by Raven Snow
Eric gave his wife’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll go see if I can’t lure her away.”
“Thanks, Honey.”
He gave Peony a smile before he went. “Great work. Seriously. We’ll have to pay you for something to put up in the house. I love your stuff.”
“Thanks,” said Peony as Eric walked away. She was looking a bit flustered with all the praise.
“She’s got the best stuff here,” Willow said, like she was stating an indisputable fact. She also said it loud enough for nearby people to hear, not that she seemed to mind. Rowen just hoped Dayveed didn’t hear. He seemed like the sort of person who would really take offense to hear talk like that.
“And these are my daughters,” said Aunt Nadine. She approached on the arm of Philip. She’d really dressed up for the occasion, Rowen noted. She wasn’t sure she had seen Aunt Nadine wearing such loud clothes before. She must have bought the red dress expressly for the occasion.
“Ah.” Phillip smiled at all three Greensmith girls. “And which one is the artist?” he asked.
Peony raised her hand. “I’ve got three pieces on display. I can show you the other two if you want.”
“Yes,” said Aunt Nadine, answering for Philip. “I want to see where they ended up putting those.”
Peony led the way further into the back. Tina followed, but Willow stayed behind. She was eyeing someone Rowen could only assume was standing just behind her. She turned and found herself only a couple of feet away from a familiar face. It took her a moment to place the person. She was too distracted noticing the woman’s furrowed brow as she took in Peony’s art. “Nice, isn’t it?” prompted Rowen, taking a sip of her champagne.
“It’s all right,” said the woman, whom Rowen finally placed as the receptionist at the local police station. The woman had always had a problem with Greensmiths. She had never much appreciated how often they were in and out. “I’m just surprised they put it in the show is all.”
“Excuse you?” Willow wasn’t beating around the bush. She wasn’t going to stand for any verbal abuse of her sister.
“No offense,” the receptionist said, quickly. “It’s good… for a student or a hobbyist.” She smiled and shook her head. “Listen to me, I’m still making it sound like an insult. No, she’s clearly very good. She’s just got a long way to go.”
“And what do you know about art?” Willow wasn’t backing down. Rowen couldn’t really blame her, but she didn’t much want to encourage her either. She drank deeply from her glass instead.
“I have a piece in here myself, actually.”
“Oh?” Willow feigned interest with audible sarcasm. “And which one is it.”
“It’s just over there.” The receptionist pointed. “It’s an abstract work. Of a mountain? I’m sure you saw it.”
Willow looked in the direction she had pointed. “Right. I think I remember it. What’s your name?”
“Karen,” said the receptionist. “Karen Hucklebee.”
“Well, I hated your painting, Karen. Please leave.”
Karen opened her mouth like she was going to say something. Instead it just hung open for several seconds. She finally gave a nervous laugh and walked off, like she was trying to defuse the situation. “That was weird,” said Rowen. “I think she forgot Peony was related to us or something. She must have.”
“I didn’t realize we knew her,” said Willow, watching her go. “All I know is that she doesn’t know good art when she sees it. That and she can’t paint.”
“On that we can agree.” Rowen looked at the mountain painting some distance away. Yep, she still hated it.
“Most of the paintings in here are of Seraphina. It’s really creepy. I wonder how she would have felt about it.”
“She would have hated it.” Someone else had approached them, a stranger this time. An old woman with brightly dyed red hair stood before them. She was at least a head taller than the both of them and incredibly thin. A puffy fur boa barely obscured the long stalk of her neck. “She would have wanted to approve all of these beforehand. She was a picky woman.” The woman took a short puff on an electronic cigarette. That garnered her some dirty looks, but the fact that no one did anything about it implied that she was important.
“That sounds about right,” said Rowen, managing a smile in greeting. “I’m Rowen Greensmith, and this is my cousin Willow.”
“Lucy,” said the woman, taking a long drag this time. “Lucy Odele.”
