“I guess I won’t be able to be there, will I?”
“Not without a sudden conversion to Wicca.” She smiled. “But don’t worry. I’ll give you a full report.”
I told River about the conversation I believed I’d had with the black cat. “Does that make sense to you?” I asked. “Could she actually get into my head that way?”
She shrugged. “Bridget was powerful in the sixteen hundreds. I’m sure she still is. Maybe even more so. I just hope when she gets her book back she’ll be able to move on. She might even stop scaring restaurant customers with apparitions and apple smells!”
“I hope so,” I said, resuming my normal voice. “But the ghost tour guides will miss her.”
“I sure won’t,” she said, tossing her long braid over her shoulder. “And I’ll bet Gloria’s and Elliot’s families won’t miss her tree-stripping crows.” She frowned. “I wonder why she did that. Do you have any ideas about it?”
“I don’t,” I admitted. “But I’m pretty sure Bridget is calling attention to those two particular witch deaths for a reason.”
“If you’re right, she might not cross over until the reason is figured out. Is Pete working on it?”
“I think so, but you know Pete. He doesn’t like to talk about police business. He hasn’t even told me what he’s found out about that threatening phone call you got.”
She frowned. “I was scared when Therese told me what the rest of the message was. I was afraid for Christopher Rich. But Pete said not to worry, so I’m trying hard not to. I understand about him not talking about police business. You don’t like to talk about the gazing business.”
“True. But speaking of crows . . .” I began.
“You told Buck that you thought they’d be back, and it looks like you’re right,” she said. “There were a bunch of them on Brown Street this morning.”
“They’re on Oliver Street too.” I was whispering again. “But in one of the visions, Megan waved her hand and made them disappear, then come back, then disappear again. I think when Bridget gets her book, she’ll send the crows away for good.”
Lunches finished, we paid our tabs and left. I wished my friend a great dinner date with Buck Covington, and she hoped Pete and I would have a relaxing weekend. We parted at the main gate to the common and walked in opposite directions. I’d turned my phone off before lunch, and when I turned it back on a new voice mail popped up. It was from Gloria Tasker’s cousin, Jane.
“Lee?” she said. “You told me to call you if I thought of anything you might like to know about. Well, something happened. Maybe it’s nothing, but. . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Anyway, this guy came to the door yesterday. Said he noticed I was moving and wanted to know if I had any old paintings for sale. I’d already packed all of Gloria’s pictures that I thought were pretty into the U-Haul, but there were a few in the garage I was going to send to Goodwill, you know? This guy kind of turned his nose up at them, same as me. He wanted to know if there were any more and I told him they were already packed in the truck so he left. But something happened last night you might want to know about. Oops. Have to hang up now. Zeus needs to go out. You can call me back if you want to.” She left a number. I walked a little faster, anxious to get home and return Jane’s call. I already had an idea of who the painting-seeking man was. Still very much aware of the presence of crows in the trees bordering the common as I hurried past, I was relieved to see that they numbered far fewer than they had in the earlier invasion.
At least they do so far.
Once at the house I got my notebook and pencil ready, sat at the table, and called Jane. “Hello, Jane,” I said. “It’s Lee Barrett. What’s going on?”
“Thanks for calling, Lee. Like I said, maybe it’s nothing, but it was strange. Kind of scary. I’m going to be glad to get out of Salem, what with the crows and the tree thing and all.”
“What happened? Are you okay?”
“Oh sure. No problem,” she said. “I told you about that guy, the one who wanted to buy old pictures.”
“Yes. Did you get his name?”
“No. He didn’t say and I didn’t ask. Didn’t think it was important.”
“What did he look like? Young? Old?”
“Oh, around fortyish. Brown hair, brown eyes, average height. Nothing special about him. But listen. Here’s what I wanted to tell you about. Something happened last night. It was real late, after midnight. Zeus got to barking up a storm, scratching at the front door, going nuts. I peeked out the window and didn’t see anything, but I let the dog out anyway.”
