Be Careful What You Witch For (A Family Fortune Mystery)

by Dawn Eastman

  “We need to pick up some gossip,” I said. “This is the last day of the festival and then our chance disappears to find out what people are saying about Rafe.”

  Diana nodded. “I doubt I’ll pick up any useful tidbits. Everyone here knows how close we were.”

  “I think we should split up,” I said. “You ask around and see what people saw at the ceremony. You know everyone who was there. I’ll try to find out what stories are circulating. I never thought I would say this, but we sort of need Aunt Vi.”

  “I’ll start with Ember and Bronwyn. They’re from Traverse City area. They don’t have any connections to the drama in Grand Rapids.”

  I took a deep breath. “I’ll go find Lucan Reed. If he was arguing with Dylan, he might be more likely to talk to me than you.”

  “See you back here in an hour?”

  I nodded and watched her melt into the crowd.

  9

  I found Lucan at his booth. He made masks and costumes for rituals and ceremonies, as well as cauldrons and wands. There was a large red head with black horns growing out of it that would have terrified me if I didn’t know that it was used during Beltane to symbolize the god of fertility. I had seen pictures in Diana’s books. There were more scary-looking masks and some robes as well as metal cauldrons and wands.

  He stood when I approached, rising in front of me like a Highland warrior. He was well over six feet tall and very broad. His hair was wild, long, and dark red. He had it tied back in a piece of rawhide string. His full beard obscured most of his face. I felt myself flinch when his hand shot out. Realizing what he wanted, I took it and shook.

  “You’re Diana’s friend,” he said in a deep rumble.

  “Yes, we met the other night at the ceremony in the woods.”

  His face pulled down and he looked away. “What a nightmare that was.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss. You and Rafe were close?”

  He shook his head. “Not as close as you might think. We worked together, but that was it. Still, it’s hard to watch someone die like that and not be able to help.”

  “Did you know he was allergic to peanuts?”

  “I’d have to be living under a rock not to know he was allergic. Every time he put something in his mouth he announced he couldn’t eat peanuts.”

  “Have you heard anything more about what might have happened?”

  He picked up a small knife and a long piece of wood and began to work on what would probably become a wand. “Aren’t you dating that cop?”

  I felt my face get hot. How did he know? If he knew, then lots of people knew. I hesitated.

  “Excuse me?”

  “That lanky cop. The young one.” He examined my face, and I found myself wanting to defend my right to date anyone I wanted.

  I was too relieved, however, to argue with him. “That’s Tom Andrews. We’re friends. Not dating.”

  His eyebrows quirked upward. “Well, Tom Andrews has already been sniffing around, asking if I saw anything.”

  “Well, did you? Hear or see anything?”

  Lucan set the wand and the small knife on the table. “I don’t want any trouble with cops or their girlfriends. Why should I talk to you?”

  I chose to ignore the girlfriend comment. “Because I’m Diana’s friend and if you knew Rafe at all, you’ll know how close they were. She’s devastated and needs some answers so she can deal with this.”

  He let out a breath of air, and wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I like Diana. She’s a great person. Maybe not the best judge of character, but she’s great.”

  “Whose character?” I didn’t know why this guy was getting under my skin but I found myself annoyed by his assumptions, and I sensed he was hiding something.

  “You just said she was close to Rafe. She’s either a terrible judge of character or he was a much better actor than I gave him credit for.” Lucan had picked up the wand again. If he kept on with his whittling, he’d end up with a toothpick.

  I took a deep breath and waited. Lucan cleared his throat. He set his knife down again. “Rafe had alienated quite a few people in the coven. He ran it like he was our fearless leader and we should all just do whatever he said. Wiccans tend to like to do things their own way.” Lucan grinned. “We aren’t exactly conformists.”

  “You aren’t saying that anyone in the coven would want him dead, are you?”

