by Raven Snow
“Love you, too.” Rowen hung up and met Eric’s curious look.
“Grammy just died.” Rowen rubbed at her eyes that were only now feeling damp.
“Oh, God, I’m sorry.” Eric pulled her into a hug. Rowen hugged him back, squeezing him tight. She knew that he had liked Grammy a lot. Maybe he hadn’t loved her like her immediate family had, but she had a feeling he still felt this as a serious loss.
“I need to go back and let Margo know.”
“Yeah, of course.”
Rowen went back to the motel door and knocked. No one answered the first time. The second time she knocked she was greeted with a rather annoyed, “Go away!” from Margo.
“It’s important!” Rowen called back, hoping that came across in her tone. It must have, because Margo finally opened the door. She was wearing a guarded expression, her hand on the door like she was ready to close it back at a moment’s notice. “Aunt Lydia just called me. Apparently, Grammy passed away tonight.”
Margo’s eyes went wide. She let go of the door. “What?” she asked.
Rowen assumed that was a rhetorical question, that Margo had actually heard her. “I’m heading back to the house now. You should probably come too.”
Margo nodded. She looked back to Jasper. Inside the motel room, he was sitting in an uncomfortable looking wingback chair, fully clothed. It looked like they had just been having a conversation. “I have to go,” Margo told him.
“I heard.” Jasper stood, his expression as lost as Eric’s had been. “I-I’m really sorry for your loss,” he managed, awkwardly.
“I’ll call you later.” Margo left the motel room without looking back. As annoyed as Rowen was at her cousin, she couldn’t resist pulling her into an affectionate side hug. After a few more steps, Margo hugged her back.
Chapter Three
The day following Grammy’s death was a strange one. The entire family holed up in the den of the Greensmith household. They were all very tearful with good reason. Even in prison, Grammy had been the matriarch of the family. They had always been sure to visit her with any familial problems. She settled disputes and her advice had always been invaluable. Deep down they must have all known that she would die in prison. At her age, a murder sentence wasn’t exactly something you managed to finish. Still, it had shaken all of them.
Aunt Nadine kept busy cooking and making tea. Aunt Lydia quietly discussed something or another with Uncle Norman, her expression one of disbelief. Tiffany kept repeating that this must have been why she was called back here before weeping openly into Clarence’s shoulder.
Rowen’s cousins were a bit more laid back about the whole thing. They were troubled, sure, but mostly they just sat quietly. It was awkward sitting by while your parents wept. Eventually, they managed to broach the subject of amusing stories about Grammy. There were plenty of those. They earned a few laughs and sad smiles as they talked about her storied past.
Of course, there was an elephant in the room. Should they contact Grammy before she moved on? Rowen hadn’t faced a death in her immediate family quite like this before. She knew that she wanted to reach out to Grammy, but she worried it might be in poor taste. She would be shocked if no one else in the room was thinking the same thing.
Eventually, everyone dispersed, while Eric and Rowen went home. It wasn’t difficult to fall straight to sleep after such an eventful day. Really, it didn’t feel like they got a whole lot of sleep. The next morning, they were right back at it. Rowen threw on some clothes, made herself look presentable for prison. Her aunts had already taken care of the funeral arrangements. That was in a couple of days from now. In the meantime, they wanted someone to speak to the warden of the prison and gather Grammy’s belongings. Rowen had volunteered.
“I can go do it,” Eric offered, snapping Rowen from her daze. Apparently, she had been staring blankly into space with her coffee in hand for a while.
“I want to go,” Rowen assured him. That was the truth. She liked to take care of this sort of matter herself. “I appreciate the thought, though.”
The drive seemed to take longer than it normally did. Lainswich Correctional was on the sparsely populated border between Lainswich and Tarricville. Eric had insisted on driving, and it felt like he did so at a crawl. When they finally got there, Rowen found herself oddly reluctant to go inside.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go?” asked Eric. Apparently, that offer was still on the table.
Rowen just shook her head and got out of the car, leading the way inside. The correctional officer working behind a plexiglass window in the entrance recognized her immediately. “Mrs. Greensmith,” she said, forcing a sad smile. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks,” Rowen said without really meaning it. It was more of an automatic thank you than anything. “I was told we could speak with the warden if we came down?”
“Of course.” The correctional officer reached for her phone. “Let me see if she’s in her office.” A few seconds later she was waving Eric and Rowen back. “Sounds like she’s been expecting you. If you’ll just come this way…” The correctional officer opened a door and led Rowen and Eric down a hall neither of them had ever been down.
Rowen hadn’t met the warden. She knew her aunts had when Grammy was first convicted. Given how unpopular the Greensmiths were in Lainswich they had wanted to make sure that she was safe. From what Rowen had heard, the warden was a decent sort. At least her aunts hadn’t spoken poorly of her, and Grammy had never complained.
