Her nose was hidden behind a paperback book titled, A Witch in Every Woman.
I cleared my throat and Gladys looked up. “Oh hello, Stacy.”
“Hi Gladys. Interesting book?”
“Oh, yes. We are all witches. Did you know?”
“I did not.” Hoped not anyway.
Gladys launched into a description of the chapter she was reading on how a woman’s menstrual cycle mirrors that of the moon and how the moon controls the tides, and since the tides are water and humans are made up of mostly water, that means women control all human life.
I wondered if Gladys had ever heard of the miracle of birth before I cut her off.
“Listen, I have some work for you.”
“Oh good. What you need?” She pulled her glasses down and waited.
I explained that I wanted her to try to dig up a police roster for the whole county from 1989.
Gladys agreed and I ducked out for my hot chocolate date.
Muddy Waters was empty when I got there and the clock told me I had some time to kill. I ordered a cappuccino, found a table, and pulled out the Blessed Book for a cram session. I didn’t find anything on hunting down a crazed maniac, but the first chapter after the history was “Calling on Your Spirit Guides.” I figured I could use all the help I could get so I sunk in.
I wasn’t sure how many pages I had devoured before darkness descended, but the clock on my phone read 5:30. I was just about to shut the book when a gust of wind fluttered the pages. They flipped back and forth before finally resting on this passage: The Seeker of Justice shall cross with one who embodies the old soil, the force of which will have great impact on Geraghtys, past, present, and future. The choice she makes shall decide her fate. One path leads to unity and three become one. The other leads to destruction that shall never be repaired.
I sat back. One who “embodies the old soil.” What the hell did that mean? I read the words again. Skimmed the script with my fingertips.
Two paths.
One choice.
Why were witches so cryptic? Why couldn’t she just write, if you come to a fork in the road, take the one on the left and you won’t completely screw up your life.
I read on, hoping there would be a hint as to which was the right choice. Because if the wrong path was set in motion, it didn’t sound like the outcome would be favorable for anybody. And I had enough bad decisions behind me.
Suddenly my cheeks grew hot, like someone was watching me.
Slowly, I lifted my eyes. The mustache man stared at me through the window.
Call it stupidity, call it blind faith, call it a coffee high, but I grabbed my stuff and sprinted out the door after him.
He was gone by the time I made it outside. I looked right, then left, before spotting him climbing the steps. I was about to call out when a Tri-state tourism bus loaded with passengers blocked my path. The driver let a carriage horse carting a young couple pass by before I could squeeze around it. By then my stalker had disappeared.
I stood for a minute, chastising myself, before I decided to backtrack to the river and catch up with Eddie.
The cement bucket was there, hardening, and it looked like the wall wasn’t quite finished. I wandered the embankment, calling his name. No answer.
The viaduct was close so I ducked in there, thinking he may have gone in to warm up.
That’s when I learned a new sign. Shivers down the spine? Understood. Nausea? Nailed down.
But for the past few days, I was equating the cold in my lungs to the calendar date. Now I knew it meant something more.
Death was near.
CHAPTER 24
The vision of Kirk slumped over a fresh grave played in my head as I stared at Eddie, his throat pried open with a putty knife.
Is that what my vision was telling me? Kirk would bury his brother?
I decided to worry about that later, since there was a killer on the loose and I was in a dark storm drain. I ran back to my car and tried to call in an anonymous tip, wondering why anyone would murder harmless Eddie. He must have known something for certain.
The anonymous tip idea wasn’t going over so well.
“Is this Stacy?” Betty asked. “You mean to tell me you found another body? Hey chief, you ain’t gonna believe this.”
My phone buzzed just after I hung up and Derek said, “Are you going to come get this dog?”
I met Derek in the back lot behind the newspaper building and told him about Eddie. He jumped at the chance to cover the story and I was ready to plan my next move. I needed to spring a step or two ahead of the game, but I wasn’t sure how. Every person I thought might help me wound up with an extra orifice in his head.
Thor had some energy when we got home, having napped most of the day, so I threw the ball around the yard at the cottage. As I did I thought about the players in this chess match and how none of them lined up properly.
Mr. Huckleberry owned the building. He was also the father of Matt, Kathy’s good friend. I couldn’t find any other link and couldn’t decide what reason either of them would have to kill her. Did she have dirt on one of them? Was she threatening to pull Matthew from the closet?
Then there was Mario. The necklace. The cigar ring. Seemed like there was a connection there, but Mario only visited Amethyst occasionally. How would he have become acquainted with a girl that didn’t even live in this town?
Of course, there was always the possibility that Monique actually did pay someone to torch the bar, but that would mean the body was a coincidence and I just didn’t think she had it in her.
Then there were Eddie and Kirk. Lifelong Amethyst residents. But Eddie was dead now. And I had no proof of any connection between Kirk and Kathy.
I packed a few things in my bag and walked to Angelica’s, calling Cin along the way to meet me there.
“I’m here already helping my jackass uncle enter an online dating profile.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Do I sound like I’m kidding?” She did not. “Hey, if it gets him out of my hair, I’m all for it.”
