by Raven Snow
“I really don’t know what to tell you.” Rowen wasn’t going to encourage her to use a spell to sway them. If Lydia was hoping for validation in that department she was out of luck. “Do you know why they changed their minds on the house here?”
Lydia sighed. “They don’t like how frightened Lainswich is of things it doesn’t fully understand. Reginald swung by this morning and I’m afraid the brick through the window was the last straw. I tried to tell him it wasn’t all that unusual and windows could be fixed, but… I think I just made him more nervous. He doesn’t feel like this place is safe.”
“Why does that matter to him? He’s not a witch or anything.”
“He’s interested in that stuff and he would be seeing me. He’s afraid that would be reason enough for the town to alienate him.” Lydia propped her head up on one hand. She looked positively drained. “The worst part is that I can’t even tell him he’s wrong.”
“You can try the whole long distance thing,” Rowen offered, trying to find a silver lining in all of this. “You could schedule little mini vacations every other month. That could be fun, right?”
Lydia frowned at her niece. “No, that does not sound like fun.”
“Well, cut him loose then. Visit him when you feel like it or let him visit you when he feels like it.” Rowen shrugged. She still wasn’t sure how much she could actually help with this. “It’s not like he and his family were a great catch.”
“What do you mean?” asked Lydia sitting up a little straighter.
Rowen debated on whether or not to tell Lydia what had happened the night before. She supposed there was no avoiding it. If she tried to change the subject now, she would definitely notice. “That Nathan guy kissed me last night. He knew I was married and he tried to kiss me. It was disgusting.”
“You’re kidding.” Lydia looked appropriately scandalized. “I can’t believe that.” She paused as if something had just occurred to her. “I watched the news this morning… Is it true what they’re saying. Did one of you put some sort of hex on Karen and— What was his name? David?”
“It must be a slow news day for Channel 2 if they’re treating the hex stuff like a top story.” Rowen sighed. “Peony did. We reversed it last night, though.”
“Was Nathan there?”
Rowen nodded. “Yeah. I know what you’re thinking, and that’s what I’m thinking too. He’s the one who leaked the story.”
Lydia frowned. “I’m going to have to have a word with Reginald about this,” she said, mostly to herself. “The nerve.”
“It’s not like it’s their fault. Reginald and Philip seem like perfectly nice guys.” Rowen wasn’t sure why she was jumping to their defense. If anything, she should be trying to make the upcoming separation easier for her aunt. “They probably don’t know it was him.”
“I’m still going to have a word with them. And to think I invited that man into my home.”
“How’s Peony doing?” Rowen asked, changing the subject.
“Nadine stayed home with her today. Now I know why.”
“She’ll be okay,” Rowen assured her aunt when her gaze grew distant.
“Oh, I’m sure she will. She’s a tough one.”
Rowen nodded in agreement, but she didn’t feel as confident as she pretended to be for her aunt’s sake. She wasn’t sure what was going to happen. All she knew was that things were bound to get worse before they got any better.
***
Rowen promised Lydia she would keep her updated before she left. It was around lunch time by then so she picked up Rose, leaving the office in the mostly capable hands of Willow and Margo. Rose offered to stay behind and make sure they kept on track, but Rowen refused to go do this interview alone. She refused to do it with anyone else either. Rose was Rowen’s best shot at getting some useful information out of these people.
The Monroe’s house was in a subdivision a few miles from the Inquirer. The house was your typical upper middle class fare. It was white with two stories. There was even a white picket fence. “Is this the place?” asked Rowen, slowing her car.
“According to my GPS it is.” Rose put her phone back into her purse. “I just hope our streak of bad luck ends here.”
“You and me both.” Rowen parked the car. She headed up to the front door with Rose and pressed the doorbell.
It didn’t take long for someone to answer. The door opened revealing a squat, balding man. He was a bit hunched over like his back gave him trouble. “You must be the people from that paper,” the man said after looking the both of them up and down.
