Murder Casts Its Spell

by Margaret C. Morse

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THURSDAY MORNING

  The judge kept us waiting three hours in juvenile court for the sentencing on the doctor's kid. She put the boy in detention because a last minute report showed he'd turned up dirty for meth. He'd been out ten days from the wilderness rehab cure. His parents, really nice people, had spent forty thousand dollars for the program. Eating bugs and camping out hadn't cured the kid.

  By the time I got back to the office at noon, I was tired from the long wait for the short hearing. Chugging bottled water in the kitchen, I could hear my partner Maxy's voice coming down the hall from her office.

  "I don't see how Petra can work with a domineering control freak like you." Maxy used her "loud enough to reach every inch of the courtroom" volume.

  "I think she sees me as a challenge."

  It was Chris's voice. I'd arranged to meet him here around lunchtime to talk about Keegan's case. I hovered in the kitchen, listening.

  "No, you're more like wet paint on a bench. Something Petra knows will hurt her but she can't help touching," Maxy said.

  There was a heartbeat pause before Chris replied, "I've never hurt her. You have it wrong."

  Walking up to the door of Maxy's office, I checked out the scene. Chris half sat on the edge of her cluttered desk, his back to me. He faced Maxy, his form blocking the view of her face and half her torso. She wore a black leotard and flesh-colored tights. I knew how that outfit outlined her trim form, especially her curved waist and muscled butt. Holding on to the bar she'd installed on three feet of the wall, she did a deep knee bend, swirling her free hand in graceful curves.

  When she lifted up, Chris stepped to within touching distance of her.

  "I've imagined you doing that move ever since Petra told me about your noon routine."

  His voice had lowered almost to a growl. I wanted to stop this scene before the air between them heated up. "Hey, Chris, sorry I kept you waiting."

  They didn't jump or freeze like guilty creatures. Chris simply turned to me. Maxy called out as we walked to my office, "I'll order takeout from Mintis for us. I know what everybody wants."

  Our firm ordered from Mintis at least once a week, so of course she knew I always ordered green curry shrimp, three stars hot. How did she know what Chris wanted? In my office, I picked up the one-inch thick pile of police reports on Keegan from my chair and scanned the first page. "Anything good?"

  Chris shifted in the leather client chair as if he were having trouble finding a comfort zone. "There's the lead detective's summary, plus reports from the first cops on the scene. I've come across Maxy a few times picking up takeout for dinner at Mintis."

  Did Bear know if something was going on between Maxy and Chris? "Currently, it's one of my favorite places, right after Mamacita's." I slapped the juvenile court file down on my desk. "Any developments on the bad publicity about Keegan?"

  "Ten phone calls saying we'll be punished for aiding a demon wizard. We're taking security precautions. Keeping our front door locked. All interviews done with a partner."

  If Bear did know and hadn't told me Chris and Maxy were seeing each other, I'd be irate. I smiled at Chris. "Our interview with Ira showed me it's possible that a shape-shifter, not the real Keegan, was the person the neighbor saw leaving Monday morning. I think Ira's instability would make him a suspicious character for a jury."

  "Speaking of suspicious characters, that kid—Felicia's brother—who hassled you last night—"

  I didn't like Chris's interpretation of the scene with Salvador. "I didn't let him hassle me. He is a loose cannon, but he didn't really threaten me." I'd controlled the interview.

  "He called the office this morning." Chris checked his phone. "He wanted to talk to Rusty today, but he has classes, and then he's going to the SOS meeting tonight. He doesn't like the way they're using his sister's death—"

  "I'll call Rusty." I wanted to attend one of the SOS meetings incognito to observe their ranting about Keegan's case. "If she's available, we can talk to the kid after the meeting."

  "That might not work—"

  I cut him off by leaving a message for Rusty.

  Had Maxy been opposed to me being a co-counsel with Chris because she was developing a relationship with him? Not so much jealous of me but not wanting me to find out? She had gone through six men in the last two years and was touchy about the subject. Gone through like a snowplow.

