Last Grave (9781101593172)

by Debbie Viguié

  Jill nodded. “I agree. Not right now, though. I have a feeling it’s going to be a very long conversation.”

  Samantha nodded. She was happy to postpone the inevitable for a while. She stood up, but before she could take a step, the ground seemed to roll under her feet, like a wave heading for shore. She grabbed on to the table and a moment later it had passed.

  “What was that?” she asked.

  Jill shrugged. “I’d say about three point four.”

  “What?”

  “Aftershock of the earthquake. There were dozens and dozens yesterday, but I felt only one or two of them.”

  Jill got up and carried her breakfast dishes to the sink. “Well, I’ve got to go. Professor Hunt is the chair for my dissertation committee, and I want to be ready when I talk to him.”

  “Thesis,” Samantha said.

  Jill turned. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re writing a thesis, not a dissertation, right?”

  “Nooo,” Jill said, stretching the word out and looking at her like she was crazy.

  “You’re getting your master’s, right?” Samantha asked.

  “No. I’m getting my doctorate,” Jill corrected, looking hurt. “Are you really that self-absorbed that you don’t even know what it is I’m doing?”

  Samantha was taken aback. “I’m sorry. For some reason I thought—”

  “Forget it,” Jill snapped. “It’s been a bad couple of days for both of us. I’ll talk to you tonight.”

  She turned and left the room. Samantha just stared after her. She could have sworn Jill was going for her master’s degree. She thought about what the other woman had said. Was it possible Samantha was that self-absorbed that she wasn’t paying attention to what was happening around her?

  The thought terrified her. For a detective, nothing could be worse. If that was true, Jill had every right to be pissed. In fact, that was the first time Samantha could ever remember seeing her roommate angry. Given all that was going on, she couldn’t blame her.

  I’d be angry too if I were in her shoes.

  Samantha went to her room and fired up her laptop. She spent half an hour online researching George Wakefield and the various theories on earthquake detection and the speculation about the “Big One.”

  She found contact information for the scientist, determined to call him later in the day and set up an appointment.

  Her phone rang.

  “Hey, Lance,” she said as she answered. “Shoot anybody this morning?”

  “Not funny,” he growled.

  “You’re in a mood.”

  “Captain wants to see us in his office pronto.”

  “Oh. Okay, meet you there.”

  She shut down her computer, grabbed her gun, badge, and keys, and headed downstairs.

  Once on the street, she stopped and looked around. Her rental car wasn’t there. There were half a dozen black cars parked on the block, but all of them were larger and fancier than her car.

  Someone did not just steal my rental car.

  She walked up and down the block. She remembered parking it on the street. Where? Across the street. There were three cars there, two BMWs and a Mustang, none of which was the car she had rented.

  “Everything okay?” one of the officers watching the building called out.

  “Just looking for my rental car,” she said.

  “I think I saw you drive up in the Mustang.”

  “Thanks,” she said, knowing that couldn’t be true. She looked down at the keys in her hand. They were the ones the rental car company had handed her. Attached to the fob was a keyless entry. She pressed down on the red alarm button.

  And ten feet away, the Mustang’s alarm went off. She crossed to it, unlocked it, and put the key in the ignition. The alarm turned off.

  “I did not get an upgraded car,” she whispered to herself. And yet, when she turned the key, the engine roared to life. She closed the door and then reached for the glove box. Inside was a rental agreement with her name on it for the car she was sitting in.

  She slowly put it back where she’d found it and sat there, stomach churning. What was happening? There was no way she could have mistaken this car for what she thought she had. Was someone playing mind games with her? Was she under some kind of spell?

  Or am I really losing my mind?

  She prayed, harder than she’d prayed in a long time. When she was finished, she sat quietly, reaching out with her mind, searching, feeling. What was truth and what was fiction? She knew witches could impose their will, even on other witches. She herself had made witches see and feel things that weren’t real. Had someone been doing something similar to her? And, if so, to what end?

  Making her think she had one car when she really had another couldn’t serve any possible purpose except to make her question herself. That seemed like such an innocuous thing compared to what they usually did. She was reminded again of the witch in the woods who had threatened her life and then seemingly saved it.

  She felt like she was playing in a game she’d never heard of before and no one had bothered explaining the rules to her.

  She couldn’t sense any foreign energy touching her in any way. She threw up a couple of wards to protect herself from unseen attacks, particularly mental ones. Then, with a sigh, she pulled the car out of its spot and headed for the police station.

  Lance was already there and pacing by his desk when she arrived.

  “What took you so long?” he asked.

  “Car trouble.”

  He rolled his eyes but didn’t comment. Instead he headed straight for the captain’s office and she followed.

  Captain Sullivan was waiting for them with a less-than-pleased expression. “Shut the door,” he instructed.

  Samantha did and then she and Lance took their seats.

  “What the hell happened?” he demanded.

