“Hey, you,” he said, standing up as soon as she approached. His hug was warm and comforting, and within seconds, he’d signaled one of the crazed-looking barmaids to come over to them.
As they sat in the booth, she noticed he definitely looked tense. Was he still feeling insecure about her family?
“Josh, I can’t say enough how much I’m looking forward to introducing you to my family.”
His eyebrows shot up. “I’m not worried about that at all. Please don’t give it another thought.”
Okay. So, what’s with his nervousness?
The barmaid arrived, and instantly, he ordered two rounds of each of their favorite drinks. Two whiskeys straight up for him, two screwdrivers for her.
As soon as his order came, he downed his drink right away. She sipped hers slowly, taking him in fully. He sure was handsome and well built. He also spoke pretty intelligently. But what she particularly liked, as well as his combination of a daredevil attitude, was also his sweetness toward her. Not bad, not bad at all.
All of a sudden, she noticed him looking across the room. More than that, he nearly missed his mouth when he held up his whiskey to take a swig of the second one served.
Hmm. Don’t know what’s going on with him, but I gotta go to the little girl’s room.
Excusing herself, she got up and went down the hall, trying to compose some more questions to find out what had upset him.
The bathroom was less than perfect. Scrounging around for toilet paper, she finally found an extra roll and grabbed it before anyone else could. Later at the sink, finding a towel was impossible, so she wiped her clean, wet hands on her jeans. Then giggled. “Oh, Mama, wouldn’t you be horrified to see where I am now.”
Going back up the hallway, she was about to turn the corner into the main room when she paused. She could hear Josh talking to someone else in an agitated voice.
“Look, man, stop following me,” he said. “Whatever you’re up to these days, I told you a long, long time ago, I wanted nothing more to do with you, remember?”
“But…”
“No, buts. Just leave me alone!”
Carly noticed Josh’s voice bordered on strident. He never sounds like that.
“Damn you,” the other man said, his deep, raspy voice as blood curdling as his next words. “Thanks for nothing. Now I’ll have to use someone I can’t always control once again, and that’ll be on you, Josh. Make no mistake about it.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Once known as the Majestic Theater, the large, antiquated Colonial style building’s interior had been renovated for housing the two C’s—conferences and conventions—or any large event in the area. Just looking up at the old-fashioned marquee outside displaying the words, “Wheelton Book Festival,” along with the crowd already gathered around the front door, Gillian felt a pump of excitement surge through her. No movies shown today, no popcorn fights in the roped off children’s section during a Saturday matinee. Today the two guest authors, Marsha Beaumont and Lilith Anderson, were slated to speak, with various vendors hopefully selling lots of new books.
Ellen and Stevie had decided to get there a bit later in the day, but nothing could stop Gillian. She had to be part of their first cluster to go through the double doors. Not only was she thrilled to be part of this festival, she couldn’t help conjuring up Rebecca’s image. “Because you started out as a mystery writer, you should be here today,” she murmured then closed her eyes for a little unscripted prayer.
“Rebecca, If only you were here today,
It would allow me great pleasure to hear you say,
Just how much your words wax long, your words wax crazy.
And all to prove, old friend, how all your effort was far from lazy.”
Inside the front lobby stood two gigantic posters of the two main speakers, and as she viewed each writer’s photograph, she had to laugh. There was Marsha, a cat curled up on her lap, an old-fashioned quill pen held between her forefinger and thumb and her head cocked dramatically. Then there was Lilith, sitting next to an early Olivetti typewriter, holding up a bottle of whiskey, with her lips stretched into a definite smirk.
Although the posters were fun and light, Gillian braced herself for what would undoubtedly come next. Sure enough, stepping inside the main room, she instantly felt claustrophobic. Booth after booth had been set up around the walls, each one overstuffed with stacked books, bookmarks, trinkets, and of course, a cashier to sell the goods. Yet the overall buzz of mostly tamed noises coming from the book-lover crowd was certainly different than it would be for a sporting event. That was a given. And for that, she was grateful, in spite of disliking all of humanity pressed up against her.
