“I could never be happy again. Never.” Her fingers tightened on the picture. As if realizing the futility of her gesture, she relaxed her hold. “Do you know what it feels like to lose your child? The apple of your eye?”
Cole closed his eyes for a moment. “No, I don’t,” he admitted.
She turned her head to lock her gaze with his. “It feels like my heart has been ripped out of my chest. The pain, the anguish of it is unbearable and relentless. I am never free of it. The fact that he is no more, the fact that I can never lay eyes on his smiling face again, and the realization that I will never be able to hold my baby causes me pain every single moment that I am awake.” Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.
“I am sorry, Joan.” He hugged her, wishing he could take away some of her pain. No doubt this encounter with the spiritist had made it all the more difficult for her to move past this great tragedy. Anger boiled deep inside him, but he forced it down with a practiced ruthlessness. He would unleash it on the right person at the right time. For now, his priority was Joan and her well-being. “Why don’t you come back with me to Chicago? We will conduct this investigation again. I will personally oversee everything. If you want, we will hire another private investigation firm and ask them to look into Thomas’s death. If there is anything new to discover, they will do so. ”
Joan rubbed away her tears. Her lips lifted in a wary smile. “You know as well as I do that your own security and investigation team is the best there is. I am sure that if there was anything to unearth, they would have found it at the time of the murder. The fact that neither the police nor our own team detected any sign of foul play means that we will not find any new information if we follow the same procedures. I must use other means now.”
“But a spiritist?” Cole stood and paced the room once more. He ran his hand through his midnight black hair. His competitors regarded him as one of the finest minds in the country, and yet he found himself incapable of finding a solution to this simple problem. How could he make Joan understand that she was being duped?
Hope shone like a bright jewel in Joan’s eyes. “She is a real witch, Cole. I know it sounds absurd, but then don’t you always say that we must keep our mind open to new possibilities. Just because we have never met a spiritist before doesn’t mean she is not genuine. She can do what she claims. She saw him. Aerilyn called Thomas, and he came from behind the veil. He told her that he was murdered. She drew his picture for me. How could she have sketched his face when she had never seen him before?
Cole suppressed a snort. “You took an appointment over the phone. How difficult could it have been to run an internet search on you? How long did you think it took her to discover that your son died barely two months ago, and how long would it have taken her to access his picture from his college records?”
Joan shook her head firmly, a gesture he recognized well. Once set on a course, it was impossible to make her change her mind. “If she was a fraud, I would’ve known. In my heart I would have known.”
Not yet ready to give up on her, Cole made one last effort to make her understand the futility of her continued pursuit into a matter that would yield no positive results. “Frauds don’t wear a proof of their guilt on their face, Joan. They are good at what they do. This is her occupation. This is how she makes money. She preys upon people like you on a daily basis.”
“She is not taking any money from me,” said Joan. “In fact, she told me categorically on the phone that she doesn’t accept any payments for her work. Even when I went to see her, she tried very hard to convince me not to do it. She even told me that she can’t guarantee if she would be able to communicate with Thomas, and even if she could, it may be entirely possible that he would not be able to tell me what I want to know. I could see that she really didn’t want to do this. She said it would make it harder for me to move on. In fact, I had to literally beg her to proceed.”
Cole ran a hand through his hair. This charlatan’s tactics were brilliant. By doing all that, the spiritist ensured Joan’s commitment to this entire process. And the greater Joan’s commitment to this cause, the more money she would ultimately shell out. Cole didn’t believe for a single moment that the woman would not charge for her services. Joan would have to pay a hefty payment somewhere down the line, maybe in the form of a donation or special purchases for the items needed for the séance.
But he didn’t tell Joan this. He couldn’t. “So maybe you should listen to her and not do this. After all, she herself said that there were no guarantees.”
Joan’s face took on a hard expression. “I’m sorry, Cole. I know that you have the best intentions for me, but this is something personal. I regret I can’t make you understand my need to do this, and if it bothers you enough, I would be happy to resign from my current post so that my actions don’t bring any embarrassment to the company. But please know that I believe with all my heart that my son was murdered. From this moment on, the purpose of my existence is to find out the identity of his killer. No force on earth can deter me from this goal.”
Cole thrust his hands in the pockets of his pants. Just because he had lost this particular battle didn’t mean he would consider forfeiting the war. He would use whatever means necessary to put a stop to this farce. “Don’t be silly, Joan. Your resignation won’t be necessary. I’ve already granted you a paid leave for six months. You may take more if you want. I look forward to seeing you back in the office whenever you feel you are well enough to join us. I didn’t come here because I wanted to invade your privacy. I…I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Tears shone in her eyes. She inclined her head. “Thank you. I am grateful for your understanding. I will come back soon, but not before I finish this.”
Cole sighed. He’d done all he could. Joan wouldn’t budge. But he wasn’t done yet. Oh, not by a long shot. “I’m leaving tomorrow evening, Joan. Why don’t we have lunch tomorrow?”
“Yes, that would be good.” Joan nodded, looking relieved now that he had backed off.
“I will pick you at noon tomorrow,” he said.
