by Susan Breen
“He was trapped,” Ella went on. “And that little girl, she was a monster. A carbon copy of her mother. Self-absorbed. They both made his life hell. The only good one was Racine. He encouraged her to leave, to get out of there. He sent her to stay with family in France. Oh, she didn’t like that, Madame Simone didn’t. But he had to protect her. Domino was dangerous. He worried she would kill Racine. It was the only thing he could do. It was such a comfort to him to know she was flourishing in France. But then everything collapsed. He died, on April 15. Heart attack and not long after Domino attacked that girl. With that voodoo doll. She left and then Simone couldn’t wait to get Racine back. She called and Racine dropped everything and came.
Ella sighed. She closed her eyes.
“We’ve waited a long time, Leonard and I,” she whispered, and then she closed her eyes and slept.
Maggie sat with her a while longer. She felt sad, mainly for Racine. She remembered that day when Racine came to her and told her her sister was evil. Maggie had been so dismissive. But perhaps Racine was right all along. Even more than before, Maggie felt she owed it to her to get to the bottom of this. Racine deserved some peace.
Chapter 41
And finally it was the night of the Dining Out Club, and the limo awaited. A long stretch limo that seated twenty and was stocked with liquor and nuts. All hesitation vanished. The crowd was ready to pile in and go.
Except they couldn’t leave just yet, because Cherrelle was late.
“This is terrible,” Leona Faraday said. “We have a reservation for twenty. We can’t be late.”
“She’s in trouble,” Agnes said. “She’ll be here as soon as she can.”
Agnes wore a black lace dress and high heels and her hair was mounded with gel, Maggie wore her usual black dress and pearl earrings, but it was Reverend Sunday who was a revelation. Instead of her usual subdued gray outfit, she wore a stunning two-piece green dress. A beautiful snake-like pattern swam across it and at the top, on her shoulders, there were light epaulets that mimicked the material. She’d draped a cape over one of her shoulders, and the cape was a dark yellow color with a pattern that played off the one in the dress. She’d also put on dark maroon lipstick and she smiled. Up until then, Maggie hadn’t realized how serious she always was.
“Agnes,” Maggie whispered. “We really have to go. I don’t want this to be a disaster.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with Cherrelle,” Agnes said. “What if she’s breaking up with me?”
“Why would she do it now? Tonight?”
“She’s mercurial.”
“I don’t suppose you could just wait for her and then drive her.”
“To the Bronx. In the dark. In the rain?”
It had started to drizzle softly.
“What’s up, partners?” Helen asked. She alone had not dressed up for the occasion. She wore jeans and a white T-shirt, but Edgar, happily, was at a sleepover at Ambrosia Fletcher’s house. So Helen seemed relaxed, though she did keep checking her phone—whether that was because she was worried about Edgar or Syria, Maggie wasn’t sure.
Things were just about to get really bad, when all of a sudden a Mercedes came tearing into the parking lot. It shot into a spot, and out of came a thin, middle-aged woman. She had white hair and pearls.
“Cherrelle,” Agnes cried out, and ran to greet her. “You’re here. Oh my dear,” she said.
Cherrelle looked at her good-humoredly. “Calm down, Agnes. Good Lord.”
Everyone sighed with relief and then they all piled into the car. Walter went first, to fit himself into the back, and his wife followed. Then came the various Faraday sisters, who were preoccupied with Cherrelle. “Doesn’t Agnes’s girlfriend look like Maggie Dove,” the loudest of the Faradays said.
“Shh,” Walter said.
Helen was engulfed in laughter and couldn’t move, but Maggie kicked her and Iphigenia was there, though Maggie noticed she hadn’t spoken to her. She must still be upset about the haircut. Maggie hadn’t had a chance to apologize.
“Is that a bar cart,” Agnes cried out. “Let’s pop some champagne. This is going to be a fabulous night.”
“Let me do it, silly, You’ll blind everyone.” Cherrelle grabbed the champagne bottle and popped the cork.