“What happened?”
“Zeus made a beeline for the truck, barking his head off. I heard somebody cussing—like loud, whispering cusswords, know what I mean? Then running sounds, and a car took off burning rubber all the way to the corner.”
I could hear the fright in her voice. “You think somebody was trying to break into the truck? The same man?”
“That’s what I think. He didn’t get into it, though. Zeus saw to that. Good dog. Anyway, we’re heading out this afternoon. I just wanted to tell you about it.”
“Did you report it to the police?” I asked.
“I thought about it, but what was I going to say? I mean, nothing was stolen. All I could have told them was that my dog barked at somebody and they took off. I didn’t see who it was, and who wouldn’t run away from Zeus?”
“I’m glad you called me, Jane. My boyfriend is a police detective. Would you talk to him?” I was sure Pete would think, as I did, that Sean Madigan was involved somehow in the midnight visit.
“Uh-uh. I don’t have time to get involved with police reports and all that.” Her voice was firm. “I want to get on my way home. I’ve had enough of this place. Good riddance.”
“Can’t say I blame you. It hasn’t been a pleasant trip for you, what with your cousin dying and all the work involved with sorting and packing. Can I call you later at this number if I have any questions?”
“Oh sure. It’s my cell, and listen—I saw you on TV. You looked so pretty and it was real nice to meet you.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Nice to meet you and Zeus too. Have a safe trip home.”
After I hung up I sat still for a minute, staring at the notebook. I hadn’t made many notes—just that a man had offered to buy old paintings, that he’d learned that there were some in the U-Haul, and that the dog had chased someone away from the truck late that same night. Not much information, but I planned to tell Pete about it anyway.
CHAPTER 37
I spent almost an hour at Shaw’s Market and wound up with all six of my canvas shopping bags full. I felt prepared for any mealtime possibility, from picnic on the beach to candlelight buffet to breakfast in bed. So whatever Pete and I decided to do with our weekend, we wouldn’t go hungry. I unloaded the bags onto the kitchen counter with O’Ryan investigating every can, box, and frozen carton. I expected Pete to arrive early, around six. I didn’t have to plan anything for dinner because we’d already decided to make an early night of it—a ride down to the Salem Willows to watch the sunset. We’d grab a chop suey sandwich and play a few of the vintage pinball games in the old arcade. A good old summer fun date.
I’d just put a half-gallon tub of vanilla ice cream in the freezer—there’d be hot fudge sundaes sometime this weekend—when O’Ryan took off for the back stairs door, a sure signal that Pete was about to arrive. I started for the living room door to greet him. Just as his key turned in the lock my phone buzzed. Jane’s name popped up for the second time that day.
“Hi, Jane,” I said. “Can you hold for a sec?”
Pete was all smiles, with one of those big supermarket bouquets of brightly colored flowers in one hand and a giant Hershey Bar in the other. “Happy long weekend, babe,” he said, and leaned in for a kiss. Really bad timing for a phone call from an almost stranger.
Dumping the phone onto the coffee table, I accepted the flowers, the candy, and the kiss. My polite upbringing prevail
ed. “Sorry,” I whispered, pointing at the phone. “It’s Gloria Tasker’s cousin. Gotta take it.”
“It’s okay,” he said, taking the flowers back. “I’ll put these in water.”
“I won’t be long,” I said, meaning it with all my heart. I held the phone to my ear. “Hello, Jane. Are you and Zeus on your way home?”
“Yep. We’re already on the Mass turnpike. I’m sorry to bother you. I wasn’t sure whether to call you or not. Sounds like you’re busy, but I thought this might be important.” Her tone was urgent.
I sat down on the couch. “What’s wrong, Jane?”
“Well, after I talked to you before, I decided to give Zeus a quick rinse with the hose. You saw how he likes to roll on the ground and this is a rental truck. I didn’t want the seats messed up. They might charge more, you know?”
“Uh-huh. Go on.”
Would the woman get to the point, so I could get on with my romantic weekend?
