Another person high up on the list was a Harvey Nelson, who apparently was Rebecca’s former publisher. Lots of email interchanges between them over the years, but nothing recently.
“We need to follow up with everyone on this list,” Adam said.
Had his partner seen it and ignored it? Not wanting to face a certain email exchange between Rebecca and Gillian, Nate dreaded finding Gillian’s name on the list, so he remained silent.
But Adam wasn’t a detective for no reason. “Hey, Nate, I noticed that your little witchy Gillian had plenty of back and forth emails with Rebecca. Interesting.” His smirk spoke volumes.
“Let’s not go there, detective,” Nate muttered. He continued reading the list but sensed Charlotte staring at him. He ignored her.
Adam didn’t. “Yeah, Charlotte, Nate’s got a thing for her.”
“I thought you did, too. What happened, Springer? She didn’t go for you?” Charlotte asked.
A short snort blasted out of Nate. “Good one, policewoman, good one.” He patted her on the shoulder.
Adam scowled at them both. Then moved on.
“Remember, Nate,” he said, “how, according to Rebecca’s emails, there was mention of a supposed article she was working on?”
“Yes, you’re right.” Nate turned to Charlotte. “In one of her emails, she mentioned she had been working on a new article, and it was in a safe place. We searched everywhere but couldn’t find it.”
“Yes, but didn’t Rebecca go to the Gambit House a lot to gather research for her article about them? There must be some real evidence about that somewhere.” Adam suddenly yawned. “Gotta get me some more high octane. Later.”
Watching him wander over to the break room, Charlotte turned to Nate. “I can’t believe you didn’t find her articles or anything of that sort. You are the guru of clue finding, aren’t you?”
Now I’m getting it from her? “Don’t remind me, Charlotte. I’m trying. I swear, I’m trying.”
A half an hour later, interrogations began in earnest. After detective teams of two were assigned different people from the witness list, Nate and Adam walked into their first interview with Sy Rosenberg.
An avid murder mystery buff, Rosenberg didn’t hold back. “You’ve got to find who did these terrible murders. Do you realize how important these three writers are to their fans?”
“Yes, we do, Mr. Rosenberg,” Nate said. “That’s why it is so important for you to tell us every little detail you can remember about that day.”
“Let’s see. I remember being excited about being there. I’d been so looking forward to it.”
Adam aggressively leaned in toward the witness. “Pertinent details, Mr. Rosenberg, please. You said you were on the third floor. I’m just curious. Why were you there? What was it you wanted to see?”
Rosenberg instantly triple blinked. “I believe I was looking for another bathroom since the restrooms on the first floor were so jammed.”
Cocking his head, Nate asked, “Why wouldn’t you go to the second floor, Mr. Rosenberg? Why choose the highest floor?”
“I…I,” he stammered. “To be honest, I was just curious what was up there. Is that a crime?”
“No, Mr. Rosenberg,” Nate said, “but it would be better if from now on, you’d just be completely honest.”
After another fifteen minutes, the detectives side-glanced each other and did their mutual “This-is-going-nowhere” signal: Nate’s light scratch behind one ear, Adam’s stretching out his intertwined fingers until they gave off a slight crackle.
After handing Rosenberg both their cards, they politely dismissed him, and followed him out to make sure he exited the station.
“That was a dud, although his excuse about the bathroom was a little fishy,” Nate said.
Adam stared at his partner’s face a beat. “You’re right. That guy wouldn’t have the strength to kill a fly.” He surveyed their list. “Up next, Peter Simpson, the security guy.” He tried to mask a yawn.
“I hear you, man,” Nate muttered then led their next witness in.
Peter Simpson sat down, nodded, and asked the typical number-one jackpot question. “Am I in trouble here?”
“No, why would you even ask that?” Nate asked.
“Because—maybe I shouldn’t say this—the fact is, I got into a little trouble years back. Nothing big, but…”
Again, Adam yawned. “Look, Mr. Simpson, right now we really don’t care about that. All we are interested in was what you have to say about that day at the book festival. You claimed you never saw Lilith Anderson return from upstairs?”
“Correct. I was in the lobby the whole time, too. You can check with everyone. I did my job perfectly. No cause for any complaints or firing.”
Both detectives’ eyebrows shot up simultaneously.
“Calm down, Mr. Simpson,” Nate said. “You’re not on trial. But I will ask you one more question. When you saw Ms. Anderson get into the elevator with Mr. Rosenberg, did they seem to have any verbal exchange? Think hard. Was there anything that would cause you to suspect him? Any odd body language? Any words that seemed suspicious?”
The blank look on Simpson’s face lasted a good three seconds. Then, “No, nothing at all. In fact, I don’t—wait, wait! I do remember hearing the man say something.”
In sync, the detectives both leaned forward toward him.
“He said something about how he adored her work and wanted to know how she got her ideas.”
“You sure?”
Simpson nodded vehemently.
“Okay, then,” Nate said. He rose and handed over his business card to Simpson. “Thank you for your time. If you can think of anything else, please give us a call.”
Adam also rose and gave out his card. He opened the door, and after showing Simpson out, turned back to his partner.
