by Stuart Jaffe
Using witch’s magic, he planned to infuse the Casper bottles with a spell that would make their backwoods swill taste better than all others. They would call it the Casper Special to piggyback sales right off those jerks who had tried to screw him over.
Floyd’s parents had raised him with a strong religious background. Talks of magic spells and witchcraft scared him worse than the threat of white-hooded men burning down his house in the middle of the night. (“It was right then, I knew I was working for the Devil,” Floyd told Max and Drummond.) He thought about backing out, leaving Milton and his scheme, but where could he go?
He had a wife and soon a child. The only skill he had was working in the whiskey trade which the Casper folk promised he would never do again. The only other option that remained involved long, hot sweaty days in a backbreaking tobacco field. Not wanting even to contemplate that life, he stayed with Milton Hull, convincing himself that he could maintain the balancing act between keeping a job and keeping his distance from the Devil.
For two years, they succeeded in their endeavor. Casper Special sold well and the Casper Company never found out. Mostly because Prohibition made it easy to keep such things secret. Only select blind tigers knew about Floyd and Milton’s company, and they knew only to deal with Floyd. Besides, everybody made so much money off this magic booze, they didn’t want to cause problems. (Max pointed out Prohibition was still a few years away in North Carolina, but Floyd explained that while the laws had not changed things yet, the dry chill of the Prohibitionists had already entered the state. The blind tigers wouldn’t get their moniker for years still, but that’s how Floyd thought of them.)
As the year progressed, Floyd noticed that these spells Milton cast did more than simply alter the harsh taste of their whiskey. Milton tried to use magic to manipulate people — everybody from women to bartenders to distributors — but he lacked the skill of a trained witch. Some who drank from the bottles went insane and killed themselves. Some attacked others. In fact, Milton died trying to cast magic on the bottles.
Chapter 22
Floyd’s demeanor darkened. “That’s all I’ve got to say. Now, let me go.”
Max checked with Drummond, and upon receiving an affirmative nod, he scribbled over his fake sigil. Floyd wasted no time. He vanished.
Drummond patted his chest. “Didn’t I tell you I’d get you somewhere with this case?”
“I’ll hand it to you. You came through. Now, how about you help me find my way out of this place?”
Twenty minutes later, Max sat behind his office desk while Drummond floated near the bookshelves. Sandra had returned and lay on the couch. Max relayed all they had learned.
“And that,” Drummond said, “is why you folks need a guy like me. We detectives know how to get the real scoop.”
“Okay, Mr. Brilliant Detective,” Max said, “how do you solve the glaring gap in all of this?”
“What gap? Floyd Johnson gave up everything you need.”
Sandra rested her arm across her forehead. “Uh-oh. Looks like Mr. Brilliant Detective may have missed something.”
Drummond squinted at them — a threat that amused Max. “No fair with the two of you ganging up on me. Tell me what this gap is all about.”
“Okay, okay. Max and I are going to have to buy you some panties, so you can twist them.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
Max tapped a pen against his chin as he spoke, “When you two are done playing, here’s the problem. With your worthy addition of Floyd Johnson’s information, we now know all about the Casper Company and its illegal offshoot created by Hull and Johnson.”
“And we also know,” Sandra said, “about this house of scandal two doors up from the Darian home. That place is supposedly connected by a secret tunnel.”
“The problem is that there’s a good twenty year gap between the two. The house didn’t exist when Hull’s magic whiskey was being made. So how do they connect?”
Drummond clapped his hands once. “That’s easy. The blue bottle.”
“Yes and no. First off, the bottle we recovered could be any Casper bottle, not necessarily one that came from Milton Hull.”
“Not true. Sandra said she could feel magic coming off that thing.”
“Yeah, but could a little bottle have enough magic to cause what we’ve been seeing at the Darians’ house? Magic that’s designed simply to make people want to drink more?”
