out my own phone to call 9-1-1. There was no doubt in my mind. Sunglasses at night. Cell phone on the ground. Unable to walk on her own. Viper hauling her to his car and peeling out in a hurry. Farrah had been kidnapped. Viper must have drugged her and kidnapped her. My hand shook as I fumbled with my phone.

  I almost dropped it when it rang.

  “Hello!” I panted, way past caring for decorum.

  “Keli? It’s Erik. I thought we should talk about last night. I hope you’re not—”

  “Erik! Oh, thank Goddess. I need you to call Viper right away. He has Farrah! He took her last night, and I don’t know where they went, and they’re not back yet. She dropped her phone, so I can’t reach her. I was about to call the police.”

  “Whoa. Slow down. What are you talking about?”

  I took a deep breath. Still speaking quickly, but hopefully more coherently, I explained what I feared.

  Erik was silent for half a second. “Hang tight, Keli. I’ll call Viper and call you right back. Don’t involve the cops yet. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”

  I continued to investigate the grounds while waiting for Erik to get back to me. Sure enough, there were skid marks on the street. Evidently, the speeding car turned left out of
the parking lot. Where they went from there . . . was impossible to tell.

  When Erik called back, I crossed my fingers as I answered. “What did he say?” I asked.

  “Uh, he didn’t answer. But that’s not unusual. I called the garage, too, and he wasn’t there. I’m on my way to his house now.”

  “I’m calling the police.”

  “No, wait! I just remembered. What day is this? Yeah, I know where he probably is. There’s this old honky-tonk dive out on Old County Road a few miles outside of Fynn Hollow. Once a month this Southern rock band comes through for a three-night run. They rehearse on Wednesdays and perform Thursday through Saturday. Viper sits in with them on percussion. And he likes to bring girls along, you know?”

  “But yesterday was Tuesday. Where did they go last night?”

  “Who knows? Maybe his place . . . which I’m at now, and his car isn’t here. But I’m sure he’s at that bar. It’s called the Dusty Road Saloon. They might not be open yet, but Viper goes in early with the band. I’ll drive out there now and call you as soon as I find him.”

  “Thanks, Erik, but I’m not waiting. I’ll drive out there myself.”

  “Oh, of course. I understand. How about if I meet you there?”

  “No, that’s okay. Why don’t you keep trying to reach Viper on the phone? And don’t worry about me. I won’t be going alone.”

  I would bring a man along, but it wouldn’t be Erik. He wasn’t the one I wanted at my side.

  * * *

  Wes knew how to find the Dusty Road Saloon. He’d grown up in Edindale and spent his youth working at his grandpa’s farm outside of town and fishing the nearby lakes. As a teen he’d cruised the winding country roads, sometimes for fun and sometimes to track down his younger brother, who had a tendency to find trouble.

  “Rob used to come out here sometimes,” Wes said, as he pulled his car into the gravel parking lot. “Before he got hooked on gambling and spent all his time at the riverboat casino. He’d come out here to drink cheap beer and ride the mechanical bull. Frankly, I never saw the appeal.”