by Angie Cabot
I scanned ahead a bit.
December 23 - I passed out this morning. Not sure how or why, but I made a doctor’s appointment. They can’t fit me in until January 2nd.
I turned a few pages to find that entry.
January 2 - They ran so many tests.
I turned the page.
January 3 - Probably no reason to hold to my New Year’s Resolution, so I baked a nice lemon supreme cake and ate half of it in one sitting. Sadly, it didn’t taste good, and I had to choke it down. It didn’t look as good coming back up an hour later. Deep down, I know what they’re going to find. The Big C. They don’t want to say it, of course. But it’s true.
I went back to the January 15 entry.
Adeno carcinoma stage four. Guess I should have quit smoking sooner. I hurt all over, and they tell me it’s going to get worse. It spread to my brain. If it keeps going, I won’t even be me anymore. But there are things I have to do before I go.
The words blurred and I wiped my eyes. The tears kept coming, and I put the journal down.
“We’re ready!” Carl yelled.
“Katherine Sinclair, come on down!” Balthazar said as if I were a contestant on The Price is Right.
I didn’t want to go down there. I wanted to read more of the diary, but I dried my eyes on my blouse, and tried to put myself together enough to go play amateur sleuth. I couldn’t risk leaving the diary in my room, so I tucked it into my blouse, pinning it to my side with my upper arm so it wouldn’t show. Then I went downstairs.
***
The three chairs in the library stood in a triangular formation. Sandra sat in one, I sat in the next, and Zen sat in the third. Sandra’s plan was to spend a few minutes talking to each of the suspects. We were technically suspects as well, so we’d have our turn being questioned, too.
As this wasn’t some Murder on the Orient Express situation, the murderer would always be outnumbered by the innocent.
“Shall we get started?” Sandra asked. She held a legal pad and a pen in her lap.
“I’m ready,” Zen said.
“Let’s go,” I said.
Sandra cleared her throat, adjusted her glasses, wrote “Zen” on the pad, and narrowed her gaze. “First question. Did you murder Elizabeth Henderson?”
“No,” Zen said.
Sandra looked at me. “I say we move on to the next suspect.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “You think the murderer will simply answer yes to that question?”
“I asked it with a genuine need to know, and Zen’s aura didn’t change colors at all.”
“No offense,” I said, “but I’m not accepting an aura defense.”
“Then you ask her questions, but I think I’m right, and Zen is innocent.”
“The odds are in your favor,” I said, “as there’s likely only one murderer.”
“Indeed.”
“But if the murderer says no to your question, you’ll believe it, which means the killer will get away with it.”
“But the innocent won’t go to jail.”
“Somehow, I think the police will still want to do an investigation when we’re through.”
She tapped her chin with her pen. “I suppose. Your witness,” she said.
“Zen, how did you feel about Elizabeth?” I asked.
“I wasn’t fond of her, but I had no reason to kill her.”
“Did you know she wrote about you in her journal?”
“What journal?”
“The one she was writing in last night. Brown leather with a strap that snaps closed around the center. Emma and Jenn mentioned it.”
“Oh, I didn’t know about that. I may have been too shocked by the dead body.”
“It sure interfered with my aura,” Sandra said.
“My turn,” I said. “I don’t need comments from the gallery unless they’re to build on a point.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s all right.” I focused on Zen. “Did you ever see my aunt writing in a journal or diary?”
“I don’t remember.”
I hesitated, then reached under my blouse, and brought out the diary.
“Do you recognize this?”
Her face gave away nothing. “No.”
“This is my aunt’s diary.”
“If you say so.”
“Where did you get that?” Sandra asked.
“I found it,” I said. “It was hidden.”
“Does it say anything about me in there?” Sandra asked.
“Yes.”
“Can I read it?” She reached for the journal.
“No.” I held it out of her reach.
“But—”
I held up a finger to tell her to be quiet. I opened the diary to the page with the abbreviations.
“Zen,” I said, “do you know what Aunt Liz might have meant with the abbreviation M.W. after your name?”
She squinted and looked up to the left as she considered my question. “In what context?”
I turned the journal around so she could see the list of names with the abbreviations. “In this context.”
She leaned forward to study it.
“No clue,” she said. “I don’t know what any of those abbreviations might mean.”
“Do you consider yourself to be a witch?”
“I studied Wicca,” she said. “Does that count?”
“Study or practice?”
“I went through a Wicca phase, but I haven’t really been part of that scene since I left Massachusetts.”
“Salem?”
“Boston.”
“Any chance M.W. means Murderous Witch?”
“Not likely. Your aunt knew about the rule of three. If you do something, it comes back at you three times over. It’s a Wiccan thing. So if you do good things, three good things come back to you. Sort of like the pay it forward idea. And if you do bad things, they come back three times.”
“Reap what you sow,” I said.
“Yes. And if you murder someone, you certainly don’t want that coming back on you three times.”
