by Stuart Jaffe
“No, thank you.”
Though he could tell she had no interest in serving him tea of any kind, he also saw that, like a classic Southern gal, she was insulted he had refused her offer. But no matter how many times he gave it a try, Max could not get used to sweet tea — a concoction that was one part iced tea and ten parts sugar. Still, he could imagine what Drummond would say — Take the tea. Drink it, if you have to. But whatever you do, don’t insult the person you want to get something from.
She sat in the chair to his left, crossed her legs and arms, and set her jaw firm. Even sitting, she towered above him. “I’m listening.”
Stick to the main point. Both Max’s brain and Candice’s body language screamed the message home. “No doubt, you already know your mother was good friends with Libby Holman.”
“Great friends.”
“Did they meet before she married Z. Smith Reynolds or were they introduced through Reynolds?”
“Does it matter?”
“Not really. Just the researcher in me trying to get all the blanks filled in.”
Her thumb bounced a rhythm on her arm. “Then you’re wasting my time.”
“Wait, wait. I’m sorry.” Max wanted to smack himself — stick to the point! “I wanted to lay the groundwork, but I see that’s not necessary. You obviously knew your mother quite well.”
“My momma was very special.” Candice glanced to a photo on the wall — Marlyn, with her eye-patch sitting on the porch in the same seat Max occupied.
“She certainly was. She touched many lives, but none more than Libby. Like you said, they were the greatest of friends — the kind that would do anything for each other.”
“You have a point, or do you like telling people things they already know?”
“That’s the point right there — that you already know this. All of it. You know exactly the story I’m about to say, but you’re going to make me say it anyway.”
Pulling her shoulders back, Candice appeared to gain another few inches. “You’re not the first to come here thinking they know something about my mother and Libby and the murder of Z. Smith Reynolds. But I’ll tell you this — nobody has ever figured it all out. So, nobody ever gets what they come here for.”
Max scooted onto the edge of his chair. He leaned over, resting his elbows on his knees. “Well, then, allow me to take a crack at this.”
“I’m assuming, since you’re here, that you know what my momma was.”
“Yes, she was a witch.”
“Then it shouldn’t shock you that she taught me a few things. I never followed the path and became a full witch, but I did learn enough to make you sorry — if need be.”
“You can make any threat you want. I know the truth, so your threats won’t ever be used.”
She ran her tongue across her teeth as she thought. “Go ahead, Mr. Porter. Let me hear what you think my momma did and did not do.”
“Your mother, Marlyn Chester, loved Libby Holman. They were close friends, and I’d wager that Marlyn considered Libby a sister. Now, Libby married well, and all seemed fine except that she and Smith were having difficulties getting pregnant. At some point, Marlyn offered to help. I’m not sure if Libby knew that Marlyn was a witch, not at that moment, but it was not something a sister needed to hide.”
Candice did not speak, but she made an involuntary nod. Max caught it and the small gesture bolstered his confidence.
“Except Libby turned her down. Marlyn got upset and Libby got angry. There were many pictures that showed Libby with your mother — though, mostly she kept to the sides or the back. But then there’s a gap. Six long months in which the photos stopped. I suspect they hardly spoke to one another. Until the Fourth of July party when Libby invited Marlyn to try to patch things up. What had changed? Libby was pregnant. She had a problem, too. She was nervous to tell Smith about the baby. They had been trying and failing for so long, and he had recently become controlling and jealous. She insisted that she was loyal to him, but he saw philandering everywhere. Particularly with their permanent house guest, Albert Walker. How am I doing?”
Candice held still, locking her eyes on him. “Mr. Porter, I am not going to hold your hand through all of this. Finish your story or leave.”
“At the party, Libby makes up with Marlyn and then asks for help. Would Marlyn cast a spell to ease Smith’s mind? This was a bigger favor than Libby realized because Marlyn did not like Smith at all. I’d even say she hated Smith.”
“Oh? What makes you think so?”
“All those photographs with Libby — rarely was Smith anywhere to be found. On the few occasions your mother and Smith are together, you can see their discomfort. In fact, in a few photos, the daggers shooting from her eyes are unmistakable. And, of course, they would be enemies. Smith did not approve of the friendship, and as far as your mother was concerned, she would never allow anything to break apart her sisterhood with Libby.”
Candice raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“The night of the party, everybody was drinking. By most accounts, people regularly were going off into the woods — presumably to —”
“Yes, I know what they were doing.”
Clearing his throat, Max said, “Of course. Well, um, Libby was seen going off into the woods, too. Smith was heard later yelling about that fact. The thing is — nobody really knows what went on with Libby in the woods. She said she was merely walking around, clearing her head, that kind of thing. Albert denies any wrongdoing, though according to others at the party, he was also missing for quite some time. Now, most people assumed they were having an affair.”
“But you don’t.”
“If you look, even a cursory glance at Libby Holman’s life, that behavior doesn’t add up. She was wild and impulsive and all of that, but she wasn’t cruel. To cheat on Smith right under his nose, in the middle of a party full of friends, that’s too much to believe.”
Candice’s eyes twitch as if she held back a knowing smile. “Tell me what you think happened.”