The warden turned out to be an unassuming plump little woman behind a huge oak desk. She stood when Rowen entered, but that didn’t add a lot to her height. She couldn’t have been more than five feet tall. Thick glasses sat on the end of her nose and her dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun. “Mrs. Greensmith,” she said, holding out a hand for shaking. She looked to Eric next. “And-” she began, implying she didn’t know the answer.
“Mr. Greensmith,” said Eric.
“I see.” She shook his hand next. “I’m Patricia Jewels, the warden here. I’m sure you knew that already.” She motioned them back to her desk. “Please take a seat.”
The chairs in front of Patricia’s desk were comfortable ones. It was still a little awkward when they could barely see Patricia’s head and shoulders above her desk. She folded her hands on the table. “First of all,” began Patricia, “I’m very sorry for your loss. We do have these things happen from time to time. It never gets any easier. I didn’t know your grandmother very well, but as I understand it she was an exemplary inmate and an exceptionally pleasant woman to be around.”
Rowen had the feeling that she said something like that about any inmate who passed away here. She thanked her anyway. “I was hoping you could tell me a bit more about what happened.”
The warden nodded like she had been expecting that sort of question. “It was all very sudden. It happened during lunch for the older inmates. We have some medical staff here at all hours, but by the time they got to the cafeteria, she was already gone. After that, she was taken away by ambulance and, well, I suppose you know what happened after that.”
Rowen nodded. “They said it was heart trouble.”
The warden gave a shrug. “Well, they would know better than I would.”
“You don’t think it was heart trouble?” Rowen leaned a little closer to the desk, intrigued.
Patricia didn’t say anything at first. She glanced to the side as if debating internally whether or not she should add her own beliefs to the conversation. “As far as I could tell, Mrs. Greensmith didn’t have any heart problems. Our inmates receive regular checkups. Even more so when it comes to our elderly prisoners. Mrs. Greensmith’s mind was slipping a bit, as I’m sure you were already aware, but aside from that, she was in good health. Some complaints about joint pain, but there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.”
Rowen had noticed Grammy’s faculties being a little more sluggish. She had assumed she would have heard if
she had any other health issues. “So, what do you think the cause of death was?”
“I don’t know. Like I said, the hospital would know better than I.”
“Was there anything different about her in the days leading up to her death?”
“I asked the employees,” said Patricia, making it clear that she had followed up on the matter. “They didn’t report anything unusual. You’re welcome to ask them yourselves, but I don’t believe you would find out anything new.”
Rowen appreciated how agreeable Patricia was being about everything. “I wouldn’t mind seeing her cell and where she died, if that’s all right.”
Patricia glanced at the clock. “I suppose that’s fine. She had her own room, and there won’t be any inmates in the cafeteria at this hour.” She stood. “I’ll show you there myself.”
Patricia led the way down a series of halls, through several doors that required keycards to enter. Eventually, they were at a series of doors. Rowen could hear the voices of women further down the hall, but she couldn’t see any of the inmates. Patricia opened one of the doors.
Grammy’s room was about as Rowen had expected it. There was a bed in one corner and some shelves in another. She had made it rather homey. There were books and a rug. She had a quilt from home spread across the bed. Rowen saw some dirt arranged in a small circle on a desk. It looked like leftovers from a spell, but she couldn’t tell what kind.
“I already called a correctional officer to come pack up her things. My apologies that it wasn’t done before you got here.” Patricia stood at the door, shifting from foot to foot. “She got one of the nicer rooms,” she said after a while, clearly not sure why she was waiting around.
Rowen didn’t know what she was looking for either, but she was looking for something. Energy, emotions, some kind of ill intent. She tried sensing what the spell had been for, but the feel of the prison was just too oppressive. It was difficult to sense anything at all—if there even was anything to sense in there. “Can you take me to the cafeteria now?” she asked, turning back to the warden.
The warden led the way again, checking her watch as she did so. “Is there something you’re trying to find?” Eric asked quietly as they followed. He had been silent up until now, allowing Rowen to just do her own thing.
“I don’t know,” Rowen admitted. “Something doesn’t feel right.” She sighed. “But maybe I’m just looking for something that’s not right, you know?” She solved so many mysteries the rest of the time, it wouldn’t surprise Rowen to find out that she was looking for one here.
Eric shrugged. “It won’t hurt to cover all the bases, if it makes you feel better.”
She smiled at her husband. At least he understood. She was about to give his hand an affectionate squeeze when something caught her eye. She stopped walking, and Eric stopped beside her. Patricia made it a few more steps ahead of them before realizing that they were no longer following. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
Rowen couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She had felt something. She had seen something too— a sort of blur rounding a corner. Rowen went after it, a detour that rather alarmed the warden. “Ma’am. Ma’am, hang on. The cafeteria is this way.”