  I put down the phone. "Keegan's sister, Shirley, came by my office this morning. She was indignant because I'm looking at Ira as a suspect."

  "She called me too. There's some kind of hearing tomorrow morning because the maternal grandparents want visitation. Do you want to go?"

  I checked my calendar on the laptop, which gave me an excuse to look away from him. "I'd like to get a look at Felicia's parents. They had a motive if they found out she wasn't going through with the exorcism. Keegan and Ira's aunt, Mona Flynn, wants to meet me there too. She's probably also ticked off about me going after Ira. Can Rusty be there?"

  "I'll ask her."

  My eyes fixed on the computer screen as I tried to make sense of a Maxy and Chris pairing. She was totally different from his wife, Janna, who had quit her nursing job when they had kids. Maxy had a background in the arts and was very connected politically. Janna never argued with him. Chris liked the stimulation of a good fight, something Maxy could always supply. If only they'd trusted me enough to tell me.

  "I meant to tell you—"

  Irritated by his tardy disclosure, I flung the police report on the desk. "Anything special I should read?"

  "On page six there's a summary of the state's theory of the case. It—"

  "Let me read it really quick."

  Someone had highlighted the paragraph in yellow. Due to the likelihood that the victim exited the second floor bedroom by going through a double-paned glass window and considering the trajectory of her body through the window and into the rear of the backyard, it appears that the victim did not fall from the window but was propelled out head first to the ground, thus accounting for the massive head injuries. It can be argued that a wizard with extensive teleportation powers could perform such a feat.

  Chris had been watching me read, his lips twisted, not a smile or grimace, just some kind of misshapen expression.

  I put the report down. "You mean she was shot out of the window into the yard like a cannonball?"

  "That's how I read it. I—"

  I stood up and headed out of my office, saying over my shoulder, "We should do some crime reconstruction."

  Chris followed me. "I'm having Jake Herz do some preliminary work. He—" Chris stopped, as if giving me a chance to interrupt him.

  At the kitchen sink, I washed my hands with lavender soap then let warm water flow over them. The sweet scent and heat calmed my temper and gave me a moment to reflect. Chris deserved better from me. "Go ahead, finish your sentence."

  Keeping an eye on me, he briskly washed up. "Jake will do some rough reconstructions before we hire an engineering expert. He's very—"

  "Lunch." Maxy deposited a bulging carryout sack on the table. She had put on a wrap-around skirt.

  Chris handed me the green curry shrimp. "Be careful tonight. The SOS group will probably make you crazy. You know how—"

  I inhaled curry scent. "You act like I'm a hothead."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THURSDAY EVENING

  Rusty and I stayed in her pickup and watched people streaming into a one-story building behind St. Stephen's. Next to us, six elderly women tottered out of an SUV. Two men wearing white shirts and ties hurried around them.

  Rusty picked up a Marlboro pack and sniffed it. "Hard to get a read on this SOS crowd."

  Three spaces down, a souped-up pickup jerked to a stop.

  I squinted in the twilight. "There's Salvador. You think he's high?"

  After Salvador slammed out of his truck, he wiped his hands on baggy shorts and followed a tubby man to the open door
way.

  "Psyching himself up. I'll go in first. Let's not sit together. I told Salvador we'd be here. He promised not to out us because he wants to talk later."

  Rusty threaded her way around parked cars to the entry, where she nodded at a woman with curly brown hair who immediately started chatting with her. They trailed behind four men clad in checked shirts. Rusty and the woman leaned toward each other and laughed.

  I listened to two country and Western songs about wronged lovers who just didn't get it then entered the meeting room. Steel folding chairs with thinly padded seats were lined up on the scuffed wood floor of what looked like the school cafeteria. A scent from years of fish sticks and sloppy joes lingered in the air.

  In front, two steps led to a stage filled up with five chairs and a podium. I selected a row two-thirds of the way back with a direct line to the exit. Although this was a public event, I suspected the lawyer for a wizard accused of murder would not be welcome. Checking for signs of fanaticism or just plain weirdness, I was disappointed. Two bulletin boards decorated the room. One advised Eat Up the Pyramid, and the other advocated Just Say No to Drugs. A printed agenda lay on the seat, listing a blessing, a prayer chain, SOS's impact on the legislature, volunteers needed, and a final blessing.

