“Bored and safe is better than possessed or dead,” she replied. “Now I better go help strategize.”
“All right, be safe.”
We hung up and I leaned against the counter. Now I just had to wait for nightfall. And oh yeah, meet with a potential murderer. If Jackson got back to me and accused Alex, I might rethink my plan to not tell anyone where I was going, but for now I’d keep quiet.
I glanced around the kitchen, thinking I might as well make myself some lunch. With a long night ahead, I’d need all the strength I could get.
Chapter Twenty-Two
When Martha awoke she seemed more muddled than ever. She pretended to know what I was talking about when I mentioned the emails, but I could tell that she was confused. I would have left her behind to preserve what was left of her energy, but I really needed her to catch Alex in a lie, or to otherwise confirm that he wasn’t putting me on about anything.
Once we were all in my car and ready to go, I showed her the address, but she didn’t recognize it. It wasn’t far though, and it was only 8:15. Plenty of time to get there early and scope things out.
“Remind me again why we’re going to see Alex,” Martha said from the back seat as I started driving.
Almost time, a voice said in my head.
I glanced at Spooky in the passenger seat. Almost time for what? I thought. Time for Martha to move on?
My thoughts received no reply, though at this point I hadn’t expected one. “We are going to ask him about the stolen paintings,” I said out loud. “We’re trying to figure out who killed you.”
“Oh, I would have liked to not remember that part. I’m not sure I can bear finding out if it’s Alex.”
I took a left turn, following the GPS on my phone while I gave it a fresh charge with my car charger. I was worried about Martha, but I couldn’t stop thinking about my family. It was dark now, cousin Amber would be with them and they would be looking for the necromancer. Could I really let them face him without me? Did I have a choice?
I doubled my attention on the road, pushing away my thoughts. Nothing I could do about any of it right this moment, and Callie was right. The dark magic had tried to use me against mom before, I couldn’t let that happen again.
We spent the rest of the drive in silence, save another call from Logan, which I ignored. I slowed as I went around the final turn, pulling up to a fenced lot of storage containers. My gut clenched. It looked like the perfect place to murder someone and hide a body in a freezer, or maybe I just watched too many murder mystery shows.
I didn’t see any other vehicles, so I parked in an adjacent lot. I would take a look around, then hide until Alex arrived to make sure he was alone.
Once we were out of the car, Spooky and Martha both followed at my heels as I walked along the chain-link fence, looking for a way in other than the locked gate. This was the address Alex had given me, but he didn’t say exactly where we should meet. Maybe he wanted to meet outside of the perimeter, which was fine by me. The dark storage containers gave me the creeps.
After exhausting my search, I crouched in the deeper darkness of a small tree outside the fence. Anyone approaching shouldn’t immediately notice me unless they shined a flashlight directly my way.
I tensed at the sound of tires crunching on gravel and the thrum of an engine, then looked over my shoulder. A car approached, its headlights off and its interior bathed in blackness.
I almost fled then and there, but I couldn’t lose this opportunity. Martha was quickly running out of time.
I waited in silence until the car door opened, and Alex stepped out. He wore a black turtleneck sweater and black slacks with a matching stocking cap pulled over his gray hair like he was in some bad spy movie. He glanced around, searching for me, though he didn’t know it was me he was searching for.
I took a steadying breath. Here went nothing. I hadn’t heard anything back from Jackson, and now Alex would be able to ID me. This was probably my only chance to figure out what really happened to Martha.
I stood and started walking toward him.
His eyes landed on me across the hood of his car, and I think they widened, though it was hard to tell with clouds concealing the moon.
I reached his car, then stayed on the other side of the hood. “I’m here, now tell me whatever you couldn’t say over an email.”
He blinked at me. “Who are you?”
“That doesn’t matter,” I said. “Tell me what happened to Martha, and I’ll give you back the paintings.”
His breath fogged the night air. “I think Jackson killed her, but I can’t prove it. At least if I have the paintings to turn in, I can send the cops in the right direction.”
Even though I was halfway expecting the accusation, it felt like my breath had been sucked out of me. Either I was finally about to find out why Martha was killed, or she could help me realize that Alex was actually the killer and was lying to me.
“Why do you think he killed her?” I asked.
He rubbed his eyes, which made me look a bit closer at him. His skin was sallow and his face drooped. Before me was a man who wasn’t getting much sleep.
“I think he killed her because of the paintings,” he explained. “Or maybe because of the gallery. I had been suspicious for a while, so I started looking up the artwork he was bringing in.”
“Was it stolen?”
“No, it was all above board, but I noticed something else that was strange. There were more empty delivery crates than there were paintings, but these extra paintings were nowhere to be found. I think he usually moved them out quickly, but one day I saw them before he could and I looked them up. They were stolen. I was ready to turn him in to the police then and there, but when I went back the paintings were gone.”
Cheryl, I thought. That must’ve been the day Cheryl went to the gallery and stole the paintings. “Were they valuable?” I asked.