Rowen ignored Patricia. She kept walking. She could see the back of a woman moving down the hall. Her hair was long and blond, tied back in a ponytail that swayed behind her. She was dressed in sweatpants and a windbreaker, odd clothes for a correctional officer or inmate. “Excuse me!” Rowen called. She felt like she knew the woman’s name, but without seeing her, she just couldn’t be sure. Meanwhile, the woman kept walking. “Excuse me!” Rowen called again, louder this time. “Can you hold up a second?”
The woman glanced over her shoulder. She seemed to realize then that Rowen was yelling at her and stopped. As soon as she turned, Rowen knew who she was. The woman, in turn, recognized Rowen. “Oh,” Amber Stonewall turned and closed the rest of the distance between herself and Rowen. “I’m sorry; I guess I was caught in my own little world there.” Before Rowen could say anything, she offered her a sad smile. “I know our families haven’t always gotten along, but I hope that you know all of us are incredibly sorry for your loss.”
Rowen wished people would stop saying that. She especially didn’t much care for it coming from Amber Stonewall. “What are you doing here?” Rowen asked, skipping any niceties. Suddenly, she found herself very suspicious.
Amber’s kind expression didn’t waver. “I volunteer here.”
“She’s been volunteering here for - what is it - going on a year now?” The warden had come up behind Rowen. “Ms. Stonewall has been a great asset.
“What kind of volunteer work do you do?” asked Rowen, leery of Amber being any sort of asset to anyone.
“I teach mindfulness.” Amber gestured to her comfy getup. “I run a meditation group twice a week.”
“The inmates love it,” said Patricia.
“Your grandmother never joined us, of course,” Amber added.
Rowen wasn’t surprised by that. Rowen wouldn’t have gone to a Stonewall-run meditation group either. “Were you here when she passed away?” Maybe it was too forward a question and implied she had some unsavory suspicions, but Rowen still couldn’t help asking.
Amber raised an eyebrow, but her expression was otherwise neutral. “I was here that day, but I wasn’t anywhere near the cafeteria. I had a meditation group going. I don’t think I even heard about what happened until later that night.”
Rowen wasn’t sure what to say to that. She looked down at the floor as she tried to collect her thoughts. Was there something going on here that she wasn’t picking up on? Surely there was some question she could ask that would shine a bit more light on the matter.
“Well, I need to get moving,” Amber said after a considerable length of silence. “I’ve got a class that starts soon, so… Again, really sorry.” Amber offered Rowen one more sad smile before continuing down the hallway.
“She a friend of yours?” asked Patricia, once Amber was out of earshot and they were back on their way to the cafeteria.
“Something like that,” muttered Rowen.
***
The cafeteria didn’t yield much in the way of clues—if there were even any clues to be found. It was your average cafeteria with folding tables and uncomfortable plastic chairs. Rowen didn’t sense much. If the vibe in Grammy’s cell had been oppressive, the aura of this room was like a weighted blanket. If there was anything for Rowen to feel, she couldn’t pinpoint it through all of the clutter.
Rowen thanked the warden. At least she had been accommodating, even if Rowen was leaving dissatisfied. She dragged her feet the whole way to the car. “What’s wrong?” Eric asked, once they were sitting.
“I don’t know,” Rowen admitted, staring at the prison. “Something seems strange, doesn’t it?”
“Like what?”
Rowen shook her head. “I don’t know. I think it might just be me looking for something, you know? I don’t want to accept that she passed away. I’m just looking for a murder.”
“Probably, but you have a better sense for these things than I do,” said Eric. “You seemed interested in that Stonewall girl. Do you suspect her or something?”
Rowen was tempted to say that she did but shook her head instead. “I guess not. She’s just someone I know from back in our school days. She was very popular, always misusing magic. Lots of love spells and the like. She used to make fun of me for wearing hand-me-down clothes. I hated her.”
“People didn’t distrust her for being from a family of witches?”
Rowen shook her head again. “That’s part of why the Greensmiths and the Stonewalls never got along. The Stonewalls had no problem influencing people’s freewill via magic. That’s how they got so popular and wealthy. If I’m being totally fair, Amber was most likely just taking after her parents.”
“Seems kind of odd, us running into two Stonewalls in as many days,” Eric pointed out. Rowen appreciat
ed that he was starting to take a more supernatural approach to things. He had been a member of the Greensmith household long enough for that to become the norm.
“It does,” Rowen agreed. “There might be something there.”
“Seems to me there’s kind of an obvious answer to all of this,” Eric began, carefully.
Rowen looked at him for a moment before realizing what he was getting at. “Oh, you mean trying to contact Grammy.” She bit her bottom lip. “I was kind of hoping to avoid bringing that subject up with my aunts.” She wasn’t sure how they would respond to that, and it was sort of a weird question to ask.
“Well…” Eric began, slowly. “Do you have to tell them?”
“Of course, I have to tell them!”
“You could… or you could just get your cousins to help you.”
Rowen still wasn’t sure. Something about that felt wrong. She didn’t enjoy going behind the back of her family, even when it was necessary.