“Don’t forget Floyd said it was causing people to go crazy.” Drummond held up a finger to pause Max’s next comment. He leaned his ear towards his pocket. As he conferred with Leed, Max looked to Sandra, hoping she might be able to hear what was being said. She threw her hands up and shrugged.
“Okay, I got it,” Drummond said to his pocket. To Sandra and Max, he went on, “Leed here says that we should stop looking for a haunting. None of what we’ve been talking about would birth a ghost angry enough to cause what’s happening.”
Max tossed his pen onto the table. “Isn’t that what I just said?”
“You’re missing the final point. All these things don’t add up, ergo, there is no ghost.”
“Ergo?”
“It’s Leed’s word.”
Sandra shot to her feet. “What if Milton Hull infused himself into the bottle?”
Max agreed. “Then he would be the ghost that we’re looking for.”
Drummond listened to Leed again, then shook his head. “Leed says that’s a nice hypothesis, but remember the bottle was not in the house when Shawnee Darian was most recently attacked. The question Leed has — and frankly, I got it, too — is that if it’s not a ghost or spirit or such in the bottle, then what’s in there? What’s causing all this to happen to the house?”
Sandra slumped back into the couch. “Then we’re back at the beginning. We don’t know anything.”
“Maybe not,” Max said. He closed his eyes and tried to hear his recent conversations. “Floyd Johnson mentioned people going insane from the bottle.”
Drummond drifted in closer with Max’s shift in tone. “Yeah, I already said he said that.”
“And we met Freddie Robertson, the cop’s son, who also talked about that bottle. In fact, we have a picture of Robertson’s father holding one of those blue bottles.”
“That’s right. And when we interviewed Freddie Robertson, I got the definite sense that he was holding back.”
“Perhaps he knows what’s in that gap in time.”
“You might be right about that. But even if you’re not, my gut tells me that fellow knows a lot more than he’s told us.”
“Then it looks like we need to have another chat with Freddie.”
Max and Drummond headed toward the door as Sandra stood. “I’m coming, too,” she said.
The corner of Max’s mouth rose. “Glad to hear it.” He put his arm around her shoulder as they opened the office door.
They didn’t get far.
Mother Hope and Leon Moore stood in the doorway. Neither looked welcoming. Leon stepped forward, using his bulk to push Max and Sandra back. Mother Hope entered. Though old and small, she commanded the room through strength of will.
Pointing one crooked finger at Max, she said, “You broke your promise.”
Chapter 23
Whenever forced to visit his grandmother, Max knew fear absent reason. She had been a shriveled relic, always. Even early photos of her depicted a stark, small, dusty thing. Her voice creaked. Her bad eye had a milky cloud inside, and her good eye sparkled with glints of light he could not find. When Max’s mother read him bedtime stories involving evil witches, he always pictured his grandmother. She terrified him.
Mother Hope made Max’s grandmother a charming, demure lady.
Without realizing it, Max had stepped deeper into the office. He saw that old witch transform before his eyes. Her glares burned through the air. He kept expecting the walls to ignite.
Drummond watched from the ceiling. “Tell me she’s ly
ing. You didn’t really promise this witch anything, did you?”
When Max failed to answer, Sandra slapped his cheek. “Answer him. Did you really promise this woman something?”
“He most certainly did,” Mother Hope said.
Over her shoulder, Sandra said, “I’m not talking to you.”
Max’s throat constricted, but he managed a weak sound. “I-I’m sorry.” To Mother Hope he added, “I made a promise to the Darians, to help them, and that came first.”
“Doesn’t work like that. We don’t get in line on promises.” Mother Hope snapped her fingers and Leon moved in close.
“Sorry about this,” Leon said. “But you shouldn’t have broken your word.”
Though he still had a limp, though he still had a bend in his back, the man hauled back and swung his fist into Max’s jaw with serious force. Sandra tried to get between them, but Leon clocked her once in the gut. She fell to the floor as he wrapped his hand around Max’s neck and tossed him against the big desk.
