“Yes. My boyfriend, Wes Callahan.” I checked the time and saw it was almost 1:00 A.M. “He should be home any minute now.”
“How did the fire start?”
“I have no idea. I just got home a few minutes ago and saw the deck was on fire. I would have called for help, but you were already on your way.”
He narrowed his eyes, giving me the uncomfortable feeling he doubted the truth of what I said. It was like being interrogated by Deputy Langham all over again.
“That your car in the garage?”
“Yes, I—”
There was a tap at the door, and the younger firefighter came inside. “Captain, take a look at this. It was in the trash can. It’s doused in gasoline, but the flames didn’t reach it. Looks like somebody dropped a match on the plants and set the porch on fire before they could burn the contents of the can.”
In his gloved hand was a thick, brown leather-bound book. I had never seen it before, but I knew in an instant what it was. Embossed with a spiraling Celtic design and fastened with a copper clasp, it fit Erik’s description of Denise’s missing datebook.
“Can I look at that?” I asked.
The captain slowly shook his head. “Lieutenant, go get an evidence bag. And call the sheriff’s office. I think they’re going to want to see this.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
As it happened, Deputy Langham was unavailable to come to my house to retrieve the datebook himself. I took that as a good sign. If I was really his number one suspect, I’d expect him to move heaven and earth to be the one to grill me at the scene. And there was no doubt it was a crime scene. As I soon learned, Captain Blake was a fire investigator, and he made no secret of the fact that he believed the fire on my deck was set intentionally. Whether it was arson or the attempted destruction of evidence didn’t seem to matter at this point.
The county officer who came in place of Langham was a fresh-faced woman who appeared not much older than me. I watched through the kitchen window as she spoke to the firefighters in the backyard. She didn’t seem a bit ruffled at being called into action at 1:00 in the morning. Perhaps she always worked the late shift.
When she tapped lightly on the door and politely introduced herself as Deputy Tricia LaMott, I decided I liked her a lot better than both Langham and Blake. She even accepted my offer of a glass of water.
Wes arrived in the middle of Deputy LaMott’s preliminary questions. She listened quietly, as I explained to Wes what had happened. His emotions transitioned quickly from concern to anger. Eyes flashing, he nearly spat out the first name that came to him.
“Vi—”
“It is vile,” I said, cutting him off. “I can’t imagine who would do this.”
He caught on quickly. While Viper had plenty of time to get here and start the fire, not to mention ample cause to be angry at Wes and me, we had no proof against him. Besides that, we’d already wrongfully suspected him of one crime today—and Wes’s actions could very well be viewed as battery. It might not be the most prudent idea to share that bit of information.
Wes stood behind my chair and rubbed my shoulders, as we answered the deputy’s remaining questions. First she obtained some basic information from Wes, including his boss’s name at the Loose. Then she returned her attention to me.
“Where were you coming from when you arrived home tonight?” she asked.
“My friend Farrah’s apartment. I’m sure she’s asleep now, but she can vouch for me.” I gave the officer Farrah’s contact information.
“Did you try to put out the fire?” she asked.
“No. I have a fire extinguisher in the kitchen, but I didn’t have time to get it. As I mentioned, my first thought was the safety of my cat.”
She smiled. “I can understand that. I have two fur babies of my own at home.”
Returning her smile, I almost asked if she’d like something to eat. Then she brought out the evidence bag. My smile dropped away, as my mouth went dry.
“Does this look familiar to you?” she asked, placing the bag on the table.
“I have an idea what it might be,” I said truthfully. “May I look inside?”
She reached into her pocket for a pair of disposable gloves and handed them to me. “If you wear these, you can take a peek.”