  The room buzzed with conversation and occasional loud laughter that hushed when a man in a clerical collar, accompanied by four people dressed in civvies, mounted the stage. As the four sat, the priest turned on the microphone and lifted up his hands. Everyone stood.

  "Welcome to the Westside Save Our Souls meeting. I'm Father Robert Nustor, pastor of St. Stephen's. Everyone calls me Father Bob. Let us pray. Our Father who art in heaven…"

  The woman next to me offered a hand. I clasped her squishy palm. On my right, a man extended his fingers, and we entwined. I mumbled the words of the prayer, which after years of nonuse, miraculously returned to me. At its conclusion, the priest continued, "We will begin this SOS meeting. Let us pray for our fallen brothers and sisters. For those who are in league with Satan."

  "Save their souls," responded the group. Afraid to stand out by remaining silent, I made myself mouth the words.

  "For those who harness the powers of darkness."

  "Save their souls."

  The squishy hand clenched mine tighter. I pretended not to notice. Her intensity made me colder, more remote. The priest kept on through ten more ways of saying magic people were infested with Satan's evil energy. I was relieved when he concluded. "We pray, Lord, that your light will shine out their darkness."

  After a loud "Amen," the group sat with a rustle and squeaking of chairs. I pressed my left hand on my slacks because the squishy hand's moisture lingered.

  Father Bob introduced a pink-cheeked lady who talked about a new project, a prayer chain, whereby a circle of six SOS members would write letters to selected wizards to announce that the group was doing novenas for their salvation. I made a mental list of civil lawsuits that could be filed on behalf of the wizards.

  She looked up as she turned a page of her notes. "Yes, young man, you have a question?"

  "How would all this stuff have prevented the murder of Felicia Morlatti?" The deep voice broke and quavered. "She was my sister. Your group has been using her murder as an example of bad things wizards do."

  A murmur of sympathy rippled through the crowd along with a collective "Oh." Worried, I turned to see Salvador with his hands half raised, set to explode. He locked eyes on the speaker, who blathered on about the need to convert wizards one at a time. She ran down and told Father Bob she was "about done."

  Father Bob came up to the microphone and expressed sympathy for "the young man and his family." He nodded at a dark-haired man seated on the stage. "Now we'll hear about volunteer opportunities."

  The volunteer guy spoke in a gruff voice that grabbed attention like a dog's growl. "We'll be passing out sign-up cards for public rallies for the next two weeks. Put down your name and best contact phone numbers and the days you're available. Hand them in on your way out."

  A woman with gray hair waved her arm, and he nodded at her.

  "What about the WAI demonstrators? What if they cast spells on us?" Her eyes blazed.

  "The police make them keep ten feet from SOS," the man said.

  "What about my sister's death?" Salvador shouted from his spot two rows behind me.

  "We're putting pressure on the state to punish rogue wizards more severely."

  "You're just doing it to get publicity. You're using her death."

  "Young man, SOS sees your sister's death as a tragic example—"

  "She's not an example." He pointed at the people around him. "She's a real person who died. Leave her alone!"

  Father Bob stepped up to the microphone. The people around Salvador slid away from him. A woman in an adjoining row tripped in her flight and was helped by a man who pulled her down the aisle. Blank chairs surrounded Salvador on either side.

  "Don't run from me. Listen."

  Salvador turned to reach for the remaining people behind him, who shrank away.

  "Young man," Father Bob said, "we understand your sorrow."

  "You don't get it."

  "Ladies and gentlemen, let us take a ten-minute break. Please step outside while the committee members help this young man."

  Before I could move, the people in the rows ahead of me bolted out their aisles toward the exit. They clumped up at the door. I looked around for Rusty. She had managed to wiggle through the crowd and head in my direction.

  The woman next to me retrieved her purse from the floor, looked through it till she found her phone, frowned, turned—all her actions in slow motion. The man on my right was watching Salvador, who had approached the speaker's platform.