“She’s got hands like a chicken farmer,” Leona Faraday said.
“Bubbly,” Cherrelle said, smiling at Maggie.
So by the time they got to the restaurant in the Bronx, they were all feeling much more cheerful. It was a small restaurant, with a giant buffet. There was peanut butter soup and roasted fish and roasted chicken. There was also a cow foot, which everyone avoided. And there were vats of rice bowls, which everyone gravitated toward. It was all so colorful and spicy and Reverend Sunday was laughing and telling stories. Maggie was sitting next to Cherrelle, who was telling her about her job for the county. She had an interesting background. She’d worked for some years at the United Nations, which Maggie always thought would be a fabulous thing to do. Cherrelle had interesting stories about the diplomats she worked with. Maggie was feeling relaxed and even cheerful, when she glanced over and saw Agnes glaring at her.
Agnes on a good day looked angry. Maybe it was the way her brow covered her eyes. Her face seemed perpetually clenched. But now she seemed to be radiating heat. The sight of her brought Maggie back to the day when she’d fumed about her turning down Racine, and now a similar expression flickered across her face.
“Are you all right?” Maggie asked.
“How dare you flirt with my girlfriend,” Agnes yelled.
“Agnes,” Maggie said. “I’m not flirting. Think about it. Why would I flirt with her? I’m not gay.”
“You always have to be the best,” she said. “Everyone always has to like you more.”
Cherrelle jumped into action just then. Put her arm around Agnes and tugged her away. Fortunately everyone had been busy talking, and they all just talked louder, to cover up the silence. But Maggie felt shaken. She clenched her fists. Every time she felt like she knew the rules, they changed. Nothing was what it seemed. She was getting too old to do all this. Life was messy and uncertain and painful and she never meant to hurt Agnes. It all just took so much effort. She finished the meal quietly.
When she got back to her house, she sank into her living room, two cats at her feet. She looked around her tidy room, at the desk she’d made herself a long time ago, at the photographs on the wall and the maps that had once belonged to her husband. She felt safe here. In the twenty years she’d mourned her daughter, she’d known the rules. She was in charge of the rules. There was no one else to worry about. In fact, although she’d been depressed, she’d felt perfectly content in her house up until her neighbor went and got murdered on her lawn.
Life just took such courage and she wasn’t sure she was up for it.
She looked at the little cat curled up next to her, and at Kosi, who had survived a fair amount himself.
She noticed one of her Detective Grudge tapes on her desk, and she looked at it. She really wanted to be a private detective. She loved her job; she felt she was getting better at it. She knew what she had to do.
“Hello,” Agnes said, voice muffled when she picked up the phone. Maggie knew she’d been crying.
“I’m sorry,” Maggie said. “I really didn’t think I was flirting, but I can see how you felt excluded and I’m sorry.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Maggie. I just feel so vulnerable. She’s going to drop me. I know it.”
“She’s not, Agnes. She’d be a fool to.”
They talked for a long time, and Maggie felt much better, and at the end of the conversation Agnes said, “Are you still planning to go to that coven meeting tomorrow night?”
“Yes,” Maggie answered, warily. She hoped this wouldn’t provoke another argument.
“I’m going to come with you,” Agnes said. “We’ll do this together.”
“Fabulous,” Maggie said, and she meant it.
“But I think I’m going to take some Xanax.”
“Fabulous,” Maggie said.
Chapter 42
They agreed to meet at sunset at the large rock that marked the entryway into the woods. Maggie figured the witches would come later in the night, but that would give them a chance to hide and get into position. Her plan was that she and Agnes would stake out a spot, wait for the witches and then follow them. It all sounded perfectly reasonable until you actually said to yourself: I’m going to follow witches into a dark wood. But Agnes would be there, and Maggie was grateful for that.
