Finn’s deep voice carried across the shop. A young woman dropped the skirt of a cocktail dress she had bunched in her hands, glanced at us, and left. Another put back a hat festooned with ostrich plumes and rubbed her hands on her pants.
“Sorry,” Finn said in a lower voice. “Didn’t mean to freak anyone out.”
“No worries,” I said.
Folks were funny about this sort of thing—they liked the idea of vintage clothes but didn’t want to think of them as relics of other lives, most of which were now gone. I bought a lot of “estate sale” items, which was a polite term for something that formerly belonged to someone who had died.
“Could I ask the name of Betty’s son?” I asked Finn. “Or is that confidential?”
“I don’t see why it would be. He’s listed in the legal papers, which are public for the world to see. Don’t remember his last name offhand, but he goes by Knox something . . .”
“As in the fort where they keep the gold?”
“Exactly.”
He was the man I met outside El Pajarito the other day. He had been with Gary Utley, Nicky’s widower. If Knox and Nicky were siblings . . . then that meant Nicky Utley was Betty North’s daughter. And Betty was Gary Utley’s mother-in-law.
Which also meant Knox had lost his sister and his mother within a few days of each other.
How tragic.
And how coincidental.
* * *
I was closing up the shop when Carlos called to say I could speak to Ursula Moreno if I could make it over to the Hall of Justice before seven.
“You mean, right now?”
“You got something better to do?”
“Actually . . . This is sort of embarrassing, but my friends arranged a little celebration for me tonight.”
“Is it your birthday?”
“No. I passed the GED. I now have a high school diploma. Sort of.”
“I didn’t know that. Congratulations, Lily, that’s a big deal. It’s not easy going back to school.”
I could feel myself shrugging.
“No, seriously,” Carlos continued when I remained mute. “That’s a real accomplishment. So, what’s the celebration involve?”
“We’re getting together at Bronwyn’s place for pizza and cards. Poker, I think was what was decided on. Is that lame? They wanted to take me out for karaoke, but I wasn’t sure my heart could take it— or more precisely, whether their ears could take it.”
“I’d take poker over karaoke anyday.”
It hadn’t occurred to me to invite Carlos to my graduation party. For most of our interactions he was The Inspector and we discussed acts of crime and malice. I liked Carlos but it was hard to know when and if to cross that line from professional acquaintances to true friends. Now, however, the opportunity seemed to present itself.
“Won’t you join us? I would love it if you’d come.”
“What time’s the shindig?”
“8:00 p.m., at Bronwyn’s house.”
“That’d work. This crazy witch I know wants to interview a suspect in a crime, but after that, my evening’s free. Why don’t you hop on your broomstick and zoom on over here?”
“On my way.”
Chapter 10
I don’t much care for visiting jail, and San Francisco’s Hall of Justice on Bryant Street was as cold and intimidating as one might imagine. But at least Carlos was there waiting for me. He escorted me into the jail’s visiting room, a dreary cinder block chamber with a long bank of cubicles. I followed the directions to one cubicle and took a seat. A woman was already there, sitting on the other side of what I presumed was bulletproof glass.
Ursula Moreno was a plump, kind-looking woman. I guessed she was in her late fifties or early sixties, though she appeared to be one of those people who looked middle-aged for years on end. She wore her black hair tightly permed, her skin was a rich mocha, and she had a broad forehead, strong cheekbones, and a jutting chin. She put me in mind of my grandmother.
I again reminded myself: You’re a bad judge of character. I couldn’t go around trusting people simply because they made me think of someone I knew and loved.
Ursula picked up a phone handset attached to one side of the cubicle, and I followed suit.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I’m Lily Ivory. I’m, a, uh . . .”
I held her gaze and an understanding passed between us, like an electric current. She nodded, her dark gaze drilling into me.
“I see. My cards told me you would come.”
“Did they?”
“A dark-haired, powerful, young woman.”
I wasn’t feeling all that young lately, but “dark-haired and powerful” could describe me. Along with at least half the witches in the San Francisco Bay Area.
“And you said your name’s Lily? Selena’s been drawing pictures of lilies for the last week. She said the scent was driving her crazy.”
I smelled roses whenever Sailor was in the vicinity. I never entertained the notion someone else might experience something similar about me.
“What do you want?” she demanded in a tone of curious belligerence.
“Inspector Romero asked me to visit your shop, to try to figure out what was going on.”
“What do you mean? Did someone break in?”
I tried to read her, to determine if she was being truthful with me. No luck. Not only was I not talented at reading people, but like most practitioners she was guarded.
“Your merchandise is . . . energized.”
“What are you talking about?”
“There’s some havoc going on at El Pajarito. You don’t know anything about it?”
She frowned and shook her head. “Unless . . . She is with you?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Selena. Where is she?”
“I wish I knew. Inspector Romero said the authorities are looking for her.”
Panic crept into her eyes. “Lily Ivory, you must listen. You have to find Selena.”
