After a quick shower, I threw on some black yoga pants, a well-worn charcoal T-shirt, and a comfy hoodie. Turning to the bedroom mirror, I was somewhat startled to see how somber I looked dressed all in black. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but I somehow felt a more uplifting color was in order today. I switched to a faded coral T-shirt and headed downstairs to make breakfast.
As the coffee percolated, I checked my work email. I had two messages: one from an old client asking for a copy of his will, and one from my former boss, Beverly. She wrote that she had spoken to Neal Jameson and was surprised, and distressed, to hear about his “recent experience with me.” She offered to lend an ear if I wanted someone to talk to.
I had almost succeeded in forgetting about Neal’s threat to sue me for malpractice. I didn’t want to think about it now. My head had started to pound, which was probably due to caffeine withdrawal and hunger, but might have had something to do with tension and worry as well.
I poured myself a big mug of coffee and a bowl of cold cereal with almond milk, and sat at the table facing the patio doors. As I ate, I stared outside and contemplated the muddled state of the backyard—and how it was a perfect metaphor for the current state of my life. Hidden beneath the surface were seeds of hope right alongside barbed emblems of fear. And on the surface was a muddy, chaotic mess. I sighed.
Will my world ever be normal again?
As if in answer to my question, my cell phone rang. It was Erik.
“You didn’t call me back,” he said, a note of accusation in his usually genial voice.
“What?”
“Farrah was missing, remember? I know now that you found her with Viper, but only because I tracked him down myself this morning. I figured she was fine all along, but you were so worked up, I’d started to doubt myself.”
“I’m sorry. You were right. She was fine.”
“Is there something else you want to tell me?”
“Um.” I was at a loss. So much had happened recently, I wasn’t sure what he was talking about. I also wasn’t sure I liked his tone. I didn’t owe him anything.
“About Denise’s appointment book?”
“Oh! Yeah. How did you hear about that?”
“Someone posted it on the Witches’ Web. They said the sheriff’s department found it in the garbage at a witch lawyer’s house. You’re the only witch lawyer I know.”
“Wait—Who posted that?”
“I don’t know. Everyone’s anonymous on there.”
“Well, did they also mention that someone set a fire at my house and planted the datebook to frame me?”
“No! Is that true? God, Keli.”
“Yes, it’s true. They even wrote my name in the book.”
He was silent for a moment, as if mulling it over. “Your name was in the book? You didn’t know Denise, did you?”
“What? Of course not.” Jeez, he could be dense sometimes. “I didn’t even know you until, what, twelve days ago?”
“Right. Sorry. It’s just weird. I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“It’s a mystery,” I said drily.
“So, was there anything helpful written in the book?”
“I didn’t get to look at it for long, but it was clearly tampered with. I’m sure the police aren’t going to be pounding on my door with a warrant for my arrest.” Even as I said it, I glanced toward the front door. I actually wasn’t sure of anything.
“Maybe we should try to summon Denise again,” Erik ventured.
“You can if you want to, but I’ll pass.” I was suddenly feeling irritated at Erik. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with. “I gotta go now.”
“Yeah, okay. Talk later?”
“Sure.” I hung up and shook my head. I knew it wasn’t fair of me to blame Erik, but I couldn’t help it. I also couldn’t help feeling he was holding something back. Did he know more about Denise’s secrets than he was letting on?
I got up to refill my coffee cup and grabbed the notebook from my purse. I wanted to update my notes with the information I’d learned over the past few days. Turning to the page where I’d listed Denise’s friends, I once again had the feeling that these people knew more than they had divulged. At least to me.
Let’s see . . . what have I learned?
Thanks to Wes’s chummy chat with Poppy, I now knew Denise had an unaccountable influx of money after high school. From what Wes had told me, it sounded as if Poppy was jealous of her friend’s success. Perhaps she even felt a sense of betrayal, because Denise didn’t share her secrets. After all, they were in similar fields. Why couldn’t they have partnered up and found success together?
