“Guess so.” Shannon nodded. “Are you guys going to have a donut? I am. Probably the last one before the wedding. I think I want one of those skinny mermaid gowns. White, of course.”
Therese had moved a short distance away and was quietly filming the four of us. “I’ll pass on the donuts,” she said. “When we were in the bakery I got frosting on my lens.”
“I love frosting.” Hilda pointed to a chocolate-frosted donut with colored sprinkles. “I’ll have one of those. What about the bridesmaid dresses? Do you think we should have mermaid dresses too, Shannon?”
“If you like them,” Shannon said. “But you don’t have to. I don’t want you to get something you hate. I’d love it if it was something you’d like to wear again.”
Hilda groaned. “I know what you mean. I’ve given at least three bridesmaid dresses to Goodwill. Are you going to have a donut, Lee?”
I was still thinking about that gazebo. “Huh? Oh, sure,” I said. “I like the cinnamon ones.”
“That’s my favorite too,” Maureen stepped up to the counter and the rest of us fell into line behind her. “Have you picked a color yet, Shannon? I hope it’s not pink. The last wedding I was in the bride had pink for everything. Even the invitations and the cake. Pink just washes me out.”
“Definitely not pink,” Shannon declared as we carried our coffee cups and donuts to the booth. “I do have an idea for the color scheme, though. It’s a surprise. I hope you’ll all like it.”
“What’s it going to be?” Hilda smiled. “Blue, I’ll bet. To match Dakota’s pretty eyes.”
“Not blue,” Shannon said, “though he does have fabulous blue eyes.”
“I’m glad you’re still planning on a beach wedding, Shannon.” I tried to get the vision of the gazebo out of my mind. “We’ll probably have to reserve a shelter. Any idea which beach you’d like?”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you, Lee? There’s a pretty little beach right behind Daddy’s house in Marblehead. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it in the first place. And we’re picking June twenty-first for the date because it’s the longest day of summer—the day with the most sunshine. Dakota picked it. He says it’s the beginning of a life filled with sunshine for us. It’ll be a morning wedding. Then in the afternoon we catch the cruise ship for the Virgin Islands. Honeymoon, here we come!”
“It’s perfect. So romantic.” Maureen licked cinnamon-sugar from her fingers. “And we can even use the summer house.”
“Perfect,” Shannon said.
The gazebo. Oh, yes. Perfect.
Hilda looked at the donut-shaped clock on the wall. “Almost time for our appointment. Shall we head for the bridal shop?”
She was right. We finished our coffees and we each ate every crumb of our donuts. I followed Hilda’s Jeep down Newbury Street and pulled up in front of the shop window, where faceless black-lacquered mannequins posed in white dresses—ball gowns and sheaths, trains and ruffles, long and short, strapless and sleeved. There was something here for every bride. And hopefully something not pink for every bridesmaid and maid of honor.
We were greeted enthusiastically at the door and escorted to a long, plush couch, where our bridal consultant introduced herself as Corina, and Shannon introduced the three of us. Therese’s camera focused on the group while Corina asked Shannon to describe the groom, the venue, the date, the kind of gown she liked, along with the price range she had in mind. Other than the woman’s audible gasp when she heard the weeks-away wedding date, the ambiance was so much like the bridal gown–shopping television shows I felt as though there might be a couple of studio cameras there in addition to Therese’s handheld Panasonic.
Corina smiled and nodded throughout Shannon’s answers to her questions, but she wasn’t able to disguise amazement when Shannon told her about Poe’s part in the festivities.
“Oh my goodness. A crow? A live crow ring bearer. How . . . original!”
“He’s a pied crow,” Shannon explained. “He’s black and white.” She extended both arms, indicating the rest of us sitting with her on the couch. “Here’s my surprise. I’m going to have a black and white wedding! I want my attendants in black, me in white.” She clapped her hands together. “It’ll be fabulous!”
It was a revelation to me. I rarely wear black. I have the obligatory little black dress, but that’s about it. I looked at the faces of my fellow bridal attendants and saw surprise mirrored there too. Corina’s smile grew broader and, I thought, more sincere. “I love it!” she said. “I’ve done several black and white weddings before and they were all fabulous. But none of them had a crow!”