  Samantha exchanged a look with Lance. For once, her partner didn’t speak right up. After a moment, Samantha carefully asked, “Sir?”

  “Don’t pretend that you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  Who’s pretending? Samantha thought, suddenly terrified at the idea that when they did figure out what he was referencing, she might still not know what he was talking about. Keep it together, she told herself.

  “Okay, let me spell it out for you two. A popular and powerful woman is dead. It’s been more than twenty-four hours and you don’t even have a suspect. An officer shoots and kills a man yesterday, and I still don’t have an incident report on my desk!”

  “Sir, I needed to go home afterward and collect myself,” Lance said.

  “I’m not talking to you, dumbass. I’m talking to your partner.”

  Samantha started in her chair. “Me?”

  “Yes, you. Why the hell didn’t you come in and tell me what happened and get started on the freaking paperwork?”

  “I was picking up a piece of evidence from the victim’s daughter. I handed it over to forensics this morning.”

  “What time this morning?”

  “About six.”

  “And then what did you do?”

  “I went home—”

  “Exactly!” Captain Sullivan exploded, rising up out of his chair. “Why wasn’t your ass in my office when I got here this morning? Why wasn’t any kind of report on my desk?”

  She could feel energy surging through her body as he lashed out at her. The urge to kill him where he stood reared up in her, and she wrestled with it, shocked at her own response.

  It’s not his fault. He doesn’t know what you’ve been trying to deal with, the leads you’ve been running down.

  But no matter what she told herself, the need to act, the need to hurt him, kept growing. Rational thought started to leave, and she panicked as she realized she was losing control of her
self.

  Kill him for speaking to you that way, the voice inside whispered.

  “Answer me, Detective! Why?” he said, slamming his fist down on his desk.

  Samantha rose out of her chair and shoved her face in his.

  “Because we both needed sleep and we think that catching Winona’s killer is a higher priority than explaining why and how another scumbag bought the dust!” Samantha shouted.

  Behind her, she could feel Lance grabbing her arm, trying to pull her back.

  “I’m this close—” Captain Sullivan said, thumping his index finger in her chest.

  Samantha wanted to break that finger. She wanted to break his neck. But from somewhere deep inside, she pulled on strength she didn’t know she had, reached out and grabbed his hand, and sent a wave of energy into him.

  He blinked and sat down suddenly. “Well, yes, as I was saying . . . What was I saying?”

  “You were saying that you understand completely and that we should continue about our jobs,” she suggested.

  He nodded. “Yes, that was it. Carry on.”

  Samantha grabbed Lance’s shirt and dragged him out of the office.

  “How did you do that?” he asked, eyes wide. “You’ve got some sort of Jedi mind power or something?”

  “Never underestimate the power of a really angry woman,” she said.

  He whistled. “And I thought I had anger-management issues.”

  “Yeah, you’re not the only special one.”

  “I got that. Listen, why don’t you go blow off some steam? Go punch something or whatever it is you need to do.”

  “I have a lead I want to follow up on.”

  “Great. Do it. I’ll be here filling out forms if you need me. We’ll touch base again at the end of the day.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Just don’t kill anybody, okay? That’s my thing,” he said with a grin.

  She just stared at him. If only you knew.

  * * *

  Once on the road, Samantha was grateful for the upgraded car. She hit the gas and the roar of speed did a little to help calm her down. First she was losing control over her memories and now over her emotions. It scared her.

  And she was using the magic almost uncontrollably. For three months, she’d been fighting it every single day, and now it was like she’d lost the battle, just given up.

  It was dangerous and uncalled for. What she’d done to the captain, in front of Lance, had been stupid, childish even. She needed to talk to someone.

  She called Anthony.

  “Wow, careful. A guy could get used to this,” he said.

  “I think I’m in trouble,” she said.

  He was suddenly all business. “What’s wrong?” he asked, voice concerned.

  She had an insane urge to laugh. What wasn’t wrong? “I feel like I’m totally losing control.”

  “With the magic?” he asked.

  “Yes. I’ve been working so hard, trying to put it all behind me again. And now I’ve come up against a couple of witches, and it’s like the floodgates are open. I’m not even trying to solve things without magic. It’s almost like”—she hesitated, not wanting to say it out loud, to admit it to either of them—“I’ve latched onto the witch issue here as an excuse to use the magic in whatever way I want.”

  “It’s possible. I mean, we knew it wasn’t going to be easy for you to give it up again. And it sounds like you were doing a pretty good job until provoked.”

  “I know, but I feel like I can’t stop now. I’m doing things . . . I’m not proud of.”

  “Have you hurt anyone? I mean, anyone you shouldn’t have?”

  “No.”

  “Then hold on to that. The Samantha I know is a good person. Trust yourself a little more.”

  She bit her lip. She wished she could, but she was really starting to wonder, especially given the things that seemed to be slipping her mind, like what color Jill’s hair was or what degree she was going for. Or what kind of car I rented.

