Over time, each friend reacts differently to the influx of money. Billy, with a guilty conscience that follows him the rest of his life, donates his share to charity. Viper, feeling entitled to the money, blows it on his vices. Denise tries to be responsible: She lives off of her money, supplementing her meager income as an artist, tarot reader, and seller of curses and spells. But she feels guilty, too. She doesn’t want to carry the secret anymore. She wants to break the pact. This is a problem for Viper and Billy.
At this point in my ruminations, I hit a wall. What did Billy and Viper do next? Did they threaten Denise? Did they harass her or try to manipulate her to keep her quiet? Or did they do the unthinkable and silence her forever? If it was the latter, then they had another thing coming. As witches should know, after death comes life. And spirits are rarely silent.
I pulled up the Witches’ Web and hovered the cursor between two buttons: sign in and sign up. I clicked sign up. For what I had in mind, FlightyAphrodite wouldn’t do. This plan was too serious for such a frivolous-sounding name. My goal was to scare the boys straight.
At first, I thought of trying to appeal to Billy’s conscience and compel a confession that way. But I realized it wouldn’t work. If his sense of guilt hadn’t prompted him to come forward by now, it probably never would. No, he alleviated his guilt in other ways. His fear of the consequences, legal and social, outweighed any inclination to come clean. Or maybe it was his fear of Viper. Either way, what I had to do was come up with something that would induce a bigger fear. Like a message from an angry ghost.
I had to use a different email address to create the new account, so I used an old one I kept around for marketing emails and assorted newsletters: [email protected]. It wouldn’t be visible on the website anyway. For my new username, I typed in DDStarSpirit.
Before continuing, I gazed at the candle on my desk and pressed my hand into my chest. Goddess, be with me. And Denise Crowley, wherever you are, please know I’m doing this for both of us.
My stomach fluttered nervously, but I forged ahead. Choosing my words carefully, I composed the same message for both BalderBoy and DredShaman:
Guess who? Did you really think you could get rid of me that easily? Did you think your little problem had gone away? Well, I’m not gone . . . but the pact is dead. Come clean NOW, or else everyone will know what happened that night . . . and your problems will multiply like magic. You have until Beltane.
After rereading the message three times, I finally clicked send. For the next five minutes, I stared at the computer screen, clicking refresh every few seconds. Then I laughed at myself. There wouldn’t be a response that fast. Viper and Billy were probably at work. They wouldn’t even see the message until this evening. Until then, I’d have to find something else to occupy myself—besides compulsively refreshing the screen like a crazy woman.
Since I couldn’t concentrate on anything mental, I decided to do some much-needed manual labor, starting with the deck. I gathered up the remains of my ruined plants and hauled them out to the compost heap. While in the yard, I checked on the stepping stones I’d removed and replaced the night before, as well as the state of my flowers and vegetable garden following the unexpected influx of firefighters . . . and fire starters. To my relief, nothing appeared damaged or amiss. It was amazing how things could appear so normal on the outside, with no indication of past turmoil—or mysteries buried beneath the surface.
It was kind of like the mask worn by Denise’s killer, I realized with a start. Someone was out there leading a seemingly normal life in the outer world, while inside they carried a depraved heart and a hideous secret. I shuddered and returned to clean-up duty. I had to stop thinking that way.
The patio furniture and grill were dirty but salvageable. I dragged them to the side and grabbed a broom from the kitchen. After one sweep of ash and dirt, I realized I should wear a dust mask, so I went inside and came back with a bandanna tied around my face.
As I swept, I tried to envision any lingering dark energy and negativity being sent away with the dust. It was a basic creative visualization technique I’d done many times before. Yet deep down, I knew it wasn’t enough. The dark cloud over my life wouldn’t lift until the person, or people, behind the trouble were exposed, caught, and locked up.
I was so absorbed in my thoughts, and the rhythmic motion of my sweeping, that I almost missed the blip of color among the gray debris. I reached down and picked it up. It was a piece of purple satin ribbon, thin and flat like the page marker in a datebook—which was exactly what it was. I held it in my palm and felt a strange connection with Denise. I was sure this had been ripped from her beloved datebook—her day planner, where she recorded all her appointments, client notes, and possibly even her goals and dreams. Now it was ruined, just like her life. By her own friends? Or by her own decisions?
With these depressing thoughts, I pocketed the ribbon. Maybe I’d use it in some kind of gift or tribute to Denise when this was all over.
Something touched my shoulder. I yelped and whirled, broom at the ready.
“Whoa! Steady there, partner.”
“Wes! You scared the heck out of me!”
“I scared you? You’re the one brandishing a big stick. I feel like I’m caught in a holdup—on the Pony Express.” Laughter sparkled in his eyes.
I pulled the bandanna off my face and used it to mop my cheeks and forehead. “Very funny.”
He took the broom from my hands and finished the job for me. “I think I’ll scrub the deck with a little soap and water before bringing stuff back on here,” he said.
“Good idea, but it can wait. There’s something I have to tell you. Are you done with work for the day?”
“Yeah. Jimi asked if I wanted to bartend tonight, but I said no. The security company I called can’t get here until tomorrow. In the meantime, I don’t want to leave you here by yourself.”