I didn’t mention Eddie. I wanted to tell Cin about that in person, alone.
I knocked on the back door and Angelica called for me to come in. Sweet fennel and caramelized onion kicked through the screen, announcing her homemade Italian sausage with roasted peppers.
“Stacy, dear. You stay for dinner, hah?”
“Sure will.”
Cinnamon was sucking on a Guinness when I walked into the living room, her dark curls tangled, as if she had twisted them with her fingers a hundred times.
“No, Mario,” she said, keeping the beer close to the computer. Mario was hovering over her wearing a No Fat Chicks tee shirt, his belly testing the elasticity of the fabric. The fabric lost.
“But, why not, Cinnamon?” he whined.
“Because everyone in the free world knows what George Clooney looks like, okay? No one will take it seriously and I’m already bending the laws of physics describing you as a...” Cin looked to a sheet of paper, “virile, young Italian with a god-like physique.”
I choked out a cough and they both looked up.
Mario smiled at me like a snake charmer. “Ah, Stacy, mi bella. I am on the line!”
“Online,” Cin corrected.
“Good for you, Mario.” Not so good for the unsuspecting cast of single females.
“I turned on the parental controls,” she said.
I shook my coat off and Cin offered me a glass of wine, which I accepted. I needed all the courage I could muster tonight.
“Ah, my necklace.” Mario kissed his fingers and said, “You are a vision. One-of-a-kind necklace for a one-of-a-kind girl, ah?” Then he laughed.
Cin and I shared a curious look as Angelica walked in with a bowl full of sausage and peppers.
“Mangia!” she said.
I helped Cinnamon gather the salad and bread. “Did you hear that?” I asked when we were alone in the kitchen.
“What?” Cin’
s head was buried in the refrigerator, digging for dressing. All I could see were her Levi’s.
“One-of-a-kind? Is that true?”
She fished out a bottle of homemade Italian dressing and shut the door. “Please, Stacy, you expect honesty from that man? He would lie to the Pope if he thought it would get him laid or paid.”
“Guess I need to ask him about it.” I twisted the cross around and Cin cocked her head.
“Is that the necklace you just bought?” She pointed to my sweater. “It seems familiar.”
“It does?” I perked up. “It matches the one I dug out from the basement. Where do you think you’ve seen it before?”
Cin shrugged. “I’m not really sure.”
“In the bar?”
“Could be.” She frowned. “Then again, Mario might have shown it to me.”
“Well, let’s find out.” I said. I moved to get the olive oil when Cinnamon’s expression stopped me.
“What? Did you think of something?” I asked.
“Yes. Why are you dressed like a Ninja?”
I bent my head down at my black jeans, black sweatshirt, and black boots.
“I’ll tell you later,” I said.
“Can’t wait,” Cin said.
We carted everything to the dining room table and settled in. Cinnamon explained to her mother that Tony was at a friend’s house watching a basketball game and Angelica seemed to accept that, darting her eyes toward Mario who was lining sausages on his plate like soldiers preparing for battle.
“So Mario,” I started. “Where do you get your jewelry from?”
“From Italy,” Mario said. He stabbed at a sausage and piled it into his mouth. “Good price, eh?” he said with his mouth full.
“Mario, you make her pay?” Angelica asked and her tone indicated she didn’t approve.
“I give her good price. Right, Stacy?” He reached for a slice of bread and Angelica slapped his hand and screamed something at him in Italian.
Cin got up to get another beer and I stared at my plate, feeling bad for Mario.
“Mama, stop,” Cin said when she came back. “Let’s not fight, okay?”
Angelica shot Mario a menacing look and helped herself to some salad.
The Seeker of Justice shall cross with one who embodies the old soil.
Old soil. Mario? But that wasn’t my old soil.
Okay, let’s try this again.
“So you said the necklaces are one-of-a-kind?” I asked Cin’s uncle.
Mario said, “Si,” and Angelica said, “Hah!” Then they started bickering again and flashing each other hand signals.
I hoped Cin could decipher what they were saying, because I had no clue and I felt dangerously close to starting a family war.
Cinnamon and I pretended to talk about recent movies and books we read as Mario and Angelica ate in silence.
“Well that got me nowhere,” I said later as I helped Cinnamon with the dishes. Angelica had gone down to the bakery to start the dough for the morning’s pastries.
“Mama was just mad at Mario for charging you for that necklace you bought. She called his jewelry cheap and that made him mad. Then he said something about other people here appreciate art and she said he wouldn’t know art if it smacked him on the head. Then she threatened to smack him on the head.”
Wow. She knew her Italian. “What else?”
“I don’t know. I tuned out after that.”
“Okay, well Angelica’s gone. So I’ll show Mario the other necklace and ask him who he sold it too.”
“Good luck,” she smirked.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means the man can’t remember to wear pants half the time. He won’t remember who he swindled into buying a cheap necklace two years ago.”
“Well, what if it wasn’t that long ago?”
Cin squirted more soap into the sink. “It still had to be at least five years ago. That was the last time Mario was in town. Before that, I don't recall and I didn't own the bar.”