I eagerly slipped on the gloves and removed the leather book from the plastic bag. It reeked of gasoline. As I turned the cover and saw Denise’s star-encircled name on the first page, I could have sworn I felt a slight charge prickle through my fingertips. Denise must have cast a protection spell on her day planner. The realization gave me pause—and not because I feared I would sprout warts. Rather, I felt it would be a violation of, not only Denise’s privacy, but also the privacy of her clients. For that reason, I skipped over the first several pages of the book and turned straight to the page for Saturday, April 17. The day of Denise’s demise.
My breath caught as I read the first item on her agenda—though perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised. Printed in bold purple ink were the damning words: 8:45 A.M. Tea with Kelly.
“Oh, no.”
“What does it say?” Wes leaned over my shoulder to get a closer look. “That can’t mean you. That’s not how you spell your name.”
“True. Though a lot of people get it wrong.”
“Can I have that back now?” The deputy’s voice was polite, but I knew she’d been watching me carefully.
“Yeah.” I continued to stare at the writing, then angled the book toward the light. If I wasn’t mistaken, Denise—or someone else—had traced over the original lettering in a darker ink. The name “Kelly,” in particular, might have had different letters beneath it. “Can I just take a quick picture of this?”
Wes was way ahead of me. Before the deputy could respond, he whipped out his cell phone, leaned down, and snapped a flash photo of the page in question. I carefully closed the book then and replaced it in the bag. I didn’t have to tell Deputy LaMott what this object was. I was sure she already knew.
“Clearly, someone is trying to set me up.” I tried to smile, as I handed her the book and removed the gloves. “I’m sure you can see that.”
She stood up and shook my hand. “Thank you for your time, Keli. We’ll be in touch if we have any follow-up questions.” She opened the patio door and exited the way she had come in. Then she paused and turned back. “Given the circumstances, you might want to consider hiring an attorney.”
Right.
Once everyone had left, and the backyard was dark and quiet as it should be, Josie came out of hiding and joined Wes and me in the kitchen. She mewed reproachfully.
“Oh, my goodness! Did you miss your dinner today?” I reached for her bowl, and Wes put his hand on my arm to stop me.
“Why don’t you go to bed, babe? I’ll take care of Josie. You must be beat.”
“I should be, but I’m too wired to go to bed. With everything that happened today, my mind is bouncing all over the place.”
“Mine too.”
While Wes served Josie fresh food and water, I cleaned the kitchen and swept up the dirt and ashes tracked in by the firefighters. I’d tackle the deck in the morning. I was about to head upstairs when the house phone rang. It was such a jarring sound I jumped.
“Who would be calling so late?” asked Wes.
“I have an idea.” I jogged over to the phone and pressed the speaker button. “Hello?”
The music started up right away. It was the same tinkling music box melody as before, familiar yet elusive. Wes and I stared at the phone as it played. When the song finished, there was silence.
“What do you want?” I shouted. “What is the point of this?”
Wes narrowed his eyes. “You’re nothing but a worthless coward,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “We will find out who you are. You can count on it.”
I thought I heard a faint snicker, then the line went dead.
Wes grabbed the receiver and dialed *69.
“I trie
d that before,” I told him.
He listened to the same unhelpful message I had and hung up with a scowl. “There’s got to be a way to trace it. Maybe we should call the cops.”
“Yeah, maybe. But I’m not very optimistic.”
“What was that song? Maybe it’s a clue.”
I had to smile. It was cute, and somehow cheering, to hear Wes talk about “clues.” And he gave me an idea. I snapped my fingers. “I still have the song on the answering machine from the other day! Isn’t there an app that identifies songs?”
“Yeah, there is. But let me hear it again. It sounded familiar, like I should know it.”
“I thought the same thing.” I pressed the repeat button on the device. As the music played, Wes began to hum along.
“Dum dum, da dum, da dum . . . That’s it! ‘Smoke Gets in Your Eyes.’”
“You’re not a half-bad singer,” I said. “And I think you’re right. I’ve heard that song somewhere before.”
“I’m sure you have. It’s probably been covered by dozens of singers over the years. But why . . .” He trailed off and shook his head. “Because where there’s smoke, there’s fire? Is the song supposed to be a threat?”