“I’m trying. That’s one reason I came to talk with—”
“Find her and keep her with you.”
“With me? Isn’t there a family member . . . ?”
“No.”
“I’m sure social services will—”
“No! That will not do, not at all. I’ll give the police your name, tell them I want you to take care of her, make you her legal guardian until I get out of here.”
“I couldn’t possibly take on that kind of responsibility,” I protested. “I don’t even know her. Or you, for that matter.”
“But we do know each other, you and I,” she said with a slow nod that reminded me, once again, of Graciela and a few powerful practitioners I’d met in my travels. She had that intensity, that strange vibration that many of us gave off. No doubt this was what the other children sensed about me when I was young. It made us freaks.
But among freaks, there is a certain kinship.
“Selena can’t go into the foster care system. I think you must understand why. Please, promise me, Lily. Prometeme, por favor, te suplico.”
“None of this will matter if we can’t find her. Where do you think she might be?”
“She hides. But if you can find her, she will smell the lilies and know she can trust you.”
“You don’t have any idea where she could be? I don’t know where to even start.”
“I thought she would be hiding in the store, but if not . . .”
She shook her head, and I let out a sigh. I could hardly say no to a grandmother asking me to take care of a child for a few days while she was in the slammer. But it didn’t take supernatural powers to intuit that assuming the care of a complete stranger—and a teenage witch at that—did not bode well.
“I’ll look for her. In the meantime, what’s going on at your store? The merchandise seems almost . . . possessed.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Perhaps it is one of my enemies.”
I r
ecalled Aidan’s warning. What if Ursula was suffering from a mental illness? A powerful practitioner without control of her faculties was a danger to others, no doubt about it.
“Do you know a woman named Betty North?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
I wasn’t certain I believed her. “Tell me about Lupita.”
She winced—just the merest flinch, but unmistakable. I reached for my medicine bag at the same time her hand touched her neck, as if by habit. Was she reaching for a necklace, or a charm? It would have been confiscated when she was booked at the jail. I remembered the police taking my medicine bag the time I had been arrested. I understood why that was done, but it seemed a shame that such items should be taken from us when we most needed solace.
“You do know her, right? The name’s Lupita,” I pushed.
“I know a lot of people named Lupita.”
“I saw a newspaper article about El Pajarito, with the photo of you, Selena, and Lupita. Is she your daughter?”
“She’s no good, is what she is.” Ursula let out a long breath. “My sobrina.”
“Your niece? Is she Selena’s mother?”
She shook her head. “Selena’s mother is no longer with us.”
“And Lupita worked for Betty North.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that. Lupita didn’t spend much time with us—she came every once in a while to take Selena out. I didn’t like it, didn’t trust her. And then one day she showed up, out of the blue, and brought that reporter with her.”
“Tell me about him.”
She shrugged. “He was okay, but he’s a doubter. His article was not very complimentary. You read it?”
I shook my head and made a mental note to look it up.
“I don’t know why Lupita brought him to me. He probably paid her. Lupita doesn’t do anything without getting paid. When he was there she acted like we were close, as though she, too, knew something, about magical systems. Always she refused to study. She knows nothing.” Ursula fairly spat out this last.
“What about with poppets?”
She frowned. “I said, she knows nothing. Poppets require a special talent.”
“I’ve never had much skill with them. They scare me a little.”
She nodded, and again we seemed to understand each other without words.
“So you don’t deal in poppets at El Pajarito?”
“No need. They don’t work well in my belief system.”
“Really? I noticed some hex boxes at your store.”
“A hex box is a long way from a voodoo doll.” She shrugged. “Mostly to discourage nosy neighbors, that sort of thing. Nothing serious. I don’t deal in serious hexes.”
Our gazes locked for a moment, each sizing up the other.
“Okay, so back to Lupita. What more can you tell me about her?”
“Why do you ask these questions?”
“Because they are important to me. If I do as you ask, you must do as I ask.”
“Sometimes, she would come by the shop and take Selena out with her. Selena enjoyed it, so I didn’t object at first. But then Selena started bringing things home, shiny little knickknacks, and I asked where she had gotten them. Neither would tell me. I don’t think Lupita realized Selena’s power.”
Perhaps. Or maybe Lupita knew only too well what Selena was capable of, and was trying to use those powers for her own gain.
“Where can I find Lupita?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know where your niece lives? Do you have a phone number for her?”
She shook her head. “Like I said, we weren’t close. Lupita showed up when she wanted to.”
“Is her last name Moreno?”
“No. Rodriguez, after her father.”
I was feeling frustrated and wondering just how much Ursula was holding back—and why.
“Why were you arrested for contributing to Nicky Utley’s death?”
She shrugged. “This, I don’t know. I have a court-appointed attorney, but he doesn’t tell me anything. And they still want me to pay for him! What is that about? I have no money. I thought it would be free.”
“Um . . .”
“You look into that.”
“Could something you sold to Nicky Utley have contributed, in any way, to her death?”