Either way it didn’t matter. Mario was passed out with his mouth open in a Sicilian food coma when I went back into the living room.
Cinnamon came up behind me. “Now what?” she asked.
I turned to her. “You up for playing Ninja?”
“The Seeker of Justice shall cross with one who embodies the old soil, the force of which will have great impact on Geraghtys, past, present, and future. The choice she makes shall decide her fate. One path leads to unity and three become one. The other leads to destruction that shall never be repaired,” Cinnamon read.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“I think you’re losing it,” Cin said.
I snatched the page from her hand. I had copied the passage from the book before I left home that night. “I’m not losing it.” I stuffed it away in the bag.
“Stacy, we are crouched between dumpsters behind City Hall at eleven o’clock wearing ski masks. I think that’s the definition of losing it.”
She did have a point. What the hell was I doing? Two stints in jail in less than a week and here I was again, about to break the law. I had to get to those damn papers, though. I wanted this to be over, before I stumbled across another corpse. Maybe when Maegan mentioned the old soil, she meant Kirk. He was Irish. Right? McAllister? That would be my family’s old soil. Unless he was Scottish. I wasn’t sure.
“Do you really think Kirk McAllister killed his own brother?” Cinnamon whispered.
“I don’t know, Cin. But the vision, then the argument I overheard. I make plans to meet with Eddie and an hour later he’s dead? Something stinks. Maybe the answer is in Kirk’s office.”
“And you think this piece of paper is proof?”
“Of course not. But I bet there’s something in his office that ties him to Kathy. Maybe Kirk was a cop.”
“Why can’t we wait for Gladys to find that out? You told me on the way over here she was working on that for you.”
I shook my head. “That could take a long time, Cin. In case you hadn’t noticed, we’ve got two strikes, two outs and three balls.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, two people are dead.”
“Okay, so that’s two strikes. What about the outs?”
“I’m out of ideas.”
“Well, where do three balls come in?”
“Oh yeah. Three people are dead. Those are the balls. I don’t want to be the fourth ball.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Then what are the strikes?”
“Forget the metaphor.”
“That was a metaphor? I thought it was an analogy.”
“Can we get on with it?”
“Yeah, I’m not too thrilled about sitting next to you right now,” she said.
“Quit complaining. As many fights as I’ve gotten you out of, you can sit here with me while I plan a breaking and entering.”
What about Leo? Why can’t you just ask him to get a search warrant or something?”
I scratched my nose. “Um, no. That might, um, tip him off. Kirk, I mean.”
Cin lifted her mask and studied my face. “Why are you lying to me?”
“I’m not. Come on. Let’s get on with it.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” She waved her hand at me. “What are you not telling me?”
Geez, I really didn’t want to get into this right now, but I knew Cin would not relent. “I broke up with Leo, okay?”
“What?”
Her voice was too loud and I covered her mouth with my hand.
“Shh.”
“Why the hell did you do that?”
“Can we please discuss this later?” My nose hairs were frozen solid, but thanks to several flexible layers, I was warm and comfortable everywhere else.
“Fine. Boost me up,” Cin said.
When Cinnamon was a teenager, she made Lindsay Lohan look like a campfire girl. Mostly, her temper got her in trouble, but she was also skilled at sneak
ing into places she didn’t belong, which was about to come in handy.
City Hall was an historic building so the integrity of the original structure had been preserved for the most part. The upstairs windows were the small old-fashioned kind that jutted out from the building on warm days, secured only with an eye hook.
Cin carefully popped the screen out with a flat head screwdriver and glanced down. I extended my arms and caught it.
Then I tossed her the crowbar and she didn’t so much as flake the paint as she eased the window open.
I hopped up on the dumpster and we climbed into Kirk’s office, shutting the window behind us.
“Cin, I’ll take the desk. You see if you can open the file cabinet.”
She gave me a thumbs-up.
I shuffled through drawers filled with stacks of invoices, work approvals, and city planning maps.
Cin picked the lock on the file cabinet as I opened the bookcase. The tiny flash light in my hand revealed volumes of building codes, city ordinances, and past projects.
“I think I have something,” Cinnamon said.
“What is it?”
“It’s a picture. I can’t see the guy’s face, but he’s wearing a uniform. Could be military. Toss me that flashlight.”
I lobbed it to her and it rolled underneath a door inside Kirk’s office. Bathroom? Closet? I tip-toed toward it and twisted the knob.
Then the phone rang and I jumped.
Cin and I stared at the phone. After the fourth ring the answering machine clicked on.
“Yeah, hi, Kirk? Are you there? Because we got a call down at the station about a light on in your office. I just wanted to be sure is all.” It was Gus. “Anyway, call me back if you get this.” Gus paused. “Sorry about what happened to your brother, but we’re on it. We’ll find out who did it.”
After he disconnected, Cinnamon said, “I am not going to jail tonight. We have to get out of here.”
I agreed and we started back towards the window before the footsteps stopped us.
“The closet,” I whispered.
Cin closed the file drawer, darted for the door, and gave the handle a tug.
“Shit!” she said.
“What?”
“Locked.”
“Shit.”
Opal Fire Page 18