“Do you believe in that concept?” I asked.
“To a degree. I think if you’re nice to people, they’re more likely to be nice to you, and vice versa. Your aunt was mean to just about everyone, so she’s sown a lot of bad seeds to reap later. But mine wasn’t one of them.”
“Do you think sleeping with another woman’s husband is a bad thing?”
She smiled. “Having three more husbands come to me might not be a bad thing, depending on who they are.”
“I don’t mean it as a joke,” I said.
“Look, I feel guilty about that. It’s not like I sought it out. Diana came on to me first. We had too much wine on the solstice a few years back, and well, things got out of hand. Todd always had the hots for me, and I like older men. And what does this have to do with your aunt?”
“Do you call him Todd?”
“Balthazar is a stupid name,” she said. “I try to be nice and call him Balthazar, but if he’s not around, he’s Todd.”
“Do you have any exculpatory evidence to share about yourself or anyone else?”
She looked confused. “Uh…”
“Something that will clear you or anyone else.”
“Oh. Sorry. Lawyer talk always throws me off. I was with Todd for a while last night. I don’t know what time it was. Probably ten to ten-thirty or eleven.”
“That doesn’t clear anyone.”
“Is this going to take much longer? I would kill for a cigarette right now, but they won’t let me smoke inside.”
My eyes widened a bit.
“Jeez,” she said. “It’s a figure of speech. I wouldn’t literally kill anyone for a cigarette. Well, not unless it’s been a few hours.” She put a hand up. “Kidding.”
“Did you hear or see anything last night that might help? Or today for that matter?”
She shook her head. “Not that I can recall.”
“Did you hide this
journal?”
“No. It’s in your hands.”
“Before I found it. Were you the one who hid it?”
“Why would I hide a journal?”
“What were you doing in the library this morning?”
“Avoiding Diana.”
“Diana is a reader,” I said.
“Yeah, but she always brings her own books. Can I please go smoke now?”
“Who hated my aunt the most?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who stood the most to gain with her passing?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know that either, but I’d guess you would.”
“I was already hired to be the manager. I gain nothing, and lose a family member.”
“So who gets the store? Crazy Clara?”
“Yes, Clara will own the store unless Aunt Liz willed her half to someone else. That seems unlikely.”
“Maybe Clara sent her ghost lover up here to kill Elizabeth.”
“Go smoke,” I said.
“Thank you,” she said, and bolted from the chair.
Sandra turned to me. “Do you think she did it?”
“No.”
“So my method was faster than yours, and just as accurate.”
Chapter Fifteen
Carl entered the library, and sat in the seat Zen had vacated. He straightened his collar, and rested his hands over his stomach.
“I’m ready for my interview,” he said.
Sandra leaned forward and studied him. “Did you murder Elizabeth?”
“No.”
She narrowed her gaze, then turned to me. “Your witness.”
“No aura fluctuations?”
“I don’t like your tone,” she said, glaring at me over the edge of her glasses. “But no, there were no aura fluctuations.”
I turned and smiled at Carl. I had the notebook tucked in my shirt at my back, but didn’t want to start there. “How long did you say you worked at the Eye of Ra?” I asked.
“Just over six years.”
“What drew you to the store?”
“I was searching for a job, and saw a help wanted sign in the window. I went inside, and asked for an application. Clara said she liked my smile, but I’d need to talk to Elizabeth. I’ll never forget when Elizabeth walked over to the register. She had a regal air about her. Clara told her she should hire me because I had a nice smile.”
“I’ll bet that went over well,” I said.
“Actually, it kinda did. Elizabeth asked me a few questions, and had me fill out an application. She called me that afternoon to hire me. So far as I know, she never even checked my references.”
“That does not sound like Aunt Liz.”
“She was a lot nicer back then. She told me to study tarot, and to see where my other interests might lie, but that I’d be a cashier to start. A year later, she let me start doing tarot readings, and about that time Zen started working there. Zen was into Wicca, so I got into it, too.”
“You had the hots for Zen?” Sandra asked.
“Everyone had the hots for Zen,” Carl said. “She never seemed to notice me, though. Not on a romantic level, anyway.”
“Still carrying a torch for her?”
He looked around. “Am I under oath here?”
“We’re not in a court of law,” I said.
“I know, but I’m still supposed to be honest. Yes, I still adore her. One of the reasons I bought the house was because she’s so bad with money, and I was hoping she might want to move in.”
“You’ve never dated her?”
He lowered his head and stared at the floor. “I’ve never even asked her out.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not her type. She barely knows I’m alive.”
“You never know unless you ask.”
“But she’d say no.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Can we talk about your aunt, please? This is too embarrassing.”
“When did Aunt Liz start treating you bad?” I asked.
“Shortly after Morgan started working at the store.”
“What happened?”
“Cash shortages, undesirables coming in to buy drugs, that sort of thing. Marijuana is legal, but the store doesn’t have a license to be a dispensary, and certainly wouldn’t have met the requirements to cultivate plants to sell.”