Perusing books was normally sheer heaven for her. A chance to not only explore new titles and get a taste of different authors, but also to envision which of those books might very well end up at her family’s bookstore. Yet, without warning, she now felt the quick burn of oncoming tears.
Oh, Rebecca. You should be here, speaking about your older mystery books, along with Marsha and Lilith. Who did this to you? And why are there still no leads?
“Hey. Didn’t know if I would run into you here,” came a familiar voice.
Rotating around, she faced the dark eyes, sweet smile, and a tastefully clothed, Nate.
“I was just thinking about you,” she said. Shut up!
“Oh, really? That’s nice.”
She couldn’t ignore his lit up eyes and his sudden bright sounding voice. Gulping, she tried to explain. “Yes, I was thinking about Rebecca and wondering why you guys haven’t found anything yet.”
His eyebrows instantly hooded into a frown.
“I swear, we’re working on it,” he said. “As a matter of fact, Adam is doing some extra investigating right now that may prove interesting.”
“Oh, really? What?”
“Sorry, I can’t tell you anything more.”
She cocked her head. “Are you giving me the bum’s rush[19]?”
Chuckling, he opened his mouth to say something more, when a well-dressed, salt-and-pepper-haired man stepped up behind the podium and tapped on the microphone.
“Folks, may I have your attention?”
The noise held.
He tapped the microphone again. “Please, everyone, I have an important announcement.”
That seemed to do it. The room quickly hushed. As Gillian turned around to face the announcer, Nate’s hand accidentally brushed against her left breast. Instant goose bumps traveled up and down her arms. Wow.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“No problem,” she murmured back, working hard to avoid his eyes.
“Unfortunately, because both of our speakers are not here yet,” the man at the podium said, “our schedule might be a bit delayed. I will let you know as soon as they arrive.”
A steady undertone of mumbles echoed throughout the hall.
“That’s odd, don’t you think?” Gillian asked Nate.
“They probably decided to come together. Hopefully, they’ll arrive soon. Meanwhile, I’m getting hungry. Want to grab a bite?”
“Sure. There are some food stands on the far side of the lobby. “
“Yes, I saw them. Oh, wait. I mean, the different foods offered are definitely the cat’s meow[20].” Staring at her surprised expression, he flashed a tiny wink. “Okay, I admit, I’ve been looking up some flapper phrases.”
What a sweetie.
As soon as his phone pinged, he looked down to read the text message. Then, with a slight catch in his breath, he said, “Gotta take a rain check, I’m afraid.”
“Oh?”
And he was off, disappearing into the crowd.
Several more taps on the podium microphone and surprisingly, Adam Springer was standing in front of the crowd. “Folks, I’m sorry to say, there will be no speakers today. Meanwhile, we will need everyone to stay in place. Thanks for your cooperation.”
During this announcement, Gillian noticed t
hat at least a dozen police officers had entered and were standing pressed against each of the walls, their eyes sweeping the attendees.
She punched Charlotte’s name on her phone. “Anything bad going on with Lilith Anderson and Marsha Beaumont?” Gillian asked when Charlotte answered.
“Gillian, I can’t really talk about it yet. Hope you understand.”
“Charlotte, just give me something. Please.”
There was a long, drawn-out pause. “All I can say is, it’s not good.”
A half an hour later, a lot of the attendees grew restless and pissed off. The babble of low-key comments about the two no-show authors soon grew into loud, angry rants, with a couple of folks marching over to various policemen to lodge complaints. A few others insisted that they get their money refunded.
Gillian was just about to look for Nate when, from out of nowhere, he and Adam appeared.
“So, Witchy, did you know the two speakers?” Adam asked.
What a major jerk. “Not really, Adam. Now, why don’t you act like a real detective?” she sneered.
While Adam muttered something unintelligible, she could hear Nate’s soft chuckle.