Normally, I’d make a smart remark about being a strong, independent woman. After all, I’d lived by myself for years before Wes moved in. But I wasn’t in a playful mood. He could tell. “What’s up, babe? Did something happen?”
“I’m a little on edge. Let’s go inside.”
I grabbed a couple cold bottles of beer from the fridge and curled up on the couch next to Wes. He listened intently as I told him my theory about Denise and her friends taking the money from the armored truck, as well as the bluff I’d posted on the Witches’
Web. When I finished, I expected him to tell me I’d been brash, that it was a risky move. Instead, he seemed doubtful.
“You really think they’ll fall for it? It might have been more believable if you claimed to be a witness to the accident, rather than a ghost. You know, like ‘I know what you did that summer.’”
I stared at him a moment, then laughed ruefully. “Dang it. I didn’t even think of that. But these are witches, remember? I’m sure they believe in ghosts.” I started to stand up. “I want to see if they’ve responded yet.”
He put his hand on my leg. “Wait, I’ve got my laptop right here on the floor.” He handed me his computer and looked over my shoulder as I pulled up the website and signed on. There was still no answer to my message.
I reached for my beer and took a swig. Then I refreshed the screen. Not surprisingly, there was still no reply.
“What do you expect them to say exactly?” asked Wes. “Do you think they’ll incriminate themselves? Confess to the crime?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I didn’t even specify that they have to respond to me at all. And I shouldn’t have given them so much time to turn themselves in. What was I thinking? Maybe I should send another message.” I hovered my fingers over the keyboard, but my mind was blank.
A clatter from the kitchen made me jump. Josie streaked out of the room, and Wes hopped up to investigate. “It was just the broom,” he called. “I shouldn’t have left it leaning on the wall.”
I pressed my hand to my chest to still my pattering heart. I fel
t so vulnerable, like any minute now the cops would bang on the door, or the stalker would ring the phone, or an intruder would try to break in. Finding my beer bottle empty, I set the laptop down and stood up. But on my way to the kitchen, I stopped in the middle of the room. I didn’t really want another beer. I didn’t know what I wanted.
Wes came up to me and wrapped his arms around me. “Let’s get out of here, at least for tonight. We can go stay with my parents. They’d love to have us.”
I looked up at him and smiled. “That’s a nice idea, but I don’t want to worry them. And I don’t have it in me to pretend everything’s peachy.”
“Then we’ll go stay in a hotel. We shouldn’t have any trouble finding a vacancy on a Thursday night. Or, better yet, how about the Cadwelle Bed and Breakfast? We haven’t been back there since they reopened. Unless it holds bad memories for you?”
“Not at all. That’s a great idea. In fact . . . let’s request the Rose Petal room.”
* * *
Cadwelle Mansion was a gleaming three-story, Queen Anne–style showplace, complete with lacy, gingerbread trim, elegant wrap-around porch, and an octagonal tower straight from the pages of a fairy tale. It was built at the turn of the century by a wealthy philanthropist-turned-bootlegger, then refurbished and converted to a bed-and-breakfast in recent years. Perched on a hilltop in an old section of Edindale, it was a perfect local getaway.
After checking in and settling into our room, we explored the open areas of the mansion, from the stately dining room and formal parlor, to the cozy library. The door to the basement, with its antique speakeasy and secret tunnel, was locked. It was just as well. That was a scene from another adventure, harrowing for sure, though not without its moments of fun.
We ended up relaxing, hand in hand, on a wicker love seat on the veranda overlooking the vineyard and, farther down, the winding Muddy Rock River. As the sky turned brilliant shades of orange, violet, and pink, I couldn’t help thinking how much more at ease I felt with Wes than I had with Erik a few nights ago. Without a word, Wes spontaneously brought my hand to his lips. I sighed contentedly.
“Wes, do you ever—”
“Sure, all the time.” He grinned at me like an imp. “Sorry. Do I ever what?”
I smiled in return. “Do you ever . . . think about what it would be like to live in a big, old mansion like this?” I’d save my real question for a better time, after my life had calmed down to a more regular state of craziness. “Is this a dream house for you?”
“Nah. This place is great, but I wouldn’t call it my dream house. If I had my choice, I’d probably go for something a little less Victorian, a little more Frank Lloyd Wright. Or, better yet, a big ol’ SoHo loft—with lots of natural light and space, maybe an exposed brick wall and sculpted pillars. That would be cool.”
I looked up at him in surprise. “You want to move back to New York?”
“I didn’t say that. I thought we were just dreaming here. What’s your fantasy house?”
“No particular style. I also like lots of light—and warmth. For me the land is more important than the house. I need to be close to nature.”
“Then I guess you’re living your dream already, huh? There’s plenty of nature here in Edindale.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
We fell silent as another couple strolled by. I fought the urge to check my phone—and lost the fight. I had no messages.
After an interval, Wes asked if I was ready to go upstairs. We made ourselves comfortable in the Rose Petal room, an unabashedly romantic haven decked out in shades of red and pink. This was the place where I’d first told Wes about my Wiccan identity. We had fun reminiscing. Wes took it upon himself to take my mind off murder and mayhem. Quite effectively. We had a lovely time. Then we shut off the lights and kissed good night.