  Salvador waved his hands. "Listen to me!"

  At the sound of Salvador's voice, the crowd at the door paused and gawked. Father Bob patted the air at Salvador.

  "That's crap." Salvador announced.

  The woman next to me felt her way along the row as if she were blind. Why was she so hesitant to leave? Go! I followed so closely that I bumped into her when she stopped, her eyes riveted on Salvador.

  "Look at this." Salvador reached into the pocket of his shorts. When his fingers appeared to clasp something, he pulled it out. The men on the speaker's platform lunged at him and clamped down on his arms. Salvador went rigid for a breath before flinging his arms free. A black object flew out of his hand in a backwards arc, banging onto the floor to my right. I pushed aside the chair in front of me and picked up his cell phone.

  The men grabbed Salvador again. All staggered about, scattering chairs. The guy next to me and two others hurried to the scuffle, stopped, hovered, and reached out to get handholds on Salvador's struggling body. As I followed them, Rusty joined me. We stood close behind the men who were trying to break up the melee.

  "Listen to me!" screamed Salvador.

  He yanked an arm free. One of the men seized it and tugged down, causing Salvador to crash onto the floor. Four men each took one limb. Father Bob kneeled on Salvador's chest. Salvador's lips pulled back in a snarl. He gasped for breath.

  "Will you stop?" demanded Father Bob.

  "Let go of me!"

  I reached out and grabbed his shoulder. "Hey, remember me? Calm down."

  With a strangled groan, he went limp.

  I let go and shoved the phone at Alex and Father Bob. "He was reaching for his phone, not a gun. He has pictures of his sister."

  I crouched by Salvador. "If they let you go, will you behave?"

  He nodded, and I raised my brows at the men holding him. Released, he half lifted himself on his elbows and looked at me wide-eyed. "That was some calming spell."

  "Witch!" A woman stabbed her finger at me. She was the one with the squishy hand. She charged for the door and pushed people aside. "We have to get out. Don't you understand? She did a spell! We're all in danger." Her screech acted like a cattle prod on the people around her, who recoiled and th
en frantically shoved one another to escape.

  Salvador tottered. After Rusty put a supportive arm around him, she inspected me. I shook my head at her and stared at my hands. They had betrayed me. If I'd done a calm-down spell on Salvador, it had the opposite effect on me, for my heart pounded and my hands shook.

  I backed up from Father Bob, who approached me with a crucifix held in front of him. "Leave, at once, because I can't guarantee your safety."

  Rusty pulled Salvador and me out of the room, both of us sputtering. "They wouldn't listen" from him and "I'm not a witch" from me. Father Bob followed, the crucifix pushed out as if he really believed it could ward off a magic spell. It worked in a way because I couldn't pull my eyes away from the brass figure stretched out on the cross until I stepped into the night. An atmosphere of alarm and anger hit me like a brisk wind.

  Cars roared out of the parking lot. Their tires squealed, and their lights glared. Drivers beeped their demands for others to get out of the way. I blinked and paused in the flash of the headlights, afraid to step into the mad traffic flow. In the first row of parked cars, close to Rusty's pickup, a group of five stood. They had their arms wrapped protectively around their chests, except the woman who'd called me a witch.

  She flailed her arms. "The witch who did the spell! Get out!"

  Her shrill voice startled me, and I yanked away from Rusty, wanting to run. I'd done nothing wrong, but I was being treated like I'd hurt someone. Rusty put her arm around my waist, and I instantly relaxed, my knees almost buckling.

  She propped me up. "Don't run. They'll chase you."

  Father Bob pushed the crucifix at an SUV zooming to the exit. The SUV squealed to a halt, causing those behind to brake violently. Father Bob motioned for us to move. "Leave now."

  One hand on Salvador's shoulder and one arm around my waist, Rusty propelled us forward. When we came up to the group of five, they bunched together for protection. I didn't want to make eye contact but couldn't resist. Seeing the loathing in their faces, I hurried ahead to Rusty's pickup. She followed me to the passenger side and unlocked the door.