“She’s not telling you anything until you tell us what she’s being arrested for, and I don’t remember hearing anyone reading her Mirandas either.”
“Oh, we’ll get to all that, buddy. Believe me, we’re going to do this thing all nice and legal. And while I’m reading her her rights, I think I’ll just include you in there too. You don’t look so squeaky clean to me.”
Mac had heard the words, “You have the right ...” thousands of times in his life, but he had never before experienced the sensation of hearing them directed toward himself. It was an experience he would just as soon have avoided.
But those words were nothing compared to the ones that followed.
“Cassandra Adams, I am placing you under arrest.”
The deputy’s voice droned on as he read Cassie her rights, but Mac stopped paying attention to what he was saying. All he could think of at that moment was Cassie. Had the entire world gone crazy, he wondered as he gazed into her frightened eyes.
“You take sleaze to a new low, McCormick.” Sheriff Whitaker spat the words out, not bothering to hide his contempt. “I’ve known reporters to pull some pretty low stunts to get a story, but sleeping with Cassie Adams just to get the inside track wins the prize.”
He slammed Mac’s press ID onto the table, the act demonstrating his disgust.
“You don’t understand …” Mac started to explain his association with Cassie but was stopped by the expression in the Sheriff’s eyes. Mac wasn’t sure he understood his relationship with Cassie himself. How could he hope to explain it to Walt Whitaker?
“Yeah, right. And next I suppose you’re going to tell me you don’t really work for The Inquisitor, that you’re only in town for a little rest and relaxation.”
Mac picked up his identification. Not bothering to respond to the Sheriff’s comments, he slipped it into his pocket. What could he say? Examining the situation through the professional eyes of a law enforcement officer, what other conclusion could be expected?
“Actually, you did the girl a favor, though I doubt that was your intention. You’ve given her an alibi for last night’s murder. I may not think much of you, but I’m inclined to believe you when you say you two spent the whole night together at her place.”
Mac was itching to question Sheriff Whitaker about this second murder. What a scoop that would be. But the threatening expression on the man’s face warned him off.
“Because of you, we’re letting Cassie go, for the time being. But I’m warning you, don’t get any big ideas about taking off with her. She’s not all the way out of the woods yet.” If possible, the scowl on the Sheriff’s face deepened even further. “As far as that goes, neither are you. You stick around town yourself, you hear?”
“Are you telling me I’m a suspect?”
“I’m telling you that until we get this mess sorted out, everyone’s a suspect, you included.”
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
One look at Cassie’s sweat-covered, bleached out face had Mac searching frantically for the nearest bathroom.
“Over here,” he said as he shoved her through the door of the men’s room. Three men in deputy uniforms gazed at the pair in astonishment.
“Sorry, guys, but the little lady’s going to be sick. You wouldn’t want her throwing up all over your nice marble floors, would you?”
Without a word, all three exited, one of them positioning himself at the door to warn off any other unsuspecting males.
Too nauseated to care where she was, Cassie was grateful that she managed to hold off being sick until Mac unceremoniously shoved her into one of the bathroom stalls. Drenched in a chilling sweat and shaking uncontrollably, she was comforted by his steady hand on her brow, another supporting her back. Normally she would have been mortified for anyone to see her like this, but instead of embarrassing her, his presence comforted her, much as Myra’s had when she had been sick as a child.
“Done?” he asked after a few moments.
At her answering nod, he gently lifted her and guided her out of the stall and over to a sink. He dipped paper towels into cool water and wiped the sweat from her face. She cupped water into her hands to rinse her mouth.
“Hey! How long are you two going to be in there? We got a line waiting out here,” a voice called through the door.
“Ready?” Mac asked.
Cassie pulled herself to her full height, all five feet two inches, and nodded.
“Then let’s get out of here. I think we could both use a little fresh air.”
“Damn!” Mac cursed under his breath as they stepped outside into the bright afternoon sun. “Doesn’t that creep have his own church somewhere or does he always do his preaching in public places?” Mac commented, referring to Samuel Hicks who once again had managed to gather a small but vociferous group of followers on the sidewalk before the Sheriff’s office. “God almighty, that guy has the best nose for smelling out trouble that I’ve ever seen. A person might think he had a friend in uniform,” Mac commented dryly.
Though the man’s very presence irritated Mac no end, his main concern was Cassie. Could she handle another confrontation with the little weasel after what she’d just been through?
But one glance in her direction eased his fears. With a toss of her fiery locks, she squared her shoulders and straightened her back. With jaw set, she gave Hicks a look that obviously sent panic through the little man. Her golden eyes glittered ominously as she defied the preacher’s epithets.
Mac hid a proud grin when he saw the preacher hesitate for a moment and begin taking halting steps backwards as Cassie held him captive by nothing more than the sheer power of her gaze. Empowered by his retreat, Cassie took one deliberate step after another, her eyes never leaving his. She’d had just about all she could take from this man and his ignorance. If it was an evil witch he wanted, she was in the mood to give him one.
Without uttering a word, Mac stepped up behind her and took hold of her hand. Still not speaking, he led her away. He’d never been more proud of her than he was at that moment.
