Familiar Motives

by Delia James

  At the same time, I couldn’t help thinking this was really strange. After two anonymous calls warning two different people they should be checking on Ruby, you’d expect a ransom demand. As much as you could expect anything in this situation.

  “Kenisha,” said Julia. “Let us work with you. I swear, we will go no further than to try to discover if magic had a role in Ramona’s death.”

  “And if it did?” asked Kenisha.

  Julia didn’t answer, but she clutched her walking stick so hard that even from where I sat, I could see her knuckles turned white.

  “Julia?” said Allie quietly. “There’s something else. Have you heard anything from the rest of the Forsythes?”

  Julia shook herself and turned to answer. “I spoke with Wendy this morning. They are all extremely distraught, as you can imagine.”

  “Are they okay with us stepping in?”

  A world of tension and history weighed down that question. I looked to Trish and then to Val. Neither of them seemed at all interested in looking back.

  Terrific. Even more terrific was how Julia seemed to be undergoing some internal struggle.

  “I will of course be speaking further with Wendy,” she said finally. “And with Marjorie before any decisions are made.”

  “So you’ll put your plans on hold to talk to another family but not to me,” said Kenisha softly.

  “That’s not—” began Julia.

  “No, course not.” Kenisha slowly got to her feet and walked out.

  13

  I WAS THE first one on my feet and out the door to the main dining room.

  In the restaurant foyer, Kenisha yanked her uniform jacket off the coat peg. Max and Leo watched her pull it on and zip it up but for once did not come scampering over to sniff, snuffle or yip.

  When I saw the look on Kenisha’s face, I couldn’t blame them.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, which wasn’t really what I wanted to say, but they were the only words I could manage.

  I half expected a brush-off. Heck, I half deserved one, but Kenisha just sighed.

  “I don’t know.” She dug her hands deep into her pockets. “This is just such a massive cluster . . . mess,” she corrected herself. “We’ve got so many TV crews around you’d think it was an election year. Blanchard is having the time of his life being interviewed every five minutes. Pete’s trying his best to keep his head down and actually get some kind of evidence together, and now it looks like we got a witch who . . .” Kenisha stopped. “When I joined the force, I told myself I didn’t have to worry. This would never happen. No modern-day witch would actually . . .” She stopped again. “You’ve got no idea what kind of power and effort we’re talking about here. I’m not sure any of us even could do what Julia’s talking about.”

  “She seems pretty sure, though,” I said.

  “Yeah, doesn’t she? The problem is, Julia doesn’t realize . . .” She stopped.

  “What?”

  Kenisha glanced around to make sure we were alone. No one else had come out of the private room. It was just me and Kenisha, and the unusually subdued Max and Leo, here in the foyer. No one else had followed us from the back room, not even Val.

  I wasn’t sure what to think about that either.

  “Julia’s overreacting, Anna,” breathed Kenisha. “And it’s because of Dorothy.”

  The soft words went straight to my heart and squeezed. Dorothy Hawthorne had led the guardian coven until her murder. She and Julia had been close in that complicated way you get when you’ve known someone your whole life.

  “I know she never talks about it,” Kenisha said, “but she’s carrying a ton of survivor’s guilt. She missed the fact that one of her oldest friends was in trouble. And now here’s this mess with Ramona. It’s opened the scars, and she is not thinking straight.”

  “You can’t . . .”

  Kenisha turned and looked at me. This wasn’t her on-duty glower or her skeptical glance. This was something more distant, sadder and much, much colder. “Can’t I?” she whispered.

  She might have added something else, but Max chose that moment to yip. Kenisha started back, every muscle in her body as tense as if she’d just heard a shot.

  “I gotta go,” she muttered, grabbing her hat. “Listen, Anna . . .” She took a long breath. My neck muscles tensed up just watching the slow and careful way she turned to face me. “I never in a million years thought I’d have to say this, but . . . Julia’s not wrong. If there was magic involved . . . I have to know, but I can’t be caught . . . doing anything about it.”