“The person who called the radio show mentioned fire, too. Something about not messing with fire. That one was definitely a threat.”
“And this stunt tonight is the creep fulfilling the threat? You know, we should look into buying a home security system tomorrow. Or a guard dog.”
“If you want to look into home alarms, that’s fine with me. And I’m going to work on another kind of home protection, if it’s okay with you.”
“Of course. You mean, like salt in the doorways and sage incense? That sort of thing?”
“Exactly. I don’t know why I haven’t done it sooner.” I leaned forward and kissed Wes on the lips. He pulled me in for a tight hug.
“Let’s go to bed. I have a feeling the mischief is over for the night. And we can make sure there won’t be any more calls.” He unplugged the phone from the wall.
“You go on up. There’s one thing I’d like to go ahead and do tonight.”
“You sure it can’t wait?”
“My gut tells me no.”
“Well, by all means, follow your gut.”
As soon as Wes went upstairs, I retrieved the bottle I’d bought from Moonstone Treasures, then set about finding the nastiest, sharpest little objects I could find. It didn’t take long. The idea must have been ruminating in the back of my mind all day. Wearing gloves for the second time tonight—only thicker this time—I collected the sinister ingredients: a razor blade from the bathroom; a needle from my sewing kit; three rusty nails from a junk container under the kitchen sink; and six spines from the cactus in the living room window. Next I went into the kitchen and filled the bottle with salt water.
“And now for a personal touch,” I murmured. Taking careful aim, I spit into the bottle. Then I closed it tightly and gave it a vigorous shake. Finally, I lit a black candle and let the wax drip over the cork, sealing the bottle and the magic within.
Though I often performed spells at my altar, I didn’t always. I decided not to this time. For one thing, I didn’t want to disturb Wes, who was probably already drifting off to sleep. For another, this spell was best performed outside.
I grabbed a jacket from the closet, slipped on my boots, and stepped out the back door. Captain Blake had said it was a good thing my deck was made from flame-resistant composite wood. Otherwise it might have collapsed, and the fire could have spread to the house. As it was, all the damage occurred on the surface of the deck and didn’t affect its structural integrity. Still, I used a flashlight and watched my step as I tracked through the ashy debris and descended to the patio.
The bright moon, a waxing gibbous, was four days shy of full. According to lunar tradition, it was a ripe time for creating and attracting. Not so much for repelling. But a witch has to do what a witch has to do. Besides, I was creating peace of mind. Or at least trying to.
I walked softly across the dewy lawn to the rear of the yard. The intruder would have entered through the alley gate next to the garage. Under cover of darkness, it would have been easy to creep in unnoticed, especially with the St. Johns and their excitable dog out of town. As for my neighbors on the other side, they were so wrapped up in their work and child-rearing, I rarely saw them at any hour. They hadn’t even ventured outside during all the commotion following the fire. And to the rear of the yard, behind the garage, was an alley, which ran along the edge of Fieldstone Park. There was nothing but a wrought-iron fence and acres of parkland on the other side.
Fortunately, ideal conditions for trespassing were also ideal for moonlight magic.
I chose a spot in front of the gate—the threshold to our property. With a spade from the garage, I pried up two stepping stones and began to dig. Once I had a hole about two feet deep, I set the spade aside and took a deep, cleansing breath. Then I closed my eyes, anchored my feet to the ground, and took three more breaths. As I inhaled, I imagined myself drawing energy up from the earth, filling me with a warm, golden glow. It was a simple grounding and centering ritual, but it did the trick. When I opened my eyes, I felt calm and resilient. I held the witch bottle in both hands and brought it toward my heart center, charging it with my own energy. Then I held it to the sky and invoked the gods of protection with my whispered words.
Syn, Bes, Tara, Athena
Aine, Nut, Brighid, Aegina:
Suffuse this object with your timeless power;
Activate my intention from this hour.