“That was real smart. Nothing like giving the evil eye to someone who already believes you’re in league with the devil,” Cassie chastised herself. “If I ever had a chance of convincing Samuel Hicks that he’s wrong about us, I just blew it big time.”
“Forget it. Hicks isn’t the kind of guy who admits when he’s wrong, no matter how strong the evidence. So maybe scaring the pants off him wasn’t a great idea, but watching him squirm sure made me feel better. How about you?”
“Yeah,” Cassie grinned sheepishly, “that was the most fun I’ve had in a very long time. Well, the second most …” she corrected herself, smiling fondly at Mac.
They were back at their favorite bench far out on the fishing pier. Cassie had spent the past five minutes gulping huge breaths of fresh air as if she could not get enough of it. Even the exhilaration of facing one of her enemies down hadn’t been enough to erase the ugly memories of what she had just been through.
“What did Whit tell you in there?” Cassie asked. It nearly broke his heart to see her brave look slip away as her thoughts returned to their recent experience.
“They were asking the questions, not answering them. All I know for certain is that there was a another murder last night, but who it was, I haven’t a clue.”
“They wouldn’t tell me either, but when they left me in that little room, they forgot to close the door for a few minutes and I heard ... I heard ...” She grasped her lower lip between her teeth, trying desperately to hold back the tears, but in spite of her efforts, tears welled up, spilling down her cheeks. “It was the worst, the absolute worst thing I have ever heard.”
Mac’s first reaction as a man was to wrap Cassie in his arms and comfort her, but that was not how you operated when you were working a story. He had learned long ago to be patient, to let his subject tell the story in his own way, in his own time. Some people needed to be prodded, but not Cassie. Cassie would
tell him everything because she trusted him. He had never wanted the responsibility or commitment being trusted required. Was he ready for this?
He fought the urge to run from these new emotions as far and as fast he could go. The trust in her eyes was shattering. The ache in his heart terrified him.
It was at that instant that the most startling revelation of his life hit him. He had fallen head over heels in love with this beautiful woman.
“Cassie …” he had to stop and clear his throat.
“They’ve arrested Mom again.”
“What?”
“And this time they’ve arrested Mary Beth, Norma and Edith. The only reason they didn’t hold me was because you’d been with me all night. You were my alibi.” Her sad little smile nearly broke his heart.
“What about Shelly?”
“I don’t know, hopefuly being at home with her husband and son saved her from being accused too.”
Cassie shuddered. He could tell by looking into her eyes that she had left him for a moment and was reliving that awful scene in the sheriff’s office. She started to speak, paused, then spoke in a voice so tight with emotion that Mac had to strain to hear her.
“It ... it happened again. And it was another preacher.”
Suddenly Mac was in the iron grip of his professional instincts. His heart did a rapid tattoo in his chest as he realized that the story had suddenly leaped into headline proportions. He couldn’t believe his luck at being smack dab in the middle of the action.
She sat on the bench facing him, tears streaming down her cheeks. Guilt stabbed Mac a vicious blow as he realized that, if only for a split second, he had put Cassie in an all too familiar category - just another source.
“It was Luke Osborne, pastor of the First Untied Baptist Church. He ... he had two little boys, Mac, and his wife is pregnant.” Fresh tears welled up, spilling over to join the torrent that had flowed before.
“Was it like the last?” Mac felt like a real creep pushing Cassie for more facts, but his journalist’s instincts would not be denied.
“It was worse. From what I overheard, everything that had been done to Reverend Elkins was done to Luke, but this time whoever did it left a burn mark on his forehead, just like you’d brand cattle.” She closed her eyes for a moment, visualizing the horrible scene. Her next words were spoken in a horrified whisper. “It was the sign of a pentagram.”
Her fingers involuntarily reached for the small gold charm she wore from a chain around her neck. A pentagram.
They were both silent for a moment, Cassie locked in the horror of what she had heard, Mac’s thoughts working frantically for a solution to the crime that would not include this woman who had managed to find a way into a heart he had believed to be impregnable.
Mac was the first to break the silence. “It’s bullshit. Anyone could have killed the guy and put that brand on him to throw the cops off his own trail. It wouldn’t take a genius to come up with a plan like that.”
“They found his blood on my mother.”
The words, spoken with absolutely no emotion, floated in the air between them. She couldn’t have said what he thought she said.
Her eyes were dry now. No emotion showed on her face as she turned her gaze to the vast ocean. It was as if she could escape a reality too horrible to contemplate by letting her mind join the cold, heaving water.
“It was in her caldron, beside her bed. And ... and it was on her lips.”
Mat sat in stunned silence. What could he possibly say?
“Well, that is they think it’s Luke’s blood. They still have to test it, but ...” Her voice trailed off as if her mind was too exhausted to deal with her problems.
“Caldron?” What the hell was Myra doing with a caldron, Mac wondered. “Your mother has a caldron?”
“We use it for ceremonies.” She turned to him and what she saw in his eyes turned her stomach. “It’s all symbolism. Mac. We don’t do sacrifices. We never could. In our religion we venerate all life. We could never wantonly destroy something created by the God and Goddess. Life, all life, is precious to us.”