On the other hand, if the real source of Denise’s income was something less than reputable, maybe Denise was protecting Poppy by keeping her in the dark.
I tapped my pen on the table as I considered the possibilities. Was Denise really involved in some illicit enterprise? If she had been mixed up in drug dealing or prostitution, I would think the cops would already know about it. Surely they would have found evidence in Denise’s house or been tipped off by an informant. But if that were the case, Deputy Langham probably wouldn’t be so interested in Erik and me—and the gossip around town would be about Denise’s life of crime, rather than her brand of witchcraft.
Now that I thought about it, the only person who implied Denise was involved in late-night criminal activities was Thorna. And how reliable was she, really? Sure, she lived next door to Denise, but there was no indication they were close. Thorna was at least ten years older than Denise and her friends—not counting Erik. Of course, age is not a barrier to friendship, but Thorna tended to speculate about Denise more than I’d expect from a close friend.
Looking down at my scribble of names, I realized I’d left out Thorna from the initial list. In the interest of thoroughness, I made a new bullet point and wrote:
Thorna: neighbor, fellow witch, suspected Denise of . . . ? Something dark. Seems unusually superstitious.
I thought about the fact that Thorna sometimes joined in Billy’s game night get-togethers, even though she obviously didn’t love the game. She probably went for the company. Maybe she just wanted to hang out with other witchy people. I could understand that. For as long as I’d been a solitary practitioner, I’d lately come to appreciate the benefits of connecting with like-minded folks.
Back to my list—what more did I know about Billy and Viper? They were Denise’s tightest friends in high school, aside from Poppy. An image flashed in my mind of the two guys standing on either side of Denise like the proverbial angel and devil. It made me grin to picture Billy with a halo and wings and Viper with horns and a forked tail. It was kind of true, though. Everyone who knew Billy had only positive things to say. According to Julie and T.C., Billy had been kind and generous ever since high school, if not earlier.
Viper, by contrast, was the consummate troublemaker. I still couldn’t believe Farrah had let him into her home—and then gone away with him in his car. And him without a driver’s license. I’d like to think Farrah was savvy enough to know when she was in danger, but she’d been duped by a charming scoundrel before. I shook my head.
Farrah, Farrah, Farrah. You must live a charmed life.
I grabbed my cell phone and shot off a text: How goes it today? Need anything?
This time, true to form, she responded right away. I’m good. Got some business calls to catch up on today.
It was just as well. I wasn’t exactly eager to rehash my night of fire, smoke, and delirious digging. I told her I’d check in with her later, then returned to my notes. Farrah’s adventure with Viper actually wasn’t for nothing. She had gained some insights into his personality and the depth of his devotion to magic. It was interesting how confident he seemed in his ability to cast a spell and make any wish come true. I believed in magic wholeheartedly, but I knew it wasn’t always that simple. Viper apparently thought he could snap his fingers and . . . poof! He sai
d he’d known it since high school.
A shaft of sunlight spilled across the table in front of me at the same time something clicked in my brain. High school. Something had happened when Denise was in high school, something to do with money. Something that resulted in a secret pact among three friends.
I had an idea about what it was. I grabbed my phone and opened a browser. It took only seconds to find the article I was looking for. Yes. This could very well be it. I snapped my notebook shut and stood up. Now I needed to talk with Julie.
* * *
It was shortly after 1:00 when I pulled into my old space in the municipal parking lot. Before I left home, I’d changed out of my lounge-around clothes and donned a stylish gray pantsuit. Maybe it was a tad more formal than necessary, but visiting my old law firm felt like returning home for a class reunion. Everyone would be judging me, at least in my mind, and I wanted to make a good impression.
When I stepped off the elevator on the fourth floor and faced those familiar glass doors bearing the firm’s name in elegant, flowing script, I felt a slight pang of nostalgia mingled with—what, awkwardness? It was a sense of being out of place, like I’d accidentally walked into the wrong meeting.