“I think it’s quite clear to anybody who knows that witches and spells are real. Libby goes off into the woods for a walk and she comes upon Marlyn. They chat. Perhaps Marlyn offers her one last chance to make up for real — leave Smith and return to New York — something like that. But Libby has a baby on the way and wants Marlyn to help with calming Smith. That’s all. Marlyn agrees and Libby leaves the woods.
“Now, I’m no expert on witchcraft, I don’t know all the depths of the spells and curses and such, but a spell to calm a husband would be an easy task. Yet we have photographic evidence that Marlyn cast a very serious, very dark spell. One that required a witch’s eye. I suspect, after Libby left the woods, Marlyn went a different route with her magic. She probably wanted to curse Smith, but going up against the entire Reynolds family would be suicide. And her anger at Libby, her sense of betrayal, had never left. Witches are not known for easy forgiveness. I think she cursed Libby — a curse that would start with Smith’s death and continue throughout Libby’s life, ending only when she committed suicide. Even then, considering the dark nature of the curse and the sacrifice required to cast it, perhaps the poor woman is still cursed.”
When Max finished, Candice sat without saying a word. He heard only the creak of her chair and an occasional heavy sigh. Experience and Drummond had taught him to stay quiet. Wait it out. Anything he said now would ruin whatever chances he had of gaining information.
At length, Candice covered her heart with her long fingers. “Congratulations, Mr. Porter. You are the first to ever put all the pieces together.”
“Not all. I still don’t know what spell she cast.”
“Neither do I. She tried to get me to follow the path of magic, but as a teen, I rebelled against her life and wanted nothing to do with that world. Spells like the one she gave up an eye for — well, I never learned that kind of thing.”
Tilting his head down, Max frowned. “I see. Then I’m sorry to have bothered you. I
had hoped that by knowing the spell, I would have been able to connect that magic with another situation. I guess I was wrong.”
“Stay here,” Candice said as she went inside. A few moments later, she returned with a small canister like a soup thermos. “In her later years, as her health declined, my momma told me the story of Libby. It was important to her that I know, that I understood, because it was her single greatest regret. She also told me that over the years to come, people would suspect her involvement and they would come here. They would want this container, and I was not to give it to anybody except the one who came to share the story, the full story, and who did not seek this out.”
“I don’t follow. What’s in that?”
She traced the top with finger. “You being here — not just here at my home, but here in Winston-Salem, in North Carolina — it’s no accident. Sometimes I remember when I was little and my momma would explain the universe to me. Where other children were told tales of a god who watched from above, my momma taught me of the way the universe worked like a bizarre clock — each piece precise and important to the running of the whole. Magic, she would say, was nothing more than the ability to open the clock’s face and tinker with a few of the gears. Good magic made the clock work better, stronger. The other kind, the bad magic, attempted to force the clock to change its time or the way it ran. She taught me all about the Hulls and the Magi and the way that together, the two groups formed a balance. When that balance was upset, it was like throwing a wrench into the clock.”
Max leaned back, his face open wide. “You know, don’t you? All about what’s going on here.”
“Of course, I know. I’ve watched, I’ve listened, and I’ve waited. I knew there would be visitors all looking for this container. But I see now that my momma was right. The universe is a delicate clock, always looking for the right balance. That’s why I say you are here, no mistake about it.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t believe in destiny or Fate or anything like that.”
“Don’t have to. I know that you are the one she wanted to have this.” Candice handed the container over.
It wasn’t heavy, and he could feel that it was filled with liquid. “Do I open it?”
“No. Not until you’re ready to use it.”
“You still haven’t told me what’s in it or what it’s for.”
Looking down at him like an impatient teacher, she said, “It’s from a witch. What do you think it is? Magic, of course. Powerful magic. Powerful enough to free my momma from the imbalance she created so long ago. Use it when there is no other option. You only get to do it once, so be sure.”
“I will. I promise.”
Candice closed her eyes and a slow smile crept onto her face. “Thank you. Good luck. Good bye.”
As Max opened the screen door, he paused. The fog in his mind had begun to clear, revealing how many of the parts in this case linked up. Acting on instinct, he turned back. “I have one last question, but it’s very important.”
“If I can help, I will.”
“It’s about before your mother was married.”
After getting an answer, Max walked to his car. He couldn’t help but skip a tiny step or two. Things looked like they might be turning around. He placed the canister in his coat pocket and pulled out his cell phone.
He called Cecily Hull, and by way of greeting, he said, “We need to talk.”
Chapter 19
As Max shoved down the last bite of greasy pizza, he decided the Hanes Mall food court had been a bad choice of meeting place. He should have known that Cecily would be late out of spite and that he would start eating to curb his nervous energy. With his stomach gurgling its disagreement, he tapped his feet. He had nothing to do but wait and smell the other foods his tense bowels had no desire to experience at the moment.
On the plus side, the food court was public. The lunch hour had gone but plenty of people still hung around which provided Max with some important advantages. He could feel relatively safe during their meeting — not that she planned him harm, but he knew others were watching. If she had a big move to make, it would not happen there. Neither would those watching take a chance at any kind of strike — too public. Of course, they had no problem shooting up a downtown apartment building, so perhaps Max’s assessment needed refinement.