“He had something sticky in the hair around his chin. It looked like blood and I was worried thinking maybe he bit whoever was messing around with the truck last night.”
“Has he bitten anyone before?” Pete had come back into the room and gave me the head-tilted, eyebrow-lifted “what’s up” signal. I gave him the palm-up “I don’t know” hand signal in return and put the phone on speaker mode.
“No, Zeus has never bitten anybody. He’s a sweet boy. But I figured, what the hell? Somebody was messing with his stuff. He thinks he’s protecting me, so they got what they deserved. Right?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Then, after we got on the road, I noticed there were little red spots on the passenger seat where he rides. I pulled over and took a look, and, Lee, he has two puncture wounds on his left shoulder.”
“Oh, the poor thing. What did you do?”
“I have a first aid kit, so I’ve cleaned them, used an antibiotic. I’m going to bandage him up so he won’t lick. They’re tiny little holes, but they’re still bleeding a little. I think whoever was trying to get into the truck stuck him with something. I hope he did bite the bastard. He seems to feel okay. His nose is wet and his tail is wagging, but I’ll have his vet look at it as soon as we get home. I just thought you should know about it.”
“I don’t like hearing that, Jane,” I said. “Let me know how he’s doing, won’t you?”
I could tell by Pete’s expression that he didn’t like hearing it either. He gestured toward the phone and whispered, “Let me talk to her.”
That surprised me. “Jane, I think I told you that my boyfriend is a detective. He’s here right now. Can you talk to him?”
“All right,” she said. “If you think it’s important.”
Pete took the phone. “Hello, Jane. This is Pete Mondello. I’m sorry about Zeus. You said these are tiny wounds. How tiny? Does it look he was stabbed with some kind of knife?”
“Um, no. Not a knife.” Jane’s voice was hesitant, thoughtful. “These are little round holes. Very small holes. A knife would make a slanted cut, wouldn’t it?”
“Usually, yes,” Pete said. “How far apart are the punctures?”
“Oh, maybe four or five inches.”
“I see. Do you think it’s possible that whatever the weapon was it could have made both holes at once? Like if it was a long, pointed object? Something like a knitting needle?”
“Something like a knitting needle!” Jane exclaimed. “Yes. That’s kind of what it looks like. A really skinny one that went in sideways and the point came out a few inches from where he got stuck. But what kind of nut job goes around stabbing innocent dogs with knitting needles?”
It occurred to me that a charging Doberman doesn’t look all that innocent, but I didn’t say so. Pete asked Jane if she could photograph the wound with her phone and send it to me and she agreed. “Thanks, Jane, I may be calling you back later if that’s okay,” he said. “Here’s Lee.” He handed me my phone.
“Jane,” I said, “I’m glad you called. Please stay in touch and let us know how Zeus is doing. Drive carefully.”
“I will. I’ll take that picture as soon as we stop for the night, but I don’t know how good it will be. Two little dots on a big black dog. Anyway bye, you two.”
“What’s all that about knitting needles?” I asked Pete. “You aren’t telling me something.”
“You know I don’t tell you a lot of things. Can’t. But what’s all that about somebody messing around with her truck? I didn’t want to question her about it until I knew what happened there. Were you planning to tell me about that?”
“Sure was. I’ve had three calls from Jane this afternoon, just about back-to-back. You weren’t here for the first two.” I repeated as well as I could what Jane had told me about the man who’d wanted to look at Gloria’s pictures and the previous night’s excitement in front of Gloria’s house. “She didn’t call the police because, as she said, her dog barked at somebody, they got in a car and drove away in a hurry, and nothing was stolen.”
He nodded. “Yes, she’s right. We probably wouldn’t have given it much priority. But the three occurrences put together—the man looking for paintings, the attempt to break into the truck, and the attack on the dog—make it add up to something quite different.”
“You’re thinking it adds up to Sean Madigan, right?” I said.
“Not necessarily.” He spoke slowly, deliberately. “But it may add up to a murder.”
