Murder by Misadventure

by B. T. Lord

  “Aya – what?”

  “It’s along the same lines as the salvia timor. Gives you powerful visions. Then you throw up.”

  Cammie laughed. “Sounds like fun.”

  “Only a specially trained shaman can prepare the mixture and watch over you as you drink it. Too many people have done themselves harm by being unsupervised, or by having a charlatan, who doesn’t know the correct mixture, concoct something lethal.”

  The memory of how close she’d come to either death or insanity sent a shudder down Cammie’s back. “You said the energy was disturbed. Do you think that’s still true?”

  Paul closed his eyes for a moment, his face reflecting deep concentration. When he opened them, he glanced at her. “The energy has been quieted, but it’s still there, waiting. Watching.”

  “Until I can get my hands on tea from Torri’s place to have Doc analyze, I’m just going on conjecture. We have two bodies and a close call on a third.”

  “They may have already disposed of the evidence.”

  “I know.” She took a sip of the tea, then leaned forward towards Paul. “You know more about this spell stuff than I do. Can Torri really have the kind of power Emmy says she has? I mean, she’s supposed to be able to control the weather, make people fall in love with someone they’d never look at twice, things like that. She supposedly helped one of the girls win enough money in the lottery to pay her rent.”

  “The world isn’t as black and white as everyone thinks. There are forces that can be called upon to do your bidding. The problem, however, is that any magick given is magick owed. And you’ve got to be careful who you owe to.”

  “How is that different from what you do?”

  “The kind of magick Torri performs is an earth based magick. It comes from her will. Spells, potions, all those sorts of things, come from a person’s need to control either the energy of the universe, or the energy of another person. Like the power of love. If you’re not meant to fall in love with a particular person, and someone interferes and makes that person fall in with you, it’s a product of their will and your will.” He glanced at her under his brow as a smile slowly tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You thinking of getting a spell put on Jace?”

  She guffawed. “Just wondering how it works, that’s all.”

  “My magick, if you want to call it that, comes from both the celestial and the physical. My will stays completely out of it.” Seeing Cammie’s perplexity, he tried to explain. “Take your shoulder for example. I’m able to heal it because Creator or God or the Universe, or whatever you want to call it, worked through me to heal it. I never went into it with the intention of healing you. I went into it leaving the decision to a higher power. Torri, however, would have gone into it with the express intention of healing you, regardless of what a higher power had to say about it.”

  “Why wouldn’t a higher power want me healed?”

  Paul grinned. “There are lessons in everything, Cammie. An illness can teach. An accident can teach. You getting shot served as a lesson for you. However, if I stepped in with my own intention, I take away the lesson. Does that make sense?”

  Cammie slowly nodded. “I guess my lesson was to remember to duck.”

  “No. Your lesson went deeper. You know that. You’re just too hardheaded to admit it.”

  Cammie pointedly ignored his remark. “I don’t suppose it’s possible to see who’s behind all this?”

  “I thought you said it was Torri.”

  “Everything points to Torri, but I don’t know.”

  “Basically, you’re asking me to psychically spy.”

  She smiled. “Yep.”

  Paul chuckled. “You’ll be happy to know that I did try, especially after your episode with the Giwakwas. Unfortunately, this person has learned to cloak themselves. It’s a woman, I can tell you that. But I can’t quite see the face.”

  “What kind of a shaman are you?” Cammie teased.

  “I didn’t say I’d given up. It’s just going to take a little more work on my part. Just as they’re cloaking themselves, I need to make sure I cloak myself. I’d like to finish out my years as peacefully as I possibly can. I’ve had my fill of energy wars.” She was about to question him when he held up his hand. “Too much ‘my Schwartz is bigger than your Schwartz’. I’m too old for that shit.”

  Cammie shook her head to herself. “I’ll never understand this stuff.”