“It was Lee’s idea that inspired me,” Shannon said, pointing at me.
“My idea?”
“Sure. The chocolate and white cake. Black and white.”
“I saw a black and white wedding once on TV,” Maureen offered, “and all the guests wore black and white too.”
“That would look amazing in the pictures,” Hilda said. “What do you think, Therese?”
“I love it. How about you, Shannon?”
“Awesome idea. We haven’t ordered invitations yet so we can easily include that. Something like ‘the bride and groom request that guests wear black or white.’”
Having the guests dress to match Poe the crow was fine, but the idea of the bridal party wearing black was a new idea to me. “I guess another black dress is always useful,” I said hesitantly, “but I have kind of a thing about black shoes. I never wear them. Can I wear something else?”
“Of course you can,” Shannon said. “How about silver or white? I want everyone to be comfortable. At least we won’t have to deal with those awful dyed-to-match things.”
Later, as I turned back and forth in front of a dressing room mirror, I tried to decide between a strapless black polished cotton sheath with a side slit and a narrow rhinestone belt and a halter top black satin mermaid number when the import of all the wedding guests wearing black and white actually hit me.
Maybe that explains the black tuxedo on the dead man in the gazebo.
CHAPTER 15
We left the bridal shop after about four hours of decisions and fittings. Hilda and Maureen had opted for identical short black chiffon strapless dresses, which, fortunately, were in stock and required only minimal adjustments. I found a strapless black polished cotton on the sale rack that fit perfectly. I knew I’d never wear it again anyway because I hate black, but everyone agreed it looked good enough. Shannon’s simple white silk crepe Vera Wang sheath with spaghetti straps and a curvy little lace train was a bit more of a problem, but Corina reluctantly promised that it would be ready in two weeks. Therese promised to photograph the final fittings. Maureen volunteered to help select the invitations, and since the venue, the cake, and the date had been decided, it appeared that I didn’t have a great deal more wedding planning to do right away. That left me time to work on prep for my upcoming debut as an investigative reporter.
I passed on Shannon’s invitation to join them for lunch. Therese declined too. “I have to go to town hall and help firm up the plans for Megan’s memorial tomorrow. It’s not a Wiccan service, you know. We’ll do that later. But since everybody knew she was a witch, Chris Rich will say a few words, and the mayor will talk about what a good citizen Megan was and how she helped to promote the city.” Therese looked ready to cry. “It won’t be anything too fancy. Just some nice music and some words from people who loved her.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
It was going to be a difficult day for River. For Therese too. Megan had been an important influence in both their lives. I hugged Therese; said good-bye to Shannon, Hazel, and Maureen; and headed the Vette back toward Salem. I was so deep in thought about crows and dead witches and how to investigate the one without involving the other that I forgot to turn my phone back on and missed two voice mails, one from Aunt Ibby and the other from somebody named Sean Madigan I was already parked in the garage behind the house when I read the name
s.
I knew I’d see my aunt in a few minutes since I was already home so didn’t bother playing her message. Madigan. There was a familiar ring to it. Took a moment, though, to remember where I’d heard it before. Dakota’s best man. Sean Madigan. The art thief.
What in blazes does he want?
Quick debate with self. Should I treat it like any ordinary voice mail from a virtual stranger—play it back later, whenever I got around to it? Or would I sit here in a hot garage and listen to Sean Madigan’s message immediately.
Curiosity won.
“Hello, Ms. Barrett?” The voice was warm and pleasant. “Sean Madigan here. I guess the kids must have told you I’m Dakota’s best man in the upcoming festivities. I understand you’re going to stand up for the bride. I wanted to meet you at the commencement at the Tabby, but I was running late and got to the reception after you’d already left. Anyway, since we’re going to be walking down the aisle together at some point, I’d like to meet you in person. I’m staying at Shannon’s dad’s place. Dakota’s apartment was kind of crowded.” He left two phone numbers, one for his cell and one for the home in Marblehead. Nothing urgent or particularly interesting there. I’d call him back later.