“I don’t know the laws on that. I tried marijuana once in college, and it made me paranoid. I never tried it again.”
“I tried it once with Zen and Morgan, thinking Zen would think I was cool. Didn’t work. And when Elizabeth found out we were smoking in the store, she flipped out.”
“Why didn’t she fire Morgan?”
“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her. And if she gives you a straight answer, I’d sure like to know it.”
“Do you have your phone on you?” I asked.
He nodded, and dug an iPhone out of his pocket. “Right here.”
“Can you pull up the pictures you took of my aunt?”
“Are you sure you want to look at them?”
“I don’t want to, but I think I should. Did you look at them?”
He nodded.
“Notice anything helpful?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think you should look. I took some close-ups of the knife.”
“Give me the phone,” I said.
He put his thumb on the button to unlock it, then handed it over to me.
I tapped the pictures icon, and it opened up revealing albums for camera roll, people, places, selfies, and recently deleted.
The people album showed thumbnails of Zen from the side, or with a lopsided grin holding up a hand as if to say, don’t take my picture, you goofball.
I tapped the camera roll, which brought up thumbnails of the most recent pictures. One of me, and a bunch of my aunt. I tapped one to get it to full screen. Then thumbed backward to see more.
No sign of the notebook in any of them. The close-ups of the athame were tough to see, so I averted my eyes until I got to easier pictures to handle.
On a whim, I backed out and hit recently deleted. All of them were candid shots of Zen working in the store. Helping a customer choose a tarot deck. Laughing at a joke. Talking to Rain behind the counter.
I closed it out, and looked to see if he had any bars up here. In the left corner, the phone displayed No Service.
I didn’t have service either, but it did make me wonder if anyone else could get signal. Jenn and Emma said no one could, and maybe I should trust them.
But maybe it would be smart to check. Because if I could place a call to the police…
“Everything okay?” Carl asked.
I handed him the phone. “Not really, but here you go.”
“Any more questions?”
“What’s the worst thing my aunt said or did to you?”
“Invited me to this retreat again.”
“Again?”
He nodded. “I was here last year, too.”
“I thought she said she brought her six best employees last year.”
“She did.”
“And her six worst this year.”
He nodded again. “She did.”
“What happened?”
“She felt my work performance suffered, I guess.”
“She had to have something specific.”
He shrugged.
I stared at him.
He looked around.
I kept staring.
Finally, he sighed. “All right. She accused me of stalking Zen.”
“Were you?”
“No. I would never do that.”
Based on the number of pictures he had of her, he seemed mighty obsessed with her. And he couldn’t be happy that she was sleeping with Balthazar.
I liked Carl, but the thought of him stalking Zen creeped me out. He seemed nice, but stalkers often do seem nice. At first.
“Anything else?” he asked.
�
��Just one more thing,” I said, and pulled the notebook out of my shirt.
“Is that your aunt’s notebook?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Cool. Anything we can use to identify the killer in there?”
“Maybe.” I opened the notebook to the page with the names and abbreviations. “Any idea what F.W. means in relation to you on this list?”
He leaned forward to look at it. Put a curled index finger to his lips.
“F.W. Give me a hint. Is there profanity involved?”
“I doubt it. This was written by my Aunt Liz.”
“Oh, I’ve heard her say some things that would make a sailor blush.”
“I’ll pretend you never said that.”
“Fast Walker?” he asked.
“There isn’t a regular mall in Cassandra Springs.”
He laughed. “I was thinking in relation to the store. Fastwalkers is a code word for UFOs. I’m the resident expert on the subject in the store.”
“That makes as much sense as anything else. Fake Wiccan also comes to mind since you only studied it to be near Zen.”
“I doubt it. Knowing Elizabeth, the abbreviations correlate to store positions. M.W. for Zen probably means Management - Wicca. M.B. for Sandra would be Management - Bookkeeping. M.P. for Diana would be Management - Psychics. Todd is F.P., which would probably be First Psychic as he gets the first choice on scheduling for readings and such. Let’s see. You’re F.M., which would be First Manager. And finally, Morgan is M.H., which has to be Management - Herbs.”
“Why did she write those down here?”
“Her choices for the retreat?”
“That makes a lot more sense than what I was considering.” I tried to hide my disappointment.
“Anything else? I’m happy to help in any way I can.”
“Go ahead and send Diana in.”
“You got it.”
He started to get up, but Sandra said, “I’m next on the list. Why not get mine over with?”
“All right,” I said. “You can stay for this, Carl.”
“Cool.”
Sandra closed her eyes. “Hello, me,” she said. “Did you kill Elizabeth? No.” She opened her eyes. “I’m cleared. I mean, your witness.”
“Right,” I said. “In the two years you’ve worked at the Eye of Ra, have you ever had problems with my aunt?”