She considered alerting Walter, but rejected that idea. He would stop the whole thing. They didn’t tell Helen either. Her babysitter had quit after she got home from the Dining Out Club. It turned out Edgar had tried to close the garage door on her head. There was no point in adding further stress to Helen, and Maggie certainly did not want to bring Edgar along. She could deal with witches and she could deal with Edgar. But she didn’t think she could deal with them at the same time.
Maggie got to the rock first. She’d worn black sweatpants and brought a flashlight. Detective Grudge said there was no piece of equipment more important for a detective. Following his advice, she checked to make sure the batteries were good. They were.
A family of deer wandered by. They stood neatly by a rock, almost as though they were arranging a tableau for her. She loved their stillness. She was always surprised by how big they were. They were like those plant-eating dinosaurs that had roamed the earth, chewing leaves and essentially harmless unless you got in one’s path. Watching them made her think of the four members of the Stern family. She thought of what Ella had said about Leonard Stern pushing Racine to go away. She thought of how the family collapsed in a month: Domino caught up in a scandal and Leonard Stern dying. Racine’s entire life twisted sharply in one month’s time. Maggie couldn’t help but feel sympathy. There Racine had been, in France, happy, and then all of a sudden that life ended and she began one of service to her mother. The odd thing was that Racine did not seem bitter. She seemed anxious, intense and even frightened—all emotions that Maggie could identify with. But she didn’t seem angry.
Suddenly Agnes appeared. She dropped in so suddenly it was as though she’d parachuted onto the rock. She wore camo gear and she carried a heavy backpack. “Night vision goggles,” she explained. “And a bunch of other equipment. I also brought coffee and some cookies for you, Maggie. I figured we’d have to kill some time.”
Maggie was never one to turn away a cookie, and so they sat companionably eating cookies and drinking coffee. Darkness fell. At one point, Agnes shook a pill onto her hand and smiled, “Xanax,” she said. “It really helps.”
Maggie patted her hand. It was nice to see her so calm, though she wondered if right before staking out witches was the perfect time to medicate yourself. Still, the less hysteria, the better.
The sky began to darken and the moon to rise. It was a giant moon, as big as the sun, and almost as bright. The woods erupted in sound. The birds seemed to be shrieking at one another. An owl hooted and the crickets screamed. Something small dashed by Maggie’s feet, startling her. The stars began to come out. Hours passed. She expected Agnes to fuss, but she stayed calm. Very calm.
“I suppose it’s possible the witches aren’t meeting tonight,” Maggie felt obliged to point out. “Or they might have a different path into the woods.”
“Don’t worry,” Agnes said. “They’ll show up. I have confidence in you.”
She moved and Maggie could hear the pill bottle jangling. She felt like all her senses were on alert. She was so focused on listening that she didn’t even feel cold, though the night certainly was cooling off. She and Agnes settled into a companionable silence, and then suddenly, toward midnight, Maggie heard an unusual sound—the whispering of feet scraping across leaves. The witches were here.
“Put on your goggles,” Agnes whispered. “And let’s go.”
Chapter 43
Following witches in the woods turned out to be easier than Maggie had thought it would be. What with all the animal sounds, they didn’t have to worry about being overheard. The goggles weren’t even necessary. The moon lit their way. Maggie walked along familiar trails for a while, and then the witches reached a large split rock and veered deeper into the woods. Maggie could still hear the thrum of the parkway, which was reassuring, as they kept moving forward. And then they arrived at the circle she had found a week earlier. So she was right. It had been their meeting place.
Maggie and Agnes watched from behind a rock as the witches went about their business. A tall man in long robes emerged from the group. He wore a headdress with two horns sprouting from it and he carried a sword with him. Grant Winfrey, Maggie thought. Although he was disguised by his clothes and headdress, it seemed like an incredible coincidence that there would be another man of his height, another man that sloped the way he did. The witches around him chanted as Grant walked in a circle, dragging a sword through the dirt, lips moving as well. Maggie couldn’t understand what he said, but the rhythm of his words twisted through her heart. She felt her blood rise in sync with the music.
