Heather Graham Krewe of Hunters Series, Volume 4

by Heather Graham

  “I see,” Rocky said.

  “That’s it—you see?” Vince asked.

  “I told you. I was never attacking you, I was asking you.”

  Vince laughed. “Rocky, come on. I’m a lawyer, remember? Asking questions...that’s an attack.”

  “No, it’s a request for information,” Rocky told him.

  Haley stood and walked around the table, setting her hands on Vince’s shoulders. “Come on, Vince. Give Rocky a break. We all remember when Melissa...” She trailed off and looked at Rocky. “I feel like all of us had a hand in her death. That’s why we’ve all been so haunted ever since by what happened.”

  Renee let out a little choking sound. “No, Haley—we can’t blame ourselves.”

  “We can,” Haley said. She looked over at Rocky again. “She was crazy about you, and I encouraged it. I admit some of it was slightly sour grapes. You and I had called it quits. I knew she’d had a crush on you since we were kids, so I encouraged her to go after you—knowing darned well you were just counting the days till you could move on. I don’t think I was trying to be mean—I was just a kid and jealous despite the fact that we were over. That night...Renee and I were in a rush to get to a sale at a vintage shop in Danvers. Melissa called, and I told her if she didn’t make it to my place in thirty minutes, we were leaving without her because the shop would close if we didn’t get going. She said okay, she understood, and if she didn’t make it in time, just to go on without her. She didn’t show up, so we left. And you guys...” she said, turning to look from Jack to Vince to Rocky. “She said she’d called you for a ride, Jack, and you said you had plans, you were busy. And what were you busy doing? Drinking beer in the back of Vince’s pickup.”

  “We are guilty,” Vince said softly. “We’re guilty because we were lousy friends. I’d had a few beers before I even went over to Rocky’s place. She called me, too, but I was afraid to drive her—I didn’t want to get stopped by the cops. Rocky’s place was just down the street, but you lived farther away. If only I’d done it,” he murmured.

  There was silence in the room. Devin and the Krewe could only listen, Rocky thought, but as far as he and his old friends went, yes, they were all guilty in their own ways.

  Speaking for himself, Rocky thought, he should have sat Melissa down. He should have told her that he’d always love her as a friend, but they were never going to be a couple.

  He was surprised to hear Devin gently clear her throat. “Forgive me, I wasn’t there, but listening to you...what you’re all feeling is survivor’s guilt. Melissa’s death was a tragedy, but whoever killed her is guilty—and not any of you. I don’t have a degree in psychology, but I interviewed a lot of people who’d lived through tragedy or lost someone to it when I was a reporter. And I’ve seen this so many times, even in cases of natural death. A relative or a friend dies and you realize they’d asked you for help with something or just to go to lunch, and you brushed them off. It’s one of the best things about us—the way we feel remorse for hurting someone’s feelings.”

  Jane spoke up. “Why don’t you all run through the events of that night—no attacks on anyone. Maybe one of you will remember something that can help us.”

  “We called him the Pentagram Killer,” Haley murmured, then patted Vince’s shoulder and returned to her chair.

  “I thought the information about the pentagram necklaces never went out,” Sam said, frowning as he leaned forward.

  “It was never released to the press,” Jack said, “but you have to remember we were just a bunch of high school kids, and we told one another pretty much everything. We grew up playing in mud puddles together.” He paused, looking sheepish. “We played witchcraft trials.”

  “And they made me play Magistrate Corwin,” Vince said. “Because I was big and so was he.”

  “In middle school, Haley and Rocky became a couple,” Renee said.

  “There was a dance I wanted to go to,” Haley said. “I needed an escort, so I asked him. After that, we just kind of paired up.”

  “The rest of us were always just friends,” Jack said. “The kind of friends you told everything to—shared everything with.”

  “Were any of you into Wicca?” Angela asked.

  “No, we’re all from what they refer to as good old New England ancestry, with parents who were die-hard Episcopalians,” Vince said. “If I’d said I thought being Wiccan was cool, I’d have been grounded for a week.”

  “Wait!” Haley exclaimed, leaning forward so suddenly she almost knocked over her wineglass and just managed to save it. “The week before, we all went down to the wharf at Salem, remember?” she asked excitedly. “There were so many wonderful stores. I bought a wand—and Melissa bought a bag of herbs for a love spell.”

  Rocky frowned, remembering.

  He’d thought nothing of it at the time, and to be honest, he still wasn’t sure it meant anything. They all went down to the shops in Salem sometimes. It was just what you did if you grew up around there.

  Did it mean anything?

  “Oh, great, we all went down to Essex Street,” Vince said, his tone sarcastic. “We looked at Wiccan necklaces and bought spell bags. One of us must be guilty.”

  Devin spoke up then. “Vince, I don’t think it’s that at all. Maybe someone saw Melissa buy that spell bag. Maybe they thought she was Wiccan, or making fun of Wiccans—there are a thousand possibilities.”

  “And that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Haley asked.