  I nodded.

  “I’m not asking you to do a full-on Nancy Drew,” she said. “In fact, that is absolutely off the table, you understand?”

  I nodded again.

  “But if you and Julia and the others . . . if you find out that magic was directly involved with how Ramona got killed, I need to know, okay?”

  “You could go back and tell them that yourself,” I suggested.

  “No,” she said flatly. “I . . . It’s complicated. And I do gotta get back to the station. Take care of yourself, Britton.”

  “Kenisha . . .”

  She didn’t stop. She pushed her way out the door and strode away into the November morning.

  “You too,” I murmured.

  “Yip?” Max wagged at me.

  “Yap!” Leo snuffled at my boots.

  “Not now, guys,” I said, and because they were dogs, not cats, they actually paid attention and settled back down by the door.

  Julia never did talk about Dorothy’s death. I did not like the idea that Julia’s ideas about Ramona’s death were being driven by her pain. Can you put something extremely mildly? Because I had just done it. But at the same time, I had to admit, Kenisha might be right.

  I was still staring out the windows when Valerie came out of the dining room, her arm looped through the handle of Melissa’s car seat, which she affectionately referred to as “the baby bucket.”

  “How’s Kenisha doing? I didn’t want to come out before. She doesn’t like to be crowded.”

  “She’s upset.” My hand pressed against my purse, like I could feel my wand through the side. I wanted something to hang on to. “I’ve never seen her like this.”

  “I have, but not for a long time.” Val reached down to tuck Melissa’s traveling blanket in a little more firmly. “She’s a veteran, did you know that?”

  “Um, no.” But it did explain how Kenisha would be so quick to recognize Julia’s survivor’s guilt.

  “She was in Iraq, and she came back in a bad way. Finding the true craft pulled her part of the way out; finding the police pulled her out the rest. It let her feel like she was doing some good with all her combat training. I’ve always been afraid there’d be a day when the two were in conflict.”

  “They’re not in conflict,” I said. Not really. Not yet.

  “May it stay that way,” whispered Val. “So mote it be.”

  “So mote it be,” I agreed. Because the alternative didn’t bear thinking about.

  Before either of us had a chance to say anything else, the swinging door behind the bar opened and Sean backed in, his arms full of plastic containers, which were in turn full of lemons and limes, all sliced and ready for those who might like a cocktail with their lunch. It made me very aware that the tavern’s main dining room was pristine and still. All the white cloths and wineglasses were in place. The hostess was at her station. The curtain, metaphorically speaking, was ready to go up. It was time for us to leave Martine to her show.

  Of course, Sean saw me standing there with Val and raised his eyebrows. I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile. In response, he made a small gesture with his chin, asking me whether he should come outside so we could talk for a second. I shook my head at him to signal that he should stay at his post. He was on the
clock, after all. Sean held his hand up to his ear and mouthed, “Call me?” I nodded again. He gave me a thumbs-up and a smile that did pleasantly fizzy things to my blood, and headed into the back, probably for more fruit and bottles of something tasty.

  Val took in all these little details, despite the fact that she had appeared completely fully occupied with getting little Melissa into her hand-knitted strawberry cap (yes, okay, I did get her one) and trying to pull the matching booties (totally not guilty of those; they were Allie’s work) onto her amazingly squirmy feet.

  “So, how’s that going?” Val asked brightly.

  “Amm-ppt-mm!” added Melissa.

  “Now is not the time,” I murmured.

  “Probably not,” Val agreed. “So, how is that going?”

  Of course, Trish and Allie managed to come for their coats and hats just in time to overhear this little exchange. Which for some reason they found highly amusing, even when I narrowed my eyes at them. That only made them grin wider. Clearly, I was going to have to work on that steely glower of mine.