Cole departed the room. As he walked down the carpeted stairs, he pondered over the matter. Since he was unable to convince Joan, he would have to do his best to dissuade this woman, the spiritist, from using Joan.
He would have to make her see the error of her ways.
After getting directions from the concierge, he walked towards the main street. He pulled up the collar of his light jacket to combat the chilly wind that swished through the crowded streets. The sky was awash with gray clouds, an ominous sign heralding rain. He hadn’t bothered to take an umbrella. Hopefully, he would be back in the inn where he had taken a suite for the night before it rained.
After a short, brisk walk of fifteen minutes, he stood before the shop. Located smack dab in the middle of the town’s main street, it boasted of a good location. Twin clear glass windows guarded the entrance and a simple wooden sign hung over the wood and glass door.
“Witch Central.” He admired the message behind the name. Business done creatively always pleased him. This woman, Aerilyn, he had been told, claimed to be a witch. Her idea of a novelty shop in a town packed with tourists was brilliant in its simplicity. Seeing the name of the shop, few would not come in to satisfy their curiosity. One of the display windows contained a magnificent pewter fountain of a witch. An orb in her hand spilled clear water that poured into a sink at her feet. The serene expression on the witch’s face, and the grandeur of the statue, impressed Cole. The other window featured a white, three feet high statue of a unicorn.
The entire arrangement was pleasing and intriguing.
On an ordinary day, he would have taken the time to admire the ingenuity of the shop owner. Today, she deserved no less than his complete wrath. Selling interesting but harmless wares while claiming to be a witch was one thing, duping grief stricken mothers was quite another.
Cole entered the shop. The woman standing at the far counter looked up. Sh
e gave him an easy, practiced smile while tallying up the amount for the tall, middle aged man who stood opposite her. She was everything he’d imagined a witch to be; tall, dark, and willowy, with long, black hair and eyes darkened by eyeliner. In her late thirties, she was a little younger than he had thought. He had expected to come across a middle aged, if not older, woman. But everything else was exactly how he had envisioned. Hers was a perfectly crafted look for a woman who claimed to be a witch.
She pushed back her silky hair with one hand. “Be sure to take the medicines at the right time, Drake, or they won’t have the desired effect. And don’t forget to drink a glass of warm water every night with one spoonful of honey in it,” she instructed.
Cole walked to the nearest shelf and surveyed the silver cups placed next to neatly packaged packets of herbs. Clear glass bottles, full of white pills, stood on the bottom shelf. Each was professionally packaged with labels that contained the name of the medicine, the list of ingredients, and the manufacturing and expiration dates. Picking up a bottle, he read the name. It was Arnica. The next bottle contained Nux Vom. Cole smiled. These were all regular homeopathy drugs. Given the lore of the witch, and the respect she appeared to command in the town, he had expected some weird and enterprising drugs and potions.
“May I help you?” After the man left, she came out from behind the counter and stood beside him. Looking at the bottle in his hand, she smiled. “If you want, we have an entire set for sale. It comes with a self-diagnosis booklet that contains a list of symptoms of common ailments, the required information about the medicines, and the best times to take them.”
“You seem to have an interesting mix of things here.” His keen gaze took in the contents of the other shelves. Bottles of liquid medicines. Plants in clay pots. Statues. Cups of various shapes cast in different metals. Orbs. Crystal wands. “What else do you have? A book of spells. Elixirs of life. Perhaps a potion to grant immortality? Oh, let me think, how about a magic spell that would bring back the dead?”
Her posture stiffened. She glared at him, her round, black eyes filled with ire. “Excuse me? Who are you?”
Cole narrowed his eyes. “It doesn’t matter who I am. What matters is what I can do to you, and believe me, I can do a lot. I can have the FDA breathing down your neck because of all these unlicensed herbs and potions. And that would be me just warming up.” Despite the anger that uncoiled in his heart, Cole kept his voice calm, his tone even. “Now, if you were to promise me that you will stop this charade of being a spiritist and call Joan to tell her that you fabricated a lie to fleece her out of her money, I might consider leaving you alone.”
The woman put her hands on her hips. “Let me tell you one thing, Mister…”
“I don’t want to hear your excuses,” he snarled, his lip curling in disdain. “I’m here to give you a fair warning that Joan is my friend, and I intend to keep her out of harm’s way. And this is not an empty threat. I can do all these things, and worse.”
“I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but threatening a person is a crime in this country.”
He found this entire experience distasteful, but Cole realized the necessity of it. People like her who preyed on others never easily backed down. He would’ve to make her realize that his words were more than an empty threat. “So is fraud. And believe me, if I launched an investigation into your business, I will prove it to be more than a fraud. I will make the police hound you. Your business license will be revoked. In short, I will make your life hell. But if you give me your solemn oath that you will leave Joan alone and you will never again pretend to be able to call forth dead people, I will allow you to run the rest of your business in peace.”
“A spiritist’s oath is not easily given,” said another voice. Cole looked up. A tall, svelte, blonde woman stood at the door behind the counter. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders in soft waves. Her eyes, blue as the morning sky, looked at him with a hint of amusement. She wore a simple, white dress that reached down to her ankles. “And since I am the spiritist, you will have to give me a good reason to bestow such a favor on you.”