She faced the two of them. “So, guys, what’s really going on with these authors? Wait. Adam, you asked did I know them. Past tense. Are they all right?”
“As if we’d tell you. That’s police business, so don’t you even think—”
“That’s enough, Detective Springer,” Nate said. “Why don’t you go interview some other people who are holed up in here?”
Growling, Adam went off in a huff.
Gillian placed a hand on Nate’s arm. “So, what’s really going on?”
For several beats, Nate stayed silent. “Look, I can’t tell you any details about Lilith Anderson and Marsha Beaumont, but just know, it’s not good.”
She moved in close to him. “Define not good.”
He glanced down at his watch, then up at her. “Look, I really want to answer you, but…”
She shrugged. “I know, I know. Police business ‘n all. I just thought we had kind of a connection, you know?”
“Oh, Gillian, what can I say? I also feel a connection. In fact—”
In spite of the imminently bad news, she watched, fascinated, as his chest rose and fell.
“I know it’s bad timing, but—” he started.
She could feel the corners of her mouth curl upward. “You wanna go out with me?”
“Yeah, you’re right. This is so not the place or time. Talk about inappropriate. Look, I won’t bother you again, so don’t––”
“Yes, I would like to go out with you.”
When his slow, sexy grin formed, she added a little hand jiggle near her ear. “Call me,” she mouthed.
He squeezed her shoulder once then took off.
By five o’clock, everyone had been released, and Gillian was in her car headed home. Usually, late afternoon was her favorite time of day, particularly in October. It was then that the sky became awash with darkening blues, pinks, and gold, and the chill in the air brought on the need to turn on the car heater. It was also a time when she waxed her most philosophical. But on this day, her thoughts went somewhere specific.
“How can there be three murders?” she questioned aloud as she drove. “Okay. Maybe Rebecca brought this on herself, but Lilith and Marsha? What did they do to cause their deaths?”
Then, without warning, she remembered Nate’s touch. I can’t believe how much he gets to me. Then a second thought popped out. Papa, is this the same kind of compatibility to Mama you described in your note, similar to what I’m feeling with Nate?
A soft boss nova piece floated through the car speakers. With its gentle beats and smooth, pleasing chords, her body began to sway from side to side as she steered. Feeling so relaxed and peaceful, she smiled––until something else occurred to her. Did their human mama insist on learning how to be a witch just to please their papa? Or did he teach her a lot about witchcraft so she could help him be an even stronger warlock?
Too many unanswered questions, Mama.
* *
That night, after an exhausting discussion with her family about the day’s events as well as a loud, agitated Joselyn unexpectedly acting up and getting into all sorts of mischief, Gillian finally retreated to her room, shed her clothes, flopped down onto her bed, and crashed—back to Sarah Good.
Another visit to my dear cousin, Sarah Good, brings with it new revelations. Armed with three more loaves of bread, the smiling guard now provides me with additional privileges. First, and best of all, I am allowed to talk with Sarah as long as I want, with no fear of reprisals. Secondly, I have just been informed, I am permitted to bring food for all the women prisoners, as they have been complaining of grave hunger. When I give thanks to the guard, he nods quickly in acknowledgment, but beyond that, he returns to his station. It appears that keeping his job is still his first priority.
On this occasion, as soon as Sarah sees me, she steps forward to the cell bars and holds out both hands. Her arms, her face, her chest all appear so thin now that it is as if she were wasting away into a skeleton.
“I have given much thought to what I am about to tell you,” she begins in a low, weakened tone. “Tell my husband that I forgive him. I realize he hath spoken harshly against me because he, like all of Salem, is filled with fear. So many townspeople are afraid of these young girls who have become so imbibed with power, they are able to convince the magistrates and leaders to adhere to their influence more than anyone could have imagined. They seem to elicit words and thoughts that normally would not come to so young a person.”
For lack of anything more to say, I ask, “Any word from the magistrates?”