Julie and Pammy stood near Julie’s reception desk chatting, as they often did after lunch. The moment they turned and saw me, their faces brightened in welcome and pleasure, and my self-consciousness disappeared. It was just like old times.
“Keli!” said Pammy. “So nice to see you! You need to join us for lunch one of these days. We just returned from Gigi’s. I told Julie we should have walked there and back—I ate way too much.”
Julie waved her hand dismissively. “She had a salad and a sandwich. It was nothing. So, Keli, what’s new with you? Are you still looking into that matter you were asking me about the other night? About what’s going on in Fynn Hollow?”
“Actually—”
“I thought I heard a familiar voice.” Crenshaw sauntered in from the hallway leading to the attorneys’ offices. “How are you, Ms. Milanni?”
From the way he looked at me, with the guardedness one might show a wild cat, it was clear he knew about my recent troubles. Which troubles, I couldn’t say. I carried a virtual grab bag of misfortunes.
“I’m well,” I said. “Is Beverly around?”
“She’s at a lunch meeting,” Julie volunteered. “She won’t be back for a while. Do you want to leave her a message?”
“You can let her know I dropped by, and tell her I said thanks for her note. But the real reason I’m here is to ask you a few questions.”
“About friends of Denise Crowley again?”
Pammy cocked her head. “Isn’t that the woman who was murdered in Fynn Hollow?”
“Yeah,” said Julie. “I knew her. Didn’t I tell you?”
“If you keep playing private investigator,” said Crenshaw, looking down his nose at me, “you’re going to have to apply for a license.”
I ignored him and smiled at Julie. “Thanks for your patience with me. I’d like to talk to you about Denise and two of her friends, Billy and Viper. They were one year ahead of you in school, right?”
“Right. It was a small school, but I didn’t really know them well. I didn’t hang out with them or anything.”
“That’s okay. I’d like to focus on what you do know about them. For example, you told me Billy was kind and generous, involved in charity fund-raising and the like.”
“Yep. That’s true.”
“Thinking back on it, when was the first time he organized a fund drive or raised awareness for a cause in a big way? Does anything stick out in your mind?”
Crenshaw raised an eyebrow and leaned casually against the wall, while Pammy perched on a lobby chair. They both seemed curious about where I was going with my line of questioning. In fact, I did feel like I was questioning a witness in a courtroom. I hoped her answers would lead inexorably to the conclusion I’d already come to.
Julie crinkled her forehead as she thought. “I’d have to say it was probably the walk for Alzheimer’s research. We had a school assembly all about it, and Billy was presented with an award because he’d raised so much money.”
“And when was that?”
“That was in the spring of my junior year. I remember because I was dating Christian Sperry at the time.” She grinned and rolled her eyes. “Those were the days.”
“Early spring or late spring? Do you remember?”
“Hmm. It was chilly, so probably March or early April.”
“Okay, turning now to Viper, do you remember him as sort of a show-off? Did he flaunt his snake tattoo or his car, things like that?”
“For sure. I think he got the tattoo the day he turned eighteen. His whole attitude was all about drawing attention to himself.”
“What was the biggest thing he ever showed off?”
“Probably his car. He drove so fast and loud, you couldn’t not notice him.”
I imagined what Viper must have been like in high school and pictured him much as he was now. He didn’t seem as if he’d matured greatly in the intervening eight years. This gave me an idea.
“Do you happen to know if he graduated with his class?”
“If he graduated? You know, now that you mention it, I know for a fact that he didn’t graduate. It was a big topic for our lunchroom gossip for a few days, because he quit school with only two months left ’til graduation.” She shrugged. “He was probably going to flunk out anyway.”
Crenshaw couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “What are you driving at, Milanni? What is the point of this little excursion down Julie’s memory lane?”
“Shh,” scolded Pammy. “Don’t interrupt. Keli knows what she’s doing. Don’t you, Keli?”
“Of course I know what I’m doing,” I said, with a smile. “Julie, do you recall if Denise had a part-time job when she was in high school?”