Rowen nodded. “That’s Rose right there. She’s the head of the paper. I’m Rowen. I just work on articles and the like.”
“Well, nice to meet you, I guess. I’m Dudley Monroe.” He didn’t sound all that welcoming. This might have been all his wife’s idea. If that was the case, Rowen needed to be on her guard. “Come on in.” Dudley stepped to one side of the door. “Ann, my wife, is in the den. That’s straight down the hallway.”
Rowen tried her best to put on a convincing smile as she went inside. The house was about what Rowen had expected. The floors were a nice hard wood. There were decorative little knick-knacks here and there, like peacock feathers and wicker baskets filled with cinnamon-smelling pinecones. The walls were white and on them hung paintings that bore a striking resemblance to Dayveed’s work.
Ann was a thin woman with sunken cheeks and a stern expression. She smiled at Rowen and Rose when they entered, and it looked a bit ghoulish. “I’m so glad you could make it.” She sounded pleasant enough. “Please take a seat.” She motioned to a comfortable-looking, brown leather sofa. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“I’m fine,” said Rose.
“Same here.” As a general rule, Rowen tried to not eat or drink things from people who might have reason to hate her or her family.
“All right then.” Ann took a seat in a chair across from them. Dudley came into the room and took a seat in an adjacent chair as well. “I suppose you’re wondering why we called you here,” said Ann.
Rose glanced at Rowen before hazarding a glance. “I assume for a story on your son?”
“Well, yes,” Ann said with a nod. “But we chose you specifically for different reasons.”
“And what would those be?” asked Rowen. She had to admit that she was more than a little curious herself. “Why not Channel 2?”
Ann scrunched up her face at the mention of Channel 2. “Oh, they sensationalize everything, don’t they? I can’t stand them. Take today for instance. They’ve had that silly, so called occult expert on all morning.”
Rose glanced at Rowen then back to Ann. “I take it you don’t believe in that sort of stuff?”
“Heavens no,” Ann scoffed. “I always loved this town, but that’s one thing I’ve never been able to stand. All the superstition is just ridiculous. I know you and your family get the worst of it.” She shook her head as if she didn’t at all approve. “To think they call you a bunch of witches. It’s so absurd.”
“To be fair, that’s what we are.” Rowen couldn’t just lie about it. She wasn’t going to pretend to be something she was not.
Ann didn’t look too concerned by that. “Oh, I believe that you think you are. I believe that just like I believe some family member of yours was trying to help by bringing that Ouija board into the bathroom.”
Rowen cringed. She had hoped they hadn’t heard about that. Of course, if they hadn’t it would have been like an elephant in the room. “Our cousin is very sorry about that,” Rowen tried to assure her even though she didn’t think that was the part Peony regretted.
Ann waved a hand like that didn’t matter. “We don’t believe in that sort of thing. If anything, it sounds like she was genuinely trying to help. Not like Channel 2. They’re just looking for views with all this occult hexing nonsense. It’s really taking focus away from the real story.” At this, Ann had to pause. Her eyes had grown wet. “The real story is figur
ing out who murdered our little boy.” She reached for the tissue box beside her and took one. “That’s all that matters to me right now. I want them brought to justice.”
“I’m close to the chief of police,” said Rose. “I can assure you that the police are still exploring every potential avenue. They aren’t concerned with what Channel 2 thinks.”
“Oh, I know,” Ann assured them. “But we haven’t given any sort of public statement yet and… Well, that’s important to drum up interest in the case, I think. I don’t want this thing going forgotten and unsolved as soon as the gallery closes. My little David deserves better than that.”
“So his given name wasn’t Dayveed?” asked Rose, taking a quick time out to jot that down.
“Of course not.” Dudley rolled his eyes like that had long been a source of contention for him. “What kind of monster would name their kid Dayveed?”
“He picked that name out when he hit puberty,” Ann explained. “He was a true artist even then.” Her gaze softened and focused again on a painting. It was a still life of some rotting fruit.