  She finished the tea and was about to stand up when she noticed Paul go very still. She slowly sat back down and watched as his eyes suddenly went out of focus, as though he were looking at something only he could see. She started to reach out to him, worried he was having some kind of stroke, but something held her back from touching him. Instead, she continued to watch him, ready to jump in if he really was having an attack of some kind. After a few moments, he shook his large shaggy head, and turned his dark eyes to her.

  “Do you know anything about a book that Todd owned?”

  “Todd owned a lot of books – all on protection from the dark arts.”

  “No. This is a different book. It’s leather bound and hand stitched.”

  “His place was pretty small. If it was there, I would have seen it.”

  “Look for it.”

  Cammie leaned forward. “Did you just have a vision?”

  “It’s important to Todd that you find that book.”

  Her eyes widened. “Did you just talk to Todd?”

  “Not in the way you understand talking. I was shown the book and told you need to find it.”

  Cammie shrugged. “I’ll try my best.” She stood up. “Never let it be said Cammie Farnsworth turned her back on the dead’s last request. Even if it came from the other side of the veil.”

  It was late afternoon. Emmy was grateful for her 4 wheel drive as she maneuvered her jeep over a snowmobile trail and behind a grove of spruce trees. Certain the vehicle wouldn’t be seen from the road, she slowly and laboriously made her way through the snow drifts until she came up in the woods behind Torri and Clarisse’s trailer. Hoping she would find them off shopping, she was disappointed to see Torri and Clarisse’s vehicles parked in the driveway. She had no choice but to wait in the increasingly cold snow until the women left.

  What if they don’t leave? Are you prepared to freeze to death?

  She pushed the thought away. She knew Torri was a habitual shopper. She may not have much money, but that didn’t stop her from going out every day to buy a pack of cigarettes, a case of beer, or a loaf of bread. She was like clockwork in that regard. And despite Clarisse’s enormous belly, she always went along. It seemed as though the sisters hated to sit around their trailer for any length of time.

  The minutes dragged by excruciatingly slow. Emmy’s determination to wait it out was slowly eroding by the numbness in her feet, hands and face. She was turning into a round popsicle.

  Damn.

  Just my luck. The one day I pick to get that tea and they decide not to go out.

  Just as she was coming to the conclusion that it was too painful to wait any longer, she heard the trailer door open and Torri call out, “Are you sure you want to come with me? I won’t be gone long.”

  “I hate sitting around this shithole by myself. It depresses me,” Clarisse answered.

  “It’s better than that shithole you lived at in Bangor.”

  “At least it was bigger. With this goddamned belly, I can’t turn around without smashing into something. This kid is going to be born covered in black and blues.”

  Torri cackled as the two sisters got into her pickup truck. A moment later she pulled out and soon were out of sight.

  In keeping with Twin Ponds’ tradition, Emmy knew Torri didn’t lock up the trailer. As she once told the young woman, “I ain’t got nothin’ worth stealing, so if someone is stupid enough to waste their time on this dump, go for it.”

  To Emmy’s surprise, she found her hands shaking. She wasn’t accustomed to breaking and entering. Th
ere was a part of her that acknowledged that what she was about to do was illegal. But a larger part of her knew it was the right thing to do. If Torri was responsible for harming Marcy, Todd and Cammie, she had to do something about it.

  With shaking limbs and a heavy heart, she slowly started up the walkway towards the trailer. She opened the door and slipped inside.

  “Thank God,” she whispered aloud to herself as the blessed heat enveloped her. Not knowing how much time she had, and eager to get what she came for, Emmy hurried to the cabinet under the sink. There, she found several tins of different shapes and sizes. Pulling out the wad of baggies she’d stuffed in her jacket pocket, she began to fill them with samples of the different teas Torri had made. Then, using rubber bands she’d stuffed in her other jacket pocket, she carefully wrapped it around each baggie for extra security. Praying it was enough for Doc to do his analysis, she was just carefully wrapping the last baggie when she heard the crunch of tires outside the trailer.

  Oh no! They must have forgotten something!