  But then Julia emerged, walking slow, and nothing felt amusing anymore. She had her hat back on her head and carried her gloves in her hands. I won’t say we all fell back, but there was a much broader path around her than usual. Max and Leo, of course, had no sense of occasion. They both bounced to their feet, wagging like they wanted to shake their tiny behinds loose.

  “Yes, all right,” she said to them. “I understand.” She bent down to ruffle their floppy ears. One of her gloves slipped from her fingers.

  I hurried over and picked it up.

  “Julia . . .” I handed it back to her. “Are you sure we should get involved in this?” There were all kinds of things I wasn’t saying, of course, but I didn’t need to. Julia could read them all in my expression anyway.

  “Normally, I am in agreement with Kenisha,” she said, softly but firmly. “Law enforcement should handle this matter and we should not attempt to interfere, but there is a place for us, for you, Anna, in this. We cannot neglect or ignore it, if for no other reason than we owe it to Rachael.”

  “Rachael?”

  “Ramona’s daughter.”

  “Oh. I didn’t realize.” My heart squeezed just a little in sympathy for this young woman I’d never met. I lost my mother to breast cancer. It was the worst thing that had ever happened to our family. At least we’d known it was coming and had some kind of chance to get ready for it. I couldn’t imagine how it would have been to just wake up one day and find out she was gone.

  “Rachael is also one of us,” Julia said. “Although we would of course support her in any case, I believe it increases the imperative.” She pulled her glove on and smoothed it over the back of her hand. “I will speak with Wendy Forsythe and make sure she knows what we have discovered thus far. Then we will decide what to do to gain justice for our sister.”

  Which, needless to say, was exactly the kind of talk that Kenisha had been afraid of, especially coming from Julia. Especially now.

  And she wasn’t the only one.

  14

  WHEN I GOT home, Alistair was curled up on the window seat, enjoying a rare November sunbeam.

  “Merow?” He opened one blue eye as I tossed my keys and my purse on the sofa.

  “Well, I’m glad one of us is having a relaxing morning,” I muttered as I dropped down beside my stuff. It had taken me more than half an hour to navigate the normally calm route from Market Square to home. Portsmouth had been flooded to the brim with news trucks and their attendant crews. They were blocking traffic, setting up lights, interviewing bemused passersby. I must have counted fifteen networks represented, and I’m sure I saw a few T-shirts for blogs and podcasts. And all this on top of the fraught meeting with the coven at the Pale Ale.

  “I don’t suppose you considered I might need some moral support?” I asked my cat.

  Alistair yawned and for good measure stretched out both front paws, spreading his claws and toes.

  “Uh-huh. That’s a big help.”

  In response, my familiar thudded down off the window seat and padded across the floor. He jumped up straight into my lap and put his paws on my chest so he could press his big furry head under my chin. He also started purring like a miniature cement mixer.

  “You big faker,” I told him, carefully, so I wouldn’t inhale cat hair. “You’re not fooling anyone.”

  “Merow?” He cuddled closer. “Merp?”

  Alistair might have been a big faker, but I was clearly a big softie. “All right, all right.” I sighed and scratched his ears. Alistair purred and curled up in my lap, and pretty soon I couldn’t remember why I was feeling so crabby at him. “All is forgiven,” I told him. “Besides, we’ve got bigger problems.”

  “Merow?” Alistair lifted his head and one ear twitched. If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn he was concerned.

  I thought about Julia and Kenisha. I thought about the huge gulfs that had opened between what I could do, what I wanted to do and what I ought to do.

  There was something else, too, something perfectly normal and entirely important that the events of last night and this morning had almost pushed out of my head. I seized on it now like a lifeline.

  “Okay. I’ve done what I can this morning. It’s time to get back to the paying work.”

  Alistair cocked his head, managing an expression somewhere between doubtful and contemptuous. But that could have just been because I was about to remove my warm lap from under his furry belly.

  “You remember work, right?” I asked. “That thing that keeps a roof over our heads and food in your bowl?”