  “All I’m saying is Rafe had an inflated idea of his own place in this world. He said he was descended from five generations of Wiccans and since no one else had that kind of heritage, we should all listen to him. That alone was debatable since many people say Wicca only began in the 1950s. He acted like some kind of chosen one, and that can get on a person’s nerves after a while. I would imagine he acted like that with other people as well. Has Diana talked to her brother?”

  “I think she’s pretty aware of how her brother feels,” I said.

  Lucan shook his head and laughed. “I doubt it.”

  “I could really use your help if you know something.”

  His mouth drew into a thin line behind his mustache. “Talk to Skye Paxton and Morgan Lavelle. They both knew Rafe pretty well. And tell Diana to listen to her brother.” Lucan turned away as a customer approached the booth. He made a big show of telling them about all of his merchandise. I took the hint and nodded at him as I walked away.

  * * *

  Lucan’s comment about Diana listening to her brother reminded me I needed to talk to my own sibling. I walked to the parking lot for some privacy. The rustling and chattering of squirrels and chipmunks gathering food for winter, and the exuberant color beginning to fade as I crunched through the leaves made me smile and I wondered how I’d stayed away from Crystal Haven for so many years. I steeled myself for the task at hand. I couldn’t go any longer without talking to Grace. She was expecting Seth to return on the train that evening. I took a few deep breaths, turned on my phone, and scrolled to her name.

  “Grace Proffit.” Her voice was crisp, businesslike.

  “Grace, it’s Clyde.”

  “Clyde? Hi. Your number came through as private. How are you?”

  “I’m fine. I’m calling about Seth. . . .”

  “Don’t you have his number? He’s out of town right now. He’ll be home tonight if you want me to give him a message.” I heard honking in the background, and Grace’s voice faded in and out.

  “Are you at home?” I raised my voice and put my hand to my other ear as if that would improve the connection.

  “No, I’m walking to an appointment uptown, I don’t have much time.”

  “Listen, Grace, Seth is here. With me.”

  “What? I thought you said Seth was with you. Wait. I’m ducking into a coffee shop, it’ll be quieter.”

  For once not jealous of Grace, I leaned against my Jeep fender and listened to the few remaining leaves whispering in the trees.

  “What did you say?” The connection was clear now with no background noise.

  “Seth is here with me. He and Tuffy showed up on my doorstep last night.”

  The line was silent.

  “Grace?”

  She cleared her throat. “Is he okay?” Her voice cracked.

  “Yes, he’s fine.”

  “He’s supposed to be upstate with friends. What’s he doing there?”

  I shrugged even though she couldn’t see me. “He showed up after hitching a ride with friends and taking a bus. I haven’t pieced it all together yet. He’s working at Diana’s booth at the fall festival right now and flirting with the prettiest girl in town.”

  “I knew something was bothering him but I’ve been so busy with these disasters at work. It’s not a good time to be working for an investment company. . . .” I imagined her with her hand to the bridge of her nose, her classic stressed-out posture.

 
“Grace, I don’t think anything is wrong, but something is up and I think I can get it out of him. He’s welcome to stay for a while, if you and Paul are okay with that. Maybe he can stay for a week or so until we get it figured out.”

  “I would normally hop on a plane and drag him back home, but something’s been bothering him lately. Ever since he came home from the summer, actually.”

  Since she’d never hopped on a plane to come to Crystal Haven, I saw this for the empty threat it was.

  “Why don’t you let me figure out what’s going on? If you can deal with his school, we’ll take it from there.”

  “Yeah, okay. I know he trusts you, Clyde. Maybe he’ll open up to you. But let me know if he needs anything.”

  “I’ll call you in a couple of days.”

  “Okay. I’ll talk to him tonight when I get home from work. And, Clyde, thank you.”

  I clicked END CALL and took another deep breath. That had gone way better than I expected. I was surprised she was letting him stay. Either she was really distracted by whatever was happening at work or she was very worried about him.