  Emmy quickly looked around. Her heart sank when she realized there was nowhere for her to hide. Trying not to panic, she remembered the bathroom and prayed they hadn’t come back to use it.

  She was just able to wedge herself into the miniscule shower when she heard the door open.

  “It’s not my fault I have to pee,” Clarisse whined. “I can’t wait to get this kid out of me. I’m tired of having to pee every damned five minutes.”

  Crap! Clarisse was coming into the bathroom! Emmy held her breath, praying the young woman wouldn’t notice the slight bulge in the shower curtains.

  “Hurry up, will ya?” Torri called out. “I’ve got things to do!”

  “Alright, alright. I’m moving as fast as I can with the incredible hulk in my belly. Besides, it’s not like Lars is going to sell you the winning lottery ticket any time soon.”

  “You have no faith, that’s your problem.”

  “What I have is common sense.”

  “Yeah, right. A lot of common sense got you knocked up by schmuck face.”

  “Shit happens.”

  Torri mumbled something under her breath that Emmy couldn’t hear. Which was just as well, because all this talk about peeing was now making her want to go. She couldn’t very well jump up and down in the shower, but the desire was growing stronger.

  Emmy thought she would faint with fear as the door opened and Clarisse started to enter.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Cammie sighed. It was the next morning, and she’d just spent a frustrating ten minutes on her cellphone with Judge Drury, trying to convince him to give her a search warrant for Torri’s trailer. Unfortunately, he refused, telling her there wasn’t enough evidence tying her to Marcy and Todd. Nor could she deny his argument that, even if she did find salvia timor in Torri’s possession, it wasn’t illegal in the state of Maine, nor could she prove Marcy and Todd had unknowingly ingested it. There could be cause in the baggie left on Emmy’s desk if it contained the powerful hallucinogenic. But once again, there was no proof it was Torri who had prepared the tea. Her case was also damaged by the inability of the business owners on Main Street to say they’d noticed anyone enter HQ in the ten minute window when Emmy was at the Emporium. Which left her back at square one. Even if she could prove Torri prepared the tea, she couldn’t prove it was Torri who had left it on Emmy’s desk.

  She hung up from Judge Drury, her gut screaming that Marcy and Todd had been murdered. But why? She always came back to why. Why would Torri even drug Todd and Marcy in the first place? Had Todd and Marcy discovered something about Torri and Clarisse that they wanted to keep secret? Obviously they were hiding something if computer whiz Emmy couldn’t find them on the internet. Maybe that was it. Maybe Todd found out something the two sisters needed to keep hidden and they drugged him, knowing his own paranoia would finish him off. As for Marcy, perhaps she too had discovered something while attending the coven meetings.

  She was worried for Emmy. It was obvious someone had meant her harm by leaving the salvia ridden tea on her desk. Was it because she worked for the sheriff’s department? Or was it because she’d asked too many questions and was a potential hazard?

  The questions rolled around and around Cammie’s head as she drove towards Todd’s cabin. She wasn’t too keen on going back to the oppressive building, but Paul seemed adamant that Todd wanted her to find the leather bound, hand stitched book. Who was she to argue with the dead?

  The day was bright and sunny, the temperatures hovering around a balmy ten degrees. Driving up the long driveway through the dense forest on her snowmobile, Cammie saw the police tape still around Todd’s house. It looked as though it hadn’t been disturbed at all. She stepped off the vehicle, and once again took in the silence of the property. She shook off the feeling of unease and scooting under the tape, let herself into the cabin.

  With the blanket removed from the window, the sunlight streamed in, dissipating the shadows that had spooked her when she’d first entered after the discovery of Todd’s body. She carefully took down each book from the bookshelf, wondering if the leather bound volume was somehow hidden behind them. There was nothing. She once again combed the cabin, but came up empty.

  Was it possible Paul messed up the vision? Maybe there was no book. Or if there was a book, it could be long gone from the cabin.

  Cammie shook her head. As long as she’d known Paul, she’d marveled at the accuracy of his visions. If he said the book was in the cabin, it had to be there. She just wasn’t seeing it. But where could it be?