  She took deep breaths and focused on the physical sensations she was experiencing, the smell of the car, the feel of the steering wheel.

  “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

  “Thanks. I think I just needed to say some of that out loud. Sometimes it feels like I’m forgetting—I don’t know—everything.”

  “You want to talk about the case?”

  “Soon,” she promised. “I have to go now, though. Thanks.”

  She hung up before he could protest.

  Deep breaths, she reminded herself. After a few minutes, she began to calm down as she headed out of town.

  Samantha headed for the Santa Cruz Mountains. This time her destination was Roaring Camp. She needed to be able to check out the place where the witches were meeting.

  By the time she reached her destination, she had calmed down. The captain had had every right to be upset. Everything about this case was emotionally charged. Her old captain would have wanted a same-day report on all those things as well. At least she hadn’t killed Captain Sullivan.

  He’ll live to yell another day.

  And now Samantha was free to do what she needed.

  The camp was actually located in the town of Felton. Samantha found it with ease and turned in.

  As soon as she had parked, she walked to the entrance to the town. She picked up a couple different maps of the area, which she stuffed in her pocket, and perused the information about the place.

  Roaring Camp had started off as a settlement formed by Isaac Graham in the 1830s. The authorities had nicknamed it “Roaring Camp” for its wild ways. A few years later, Graham had created a sawmill. The Roaring Camp and Big Trees Narrow Gauge Railroad had been operating since 1963. Two decades later, a train down to the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk was added, in celebration of the trains that had done the same thing a century before.

  The train wasn’t due to leave for an hour, so Samantha walked around, checking out the various other activities, which included gold panning, candle making, and posing for old-time photos. The whole place had a very celebratory air, and she enjoyed watching the families on vacation as they tried to reconcile the 1880s-era lifestyle being depicted with the modern era in which they lived.

  As Samantha walked, she was also reaching out slightly with her senses. There were no witches in the little town area, but she was looking for someone who might know something about them.

  Witches could leave energy signatures like vibrations behind when they passed through places or touched objects. It could be amplified by a witch on purpose, but most of the time the residual was accidental and faint. Sustained contact with places, objects, and occasionally people could give off vibrations another witch could use to detect and track. Although there were no witches in the area, she was looking for something or someone who had been in recent, sustained contact with a witch.

  Inside the General Store she finally found what she was looking for. A guy who looked about twenty-two was stocking shelves, and he gave off some faint vibrations. Samantha walked behind him, brushing ever so slightly against him, and could feel them more strongly. He knew a witch. The question was, did he know he knew one?

  Samantha picked up a candle on the shelf nearby, sniffed it, and then put it back. She turned to him. “Excuse me, but I have to take a souvenir back home for my roommate. What would you recommend?”

  He smiled. “Candles are always nice. Does she like them?”

  “Yeah, but she’s a Wiccan and doesn’t use them the way other people do.”

  It wasn’t subtle, but hopefully it would get the job done.

  “Okay, huh. Then maybe these aren’t for her. They’re all scented and probably not what she’d use for her rituals, I’m guessing. Although I had a woman in here a couple of months ago buying a bunch of ones with sage in them. She s
aid it was good for cleansing.”

  He was lying. She could see it in his eyes. He practiced Wicca. It was possible he was a member of the coven that Robin had gone to briefly before being recruited out of it. If so, he’d know the witch who recruited her.

  “Yes, it is good for that, but I prefer—um, how’s this one?” she asked, quickly picking up a random candle. Then she forced blood to rush to her cheeks so it looked like she was blushing.

  He smiled. “Caught you. It’s not just your roommate who practices, is it?”

  “And here I thought I was being so sly,” she said, giggling and flipping her hair. She touched his arm briefly, willing him to see her as his own age.

  What she’d said to Anthony in the car was true. It was as though the floodgate had opened and the magic was just becoming easier and easier to use, to rely on.

  But lives could be at stake, she argued with herself. Just like in Salem.

  His smile widened. “That’s what you get for trying to play coy.”

  She sighed dramatically and then stuck out her bottom lip in a mock pout. “I’m just sad because I’m going to be here on the full moon. And I don’t have anyone to hold circle with.”

  His smile faltered slightly. Many Wiccan groups were still very private, and very few would actually welcome a stranger into their midst for a ritual night. And most away from their coven would never dream to ask but would instead arrange to make the ritual required a solitary one.

  A few were more open, and she was hoping that in this part of California, where there was already a “love all the people” vibe, there might be a little more flexibility.

  “You know,” he said, after a minute. “I do know a coven.”

  “You do?” she asked, radiating as much joy as she could.

  He nodded. “We— They didn’t use to accept new people that often, but they’ve been a lot more open lately.”

  “Looks like I’m not the only one who gave herself away,” she teased.

  It was his turn to blush. “Well, you know, you have to be careful.”

  “I understand.” She batted her eyelashes at him and took a step closer, violating his personal space. “Anything you could do to help me would be greatly appreciated.”