  10

  I walked back toward the festival, studying the map of vendors’ booths. Besides the usual baked goods and crafts, Diana had added some Wiccan vendors this year. When I had begun this project with Diana, I had no idea about all the merchandise involved in the pagan/Wiccan world. I headed toward the Wiccan section and wandered past tables full of colorful candles and incense. Diana stood a few booths away talking to a woman with long dark hair trailing down her back. I assumed it was Bronwyn or Ember. She wore dream catcher earrings that caught the light when she moved. The booth was filled with soaps, lotions, and bath salts. Not wanting to interrupt, I turned in the other direction.

  I stopped at a booth selling hand-drawn tarot cards. One of them was a beautiful pen-and-ink Victorian Gothic deck I bought for Mom. Past jewelry, crystal balls, and pendulums I finally found Morgan’s booth at the very end of the row.

  As I approached, I could see why Diana had given her this remote location. Morgan Lavelle was known for her handmade athames, which were forbidding daggers used in Wiccan rituals. I had asked Diana about them the first day I walked past a booth with a display of the ritual blades. I felt like I was at a gun and knife show rather than a fall festival. She’d explained that they were used to direct energy and many Wiccans believed they should never be used to cut anything. That was a relief, but didn’t make them any less scary-looking. Morgan’s entire booth was draped in black cloth and a huge number of dangerous-looking daggers were arranged in half circles, or star shapes with the blades pointing outward. Dragons curled up the handles, or pagan symbols were carved into the blade. The dark, ominous feel of the booth gave me pause more than the knives themselves. Morgan wore a black cape and more eyeliner than an Egyptian princess. She was encased in a tight black turtleneck and black jeans tucked into four-inch-heeled boots. She’d pulled her jet-black hair into a tight chignon and she favored the kind of deep red lipstick that I usually saw on the covers of vampire books. Multiple necklaces and amulets glinted around her neck. Small silver skulls hung from her ears, their red jewel eyes flashing. All she needed was a riding crop to look like a dominatrix. Maybe she had one hidden beneath the table.

  Diana kept to the light side of her magickal life but I knew that some people were drawn to the darker edges. The main tenet of the Wiccan philosophy was that whatever you put into the world came back to you threefold. I would think that would be enough to keep people away from what I would consider black magick. Things like sending bad luck and illness toward an enemy, or even a love potion if its intention was to enslave the subject.

  Morgan clearly had no qualms about this aspect of Wicca. Along with her knives she had a selection of “spell kits” with candles and herbs packaged together with pieces of parchment. She had a kit for protection from enemies, misfortune to foes, and agony to adversaries. Behind these unpleasant titles sat a large black candle packaged with incense and what looked like human hair. It was labeled simply REVENGE.

  Morgan was busy with a customer but turned to me abruptly and said, “Be careful about touching. The ingredients might rub off on you.”

  I snatched my hand away from the revenge candle and moved to the relative safety of the knife display. Morgan packaged up a small knife that looked tame in comparison to the rest of her wares and handed it to a young woman who quickly melted into the crowd.

  “Have we met?” Morgan tilted her head in my direction.

  I had to look up to meet her gaze. Her heels gave her at least a three-inch advantage on my five-foot-seven frame.

  “I don’t think so. I’m Clyde Fortune.” I hesitantly put out my hand, but Morgan just glanced at it and I let it fall. When she crossed her arms, I noticed a charm bracelet on her wrist that seemed out of place with the rest of her scary jewelry.

  “Oh yes, Diana’s friend. I’ve heard about you.” She frowned and focused on my eyes. “Your eyes really are striking. You must have some powerful visions.”

  Morgan referred to the different colors of my eyes. One is brown, the other pale blue. Wiccans believe that it’s a sign of psychic talent. It’s the only thing my mother can really get behind when it comes to Wiccans.

  “I wouldn’t say that. In a town of psychics, what’s one more premonition, right?”

  “You can’t deny it forever. But, that’s your journey, not mine.” Her voice was flat, bored. “What can I do for you? Looking for a more powerful spell than Diana is willing to share?” She gestured to her table of horrors.

  “No!” I brought my voice back under control and continued, “No, I just wanted to talk to you.” I had to carefully weigh how much to tell this woman.