He gathered her into his arms, offering her what little protection he could from the madness that threatened to destroy everything she loved.
“I believe you,” he whispered close to her ear. “I believe you.” Only a tiny spark in his brain taunted him with the question, how can you trust a witch?
Thank the Goddess for the pet shop, Cassie thought. No matter what else was happening, the animals still needed feeding, the cages still needed cleaning. Although neither woman was able to forget, even for an instant, the tragedy that hovered over them, both Cassie and Shelly found comfort in the simple, but necessary, chores. Mac helped out by grabbing a broom and demonstrating that he knew what it was used for.
“But why did they arrest the rest of the coven?” Shelly asked Cassie as the two of them teamed up to bathe a very unwilling puppy.
“I don’t know. I didn’t hear any explanation other than something about the coven putting on a black mass, complete with human sacrifice.”
“It just goes to show you how little they know about the Wiccan tradition,” Shelly scoffed. “If they would bother to ask, they’d know that our ceremonies have nothing to do with masses, black or white.”
“Well, I don’t see as they are all that interested in learning the truth about us. Our traditions are far too tame compared to what their imaginations come up with. All I know is that the only reason you and I aren’t locked up with everyone else is because we have alibis.”
“So what happened to Alan?” Shelly asked. “I had the impression when they left last night that he would stay with Myra until he was sure she was feeling better. And from the way she looked when they left, I can’t believe she could have recovered that quickly.”
“That’s what I thought too,” Cassie replied, her brows wrinkling into a scowl. “After what she’d been through, she shouldn’t have been left alone. If I’d thought for a minute that Alan wasn’t going to stay, I would have insisted on going home with her myself.”
“Maybe she sent him home,” Mac suggested. “Your mom doesn’t strike me as they type who would want anyone hovering over her.”
“Usually I’d agree with you,” Cassie turned to Mac, “but last night was different. I’ve never seen her look like that before. As independent as she is, I was certain she was glad to have Alan there to take care of her.”
“That was my impression too,” Shelly agreed. “As crazy as he is about her, I’d have thought nothing would have persuaded him to leave her alone last night.”
His curiosity aroused, Mac made a mental note to have a little talk with Alan. The man interested him on two levels. Cassie and Shelly were right. If he was as nuts about Myra as he appeared to be, wouldn’t he have insisted on staying near her last night? After all, she had just been through an ordeal that would crush most women, not to mention the fact that she had looked genuinely ill.
And on a more personal note, Mac was beginning to see that the romance of the small town editor with the leader of the local coven of witches might just make a tasty story for The Inquisitor. He fought off the thought that such a story would be a betrayal to the faith Cassie had put in him. He had a job to do, didn’t he?
The battle between guilt and his journalistic urges was interrupted as the front door of the shop suddenly banged open. A short, chubby woman, well into her seventies, bustled into the shop. She gripped her handbag in one hand and in the other Mac saw she had a copy of The Inquisitor.
The unexpected sight of the paper he worked for set off a sudden alarm in Mac’s brain. Why here? Why now?
“Mrs. Werner! How nice to see you. But you must not have seen the sign on the door. We’re closed today.”
“Hah! I can just imagine you are. After everything that’s happened, I’m proud of you girls for sticking around. The way this town has turned on all of you is just a crying shame. And now this!”
She slammed th
e paper down on the counter. All eyes were drawn to the huge headlines.
INTIMATE DETAILS OF THE WITCH’S CURSE MURDERS!
Without saying a word, Cassie picked up the paper and leafed through it until she found the story. She didn’t need to read it, only the byline. Her heart plummeted when she saw the words, ‘submitted by staff writer, Robert (Mac) McCormick’.
The gaze she turned on him burned a searing hole in his heart. He had never seen so much pain, so much grief, and so much anger in anyone in his entire life.
“Just get out,” was all she said, but those three words spoke volumes.
The urge to get down and dirty drunk hit Mac with an intensity he hadn’t felt in months. As he walked away from Pet’s-n-Stuff, the need grew stronger. At one point in his life he had believed that through his own indulgences he had lost everything, but now he realized how wrong he had been. Before Cassie, he had had nothing worth losing, but now, now that she had come into his life, now that he had fallen in love with her, now he knew what it was to lose something far more precious than life itself.
He had thought he’d hit bottom and was on his way back up. How wrong he had been. Nothing he had experienced in the past could compare with the despair he felt at this moment.
Chapter 6
In the week Mac had been in Port Bellmont he had barely noticed the small neighborhood bar, but now it beckoned him, promising to comfort him with its own form of magic. As if propelled by a force beyond his control, he was drawn to it. Obeying the magnetic pull, he entered, allowing himself to become part of its soothing darkness.
He stood just inside the entrance for a moment. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply of the familiar scents - stale smoke, spilled beer, men who had spent too many hours tossing back shooters of whiskey. A flush of warmth swept through him. His pulse quickened. He was home.
He licked dry lips and swallowed hard. His throat had never been so dry. He took a hesitant step forward and stopped, willing himself to get out, reminding himself what a dangerous place this was for him.
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