  Her eyes scanned the cabin, wondering where Todd would hide such a book. It obviously meant something to him if he was reaching beyond the grave to let her know about it. So where would he hide it?

  “If you want me to find this book,” Cammie said aloud, “you’re going to have to give me a clue. I’m not like Paul. I don’t get visions, or hear voices in my head.”

  She waited, but all she heard was the weird, crushing silence that felt so suffocating.

  “Humph,” she sighed. “You’re not helping me here.”

  Once again she heard nothing. She plopped down on the cot and stared down at her boots, tapping them on the floor in frustration. Suddenly, an idea began to formulate itself. Whether this was Todd’s way of helping, she didn’t stop to ask. Instead, she stood up and systematically tested each floor board with the toe of her boot. She was almost done with the cabin and felt the frustration rising again until she pushed on a board near the stove. It gave a loud creak.

  “Thank you, Todd,” she whispered to herself as she bent down to examine it. Sure enough, it looked a bit looser. Running to her snowmobile, she came back with a screwdriver. With a little maneuvering, she was able to pop up the loose plank. Peering into the dark hole, she whistled under her breath.

  “Damn if Paul wasn’t right again.”

  Quickly donning a pair of latex gloves, she reached down and folded her fingers around a canvas bag. Lifting it up, she noticed there wasn’t much dust on it. Someone had obviously handled this not too long ago. Sitting back on the cot, she carefully undid the two tied flaps and, peering inside, saw what looked like a book. Pulling it out, she was amazed to see it described perfectly by Paul. The leather was old and weather beaten. Inside, the pages were thick, as though made from parchment paper and were definitely hand sewn into the binding. Although the outside looked aged, the pages inside appeared new. They were covered with closely spaced, scratchy writing.

  “Okay, Todd. You led me to this book. But we’re not done yet. I may need your help in deciphering your handwriting,” she mused to herself before realizing that she was talking aloud to a dead person. Unwilling to admit that maybe Paul was becoming too much of an influence, she sat back on the cot and opened to the first page. On the top was a name written in block letters and heavily underlined.

  Samuel Parris.

  The name sounded familiar. Continuing on, Cammie quickly realized she was r
eading a biography of the pastor in whose home the Salem, Massachusetts witch hysteria of 1692 began.

  That was strange. Why would Todd write a biography, if it was indeed Todd’s writing, of a long dead pastor and bury it under a floorboard? Intrigued, she turned her attention back to the scratchy writing. The biography was not in any sort of chronological order and there were spots where she had trouble deciphering his writing. Paragraphs were written in different colored inks as if Todd had found something, jotted it down, then days, weeks or months later found something else and wrote it down as well.

  The first page detailed Parris’ time as a merchant in Barbados. He lost much of what he owned in a hurricane, prompting him to move to New England. Todd surmised he brought his slave Tituba and her husband John with him. He went on to describe how Tituba had inadvertently begun the hysteria by doing readings for the daughters and niece of Parris by predicting what their future husbands looked like. It was innocent stuff, but in a day when anything and everything was attributed to the devil, the results were disastrous. Soon the girls were exhibiting all sorts of strange fits, telling the pastor they were being attacked by the spectral beings of fellow townspeople. The hysteria lasted six months and resulted in the deaths of 20 people. It was a shameful period in the history of early America -- a history of which Cammie knew only the bare facts.

  By the time she turned the last page over a half hour later, she understood why Todd may have reached out from the other side to tell her about his journal.

  After putting the book back in the canvas bag and replacing the floorboard, she carefully packed the journal into a carrier on her snowmobile. She then took off for her cabin to exchange the snowmobile for her Explorer. She paused long enough to look up something on the internet before heading out to Mike Endicott’s office. She hoped he’d be able to verify that the writing in the book was indeed Todd’s. To her delight, he confirmed Todd’s handwriting. With a lightness she hadn’t felt in a long time, she headed towards HQ.