“No,” Ursula said emphatically. “That is ridiculous. ‘Gross negligence,’ the judge said. I don’t even know what that means. Practicing medicine without a license? That is ridiculous. I help people, that much is true. But I never said I was a doctor. And Nicky wasn’t suicidal when she came to me.”
“Why did she come to you?”
“She wanted a baby.”
“Were you able to help her with that?”
“There are some teas, some herbs that can help women who wish to become pregnant. I gave her some charms to recite, a few simple spells. Nothing serious, nothing that could harm her. A woman’s body is a mysterious and miraculous vessel. Many times, after years of believing you are infertile, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. I tried to help her break through that.”
“Do the charms and spells work?”
She almost smiled. “It was worth a try.”
“Isn’t it possible what you gave her harmed her in some way?”
“If the woman insists on throwing herself off the Golden Gate Bridge, that is very sad. But it certainly wasn’t my fault, much less the fault of my cures. She had her own mind. It wasn’t . . . what do you call it, this magic that takes control?”
“Manipulative magic.”
“Eso es. That’s right.”
Ursula held my gaze for a long moment, then placed the phone receiver against her chest, over the orange jail-issued blouse. After a few seconds I heard the thumping of her heart. Slow, steady. An informal lie detector test. The typical liar’s heart would beat much faster.
At least, that’s what I was supposed to think.
But practiced liars can control their emotions. And sociopaths feel no guilt.
“It is one thing to use magic to protect oneself, or to encourage others to leave you alone. But to reach out to a virtual stranger and control their actions?” Ursula’s gaze through the smudged glass was steady and unflinching. “This requires a power much stronger than mine. More like yours, I think.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“I didn’t hurt Nicky Utley,” she continued. “I don’t hurt my clients. I’m in jail because of professional jealousy. My competitors resent my success and want to steal my clients. They are lying to the police. I am sure of it. Perhaps they are messing with my inventory at the store, too.”
“Anyone in particular?”
She let out a humorless laugh. “Take your pick.”
“And . . . how are you doing in here?” I asked, to change the subject. “Do you need anything?”
“It’s not so bad—they feed me and there are a lot of women in here who need my help. Tengo fe. La Santa Muerte me cuidará.” I have faith; Santa Muerte will take care of me. “The only thing I’m worried about now is Selena.”
And with that she hung up the phone and rose to leave. A deputy sheriff came to escort her out.
“Ursula, wait. We still need to talk!” I called.
“I am done talking for now,” she said, the glass partition muffling her words. “Find Selena, te suplico. And maybe loan me money for that ‘free’ lawyer. Then, perhaps, we can talk more.”
Interview over—whether or not I agreed—I rejoined Carlos at his desk. It was piled high with papers and folders. I wasn’t used to seeing him in his bureaucratic guise; he was such a man of action. But I supposed paperwork was the bane of modern life.
He lifted his eyebrows. “You solve this thing yet?”
“Not quite. In fact, I learned very little, except that she’s worried about Selena. Have you had any luck on that score?”
“There’s an APB
and an Amber Alert out on Selena, and officers have canvassed the neighborhood. Not only has no one seen her, apparently no one’s ever seen her leave the shop except to go to school.”
“What about her school friends?”
“Far as I can tell, she didn’t have any. But one of her classmates, Emma, is the daughter of the victim, Nicky Utley. Emma didn’t have any information for us, though.”
“What school did they go to?”
“Washington Middle School, on Steiner. That may be how Nicky Utley learned about El Pajarito. From what I gather, Selena drummed up business for her grandmother.”
His words rang with disapproval.
“Do you actually know that, or are you drawing conclusions?”
“I’m a cop, remember? I catch the bad guys, I don’t draw conclusions. That’s for the DA.”
Our eyes held for a long moment. “So Selena and Emma are friends—”
“I didn’t say friends. According to Selena’s teacher and the guidance counselor, she’s a loner. The other kids find her . . . strange.”
As someone who until recently was an outcast not just at school but in life, I could relate.
“So none of them has any idea where she might be?”
He shook his head.
“You searched every inch of El Pajarito?”
“Stem to stern. She’s not there, Lily. Chances are good she’s with family somewhere.”
“According to Ursula, Selena has no other family.”
“What makes you think she’s telling you the truth? You know how the community can be, closemouthed. Anyway, if we find her, I’ll let you know.”
“So, have you found anything concerning the poppet in Betty’s house?”
“The one you think the home health aide might have brought there?”
“Lupita worked for Betty North, and is Ursula’s niece, and both were connected to Nicky Utley. I think it would be worth talking to her about it. Not to mention, Selena might be with her.”
“Got an address or phone number?”
I shook my head.
“Ursula wouldn’t tell you?” he asked.
“She says she doesn’t know. They weren’t close.”
“Any way of finding her?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t be asking you.”
Carlos sighed. “Do you at least have a last name?”
Spellcasting in Silk: A Witchcraft Mystery Page 10