I lay on my back and stared into the darkness, with my eyes wide open. Wes’s even breathing told me he was asleep, but my traitorous mind wouldn’t let up. What had gone through Billy’s and Viper’s minds when they read my message? What were they doing now?
More importantly, what should I do?
A faint creaking sounded from the walls. I sat up, straining my ears for further noises. By the pale light of the moon filtering through the gauzy curtains, I could just make out the contours of the bedroom door. I stared fixedly at the brass doorknob, willing it not to turn. All was still. A few minutes later, I lay back down. It was just the creak of an old house. I knew that.
Rolling over, I reached for my phone on the bedside table. Then I stopped myself. This is nuts. Why am I putting all this pressure on myself ? Crenshaw was right. I wasn’t a private investigator, so I should stop acting like one.
That’s it, I decided. Tomorrow I’ll go to the police. Maybe I would call the nice one, Tricia LaMott, first. Or my old friend, Detective Rhinehardt. Or maybe I’d just bite the bullet and go see Deputy Langham. I would tell him everything, lay all my cards on the table—all my suspicions and conclusions, and all the weird things that had been happening to me.
Having made the decision, I felt as if Atlas had reached down and plucked the weighty world off my shoulders. I yawned and closed my eyes, as I snuggled up next to Wes. At last, I could sleep.
* * *
My dreams were jumbled and peculiar, as they tend to be when sleeping in a strange place. It was one of those movielike dreams, where I watched from a place outside of the action. I saw Denise and Erik, living together as a couple, only their home morphed from a cozy cottage to an airy New York loft apartment. They were engaged in a lovers’ quarrel. Denise had made a potion and was trying to get Erik to take it, but he didn’t want to. Then they argued about their future. One of them wanted to get married and the other didn’t.
I awoke before dawn feeling confused and displaced—and, at the same time, quite certain that the dream wasn’t really about Erik and Denise at all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
When I woke up for the second time, later in the morning, it was to the heavenly smell of hazelnut coffee and blueberry muffins. For a moment I forgot where I was, until my bleary eyes focused on the red rose petals scattered on the bedside table. I sat up and saw Wes pulling breakfast things from a picnic basket and setting them on the bureau. He heard me stir and walked over.
“Morning, sleepyhead. Ready for a cup of coffee? It’s a B&B special.”
“Yes, please.” I took the cup he handed me and inhaled the fragrant steam. “Can we do this every day?”
He chuckled. “It’d be nice, wouldn’t it? Not a care in the world.”
We sat in the center of the bed, eating our continental breakfast and chatting about the weather and all the fun outings we could plan in the coming months. Then I reached for my phone and handed it to Wes. “Will you check?”
He set down his coffee cup and signed on to the Witches’ Web. After a quick scroll, he shook his head. “Nothing, babe.”
“Dang it. It’s like I never even sent the message.”
“On the bright side, you haven’t heard from Langham either.” He took out his own phone and opened the photo gallery. “I’ve been studying the picture I took of Denise’s appointment book. Something was definitely written beneath the word Kelly. I think it was another four- or five-letter name. All the letters are a little blurred except for the y. Either it was added to the end of a four-letter name, or the original name already ended in a y.” He handed me his phone and pointed at the zoomed-in image.
“I see what you mean. I wonder if the police have a forensics investigator who can reveal the writing underneath. I bet there’s a way to do it.”
“No doubt. Though I’d be surprised if there’s a lab here in Edindale with that capability. They’d probably have to send it off to a bigger city.”
“I’ll ask when I stop by the station.” I told Wes about my decision to go to the police. He agreed it was a good idea.
“Want to go now? I can call the Gazette and tell them I’ll be in late today.”
>
“No, I want to go by the house first and check on Josie. You can drop me off on your way to work. I’ll take my own car to the station and check in with you later.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll even stop in at my office and pretend to work for a bit.” Wes raised his eyebrows at that, so I mustered up a half smile. “Should I make sure I’m home to meet the security company this afternoon?”
“If you want, but I’ll be there, too. They’re supposed to come around three o’clock.”
I was sorry to leave the B&B. It had provided a nice respite from my multifaceted worries. When we arrived back at our house, Wes came inside for a minute to make sure everything was as it should be. Josie was fine, and nothing was out of place. But the minute Wes left, my anxiety began to seep in. I wandered around the quiet, empty house and wondered if installing a home security system was really the right move. Part of me felt it meant giving in to paranoia, while the other part felt it wouldn’t go far enough. After all, a home alarm wouldn’t stop anyone from setting fires in the backyard or leaving dead birds in the front.
Then again, maybe the witch bottle had taken care of that little problem.
I took a last look around, then tossed my phone into my purse and grabbed my keys. I was already in the foyer when the doorbell rang.
Who could that be?
I pulled the door open and found myself face-to-face with Billy Jones.
I was so startled, I think my mouth gaped. He rocked back on his heels, hands stuffed casually in his pockets, but his charming dimples were nowhere to be seen. His expression was hard and serious.
May Day Murder Page 21