  “Yeah, but did the cops or anyone think it could have been any of us back then? We were kids, terrified kids,” Renee said.

  “But we found her,” Vince said. He looked over at Rocky. “Or Rocky did. He knew right where to go. How the hell was that?”

  Rocky shook his head and felt a self-mocking smile curve his lips. “I heard her,” he told them.

  That was greeted by silence.

  “You know, you could be on top of the suspect list,” Jack said.

  “Oh, please,” Haley said, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “It wasn’t any of us. I know it wasn’t any of us.”

  “And Rocky was in California when Carly Henderson was murdered,” Jack said. He looked at Rocky a little sheepishly. “I checked that out.”

  “You wouldn’t be a good cop if you hadn’t,” Rocky told him.

  “What did Melissa’s family say at the time?” Devin asked thoughtfully. “What did they think she was doing?”

  “She told her mother she had a ride, and she walked out of the house to meet him. Or her,” Haley said. “Her mother never got over it. She died about ten years ago. Heart failure. I’d say it was a broken heart.”

  “Does she have any siblings, especially any still living in the area?” Angela asked.

  “She had three older brothers, and Joshua is still here. The cops talked to him at the time, of course, but you can interview him again,” Jack said. “I talked to him myself after the latest murders, but you might come up with something I didn’t.”

  “You’ve got to solve this, Rocky. None of us will ever really be right if Melissa’s killer gets away with it,” Vince said. “If we can do anything to help—anything—just ask.”

  “Consider it a pact between old friends and new,” Haley said.

  Jack smiled. “We don’t have to poke holes in our fingers and swear in blood or anything, do we?” he asked his wife.

  “I hope not,” she said, then looked at Rocky earnestly. “I’ll do my best to think of anything that might help. Not that we didn’t at the time, but...”

  “But you’re adults now. And you see the world a little differently with the passage of time,” Sam told them.

  “So...in the midst of this, a weird question, maybe,” Haley said. “But I did work really hard on dessert, so who’s still hungry?”

  Every
one laughed, clearly relieved for a chance to leave the past behind for a few minutes, and agreed that dessert was a great idea.

  Haley smiled, and Devin rose quickly. “Want some help?” she asked.

  “Sure, thank you.”

  “Want me to get the coffee?” Jack asked her.

  “That would be great,” Haley said with a smile for him.

  Dessert and coffee were served, and as if they’d made a silent agreement, everyone kept the conversation light. The locals all apologized to Devin for thinking that her aunt had been a real witch—a real spell-casting, broom-riding witch—when they’d been kids.

  “I’m actually surprised we never met,” Haley told Devin. “My mom went to see your aunt often, but not about...you know, spells or anything. My dad said your aunt should have had a degree, because she was the best therapist he’d ever met. He said she had a way of putting things into perspective for people, and that she told stories that were like parables, helping them figure out what to do.”

  “Thank you, Haley. It’s nice to hear she was thought of that way,” Devin said.

  “Unfortunately, the world is also full of idiots,” Jack said. “You should see the old reports I found on your house, Devin.”

  “Oh?” she asked.

  “People reporting weird lights and sounds—oh, and a ghost that walked in those woods next door. Some old guy—he’s dead now—complained to the police about your aunt conjuring up the dead. People get really crazy ideas. Sometimes it’s almost possible to understand how we hanged a pack of innocent people.”

  “It always seems sad to me that the ones who wouldn’t stoop to lie were the ones who wound up dead,” Haley said.

  “Thankfully, those days are over,” Devin murmured, then looked at Jack. “If they weren’t, Auntie Mina wouldn’t have made it to her ripe old age—she’d definitely have been hanged.”

  Haley laughed. “Well, since the practice of witchcraft was illegal and punishable by death, they would have hanged half the people living in Salem right now.”

  Soon it was time to leave. Despite the heated exchange when Rocky had first mentioned the athame to Vince, everyone parted on the best of terms. When Rocky and Devin started out, Haley stopped them.

  “Devin, even if this jerk goes away again, I hope you know you’re always welcome here,” Haley told her. “We’d love to see more of you.”

  Devin thanked her as Sam, getting into the rental with the others, called back to Rocky, “See you at the hotel.”

  “You got it,” Rocky said.

  Devin waved to them and then slipped into the passenger seat of Rocky’s car. They’d gone a mile or two before she spoke. “You really go right for the jugular, don’t you?”

  He turned to look at her briefly before returning his attention to the road. “I don’t actually see it that way. I see it as giving someone a chance to explain their actions before starting the whole pain-in-the-butt interrogation process.”

  “Interesting—and yet, with my friends, you’re willing to take long walks and schmooze forever without getting to the point.”

  He glanced her way again. She was smiling—not attacking him. She was truly curious.

  “Well, we all have our reasons,” he said. “Most of the time we have physical evidence to work with. This case...”

  “Apparently, what you did was right. You got your answer—and you got everyone to admit they feel the same as you about your friend Melissa’s death.”