  “Okay, talk.” She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes.

  “Diana is really upset about Rafe’s death. I’ve been asking people who knew him if they had any theories on how he could have ingested peanuts.” I didn’t mention Lucan’s referral, sensing it wouldn’t help me.

  “So, it was an allergic reaction? I wondered.” She put one long black fingernail to her lip.

  “Yes, that seems to be the theory.”

  She nodded. “Rafe was very allergic. He claimed he’d have a reaction just from smelling peanut butter.” She smiled. “He did tend to exaggerate.”

  I waited for her to continue.

  “I don’t think I can be of much help to you. I’m sure you’ve heard that Rafe and I had a bit of a . . . falling-out a few months ago. I left his coven and I haven’t seen much of him recently. We generally didn’t like to be around each other. In fact, I avoided last night’s ceremony knowing he would be there.” She shrugged, and focused on polishing her knives.

  “Do you mind my asking what the falling-out was about?”

  She looked up and held my gaze for a long moment, stiff, unyielding, as if debating whether to answer at all. “Actually, I do mind. It was personal, but I’m sure you’ll find someone willing to describe the last fight we had.” A bitter smile crossed her features, and then disappeared. “Rafe liked to be in control—most of the time.”

  Her smirk was so suggestive I took a step back. I wondered again where she kept her whip.

  I cleared my throat. “Were you involved, romantically?”

  She let out a gust of air. “Romantically? There was nothing romantic about it.” She looked me up and down. “We both had needs. Don’t attach some fairy-tale fantasy to it.”

  “What about—”

  “That’s all I have to say about Rafe,” she said, her voice icy, clear. She pivoted toward a new customer examining the knives made of bone.

  Dismissed, I turned and walked away. But I felt her cold, hard stare follow me down the path.

  * * *

  By the time I made it back to Diana’s booth I had discovered that everyone had a theory about Rafe’s death. I’d s
kulked around the various stalls listening in on the gossip, a skill passed on to me by Aunt Vi. There were outraged discussions about quality control and the faulty EpiPen, there were theories about rival covens and more than a few people mentioned the Wiccan rede of a threefold return. The general sense was that Rafe deserved what he got, which was a whole different take on Rafe than the one I had always heard from Diana.

  Her booth was crazy-busy again as the shoppers settled in to the last-day-of-the-festival frenzy. Baxter and Tuffy may have had something to do with the bottleneck since they sat right in front of Diana’s sign wagging at anyone who walked by. They were such an odd couple that no one could pass by without stopping to pet one of them. Diana set Seth loose to explore the fair while the rest of us served the continuous stream of customers. Seth returned with a small metal dragon statue—an unusual choice, but apparently his Harry Potter roots ran deep. He shoved it in his pocket when Diana and Skye approached. Diana sent us home for dinner as long as we promised to return for the closing ceremony. She knew we had yet to tell my family that Seth was in town.

  Seth, the dogs, and I headed back to Crystal Haven in silence. I was running all the rumors through my head. He was plugged in to his iPod. I thought maybe he would volunteer his reasons for being back in Crystal Haven—I had read somewhere that teenagers liked to talk in cars. Apparently, not all of them.

  We pulled into my parents’ driveway and I shut off the Jeep. “Are you ready?”

  Seth nodded. “It’s not going to get any better. Maybe Tuffy will distract them.”

  “Yeah, let’s go with that.” I got out and opened the back door for the dogs.

  Baxter planted himself at the front door and gave two deep woofs. Like Mac, he had a signature knock. Aunt Vi swung the door open in greeting and stopped midsmile. “Tuffy? Where did you . . .” She looked up and saw Seth standing on the bottom step. She stepped back in the house and said, “Rose, I knew it! Seth is here!”

  “Who’s here?” Mom appeared, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She saw Seth and came forward with her arms out for a hug. “What are you doing here? We missed you so much!” She turned to me, hands on hips. “Clyde, how long have you been planning this?”