He nodded. “Exceedingly so. Jackson had been trying to convince me to sell him the gallery for months, but half of it belonged to Martha, so even if I was ready to sell I wasn’t about to force the issue. I think he was going to use the sale of the paintings to buy me off.”
I shook my head. “So did he kill Martha because he thought she took the paintings, or because he wanted her out of the way so he could buy the gallery?”
“I don’t know,” he breathed. “Maybe both.”
Martha popped up beside me, making me jump because I had almost forgotten she was there. “Ask him why he was helping Jackson look for the paintings in my house.” Her eyes were steady and sure, not a hint of the confusion showing from earlier. Being around Alex must have revived her memories.
I asked her question.
Alex gasped. “How do you know about that?”
“I’m the one asking the questions. Why were you searching Martha’s house with the man you think killed her?”
His shoulders slumped. “Jackson claimed he and Martha were working together to import some rather valuable paintings. He wanted to sell them in order to buy the gallery from me. It was clearly a lie, I had seen the stolen paintings and they had nothing to do with Martha. But the fact that he thought she might have them—” He shook his head. “I knew that the paintings were stolen, but he doesn’t know that I know. I put two and two together. Only Martha, Jackson, and I have access to the gallery. I didn’t take them, so Martha must have, and maybe that’s why he killed her. I thought that if I pretended to believe him I could get more evidence, or I could maybe even get the paintings to turn in to the police.”
I couldn’t exactly ask Martha if she believed what he was saying, but it was clear by her expression that she did. She gazed at him with love, her ex-husband who even though he wasn’t romantically in love with her, still loved her enough to want to bring her justice.
“One last question,” I said. “Why was there a contract to sell the gallery on your desk?”
He stared at me. “How do you know all of this?” He held up his
hand. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. Jackson had that contract drawn up months ago. He knew I wanted to sell, and Martha didn’t. He thought maybe if there was a contract for her to look over with a monetary offer she might be swayed. When I discovered how much the paintings were worth, I pulled out the contract to compare the amount Jackson was offering for the gallery.”
I took a deep breath. It all made sense. “I’ll bring the paintings to the police and point them in Jackson’s direction. I hold a small amount of sway with the homicide department.”
Alex’s eyes lit up. “You mean you’ll back up my story?”
I nodded.
He exhaled loudly. “This is such a relief. You don’t know what this means to me. Who are you?”
I smiled. “I’m a friend of Martha’s, that’s all you need to know.”
He nodded, laughing nervously. “I suppose that is an answer I will have to accept. You know how to contact me. Please let me know when it is done.”
I inclined my head.
With a final long look at me, he got in his car and drove off.
Martha floated beside me, watching him go. “Alex didn’t kill me. It was Jackson. And he’s going down.”
I really hoped he would indeed go down, though I still needed to convince Logan. “Let’s go get the paintings and bring them to the police.”
Spooky meowed, and I heard a click behind me.
I turned to find a young man with gelled blonde hair and dark sinister eyes pointing a gun at me.
I raised my hands and swallowed the lump in my throat. “Jackson, I presume?”
“You presume correctly. Give me your phone.”
My hand was surprisingly steady as I lowered it to my pocket. I pressed the screen unlock button, then tapped what I hoped was the call button twice.
I withdrew the phone and handed it to him. “How did you find me?” I asked, hoping to cover the sound of the phone calling back my most recent call.
Jackson didn’t seem to notice, and just shoved the phone in his jacket pocket. “We all share the same computer at work, and Alex hasn’t changed his email password in years.”
Darn, maybe I should have sent texts after all. I kept my hands raised as he aimed the gun at my head. “What do you want from me?” I rasped.
“I want you to take me to my paintings.”
I glanced at Martha, almost wishing she were a more powerful scary spirit. No magic I had was going to stop a bullet. And once Jackson had his paintings, he had no reason to keep me alive.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jackson sat in the front passenger seat with the gun aimed in my general direction as I pulled my car away from the storage lot. He hadn’t seemed to notice Spooky hopping in right ahead of him before darting onto the floor of the back seat, he was too busy pointing his gun at me. Martha had disappeared. I didn’t know where she went. Maybe she had faded away entirely.
“I told you the paintings are at Martha’s, in the office closet,” I repeated. “There’s no need to bring me with you.”
He brandished his weapon. “Oh no, we are going to make sure they’re there. You’ve already caused enough issues with Alex. I can’t buy the gallery now, but I can still sell the paintings. Once they’re gone, there will be no proof against me.”
I gripped the steering wheel tightly and took the next turn, hoping Logan was listening in through my phone, or at least getting a voicemail. “So did you kill Martha for the paintings, or for the gallery?”
He laughed. “I honestly thought Alex was the one who took the paintings. I thought I could get rid of Martha, then use the stolen paintings to blackmail Alex into selling me the gallery. They were stolen after all, and in his possession. But then it became clear to me that he didn’t know anything about the paintings—at least that’s what I thought. So I told him Martha and I were working together on some imports so I could search her house.”
I took another turn. “Then you would sell the paintings and buy the gallery, but why did you need this particular gallery so badly? You could have just sold the paintings and bought some other gallery.”