  “At least I can track down the truth about Vince’s athame,” he said. He looked over at her again and realized that he wanted to pretend they were driving home from a date, that they had met and liked each other and had been out tonight for the sheer pleasure of being together.

  Instead, I met you over a dead body, he thought.

  It hadn’t taken him more than a few minutes earlier to appreciate the fact that she cleaned up nice, as the saying went. She was always stunning, but tonight she’d worn a blue halter dress with some kind of a wrap. The color emphasized the blue of her eyes, and the silky fabric clung to the curved length of her body. And her natural warmth had won everyone over. Whenever someone had complimented her books she had been modest and gracious, explaining that her aunt’s stories had enthralled her back when she was a lonely child.

  “So was he telling the truth?” Devin asked, breaking into his thoughts. “Vince said he can tell when people are lying. Do you have some kind of radar for that, too?”

  He laughed. “Yes, there are certain physical manifestations that go with lying,” he told her. “But those who know them can hide them. I don’t think Vince would have lied, though. He knows that even if I don’t verify his story myself, one of the Krewe will.”

  She turned to look out the window. “It’s strange. I knew some people talked about Auntie Mina, but I never realized just how...well, how ignorant and vicious they could be.”

  “Don’t kid yourself,” he said quietly. “The world is filled with wonderful people. But there are also a lot of people who are ruled by their bone-deep prejudices, and some of them think the laws of this country deserve lip service and nothing more.”

  When they reached her house, he walked with her to the door, as always. And though Auntie Mina was there—watching reruns of Murder She Wrote―Rocky went through the place and checked things out, anyway.

  Thoroughly.

  Twice.

  Because he didn’t want to leave.

  He’d finished his sweep of the house—not wanting to offend Mina, he’d told her that he’d wanted to make sure no one had tampered with the doors or windows from the outside—when his eyes lit on the pentagram Devin had purchased from Beth’s store.

  “Mind if I borrow this?” he asked her.

  She looked at him with a slightly ironic smile. “You think a retired schoolteacher who works as a medium and creates jewelry might be a serial killer?”

  “No need to get defensive,” he said. “Although we all get defensive sometimes, don’t we? No, I don’t really see Gayle as a murderer. But if we can trace the medallions, at least we’ll have something concrete to work with.”

  “But when she first started making them, they were sold in dozens of venues,” Devin said.

  “We follow leads,” he told her. “That’s what we do. Some of them go somewhere, some don’t. If this turns out to be a lead, we’ll follow it.”

  Devin lowered her head for a moment. “Of course, feel free to take it.”

  “Thank you. I’ll get it back to you,” he promised.

  He really couldn’t stay any longer.

  When he finally bade Mina good-night and headed to the door, Devin followed to lock it behind him. “Tomorrow...well, I know you’re busy with the case, but...”

  “Yes?” he urged her.

  “Did you mean it earlier when you talked about checking out Perley’s theory on Gallows Hill?” she asked.

  “Of course. I’m not the only one working the murders, you know—it really is a task force.”

  Hell, yes, I meant it, he thought. Anything to be with you.

  The thought of feeling that strongly about someone was disturbing. But he couldn’t forget the fear that had raced through him like wildfire when he’d arrived earlier that evening and seen her door standing open.

  When he’d rushed into the woods, following the shrieking cry of the raven carried on the wind.

  “And,” he added a little too harshly, “no running into the woods by night. I don’t care if you see our Puritan ghost and she asks you out to tea. No leaving the house like that.”

  “No, I think I’ll stay in. Sorry,” she said when she saw the thunderous look on his face. “I was teasing. I promise.”

  They were close again. So close he could feel her heartbeat, feel her breath. The compulsion to simpl
y reach out and pull her to him, press his mouth to hers, was almost overwhelming.

  He really needed to leave; he didn’t know her feelings for him. He needed time himself—away from the temptation of being with her.

  He stepped back. “I’ll get here around nine-ish, okay?”

  “Perfect. Thank you,” she told him.

  She closed the door between them. He waited until he heard the bolt slide, and then he headed to his car.

  * * *

  That night, sleeping—though perhaps not exactly sleeping—Devin found herself on Gallows Hill again.

  She was part of the air, there in her mind but not in the flesh. It was the end of summer, she thought. Right when the nip of autumn hinted now and then that fall would be brief and the warm days of summer would quickly give way to winter’s bitter chill.

  She heard the sound of the death cart that brought the condemned to the hanging tree.

  As the cart drew closer she heard sobbing. Any conversation was whispered, but sobbing was allowed. One could cry for the fact that the devil had come to Massachusetts and targeted the vulnerable among them.

  This time she caught only fragments of conversation.

  “...must be done.”

  “She’ll be the death of all of us.”

  “What difference...legal or illegal?”

  “If she is gone... no mockery in court.”

  Devin couldn’t see the speakers, couldn’t even tell their sex, though she thought there were only two of them. She tried to hear more than the brief snatches of conversation that hung on the air, but she couldn’t.