“Were you a friend of Seraphina’s?” asked Rowen. She had to assume she was. Seraphina had been larger than life. Between Lucy’s appearance and the way she was looking down at Rowen and Peony, the similarities were too many to ignore.
“Hmm.” Lucy made a noncommittal sound, her lips pressed together in a tight line. “I hated that woman.”
“Oh.” Rowen wasn’t sure how else to respond to that. From the corner of her eye, she could see that Willow was trying very hard not to laugh.
“There was probably no one I was closer to, though.” Lucy gave a sigh. “I can’t help but miss that hideous, horrible woman.”
That sounded like the sort of person that Seraphina would be best friends with. “I’m sorry then,” said Rowen. “She was definitely an interesting lady to be around.”
Lucy didn’t respond for a few seconds. In the awkward silence that followed, she stared down at the Greensmiths as if thinking carefully about something. “You run some sort of New Age shop, don’t you?”
“Our relatives do,” said Willow. “We own a newspaper and blog.” She motioned to Rowen. “She owns a newspaper, a blog, and a detective agency.”
Lucy raised an eyebrow at that. Rowen would have spoken up and simplified all that a bit, but Lucy cut her off. “Seraphina liked that store, whoever in your family owned it. You’ll have to give me directions. I wouldn’t mind swinging by while I’m in town. I heard they put a hideous statue of her out in front of it. I hear it was one she put her own seal of approval on.”
Rowen was in the midst of giving Lucy directions when Mr. Hawthorne called for everyone’s attention. “If everyone will stop what they’re doing for just a moment, I would like to unveil the star piece of this art show.”
There was some murmuring that followed Hawthorne’s announcement, but mostly things quieted down. Everyone migrated toward him, where he was standing in front of a sheet. Rowen wasn’t too interested herself. She had already seen the piece and hadn’t been all that wowed by it. Who knew? Maybe she didn’t have any culture in her after all.
“This piece was painted by the talented artist, Dayveed,” Hawthorne continued. “I wish he could be here tonight to stand here with me for this, but you know how reclusive artists can be.
That drummed up some sympathy laughter from the audience. Eric rejoined his wife at this point, putting an arm around her waist. “Did I miss anything?”
“Met a couple of new friends,” she whispered back. “I’ll tell you about them later.” She directed her attention back to Hawthorne who was going into detail about all the kind deeds his wife had done, how she had always loved Lainswich, and how she had been a real patron of the arts. Rowen wasn’t sure how much truth there was to any of that, but people were certainly listening with rapt attention.
“So, without further ado-” Hawthorne yanked the sheet aside. Everyone assembled burst out into gasps or screams. Even Eric pulled his wife close with a sharp intake of breath. Laid out across the lap of the stone Seraphina was Dayveed. Rowen couldn’t tell at first, but between the limpness of him and the blood splatter across the statue’s knee, Rowen could only guess that he was dead.
“Everyone, calm down!” Julia Martinez had gone to join Hawthorne in front of the crowd. She spoke up, taking charge of the situation. “If you would, just move toward the exit in a calm matter. Please no one leave. We’re going to call the police, and they’ll need to talk to some of you.”
Rowen watched as everyone hurried toward the door. She doubted that they would all
stay. She hoped that they had made a list of everyone who had bought a ticket. The police were definitely going to want to talk to people.
“That poor boy,” said Aunt Lydia, coming to Rowen’s side and gripping her arm. “What in the world is going on?”
“Go outside,” Rowen told her aunt, even though she didn’t have a good excuse to be there herself. Much to her surprise, Lydia actually listened.
“Tell me what happens,” Lydia demanded, heading for the door with Nadine and the twins. The rest of the family must have made it through the door as well. Only Peony approached, Tina still in tow. “Are we reporting on this?”
Rowen nodded a bit absently. “No pictures, though,” she said, as if that even needed to be stated.
“I swear, more murders happen in this town…” Eric slowly shook his head.
“Go wait outside, Rowen,” Julia said once the crowd had thinned, revealing that Rowen and the three with her had all stayed behind.