“Maybe Rosenberg is the one. After all, we have him riding up with her in the elevator. So far, that’s more connection than anyone else had.”
“Come on, man.” Nate shook his head. “The guy was obviously a huge fan. I really don’t think we should arrest someone who just wanted to know how one of his favorite authors came up with her ideas, do you?”
Despite his not being at the conference, Harvey Nelson, Rebecca’s ex-publisher, now running for local councilman, was next up. Perfectly coiffed salt-and-pepper hair, dressed to kill in an expensive looking three-piece suit, his pleasant smile showed off what topnotch dentistry should look like—if you had money.
“Yes, Rebecca and I went way back,” he said. “I was her publisher when she was writing murder mysteries.” He paused, his eyes more than a little misty. “Of course, you both are detectives, so you would probably know that by now. Anyway, this has been devastating to me. At one point, we were pretty close.”
Tears welled up as he started to reach into his jacket pocket then obviously thought better of it and opted for giving out two soft sniffs instead.
“So, since you knew her, you must have heard about her tricking the police into believing she had been kidnapped,” Adam said.
“Of course. But I’d like to concentrate on something more important, gentlemen. Fact is, she is—was—an extremely talented writer. Just remember that.”
Adam shrugged and let out a long sigh.
“So, according to her email account, the two of you were no longer so chummy,” Nate said. “But I wonder if you knew the other victims, Marsha Beaumont and Lilith Anderson?” He stared at the councilman candidate. “By the way, do you have any idea what Rebecca had been working on recently?”
“In answer to your two-pronged questions, no, I have never met or had contact with either of those other authors. Perhaps Rebecca’s aunt, Helga Newell might know more about them. As for your question regarding what Rebecca had been working on, of course, word does travel. I’m no longer in the publishing business, and it’s true I haven’t heard from her in ages, but since I am running for councilman, my contacts are pretty extensive.” He ende
d with a high chin and a chest thrust out.
Leaning back in the department’s cheap open-topped chair, Nate crossed his arms over his chest. So typical. Another politician bragging about his contacts.
Harvey offered more. “I had heard she was working on something big about that Gambit House coven group. I heard she’d done a lot of interviews, made some observations, and had a pretty hefty rough draft written. In fact, word on the street was it was going to blow the lid off of those witches and their—shall we say—questionable practices.”
For the first time in his police career, Nate considered stepping over the line. Gillian. Should I warn her? But with Rebecca’s article still missing, it occurred to him one of the witches might have taken it. Someone Gillian knew? Hopefully, it wasn’t any of her family members.
“Yeah, some of those witches are pieces of work. In fact, we’ve been in touch with—” Adam said.
Nate stood up abruptly and handed his card to the potential councilman. “So, if you think of anything else that might help us, please contact us, Mr. Nelson.”
Harvey rose as well. “You have my full support, detectives. Please, just get whoever committed these horrific acts.”
Out in the hall, Adam was blunt. “Look, Meeks, just ‘cause you got a hard on for that Gillian witch, doesn’t mean you can blow this case.”
“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just didn’t want to hear you going on about her for two reasons? One, police procedure 101, buddy. It’s illegal to talk dirt about someone peripherally or even mention a name connected with this case, particularly in front of a potential witness.”
“Is there a two?”
“Yes, there is. Two, just because Gillian blew you off and your male pride is hurt, doesn’t give you permission to act inappropriately.”
Adam didn’t reply. Instead, he turned around and walked toward his desk, mumbling something too low to hear and—Nate figured—most probably not nice.
After a side trip to the snack machine for a drink and potato chips, Nate slowly made his way back to the main room, recognizing he should get a hold of himself and not obsess about Gillian. Still, Adam was absolutely wrong to start talking about her. He could have compromised her safety. Wait. Wasn’t I about to cross the line myself, just so I could protect her? He drew a long, slow breath then shook his head. Am I completely losing it over her?
At his desk, he was shuffling through some papers when Adam’s voice cut through the room.
“Stop it!” Adam snapped. Then, getting up, he continued to talk low on his cellphone as he walked away.
Nate’s stomach hitched. That was his usual warning signal of something not being right. Soon, he also rose and pretended to go back to the snack machine, but instead, slowly ambled past Adam, who was stationed in the little alcove off the main hall. The place everyone used when they wanted an ounce of privacy from the usually over-crowded, ramped-up central room.
Treading lightly now, Nate feigned looking preoccupied as he stood in front of the vending machine. It seemed to work. Adam wasn’t even aware he was there.
“Stop it! I’m a police officer,” Adam barked. A slight pause followed. Then, “I’ve had it. You’re not gonna drag me down with you!” He ended the call then suddenly, flipped around and spied Nate.
“What are you looking at?” he hissed.
“I’m just going to get another snack, man.”
As Adam strode away toward the main room, Nate stood still, deep in thought.
Who the hell was Adam talking to? And what kind of thing could drag him down?
CHAPTER TEN
Gillian woke up with one thing on her mind. It was time to find out the answer to a plaguing question. Was someone out there actually watching over her? Lying drowsily in bed, with the covers thoroughly cocooning her, she mentally itemized recent events. There had been a near collision of that Toyota 4Runner barreling toward her in that rainstorm. Then there was the failed washing machine spell, which had brought her to the laundromat’s parking lot caper with the kid on drugs, scared off because she’d found an unexpected toy gun.