“We really are sorry that this happened to you,” said Rowen, in case that wasn’t clear.
Rose nodded in agreement. “Your son seemed like he had a lot of potential.”
“He did.” Ann dabbed at her eyes with the tissue. She took a deep breath, composing herself. “Anyhow… We felt we needed to give our story to someone, and we picked you.”
“We appreciate that,” said Rose. “We’ll do our absolute best to accurately communicate your feelings on the matter.”
Ann smiled. “Maybe I should show you his room.” She stood. “He moved out a little while back, but it’s still just the way he left it.” Rose and Rowen stood to follow. Dudley stayed in the living room.
Dayveed’s old room looked more pretentious than Rowen could have imagined. The walls were plastered with obscure bits of artwork that she didn’t recognize. There were quotes everywhere— bad song lyrics and the like. There were unintentionally ironic posters— familiar, generic non-conformity messages illustrated by one white rose in a field of red.
Rowen went to a desk in the corner. The most artwork was concentrated there. Rowen recognized the work of a bunch of long dead artists. “This was his dream, I take it?”
“Absolutely.” Ann didn’t even hesitate in answering that. “He was always determined to become a famous artist. It was all he ever talked about, really.” She began to cry in earnest then. “I miss him so much.”
Rose went to Ann’s side. She took her gently by the arm. “Why don’t we go sit down?”
Ann nodded. “I thought I could be in here, but it’s just too difficult.”
Rowen watched the other two go. She stayed behind, looking for anything that might be useful. The famous artists caught her attention again. She knew all the pictures by sight. The only artist she could really name was Van Gogh. Rowen had always felt pity for that man. He’d never gotten the recognition he deserved in life. It was only after his suicide that his paintings became popular. The death of the artist could be important like that. Rowen wondered if Dayveed’s work would gain popularity now. It had certainly driven a much larger crowd to the gallery, but that was just within the insular town of Lainswich. It didn’t mean that his work actually had any kind of staying power.
Rowen headed for the door. It felt wrong staying in the room. Alone. She headed back into the den. Everyone was sitting there again. Rose was busy setting up her recorder on the coffee table. An obvious question was replaying itself over and over again in Rowen’s head. Eventually, she couldn’t help but ask, “Do you have any idea who might have killed your son? Was there anyone at all that you can think of who might have wished him harm?”
Ann immediately shook her head. “Of course not. He was a good boy. He was always so talented and kind. I can’t imagine there was anyone out there who hated him enough to do something like…” She couldn’t seem to say the rest right now.
“That’s not entirely true.” Dudley looked to his wife. He had mostly stayed out of it until then. It looked like he was waiting for some sort of objection from his wife. When he got none, he continued. “Our son could be a bit of a jerk. If you met the guy, you’d know.”
“I met him,” said Rowen. “He seemed… like a nice guy.”
“He could be a real pain,” Dudley insisted. “You don’t have to sugar coat it. I raised him. I know full well what he was like. I loved him all the same, but… It wouldn’t surprise me if he made some enemies at that show he was commissioned for. That’s where everyone should be looking if you ask me.”
Rowen had been thinking the same thing. “Was there anyone you had in mind, specifically?”
Ann remained silent. This conversation had veered into territory she clearly wasn’t comfortable with. Dudley considered the question. He was more invested in finding the killer than he was in pretending his son was something he hadn’t been. Not that Rowen blamed Ann. After this sort of thing people usually wanted to remember the best of someone.
“I keep telling them to look into that creepy janitor,” Dudley said after some consideration. “He’s always skulking around that place at all hours, and I know that son of mine was short with him once or twice.”
Rowen vaguely recalled seeing that man just before she had first met Dayveed. “Did you tell the police?”
“Of course, but it’s not like that gives them a whole lot to go on.”