Henceforth, whosoever shall cross this way
With ill intent, the price shall pay.
I lowered my arms and gazed into the dark pit at my feet. A twinge of guilt pulled at the back of my conscience. In my mind, I heard Mila’s voice cautioning me not to use my magical gifts to inflict harm.
I shook it off. “This is self-defense,” I argued, as much to myself as to Mila.
Kneeling to the ground, I turned the bottle upside down and wedged it into the hole.
May this bottle repel, and wrongdoers flee.
Guard this land well. So mote it be.
Quickly, I scooped the dirt on top of the bottle and refilled the hole. Then I replaced the stones. I would double-check their sturdiness and clean them off in the daylight. For now, I returned the spade to the garage and locked it behind me. It was beyond late, and I was starting to feel it.
Back in the kitchen, I moved to gather up the things I’d left on the counter, including the black candle and the small paper bag from Moonstone Treasures. As my fingers grasped the handle of the bag, I paused. There was one more thing I could do tonight.
I reached into the bag and pulled out a small amber vial and a folded piece of paper: Catrina’s spell. Silently, I read the words she had written.
Curse return from whence you came
The one who cast gets all the blame
He who dares to block my path
Will feel the force of recoiled wrath
Ash to ash, blood to bone,
Pain to you, who threw the stone.
Hmm. Should I do it? Salt and sage were all well and good, especially to ward off dark spirits and bad juju. But I was dealing with a human antagonist. Not only that, but the unknown person had now crossed into more serious territory. They’d moved beyond creepy phone calls to trespassing and property damage—not to mention trying to frame me for murder. I had left the broken mirror out of the witch bottle, but perhaps I should have included it. The malice this creep directed at me should be reflected right back at them.
I opened the vial and held it beneath my nose. It was faintly redolent of coffee, licorice, and some kind of oil. I squinted at the label, which simply said POTION BOOSTER SERUM. FOR EXTERNAL USE ONLY. Remembering Catrina’s instructions, I checked my spice cabinet for any herbs associated with protection spells and selected a jar of bay leaves. I took out one leaf and crumbled it in my hand. Then
I poured several drops of the potion booster onto the crumbled leaf and mixed it with my palms. As I rubbed the mixture up and down the sides of the black candle, I focused on the purpose of the spell.
Once again, Mila’s warning surfaced in my mind. I wiped my hands on a towel and wondered if I should hold off. There was danger, I knew, in sending negative energy blindly out into the universe. Counter-curse or no, anything you projected could come right back to you. But that wasn’t the only reason for my hesitation. Deep down, it was the dark nature of the spell. I had always prided myself on being a practitioner of “light magic.” To consciously direct negative energy at another person didn’t sit well with me. It felt more like revenge than self-defense.
Suddenly, an image of Denise’s fallen body flashed in my mind. I couldn’t be sure my harasser was her killer, but I had a strong sense they were one and the same. A wave of revulsion washed over me. This sicko was playing games with me and enjoying every minute of it. Anger burned in my heart.
Fingers trembling, I struck a match and lit the candle.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Something soft tickled my face. Then the tickle turned into a jab. Groaning, I reached out to push it away. It responded by pouncing heavily onto my chest.
“Josie,” I grumbled. “What’s the big idea?”
I opened my eyes and scooted her off me so I could sit up. Bright sunlight seeped through the edges of the window blinds, telling me it was late even before I turned to peer at the bedside clock.
Yikes! I’d slept away half the morning.
Then I remembered the night before and fell back upon the pillow. No wonder I’d slept in. By the time I’d crawled into bed next to Wes, it must have been nearing dawn. In spite of the late hour, I still probably logged only six hours of sleep.
Josie started swatting at me again, so I decided to get up. I was sure Wes had filled her food bowl before leaving for work, so she wasn’t hungry. She just didn’t like me staying in bed so long. Apparently, it disrupted her routine.
May Day Murder Page 19