I tucked the phone back into my purse, locked the car and garage, and started up the path to the house. I looked into the branches of a nearby maple tree and tried to avoid walking under it, aware of the likelihood of roosting crows. All was quiet in the yard, and if there were crows loitering among the bright green leaves I didn’t see or hear any.
O’Ryan poked his head through the cat door, then came out and sat on the top step. I patted his fuzzy head. “Coming back inside with me? Or waiting for your girlfriends to show up?” He moved to one side but made no move to follow when I turned the key and stepped into the back hall. “Okay. See you later,” I said, closing that door and knocking on Aunt Ibby’s.
“It’s me,” I called.
“Come on in. It’s unlocked.” My aunt sat at her kitchen table, laptop in front of her, surrounded by books, many of them open.
“You look super busy,” I said. “What’s going on?”
“Didn’t you get my message?”
“Had my phone turned off. Sorry.” I waved a hand toward the book-laden tabletop. “Was it about all this?”
“Yes. Oh, my, Maralee. I had no idea that crows could be so interesting. I’ve learned so much about them just this morning. I guess you knew the city is consulting all kinds of experts to figure out how to get rid of them—at a reasonable cost.”
“Scott Palmer said they’re thinking of some kind of fireworks.”
“It’s one of the ideas. Of course, some folks are worried about that being a fire hazard. Don’t want to restart the Great Salem Fire of 1914 you know. I have some notes here that you might want to include in your presentation for Mr. Doan.” She waved a sheaf of papers. “That’s what I called you about.”
“Great. Thanks. What would I do without you? I’m planning to polish up my own notes and maybe go over to the station later this afternoon to make my pitch. I’ve been giving the whole crow thing a lot of thought.”
“Everyone is. I guess you didn’t have a chance to watch the noon news.”
“No. Busy with wedding dresses. What’s happened?”
She closed one of the open books and gathered her papers together. “I’m dying to hear about what you girls have chosen. Did you get pictures?”
“Of course I did. Snapped a few with my phone. Not Therese quality but you’ll get the idea. We all really like our dresses. Now tell me, what’s new on the crow scene?”
“You remember Claudine Bagenstose, the woman who lost her husband a few weeks ago?”
“Yes. The banker who fell out of a tree.”
“An apple tree. In his own backyard.”
The apple tree.
“What about her?”
“That tree that the crows picked clean? The apple tree in North Salem?” She leaned forward on her elbows, her chin propped in one hand. “That was in the Bagenstose’s backyard. Over on Dearborn Street.”
“No kidding?” I was truly surprised. “This whole thing gets weirder and weirder. Mr. Bagenstose was one of the closet witches that Christopher Rich ratted on.”
“That was a mean thing to do,” she said, shaking her head. “Mean spirited. I’ll bet poor Claudine didn’t know a thing about it until that Rich person blabbed about it on television. She’s such a sweet person and so devoted to her husband.”
“It’s all so sad. Bad enough that she lost her husband, then found out on television that he was a witch. Now more publicity she doesn’t want.” I felt real sympathy for Mrs. Bagenstose. I know how painful, how heartbreaking it is to lose the man you love to a sudden death.
I finished my tea, showed my aunt the pictures of us in the dresses we’d chosen, and picked up the pile of crow info she’d printed out. “I’ll look this over and add some of it to my presentation. Thanks so much for helping with this.”
“My pleasure. Good luck with your interview. I’m sure Bruce Doan will be impressed and pleased with your industry.”
“And my inexpensiveness,” I added and headed for the front stairs with O’Ryan close behind me.
Once in my own kitchen again, I looked over the material Aunt Ibby had provided. I learned that crows are extremely trainable. They have great intelligence and they have a reputation for stealing things. “Look, O’Ryan,” I said, pointing to the printed page. “Crows rob food from each other, and they’ve been known to steal shiny things, even jewelry. They can predict tornadoes by the way they fly.” I decided to save most of Aunt Ibby’s information for my actual broadcasts and to go with what I’d already prepared for my “show-and-tell” for Mr. Doan. My chambray shirt and jeans still looked okay. I fluffed up my hair, changed to blue kitten heels and a pair of gold hoop earrings, took a final look through my plastic-covered presentation, and I was set to go.