Then one of the women walked out and put four candles around the circle—marking the directions of a compass, Maggie suspected. She remembered the way Domino had arranged the candles in her own circle in the cellar. This didn’t feel as ominous to Maggie though, maybe because it was outside. Then another woman stepped out and began sprinkling liquid on the ground. Maggie smelled incense. She began to feel uncomfortable watching them. It felt like a violation.
She hadn’t realized how solemn it would be. She didn’t share their beliefs, but she understood reverence. She respected it, in fact. She’d often felt she had more in common with religious people of other faiths than with people who didn’t believe anything at all. She understood the desire to make sense of this world, a quest that had animated her entire life. She also respected the desire to live your life according to a set of rules.
“I have to tell them I’m here,” Maggie said. “I should tell them before things go too far.”
“Okay,” Agnes said. Her voice sounded almost slurred.
Maggie took a deep breath. She removed the goggles and cleared her throat. She didn’t like drawing attention to herself and she knew she’d startle them. “Excuse me,” she said as she walked into the clearing.
Immediately they all jumped back. There was Trudi, looking angry, and Grant Winfrey, who quickly ripped off the horned headdress and held it behind his back.
“What are you doing here?” Trudi cried out.
Like the others, she wore a long gown that looked handmade. She had a circlet in her hair and she wore a deep black necklace.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Maggie said, “and I didn’t mean to scare you. But I wanted to talk to you, Grant, and I thought it might be easier to have this conversation in the presence of the coven. I thought you might feel more comfortable that way.” Maggie wondered where Agnes was. She’d thought she was behind her.
“You followed us here?” Trudi said.
Maggie ignored Trudi, focusing on Grant, who looked terrified.
“Please,” she said. “I just need to find out what happened to Domino, to try to understand why she killed herself, if she did. That’s all. I’m a private investigator, and I don’t want to get any of you in trouble. I just want information and I won’t share it with anyone else.”
“I had nothing to do with her death,” Grant said.
Finally, Maggie thought. Finally he was going to speak to her. Finally he was going to do something besides run. She forced herself to stay calm.
“But you did know her?”
The coven moved closer to him, offering him support. Maggie counted fourteen people in total. She wanted to make sure Agnes was close, but didn’t dare interrupt this moment. She assumed Agnes was watching, getting ready to pounce if Maggie needed her. She hoped so.
“If I answer your que
stion, will you leave me alone?” Grant asked. He looked deflated, like a runner who’d been running a very long time.
“Yes,” she said. “I promise.”
At that, he seemed to almost lean back into the circle, as though placing all his weight against his fellow witches. “Yes, I knew Domino. I met her and Trudi in high school, at Cranston. We were in the same chemistry class and we all were interested in experimenting. When Trudi invited us to join a coven, we were eager to see what it was like, and then I wanted to see if I could create ergot. I’d read that it could enhance the experience. It was a challenge. If it was a little bit off, it could be lethal. But I liked the challenge—I was a whiz kid, you see. It took me months to get it right, to grow the Claviceps purpurea, to isolate the ergot compounds, to find a safe combination, but after months of work, I did it. We found using it exhilarating, but after high school, I stopped doing it. I went to college, then to medical school, and then I began to pursue my career. I’d lost touch with Domino by that point. Trudi and I were still going to the same coven meetings, but Domino moved away to California and married Lucifer. I didn’t expect I’d ever hear from her again.”
He was panting. It was as though he’d kept the words inside him for so long that he couldn’t stop them now that they were coming out. An owl hooted and rustled in one of the trees overhead. The moon shone into the circle.
“One day, out of the blue, Domino contacted me. She called me and said she’d joined a coven in California. It was different than ours. Black magic. Hard-core,” he said, with a ragged laugh. “The thing was that they needed ergot, but she couldn’t find any as good as mine. She liked mine best. She wanted me to make some for her.”