“Anyone else?” asked Rowen. She shouldn’t have asked that. As it turned out, Dudley had a whole bunch of theories. Each one was more ludicrous than the last and they were stuck there for the next two hours listening to them. Rowen didn’t have it in her heart to excuse herself until he was finished. These people had just lost their son and needed someone to vent all of this out to. Besides, it would make for a great exclusive later on.
***
It was closer to dinner time than lunch when Rose and Rowen finally got back into their car. “Well that was… illuminating.” Rowen wasn’t sure what else to say about it.
“It did take a while, didn’t it?” Rose checked the time on her phone. “At least they don’t blame us for the murder. That’s a small miracle… Hmm. It looks like I missed a call from Peony while we were in there.”
Rowen pulled her own phone from her purse. She had put it on silent before entering the Monroe household. “Me too. Put her on speaker phone while I drive.”
Rose did just that. Peony answered after a couple of rings. “Hello?”
“Hey, Peony. You’re on speaker phone,” said Rose.
“It’s just me and Rose,” Rowen assured her. “We saw that we missed a call from you.”
“You did,” said Peony, confirming what they already knew. “I was… I was wondering if you could help me out tonight.”
“What is it?” Rowen felt her chest tightening up, worried that Peony was about to ask her to do something illegal. They had had enough of that sort of thing on their plate recently. It would probably be in everyone’s best interest if they went without breaking the law for a while.
“It isn’t anything bad,” said Peony. “Well, I guess it is bad, but probably not in the way you’re thinking… My art is being taken down. I have to go pick it up.”
“What?” Rose frowned. “But that doesn’t make any sense. I thought it was already sold.”
“It was.” Peony sighed. “But Mr. Hawthorne said he can’t afford to have his name associated with mine right now. He doesn’t want to give me a platform to sell my art on. I’ll have to do that myself, he said.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Rose looked at Rowen as if to see if she agreed. She did, of course. “There’s a statue of Seraphina in front of our parents’ shop for crying out loud. How does that not connect us?”
Rowen considered the situation. “He’s probably just doing it so he has, like, plausible deniability or whatever. He’s just acting like he’s swayed by public opinion until all the excitement wears down. You
know this kind of stuff comes and goes in waves. You want us to go with you to pick up those pieces, Peony?”
“I was wondering if you would do it for me, actually.”
Rowen was surprised to hear that request, but she couldn’t exactly say she blamed her. If she was Peony, she might have asked someone the same. “Sure. I’ll get them. I’ll drop them by the house after I pick them up.”
“Don’t take them there,” Peony said quickly. “Take them to your house or something. I don’t want to look at them right now.”
“Fair enough. I’ll just take them home… Though, I seriously think you should-” Rowen stopped when the line went dead.
“She hung up,” said Rose, stating the obvious. She put her phone back in her purse. “Well, I guess I can go with you if you want to head there now.”
“Are you sure you don’t need to get back to the Inquirer and make sure Willow and Margo haven’t burned the place down?”
“Hey,” Rose warned. “That’s not funny. That’s a very real possibility.”
“Which is why I brought it up.”
Rose mulled it over for a few seconds. “I’m still going to go with you. It’s on the way, so I might as well.”
***
Rowen parked outside of the art gallery. There weren’t any cars in the front. She prayed they were in the back. Otherwise she was going to have to come back during the place’s busy hours. Given Lainswich’s opinion of the Greensmiths right now, that didn’t sound like a good idea. She got out of the car and headed for the front doors. With Rose at her heels, she knocked.
No one showed up at first. Rowen was starting to get worried when she finally saw the janitor from before appear around the corner. “What is it?” he asked, raising his voice so that she could hear him through the closed door.
“I’m here to pick up some of my cousin’s paintings. Her name is Peony Greensmith. Maybe someone told you she was coming? She sent me instead.”
The janitor gave her an appraising sort of once over. After an awkward silence between the two of them, he finally opened the door. “It’s in the storage room. Come on. I’ll take you there.”