I phoned the station to be sure the station manager was in. “Mr. Doan said for you to come right on over,” Rhonda said. “He sounds really excited about having you back on the team.”
“That’s good. I’ve missed you guys. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
I parked in the employees’ parking area, carefully avoiding the part of the seawall where I’d looked down into the water one fall morning and discovered a body. After taking the clanking elevator up to the second floor, I enjoyed an effusive greeting from my old friend Rhonda, then found myself standing in front of the purple door marked STATION MANAGER.
I wonder what a purple door indicates in the feng shui world. Must ask River.
I knocked.
“Come right in, Ms. Barrett.”
I’d expected to see Mr. Doan seated behind his enormous stainless steel desk. I didn’t expect to see almost the entire WICH-TV news team seated in chairs on either side of him. Scott Palmer, Phil Archer, and the recently hired Buck Covington all stood as I entered the office.
“Please join us, Ms. Barrett.” Mr. Doan indicated a high-backed mahogany chair positioned in front of his desk. I did as he asked and the three men resumed their seats. “I’m sure you remember Phil Archer and Scott Palmer. The new face is Buck Covington. We stole him from Channel Nine. I understand you have a proposal to share with us.”
Covington stood again, reaching across the desk. We shook hands. “Hi, Buck,” I said. “Saw you on River’s show last night.” He sat, and I held up my folder. “I didn’t bring copies for everybody, but that shouldn’t matter. We can pass this one around if there is something special you’d like to see. Mr. Doan and I spoke Sunday about my doing some occasional short investigative news segments this summer. We’d cover things of interest to the community as a whole, topics that require a little more depth than the regular news cycle allows.” I watched their expressions carefully. Phil Archer nodded in an approving sort of way. Scott frowned and looked out the window. Buck Covington smiled and looked from me to Mr. Doan and back. I he
ld up my folder so that they could see the title. “My choice for the first report was, I think, an obvious one. Everyone is talking about the crows. Let’s dig into it.”
“A murder of crows,” Phil Archer read. “Catchy.”
“Short segments? Just occasionally?” Scott Palmer’s frown was still in place.
“I don’t get it.” Buck Covington looked puzzled. “You want to murder them?”
“It means the same thing as a flock of crows, Buck,” Phil Archer explained gently. “It’s just a term they use for a big group of them. I don’t know why. Good idea, Lee.”
Bruce Doan leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. “Damned good idea, Ms. Barrett. I see that you’ve already begun your research. I have every confidence that you can pull this off in great style. Let’s see what you’ve got so far on the crows.”
I’d read through my notes enough times so that I could rattle off crow facts pretty well without looking at the script too much. I held up photos and charts when appropriate (feeling like a first-grade teacher with a picture book at story hour). By the time I finished with details on methods of dispersing the roosting birds, including making scarecrows, hanging a dead crow in tree branches, and shooting off fireworks, I could tell that all four men were interested, engaged, and perhaps even a little bit excited by the idea.
“Good job, Ms. Barrett.” Mr. Doan reached for the folder with one hand, hit a button on his intercom with the other, summoned Rhonda to make four copies, then stood up. “That’s just for starters, gentlemen,” he said. “Just for starters. I believe Lee here can do a series of investigative reports for us this summer. Once the city figures out how to get rid of the miserable creatures—and it had better be damned soon—she’ll move on to something else.”
So that was that. I had a summer job. Sort of a summer job. I stood to leave. “Thank you, Mr. Doan,” I said. The three newsmen stood, murmured polite good-byes, and left. Scott was the first one out the door.
“How about Thursday for your starting date. You seem to be ready, and with news we strike when the iron is hot, as they say.” Mr. Doan held a pen poised above a large desk calendar “That okay?”
It Takes a Coven Page 9