She manages a slow, side-to-side shake of her head before answering. “Tis more than we can bear, dear cousin. I fear we shall not survive this ordeal, even if we are not condemned as witches. Even if Salem follows the right course.”
I swallow hard as soon as she lets loose all of these words, knowing in my heart that she is most probably correct. And as I observe the others in the cell with her, the sallowness of their complexions, the fear in everyone’s eyes is more than I, myself, can bear. But bear it, I shall, for here are good women, some of the best in Salem. If this is happening to them, what chance do any of us have in the future?
Sarah then leans toward me, her breath foul, a small wheeze escaping from her throat. I want to tear her away from this hell, yet I am powerless. I am but a woman in a man’s world. She speaks to me in an almost unearthly manner, her words tumbling out of her, almost incomprehensible and most assuredly weak.
Although I am distracted by the guard now signaling me to leave, I still cling to my cousin’s bony hands. As I stare into her haunted eyes, I hear her words, half whispered in my ear.
When Gillian awoke, it was with a slow, gentle path to consciousness that kept her in an almost dreamlike state for several minutes. Growing increasingly aware of things, she surveyed her room languidly from her bed. Then she tried to remember some details from her REM vision.
The first thing that came back to her was Sarah’s forgiveness of her husband for following the Salem pack so readily. How understanding of her. How—human.
Mama would surely disagree with that. After a lifetime of her mother warning her children that once they fell for a human, all sorts of things could go wrong in their lives, witch-wise, it was interesting to see an obviously human relative viewing her husband so differently.
Then she thought of her new loss of powers. Was her mother actually right? Was it because of Nate being in her life? Or was it just coincidence because her father had told her he never lost his powers after marrying a human? A familiar wash of confusion cascaded over her.
After she stood up, yawned, and made her way into her own bathroom, she stopped cold. Her cousin’s frail last words slammed back to her, as if shouted out loud.
“Remember, dear cousin,” Sarah had said in the dream. “Never let fe
ar control you. Human or not, witch or not, you alone must trust in your mind—and your heart.”
CHAPTER NINE
By eight a.m., Chief Hutton’s entire police department was more than bustling. A couple of secretaries, rushing from desk to desk to try and fulfill different officers’ or detectives’ needs, looked as though they were about to tear their hair out.
The front wall’s evidence board was now slathered with photographs, documents, and thick marker notes. White string zigzagged around each pushpin embedded into the three photos in the case they now called, “Authors Times Three.” Rebecca Newell’s headshot was front and center. To her left lay a photo of Lilith Anderson, to her right, a picture of Marsha Beaumont. Off to one side of the board were the coroner’s photos of the very same victims, detailing how each woman had been killed.
Apparently, of the two speakers, Lilith Anderson was the first one found. After a long and somewhat secretive search, the police discovered her body up on a second floor closet of the convention building, crunched up inside and eerily toppling out when they opened up its door. Marsha Beaumont had an even more sad demise. Her body was found shoved into a large garbage can in the convention building’s back alley.
The first thing Nate and Adam had done after they’d hooked up by their desks and were told the grim, homicidal details, was to carefully examine the coroner’s photographs together. Disturbingly gruesome, there was a common element to all three murders. Each victim had been strangled then hit with some kind of blunt object. After thoroughly canvassing each horrific photo, they then examined the long side list of people to interrogate.
According to Charlotte, who had joined them at the board, most of the people on this witness list had a two-fold connection to the women. First off, some of them were at the conference. Secondly, they either had one or two email exchanges with Rebecca, Lilith, or Marsha. Top of the list? A Sy Rosenberg, who, after standing next to Lilith in the convention’s lobby, got into the elevator with the author. He saw her press the button marked two and then get out when it stopped at the second floor. He himself then continued on to the third floor, never to see the author again. There was also a Peter Simpson, moonlighting as a security guard and stationed in the lobby, who claimed he saw Lilith step into the elevator, but he never saw her return to the lobby—at least by elevator.
Endangered Spells (Witches Academy Series Book 6) Page 7