“Let me look.” Rowen took a step closer to the crime scene. “You know I help out the police station all the time. Let me take a look.”
“Go ahead,” said Hawthorne, overriding Julia. She glared at him, but he paid no mind to that either. “This is… this is a disaster.”
Rowen hurried to the statue. “Are you sure he’s dead?” she asked, but the closer she got the clearer it was. “Oh. Yeah, he definitely is, huh?” It never got any easier to be around stuff like this. This particular crime scene seemed more gruesome than most. There was blood. A lot of it. A terrible wound on Dayveed’s head seemed to suggest that he had been bludgeoned with something.
Julia had already stepped away, a cell phone to her ear. “Don’t touch him,” Hawthorne warned.
“I wasn’t about to.” Rowen stopped some distance from the statue. There was blood on the floor and she didn’t want to disturb the pattern of it. You could never tell what would be most useful to the police.
“I have to go,” said Peony. Rowen looked up to find that Tina was pulling her toward the door.
Rowen nodded and waved her on. “When was the last time you saw him?” she asked Hawthorne.
“This morning,” said Hawthorne. “He seemed fine then. We didn’t really talk… Well, that’s not wholly true. He was complaining about something or another.”
“You don’t know what?”
“The boy did a lot of complaining. I can’t say I was paying that much attention.” Hawthorne shook his head again. “This is awful. I can’t believe this. I really can’t.”
“Has he had any problems with anyone in recent days?” asked Eric. “Any rivalries that you know of or may have heard about?”
“He was a hostile fellow to be around, if we’re being honest.” Hawthorne frowned down at the body. “He antagonized most everyone. He went after other artists especially.”
“He didn’t seem like the nicest guy.” Rowen hated to disparage someone before their body was even cold, but it was a piece of information that was important to the case. If he had pushed the right buttons, anyone could have found the right reason to murder Dayveed. She followed the blood around to the back of the statue. It was there that she froze. “Uh oh.”
Eric and Hawthorne quickly joined her. Hawthorne gave a non-committal hum, as if he wasn’t ready to jump to conclusions. Eric groaned. On the back of the stone chair, drawn in blood, was an inverted pentagram. “Three guesses who the town tries to pin this on,” Rowen said with a sigh.
Chapter Four
It didn’t take long for the police to arrive. Rowen knew the Chief of Police. She had dated him once in high school, and he was dating her cousin Rose now. She was on friendly terms with him and appreciated it when he didn’t give her grief for hanging around so close to the crime scene.
“Why is it that you turn up at most of the murders I’m called out to?” Ben teased, keeping his voice down in case anyone overheard and thought he was being serious… Granted, Rowen wasn’t sure that he wasn’t being serious. He walked around to look at the back of the statue. “I see what you mean. That’s going to look bad for you and your family.”
“Yeah. I’m going to try and get Julia to keep it out of the papers, but I’m not holding my breath.” Rowen glanced across the room where Hawthorne and Julia were speaking with a different officer. “I guess my cousins and I have to do an article first, see if we can get out ahead of this thing.”
“In your opinion does the symbol have anything to do with the murder here?” asked Ben.
“Hard to say. It means a lot of different things to different people.” Rowen’s own family never used the symbol. They didn’t use a whole lot of symbols in their magic. “It strikes me more as something someone would draw there to incriminate us, point you in our direction.”
“I thought as much.” Ben frowned in the direction of the symbol. “It’s the sort of thing you see in movies. Still, I can’t discount the idea that it means something. I’ll try to keep your family from being unfairly targeted. You have my word on that.”
“I figured you would anyway, but I’m not sure it’s going to make much of a difference.” She was not looking forward to the next few days or even weeks. Months, maybe. Who knew when this thing would be solved, if ever. “I’m going to try to contact him on the Ouija board,” she announced all of a sudden. “Do you think I could come in here after the place has cleared out? It’s my best shot at finding the killer quickly.”