  Alistair vanished.

  “Fine,” I muttered and got to my feet. “See if I care.”

  • • •

  I MEANT WELL; I really did. I went upstairs to the spare bedroom I’d converted to a studio. I checked my e-mails. I sat down at my brand-new (to me) drafting table and looked over the work I’d done yesterday for the coloring book. It seemed pretty good, even to my hypercritical eye, which was a relief. There are days I manage to convince myself I couldn’t draw a straight line with a ruler and a set of directions.

  The theme for the book was inspired by my practice. Not that I was going to say this to anyone outside my immediate circle. That far out of the broom closet I am not. But in the ritual magic of the true craft, each direction has associated colors as well as elements. I took that idea and worked it into the repeating theme of a compass rose. I liked the idea of using the symbolism of guidance and direction. I hoped it not only would interest the colorers but would help people who might be looking for stability and calm in their lives.

  I’d said this to Julia. She’d said I was beginning to think like a witch as well as an artist.

  I sharpened a pencil. I opened my pen case. I stared at the page and the half-completed circular pattern of elaborately interlocking flames and sunbursts.

  Right. Okay. Time to get to work.

  I needed this. Never mind the rent and the other bills that this book would cover; I needed to take a step back from the meeting this morning and the events of last night. I was jittery, itching to take some kind of action, but I couldn’t. There was too much I didn’t know yet, and if I wasn’t careful, I might make the situation worse. Besides, Julia had promised that none of us would do anything beyond finding out if a witch had been involved in Ramona’s death, and I had no idea how on earth one did that. At least, not magically.

  But magic wasn’t always necessary to find hidden things.

  Stop it, Britton, I told myself. You heard what Kenisha said about the full-on Nancy Drew routine. Stick to your knitting. Or your drawing.

  I faced the table again. A white news van rumbled past outside my window. I muttered something my grandmother wouldn’t have wanted to hear and reached up to pull the curtains shut. And I froze.

 
There was nothing I could do.

  Except.

  Maybe there was something somebody else could do for me. Us. Ramona. And Kristen. And Kenisha. And Ruby.

  I laid my pencil on the tray.

  “Alistair?” I said to thin air. “Come on, Alistair, it’s really important this time.”

  I started to count to ten to allow for feline sulks. I’d gotten to nine before my familiar appeared on the daybed I kept for guests.

  I reached into the drafting table drawer, where I stashed useful things like erasers, X-Acto knives and the spare bag of K.T. Nibbles. Ruby’s aloof black-and-white face looked back at us.

  “I got a job for you, big guy.” I shook out a couple of nibbles into my hand.

  “Merow?” Alistair eyed me and the treats suspiciously.

  “I need you to look for Ruby.” I added another nibble to the little pile. “Maybe ask some of your friends?” Not that I believed Alistair actually talked to the other cats in town. I mean, we did not live in a Disney movie. Except, I kind of did. And he was magic.

  Alistair combed his ears, and I felt a sudden creeping reluctance from nowhere I could define.

  “Anything at all might be happening to her. Please, big guy.”

  “Merow.” He dropped heavily off the bed and came over to nose my hand, the nibbles and the bag. I shook out one more treat and tried to ignore the feeling I was being blackmailed. He jumped up on my lap and graciously agreed to take the treats.

  “Help me, Alistair,” I said. For good measure, I scratched his ears. “You’re my only hope.”

  My familiar blinked at me. He licked his whiskers and vanished. I chose this to mean that Alistair, Feline Extraordinaire, was on the job.

  “Right. Okay. That’s done.” I made myself take a deep cleansing breath and face my table and my partially completed page. “Now I will begin working hard and staying out of trouble. Really. Here I go.” I picked up a pencil. “Really.”

  Except there was maybe one more phone call to make without interfering. I mean, I needed to check up on my friends at a time like this and make sure they were okay. It shouldn’t make any difference that the friend in this case was my landlord and a newspaperman.