He huffed. “I did all the work of building the gallery to be what it was. I dedicated countless years of my life to that place, but Martha wouldn’t even hear of making me a third partner.”
I heard a faint beep, and he whipped his eyes to me. “What was that?” He pulled my phone out of his jacket pocket, finally noticing the lit up screen. With a hiss of rage he rolled down the window and threw the phone outside, then turned and pressed the gun to my head. “Drive faster.”
Wind buffeted us from the open window. I bit back tears and pushed my foot down on the gas. Logan was my last missed call. If I had managed to leave a voicemail, it would be on his phone. He would know we were going to Martha’s, but there was no saying when he would listen to the message. I might be dead by then.
Jackson didn’t divulge any more information on the rest of the drive. I slowed the car as we pulled up to Martha’s.
“I imagine you have a key,” Jackson said as I shut off the engine. “You get out of the car first. Run and I’ll shoot you. Once I have the paintings, I’ll let you go.”
I didn’t believe his promise for a second, but there was nothing I could do but obey. I opened my door and got out, leaving it open so Spooky could slink out while Jackson wasn’t looking. He got out of the car after me, then kept the gun pointed at my back as I approached the front door. I put the key in the lock. It was too late for any neighbors to be out and about, and too dark for anyone to notice what was happening regardless. I could scream, but he might shoot me and run.
I turned the key, but the door was already unlocked. Odd, I was sure I had locked it. Not saying anything, I opened the door and went inside.
Magic prickled up and down my arms as I stepped across the threshold. “Oh you have got to be kidding me,” I groaned.
I felt the gun barrel push against my back. “What? Kidding about what?” Jackson shoved me further into the entry room, swinging the door shut behind us. “Where are the paintings?”
“Back in the office.” I pointed, glancing around the deep shadows of the sitting room. The dark magic was here, I could feel it. It had managed to track me down, or maybe the necromancer tracked Martha. And even worse, Spooky had been shut outside.
Jackson gripped my left arm and kept the gun pressed against my back as he shoved me forward. “Show me.”
I staggered further into the house, praying I wouldn’t trip and cause him to fire the gun. The feel of dark magic grew stronger as I entered the office.
Jackson let me go. “Open the closet door and pull out the paintings.”
I stepped forward, knowing the gun would be trained on my back the entire way.
“That is my witch, mortal,” a voice I recognized said from behind us.
I turned to see Jackson whirling around, aiming his gun at the necromancer.
The necromancer’s hands glowed green with magic. It was the dark magic speaking, not him.
“Y-you better get out of here now!” Jackson’s voice broke in fear. I wasn’t sure if he could see the magic, or just sensed that the one standing before him was a predator.
The necromancer waved his hand, and Jackson fell to the floor. His gun went skidding under the desk.
I moved away until my back was pressed against the closet door. A hint of moonlight streaming in through the window lit the sickly sweat on the necromancer’s forehead. He was struggling, fighting against the dark magic, but he wasn’t strong enough. None of us were.
He reached one glowing hand out toward me. “Come with me willingly, witch, and I won’t have to possess you.”
I shook my head, pressing my back against the door as hard as I could. “No thanks, I’ll just stay here.”
He stepped toward me. The necromancer was at least five inches taller than me. Even without the help of magic, he could probably overpower me.
I shut my eyes and started chanting a protection
spell in my head, already knowing it wouldn’t be strong enough.
The necromancer’s hand clamped down on my shoulder, and my senses were overwhelmed with dark magic. My weak protection spell dissipated.
“Addy!” Martha screamed.
My eyes flew open as Martha streamed into the room, her scream echoed by the front door slamming open on the other side of the house.
“Addy!” Luna’s voice called out.
“Adelaide!” My mom echoed her.
“Accursed witches!” the necromancer growled.
Green glowing magic flowed out of his mouth, spewing toward my face. It pushed against my lips, trying to seep through every opening, even my pores.
I sensed the movement of my family pouring into the room, then Spooky pressed against my leg. He must have come inside with them. Martha must have led them here.
My familiar’s presence granted me the strength to fight the dark magic. I pictured a ward in my mind, keeping it out.
A moment later, Logan’s voice, “Everybody freeze!”
My mom and sisters’ voices came together in an ancient chant, and I thought I recognized cousin Amber’s voice joining in too, but I couldn’t see past the green glow trying to force its way past my shields. My body didn’t seem to want to move, and the necromancer’s hand still tightly gripped my shoulder.
I could feel the dark magic’s rage at the powerful witch’s chant. Alone, one witch might not be that strong, but few could stand against an entire coven.
My lips started moving, joining in with the chant.
The necromancer cried out, falling to his knees as the green magic spilled fully out of his mouth and nose, then wafted up toward the ceiling.
I could finally see clearly, or as clear as I could see in the moonlit darkness. My mom, sisters, and Amber all huddled near the door, hands linked together. Martha floated near Logan, who had a gun pointed at the necromancer. Jackson was still unconscious on the floor.
Catnip Cantrips (Twilight Hollow Witchy Cozy Mysteries Book 2) Page 11