Over Leon’s shoulder, Max saw Drummond racing down to help. He wanted to crack a smile, but the pain in his jaw kept his mouth closed. It wouldn’t have lasted long anyway. As Drummond swooped in, Mother Hope put out her hand and mumbled some words. Though she could not see Drummond, at least Max thought she couldn’t, she knew the ghost had to be close by. She clenched her hand, and Drummond slammed into an unseen field.
“She’s got a protecting ward around you guys,” he said.
Back on her feet, Sandra charged Leon and popped him in the chest. He absorbed the hit and shoved her back to the floor. “Please,” he said, “don’t make me hurt you.”
Leon pivoted back to Max and his fist chopped in again. Max ducked and knocked forward with an uppercut. He clipped Leon, but not enough to cause real damage. Another blow from the man landed in Max’s stomach. And another. He had always seen Leon as a meek, old librarian and an aid to Mother Hope. Never as muscle.
But Leon’s muscles were plenty strong. Regardless of whether his strength came naturally or if he had assistance from Mother Hope’s magic, each blow landed firm. Max dropped to the floor, covering his head. Thankfully, Mother Hope only allowed a few more strikes. Then she grunted a word and Leon backed away.
From the floor, Max watched as a younger woman entered the office. She wore high-heels strapped up her legs. Her firm gait created a distinctive click-clack sound.
“Take care of this,” Mother Hope said.
The high-heels click-clacked to Sandra’s desk. Max listened to something — a hammer? — smashing Sandra’s laptop. The high-heels then approached Max’s desk and the sound of a destroyed computer returned.
“Stop it.” Max attempted to rise. Halfway up, he could see Leon moving in.
“Stay down, kid,” Drummond said. “They got the upper-hand here. Just let them make their point and leave.”
Max raised his hands and settled into a seated position. Sandra had done the same. The woman with the high-heels left before Max could get a look at her, but he guessed that didn’t really matter. She had served her purpose and would probably not cross their path again.
Mother Hope’s gaze roved around the office. “You’ve elevated yourself quite well. Last time I was forced to come to you, I recall you occupied an awful-smelling trailer in an equally awful-smelling trailer park. This office must have cost quite a bit, and I imagine you no longer live in squalor. Makes me wonder where all that money came from.”
Max had a few sarcastic comments queued up, but a stern look from Sandra kept him quiet.
Sifting through the wrecked computer, Mother Hope said, “The money, the bottle, the case — all things you should have stayed away from. All dangerous. Still, you persist. You’re nothing more than a child playing with Papa’s loaded gun.”
Oh, Max had a good comeback for that, but Drummond’s warning glare stopped him.
“Don’t you tire of being the Hull’s pawn? Yet here you go again — caught up in their lives and meddling with their magic. Don’t you ever stop to wonder why they let you do these things?”
Max wanted to say, well, nothing. This time he kept his mouth shut all by himself.
“The bottle you asked me to look into is covered in magic poorly created. The Magi group’s archives are quite extensive, particularly regarding the Hull family, so it took little effort to link the bottle with Milton Hull. Your lack of reaction tells me you already know that part. What you most likely do not know is that Milton Hull’s weak magical skills did not stop his ambitions. Rarely have I ever seen an object infused with so much dark magic. And because Milton did not cast his spells properly, that bottle is not capable of containing the magic within it. The bottle is worse than a cursed item because its behavior is uncontrolled.”
Mother Hope lifted an eyebrow towards Max. When he remained quiet, she looked impressed. “Glad to see you’re learning. After I understood the nature of the bottle, I decided to do something a bit risky but worthwhile. I summoned Milton Hull in my office. That’s when I saw how terrible the situation truly is. You see, he failed to appear.”
“Oh, crap,” Sandra said.
“What?” Max asked. “I don’t understand. What’s that mean?”