“That would be helpful. I’ll take any help you’re willing to give. Unfortunately, I’m not the one you would have to ask.” Ben motioned to where Mr. Hawthorne was standing. “Give me a call if you find anything out.”
***
Rowen waited until Mr. Hawthorne and Julia were alone before she approached them. “You guys headed home?” she asked.
Mr. Hawthorne looked at Rowen, eyebrows raised like he was surprised to see that she was still there. “It’s been a very long night, so yes. I most certainly am.”
Rowen nodded, biding time while she tried to figure out how best to broach the subject. Finally, she just went for it. “Would you mind if I stayed here a little later after you lock up? I would like to try and contact Dayveed. That way I might be able to expedite figuring out who the killer is.”
“Absolutely not,” Mr. Hawthorne said without hesitation.
Rowen hadn’t expected a refusal quite so quickly. “But… why? Don’t you want this thing solved? If would be in your best interest, wouldn’t it?”
“It would be in my best interest if I didn’t have a bunch of infamous women lingering around after closing with a Ouija board before the deceased’s next of kin could even be contacted. That’s disrespectful.”
“But it’s the best way to figure out who the killer is,” Rowen insisted, hoping he would see reason. “If we wait too long, we run the risk of him moving on. We won’t get any answers from him if that happens.”
“Then I suppose you’ll just have to let the police handle this,” said Mr. Hawthorne. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He walked past her, toward the back where his office was.
“Sorry you didn’t get the answer you wanted.” Julia didn’t quite sound like she meant that as she followed Hawthorne.
“Come on.” Eric took his wife by the arm. He had been keeping his distance until now. “Let’s go. We’ll just have to look into this the old-fashioned way.
***
She should have done things the old-fashioned way, Rowen reflected as she crept her way up the hill to the once video store, now art gallery. She had parked the car at the edge of the abandoned lot behind it. It was exceptionally dark, morning still being a few hours off. She had slipped from the house with Eric still asleep. It was a really lousy thing to do, but she knew that he would try and talk her out of it. She didn’t need someone to preach common sense at her right now. That was why she had brought Willow and Peony along. Those two had never had much in the way of common sense.
Maybe Rowen should have thought better of bringing these two
. Peony was wearing a pastel pink top that stood out in the darkness, and Willow was wearing a skirt of all things. They hardly looked like they were going to break in somewhere. Next to them, Rowen felt like sort of a seasoned criminal, all decked out in black.
The Ouija board was under Rowen’s arm. She passed it to Willow when they stopped at the back door. There was no handle on it, but it should still have been easier to open than a door that was locked. “Help me,” Rowen told her cousins. She put her hand on the door, trying to coax it open. “Pull it.” She could feel her cousins trying to do just that. The door strained against her hand a couple of times before, ever so slightly, inching open.
Rowen quickly shoved her fingers in the gap and opened the door the rest of the way. She could hear an alarm beeping already, waiting to be disarmed in time. Rowen hurried toward the sound, already trying to picture fingers pressing the buttons. She had to stand in front of the number pad before her mind’s eye displayed for her the correct sequence of numbers. ‘1- 2-3-4-5,’ she pressed. The alarm seemed satisfied with that. She wondered if Hawthorne even knew that was the password.
Rowen hurried back to her cousins. They were still waiting in the back room. They had both sat down already, the Ouija board set out between them. “Hey,” said Willow. “Peony and I were talking. Is there, like, a security camera in here or something?”
“Not that I can see,” said Rowen, trying to act like she was less concerned with that than she actually was. She was more or less just hoping that, if there were a series of security cameras in place, they would just go overlooked. Ideally, no one would notice anyone had been here. Clearing their name before any drama kicked off felt like it was worth the risk. Now that she had put things into action, Rowen was beginning to have second thoughts. Willow had encouraged the idea, getting her to double down when she nearly chickened out. Maybe that should have been her first sign that this was a bit much. “Come on. Let’s do this.” She sat down. The sooner they got finished, the better.