And discovering an old, comforting letter from her father out of nowhere after so many years? There were just too many coincidences where she’d been helped not to think something mystical outside of herself hadn’t guided her life in some way. Especially after attempting yet another impromptu spell a few weeks back to get Joselyn to shut up. Disaster city. The cockatoo had squawked for more than twenty minutes afterward.
A sudden memory of Willy coming over in the driving rain so many years ago quickly reminded her why she’d completely sworn off using spells in the first place. Feeling emotional again, she half-moaned, “Oh, Willy, you were too young, too innocent to be bewitched by me. I’m so, so sorry.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Joselyn repeated.
Staring at their pet, her eyes narrowed into slits. “Are you kidding me?”
“Kidding me, kidding me,” was her answer.
While getting dressed, Gillian continued her mental search for a possible savior. Was it her mother? Nah. Although that’d be just like her, her powers weren’t real. Carly? She snorted. Not a chance. Stevie? Maybe. Her sweet younger sister certainly would think like that. Then her brain shifted over to a couple of their coven members. Could it be the protective, saint-like Amanda, who had moved all the way from New Orleans just to watch over her and her family? Cousin Esther? Another maybe, although Esther was usually too preoccupied with global matters. Phoebe McCann? Not on your life!
“I gotta get some answers, Joselyn,” she said.
Silence.
“Talk to people, Joselyn.”
Nothing.
“No response? What are you, part cat?”
She stretched out her hand, which was actively ignored.
“Yep, stubborn as a cat. Want some breakfast?”
The cockatoo’s rapid up and down nod and flight onto her shoulder got her chuckling. “Okay, little girl, let’s go join the others.”
By the time Gillian joined her family in the kitchen, their loud, simultaneous conversations had ratcheted up to near painful proportions. Amidst garlic braids and drying herbs suspended from the ceiling and narrow tincture bottles filled with healing ointments placed next to the stove, they all happily helped themselves to a nutritious breakfast.
“Wow. Could you guys be any louder?” Gillian called out.
There wasn’t even a dent in their volume.
“Louder! Louder!” Joselyn squawked, then did her click-click-click noise.
That did it. Their complete hush lasted a fast two seconds before they all burst into laughter.
Well, la-di-dah. That sure worked. Maybe I should hire Joselyn as my silencer.
“As Shakespeare wrote in Much Ado About Nothing, you are a rare parrot-teacher, Joselyn,” Ellen said.
A mug of coffee in hand, Gillian sat down and started in. “Look, I’m just curious about something and am counting on you all to be completely honest. In other words, don’t hold anything back.”
All heads slowly swiveled around toward her.
“I’m wondering if any of you have been doing some private protective spells on me?”
“Gillian, what in the world are you talking about?” their mother asked.
“Yeah, what’s going on?” Stevie’s eyebrows instantly raised with concern. “Have you been in trouble?”
“No, no. The opposite, actually, Stevie.” Gillian then let lose a litany about the two near-miss events, providing some details. There was definitely no mention of finding her dad’s note. That would forever remain her own little secret.
Silent for most of the discussion, Carly finally came up with a theory. “Sis, I think you might just have lucked out. I mean, these few years you’ve refused to do any spells, and you say now you can’t do them very well? Well, come on, you’re probably just out of practice, that’s all.” She glanced around the table. “Meanwhile, I’m sure none of us have had anything to do with it.”
“She’s right, dear,” Ellen said. “It probably was plain good fortune. These things do happen sometimes without our having to fiddle with them. However, as I have repeatedly mentioned, I do recommend you go back to at least practicing spells, if you’re feeling fragile. It was certainly your forte for quite a few years. Your father would undoubtedly say it’s like getting back on a bicycle.”
An awkward pause descended over everyone.
“Mama, you know why I stopped doing them.” Gillian sighed.
Reaching for her sister’s hand, Stevie spoke softly. “I know, you blame yourself for Willy’s near death, but it was raining hard that night. It might have happened anyway.”
Gillian shook her head vehemently. “Kudos for trying, little sister, but the fact is I willed him to come, just for my own, selfish ego. Not even because I was crazy about him. So, the blame’s all on me, plain and simple. And now, just thinking about Rebecca’s death and the other two authors really is unnerving.” She could feel tears welling up again. Talk about feeling fragile.
“Dear, please take care of yourself,” Ellen said. “Maybe have a couple of sessions with our Amanda? She’s always helped you in the past.”
That was true. After Elijah had died, Amanda recognized the special bond between the father and his eldest daughter and had been definitely there for the little girl, day after day, night after night. Certainly much more than Ellen, who had completely deserted motherhood because she was so emotionally broken.
“As for Rebecca, I just think the police are being so slow about finding the murderer—murderers,” Carly added. “I mean, what’s their problem?”
“I know that one of the men assigned to the case, Detective Meeks, is doing all he can do. According to Charlotte, he has a great reputation.”
Endangered Spells (Witches Academy Series Book 6) Page 8