Mother Hope squatted in front of Max. “It means that Milton Hull is not entirely dead. Our records suggest that he drowned, but of course, the Hulls keep such matters from public reports. Even his body is buried in the Hull’s private cemetery.”
“But he’s not dead?”
“Three nights from now, my people will sneak onto the property and dig up Milton Hull’s casket. They’ll salt and burn the body. Then we’ll know for sure.”
“Why three nights? Why not do it tonight?”
“Because unlike you, I think things through. I won’t simply have my people charge in and get caught by the Hulls. In three nights, I’ll have all the necessary ingredients to cast a spell that will protect my people from discovery. It’s ironic, though, that the only way I could really pull this off is by siphoning the magic from the bottle you provided. Not too much, mind you. I still intend to use the rest for my personal advantage.”
She put out her hand, and Leon helped her stand. “Mr. Porter, I made you a promise to provide information about the bottle, and I have fulfilled that promise. You made me a promise that you would not return to the Darian house. You failed to uphold that promise. I have several courses which I could follow. I could curse you. However, that would be a curse upon your wife, as well, and she is blameless in this matter. I could force you out of the state, but again, I would be punishing your wife. In fact, most of what I would like to do to you ends up hurting your wife. Except one thing — I can use you.”
Leon bristled but kept his eyes forward.
Mother Hope winked at Max. “Not everybody agrees with my choice.” She walked toward the doorway. “Pay attention, Mr. Porter. This is the last warning you’ll ever receive. The Darians are a lost cause, now. When the connection to the Hull family was uncovered, the Hulls became the only worthy target. This is no longer your concern. We’ve got the bottle, we’ve got the information, and we’ll take care of Milton Hull and strike a small blow against the Hull family.”
Leon held the door until Mother Hope exited. As he backed out of the office, he offered Sandra a humbling bow. “My sincere apologies for this unpleasantness.”
“Wait,” Max said. “How is any of this using me?”
Mother Hope chuckled. “Oh, I didn’t say I’d use you now, for this. But I will call upon you someday.”
Leon closed the door.
Nobody moved as the tension settled. At length, Max hauled himself up and offered his wife a hand.
“I ought to smack you again,” she said. “You should know better than to promise a witch anything.”
Rubbing his sore jaw, Max said, “Sometimes I think that old crone is worse than the Hulls.”
“Lower your voice,” Drummond said, finally able to come in close now that Mother Hope had
left the office. “They’re still in the building.”
“So? You worried she’s fooled herself that we actually like her?”
With a dismayed sigh, Sandra swept the pieces of her laptop into the trash. “Doesn’t really matter. I mean, we’re still going ahead, right?”
Max wanted to plant a big kiss on his wife. “You’re damn right. But we’ll have to be a little more cautious in the future.”
“A little?”
“Okay, a lot. Still, we’re going to have to move fast. She said she was going on the offensive in three days. I don’t really care what she does to the Hulls, might even help us in the long run, but none of her plans involve saving the Darians.”
“Yeah,” Drummond said. “If the Magi group attacks the Hulls, the Darians will suffer for it. That bottle of Milton Hull’s is going to connect them into this whole mess.”
Sandra said, “So, we’ve got to work harder.”
Drummond brought the brim of his hat down, but Max could still see the smile crawling off his lips. “Okay, you two. If we’re going through with this, then we better get to Freddie Robertson before Mother Hope makes him disappear.”
“You think she’d do that?”
“He’s the only person even remotely connected to any of this that’s still alive.”
Max grabbed his coat. He didn’t have to wait for Sandra and Drummond. They were right behind.
Chapter 24
Max pressed down on the accelerator, zipping along Route 40, weaving through the traffic as he raced towards Greensboro. “Keep an eye out for cops. I’m going as fast as I can.”
“How am I going to do that and find Freddie’s address at the same time?” Sandra hunched over her cell phone and tapped away. While the name Fred Robertson was common enough in North Carolina, there wouldn’t be that many who were also ninety-some years old and living in Greensboro.