More importantly, Cecily would not like to be in any food court. If his plan could succeed, he needed her off-balance.
The controlled, steady rhythm of Cecily’s walk announced her arrival seconds before he saw her approach. A well-dressed man with a long, pock-marked face accompanied her. With nothing more than a movement of her head, he took up a position far enough back as to be unobtrusive but close enough that he could jump in should Max attempt anything stupid.
Don’t you know me? Max thought. I’m full of stupid.
“Something amusing?” Cecily asked as she went to sit, saw something on the chair not to her liking, and pulled over a different chair.
“Sorry that this isn’t the kind of place you normally eat at.”
“I won’t be dining.” She caught herself fidgeting in the chair, and with a single breath, she crossed her legs and eased back as if this had been her office chair for years. Max had never seen a person switch into such a commanding role with so little motion. Through flattened lips, she said, “Do you have something to tell me or am I here to observe your inability to get food into your mouth?”
Max grabbed a napkin and wiped around his mouth. He felt a splotch of tomato sauce smear off. Great. Ten seconds in and I’ve already lost control of this. Except he had a lot more on his side than posturing, and the time had come to go on the offensive.
“You’re right,” he said. “Let’s get started. For us, it all begins with you bringing a string of letters to my wife — ZSRLH. Where did you find that? And please, save us both the embarrassment of pretending to buy into your hacker story.”
Cecily rolled her shoulder and looked away, her tight mouth drawing even tighter. “Your firm was hired to find out what that code meant, not how I acquired it.”
“Except that oftentimes where information came from will clue us in to its meaning. Besides, you should know better than to lie to me after I’ve done my research. Where did you get the code?”
“This is not an information exchange. You report to me, not the other way around.”
“Yet if you withhold —”
“Enough. Tell me what you found or I will leave.”
Max saw that the man standing a few feet away had puffed up and taken a step closer. Pushing out a smile, Max turned his palms up. “Why are we arguing? We’re on the same side, right? I was only trying to get a fuller picture, but you’re correct. You are the client, and I don’t need to know anything more than what I was assigned to research. I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted.” She dropped her hand to the side and her bodyguard stepped back. “Now, let me hear your report.”
He paused long enough to see her squirm in her seat. To anybody looking, she would have simply been shifting a little, but Max knew better. She would never have shown the slightest change if she weren’t agitated by the surroundings and the conversation.
Now to bring out the real guns.
“You should thank my wife, by the way. I didn’t want to take your case, didn’t want to be drawn into another Hull mess. But Sandra — she’s smarter than I am. She saw the value of working for you, and I have to say, she was right.”
“I’ll send her a card.”
“I’m sure she’ll cherish it. Now, when I approached this project, I started with the assumption that you were lying about the hacker.”
“Mr. Porter —”
“Hold on. You don’t want to tell me the truth and that’s fine. I’m simply letting you know that I made that assumption in order to proceed with my work. Because I had to ask myself, if the hacker story is a lie, which it is, then this code is no code at all — which is also true. You didn’t try hard to hide
the meaning behind the letters, and that tells me that you knew all along about Libby Holman. More importantly, you knew she had been cursed.”
“Cursed?”
“Don’t start insulting me. Back then, no witch so much as whispered about magic without the Hull family knowing. If you didn’t know about Libby’s curse before this, you certainly figured it out before you brought those initials to my wife. Now, the information you were missing, the thing you really sought in hiring me, was a name. You wanted to know who was responsible for the curse.”
“Do you know the answer?”
Picking a piece of cheese from between his teeth, Max said, “I’m guessing that you hope to use this information, and all that goes with it, against Tucker. After all, with the Hulls in control of the use of magic back then, he also would be responsible for its misuse. Of course, it could have been the Magi Group to blame. That’s okay, too, as far as you’re concerned. Either way, it helps you and hurts one or both of them.”
Shaking her head as her eyes rolled upward, she said, “Yes, yes, Mr. Porter. You are very smart and have figured everything out. So, do you have a name or not?”
“Certainly. Marlyn Chester.”
Cecily stood and her man came over to hold her chair. She brushed the commonness of the place from her skirt. “Thank you. You can send your bill to my office. Mr. Pescatore will make sure you are promptly paid.”
With a slight bow, the pock-marked Mr. Pescatore said, “Yes, ma’am.”
Max sipped the last of his soda, making sure it slurped at the bottom. He set it down and feigned concern. “Don’t you want to know who she is? What family she comes from? Her history?”
Cecily said, “Oh, my people can find —”
“No, they can’t.” He spoke harsh enough to freeze her and tense up Mr. Pescatore. “If they could, you would never have hired us. But it’s more than that. You are deep into this power struggle and wouldn’t be dumb enough to waste resources on finding a name unless it was extremely important.”
She whirled back, placing a firm fist on the table as she leaned over him. “Did it ever occur to you, in your entire smug attitude, that I used you? That I sent you on a fool’s errand so that my enemies would waste their time following you while I set the stage for my takeover?”