That statement didn’t make the least bit of sense to me. I was sure he wasn’t referring to a murder of crows, so what did he mean? What murder? Who was dead? I waited for him to continue, to explain what he meant.
Nothing. He picked up the Hershey Bar I’d left on the table. “Better put this in the refrigerator. Maybe we’ll make s’mores sometime this weekend. Did you get marshmallows?” He headed back toward the kitchen.
“Whoa. Just a darn minute.” I chased him down the hall. “You can’t say, ‘It may add up to murder,’ then change the subject to candy bars. What are you talking about? What murder?”
He turned to face me, a half smile on his face. “You found something today that maybe we’ve missed. I’m rethinking one of the witch deaths.”
“Which one do you think was murdered?”
“Elliot Bagenstose,” he said. “The man who fell out of his own apple tree.”
CHAPTER 38
Our date at the Salem Willows that fine June evening was a strange one. We did all the usual things we and generations of dating couples have done: rode the flying horses, watched the little kids ram bumper boats into each other, took goofy pictures in the photo booth, played pinball and other vintage arcade games. (Remember Zoltar the animated fortune-teller? He’s still there!) I took a good hard look up into the famous willow trees—checking for crows. Saw a few, but nothing extraordinary. In between playing games, watching the sun set, and taking big bites of those famous chop suey sandwiches and arguably the best popcorn in the world, we talked about a possible murder.
“Remember I told you that the medical examiner found some of Bagenstose’s injuries weren’t entirely consistent with falling out of a tree?” Pete finally brought the subject back up.
I remembered. “Are you allowed to tell me what injuries you mean?”
“Perforated eardrum.”
“Can’t a hard fall cause that?” I asked.
“It absolutely can. That’s why, even though the bleeding from Elliot Bagenstose’s ear seemed like more than a blow to the head usually causes, it was completely plausible that a fall from that height could rupture his eardrum, could kill a man of his age. Besides, he had a heart condition. The ME ruled ‘accidental death,’ and released the body. I’m going to take another look at the doc’s notes and X-rays.”
“So if he didn’t die from falling out of a tree, what do you think he did die from?”
“I think he could have died from a narrow sharp instrument being pushed through his ear and into his brain.”
I almost choked on my popcorn.
“Like a knitting needle?”
“Something like that. There are still a lot of questions. I’m going to do a little more checking and run it by the chief.”
“Who would do such a thing? He was a bank president, pillar of the church and all that.”
“I don’t know if anybody did. I want to check a few things out, that’s all. I probably shouldn’t have said anything about it, but what happened to Jane’s dog, that got me thinking in a new direction.”
“Me too.” I said, as another idea burst into my brain. “A new direction.”
“Wait a minute.” Pete stopped working the flippers on the Captain Fantastic pinball machine and the ball rolled right past the hole. “What are you thinking? No playing girl detective on this, okay?”
“I’m not a detective,” I insisted, “but I am an investigative reporter. At least I’m trying to be. I promise I won’t do anything to get me in trouble. Really. And what you just said about knitting needles—completely off my radar.”
“Don’t even go there,” he said in his cop voice. “I’m serious.”
“I’m not thinking about that,” I said honestly. “I’m thinking about what’s locked up in Jane’s U-Haul that somebody wants so badly.”
“Interesting,” he said, moving to the Superman machine. “You might suggest that she have an appraiser take a look at the contents as soon as she gets home.”
“You mean Gloria’s paintings?”
“Not necessarily. Could be anything—or nothing. Trying to get into the truck could have been a random thing. Kids out of school for the summer raising hell, going around trying car doors looking for something to steal. Happens all the time.”
“Kids don’t carry knitting needles.”
“Don’t go there,” he warned again.
I promised that I wouldn’t and I meant it. But I would keep in touch with Jane. I wanted to know what was in that truck, and I didn’t think it had anything to do with a bunch of bored teenagers trying doors.
It Takes a Coven Page 21