For a moment, Cole stood mute. Confusion, mixed with disbelief, coursed through his body. He would have never pegged her to be the witch. God, she was beautiful. How could a woman who looked like that fleece grief-stricken people and run vicious cons. How could she be the charlatan he’d come here to confront?
A sharp, urgent lance of lust twisted in his gut. Cole had met his fair share of beautiful women. He had worked with, dined, and dated a few of the most gorgeous women in the country. And yet her beauty intrigued him in a way no other woman had ever been able to do. It was probably her eyes, he decided. Her gaze, mesmerizing and inviting, sucked him in and made him a prisoner in his own mind.
What the hell? Cole shook his head in an effort to clear it. He looked from her to the other woman who stood still, glaring at him with murder in her eyes. “You’re not the spiritist?”
She shook her head. “She is.”
Out of the two, he would have picked the dark-haired one to play the role of the local witch. But perhaps the blonde woman had it right; her gorgeous face and easy manners invited people to trust her. Her looks were probably a part of her gimmick. He lifted his gaze to meet hers. “I stand corrected.”
“Come inside so we can talk.” Aerilyn gestured with her hand. She turned to walk back inside the room from which she had emerged.
“My apologies,” Cole told the other woman. She snorted and turned her back on him.
Cole walked inside. It amused him to find that the décor of the rectangular room at least gelled with his idea of a spiritist’s lair. The room wasn’t dark or dingy; rather the soft, green carpet, the off-white walls and soft lights radiated a sense of calm and generated an air of mystery. No windows lined the walls. White candles adorned the three tables that stood against the walls. A center table contained a large, green stone that looked like an emerald, but couldn’t possibly be because an emerald this size would be worth a fortune. To complete the perfect picture, a pure black cat sat on the table, its eyes as green as summer grass.
“A perfect place to call the spirits.” He kept his tone deliberately sardonic, slightly insulting. She deserved nothing but contempt. “At least you have something right.” His hand moved to the cat in an almost automatic gesture.
“Be careful. He bites.” She watched as the cat purred and arched his back at the touch of his hand. “Traitor.” He heard her murmur as she directed a steely glace at her pet.
“He seems to like me.” Cole gave the cat a good scratch. He really was a beautiful creature. “What’s his name?”
“His name is Knight, with a K, not an N.” She crossed her arms as she stood against the far wall, one hand resting on the table that contained the fat, white candles. “Do you require the services of a spiritist?”
Cole cleared his throat. Her wide-eyed, innocent gaze seemed to pull all thoughts out of his mind. It wouldn’t do to forget that despite her stupendous looks and deceptive air of simplicity, she was a fraud. “I am not sure how much of my speech you heard back there in the shop?”
She raised an eyebrow. “I think I caught the gist of it.”
“Good. I would hate to repeat myself,” he said, taking a few steps towards her. No matter that this woman looked as if she belonged on a runway, she made her money conning others, and he intended to see to it that she renounced her nefarious practices. “My name is Cole Hudson, and I want you to leave my friend Joan alone. She is suffering enough as it is and your charade is making it all the more difficult for her to recover from the loss she has suffered.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’re a friend of Joan’s?”
“I am her employer and her friend.”
“I see. You’re the owner of the investigation and security firm where she works.” Her long, white fingers trailed the table as she moved along its length. A sudden gleam materialized in her blue eyes. “In that case, I will forg
ive you because you are acting out of love and compassion.”
“Forgive me?” He scowled. “Perhaps you don’t understand…”
“I am afraid that you’re the one who doesn’t understand. I am a spiritist, a witch who is able to call spirits. Whether you believe that my claims are true or not is meaningless. Your beliefs will not change the truth of my identity. My power is my own. I alone reserve the right to use it, out of my free will and desire. No other person can ever dictate how I use it,” she stated with a calm that grated on his nerves. What would it take to make her lose her cool? He longed to give her a good shake just to see her reaction.
Instead, he threw back his head and laughed. “A witch?” Oh, how he would enjoy crushing her. She had no idea whom she was dealing with. Did she think he would back off simply because she desired it? No. He intended to see to it that she brought no further harm to Joan, a woman he had a great deal of love and affection for. “Why don’t you show me one of your tricks? Call forth the lighting. Turn me into a toad. Do something to show me your power.”
“I am not a trained monkey,” she huffed. “And I have a license to practice my craft.”
He curled his lip. At last he was beginning to crack through her calm façade. “And where did you get your degree? From the central university of witch craft and wizardry?”
“I am a certified herbalist,” she said. “Also, all necessary governmental approvals have been obtained for my shop. I don’t deal with any illegal drugs or herbs.”
“As far as I know, no one can obtain a license for swindling people out of their money. You are one of the worst frauds I have ever met. You prey on those who are weak, not because they are greedy, but because they are sad and depressed. I don’t care about your herbs and potions. I will make sure you spend a good many years of your life in jail for swindling Joan out of her money.”
The Spiritist: A Aerilyn Mathew Novel (Aerilyn Mathew Novels Book 1) Page 3