Julie nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think she did. There aren’t a lot of jobs to go around in Fynn Hollow, especially for high-schoolers. So the younger classes were always paying attention to the jobs the older kids had—so we could snag them as soon as they became available. After school and on Saturdays, Denise worked in an office downtown. It was an insurance office, I think, one of the cushier positions out there—especially in the non-summer months when lifeguarding and lawn mowing isn’t an option.”
“Or bean walking or detasseling corn,” offered Pammy. “That’s what we did for money in the summertime when I was growing up.”
“So, it must have been noteworthy when Denise quit her office job, right?”
“Yeah, sure,” agreed Julie.
“And when was that?”
“Let me guess,” said Crenshaw. “In the spring of her junior year?”
“Julie’s junior year,” I clarified. “Which would be Denise’s senior year.”
“That’s right!” said Julie. “Right around the same time Viper dropped out of school.”
“Why are you so interested in that time?” asked Crenshaw.
“Something else happened around that time. Something Julie mentioned the other day.”
“I did?” She screwed up her face in confusion.
“Yes. You said it was the last big thing to happen in Fynn Hollow before the murder. The last time Fynn Hollow made the news.”
Her eyes grew big. “You mean the armored truck crash and all the money that disappeared? You think Denise and Viper and Billy . . . ?”
I nodded. Pammy blew out an impressed whistle.
“That’s a fine bit of deductive reasoning,” said Crenshaw. “Do you have any proof?”
“Not yet. This is just a theory. But thanks to Julie, I’m more convinced than ever that those kids took the money.”
“What are you going to do now?” asked Pammy.
“That,” I said, “is the million-dollar question.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I thought about stopping in at my law office, if for no other reason than to
pick up the mail and clean up the mess of dirt and camera parts I’d left on the floor. But as I backed out of the municipal parking lot, a plan started to take shape in my mind. I had an idea about what to do next, and it wasn’t something I wanted to do in my office. I still didn’t feel entirely safe there—or confident I wasn’t still being watched.
Instead, I returned home and parked on the street out front. When I entered through the front door, Josie jumped off the couch as if I’d startled her.
“I know,” I said, laughing softly. “My schedule is all over the place. Maybe someday I’ll keep regular hours again.”
I proceeded to my home office and lit the votive candle on my desk. Then I took a deep breath and typed in the same search terms I’d entered into my phone a few hours ago. As before, a dozen headlines instantly appeared on the screen. They were all about the armored truck accident eight years ago. A farmer passing by had spotted the truck in the ditch and called the authorities, but it was already too late. The driver was dead, and all the money was gone.
After skimming the articles earlier, I vaguely recalled hearing about the incident when it had happened. I was in my third year of law school at the time and busy planning my own future. I probably shook my head and clicked my tongue at the news—saddened by the loss of life and appalled by the callousness of someone who would rob an accident scene and not even call an ambulance. Then I’d forgotten all about it.
Now I thought about how it might have occurred. Perhaps the wheels were in motion days before the tragic event.
I could see it in my mind’s eye. Three friends who had newly discovered witchcraft, meeting in secret on a bluff behind the high school. Perhaps they fashioned a stone circle around a fire. I imagined them tossing things into a steaming cauldron—bits of herbs, slips of paper with wishes and dreams. And what was one of the first spells a young witch might think to cast? Especially a kid at the cusp of adulthood, possibly from a poor family, and with few prospects for getting rich? A money spell, of course.
A short time later, maybe a day or two, the friends are out driving. It’s early in the morning, before dawn. They had probably been out all night. They are going fast. Perhaps the driver is the one who loves cars and illegal substances. He drives recklessly. They round a corner and cross the center line. A truck is coming. It swerves and crashes. They stop, dazed, and stumble to the smoking, mangled truck. The man inside appears to be dead, and the back doors are open, revealing a huge stash of money. The kids take it, believing the universe has delivered the answer to their spell. They make a pact to tell no one.
May Day Murder Page 20
