by Madelyn Alt
"You know," I said, "if Jetta is the person we're both looking for, that doesn't automatically absolve Jeremy of guilt."
"No, I don't suppose it does."
At least we agreed on that point. I was beginning to look at Marcus in a new light.
"The daughter, Jacqui? She was out of town on a business meeting that day. Left the day before and didn't return until the day after."
"Hmm, yes, I know. Too bad, too. Have you ever had the pleasure?"
He grunted. "I've seen her around."
"Yes, well, if it was from a distance, you didn't get the full effect, trust me. The woman is unbelievable. She's one person I wouldn't have minded seeing sent away for good. Totally rude, and apparently she didn't have a terrific relationship with her mother, either. Anything else?"
He toed the roots of a huge oak with his sturdy black boot, using his hand to steady himself. "That there was no love lost between Isabella and one Reverend Martin, formerly of the First Church of God."
"Reverend Baxter Martin," I confirmed with a nod. The air was a little cooler than I'd expected in the shade. I wrapped my jacket tighter around my body and held it closed with my crossed arms. "Did you know Isabella had a restraining order taken out against him? For harassing her, almost to the point of stalking, from what it sounds like. Ryan Davidson said he was always coming around to the hospital with petitions and seemed to have a personal vendetta against Isabella in particular."
"That might have something to do with the fact that she had him removed from his ministry a few years back."
I gaped at him. "Seriously?"
"You must not remember. There was a big uproar over it. It even made the paper."
"I, uh, try not to read the paper very often," I confessed. But that did explain the letter to the editor the good reverend had written that Marian Tabor had sent over from her review of the Stony Mill Gazette.
"And miss all of the reports of corruption and scandal? Tsk, tsk. You have to keep on top of things in this town."
I sure hoped Marian would be able to find that article. "Why did she have him removed?"
"Unwanted sexual advances. She said he made a pass at her. Who knows if it was true? According to the paper, the Hardings attended the church in question. I think Jeremy Harding was even a deacon of the church, if I remember correctly. People are always making plays for power in this world. Power and control. Maybe this was one of them."
"I wouldn't think a simple pass would have upset her. From what I've heard, she was fairly… worldly."
"You mean Isabella and Jeremy Harding were pretty well matched?" he asked with a grim smile.
"The perfect pair. Jeremy has Jetta, Isabella had Ryan Davidson. I somehow doubt they were first affairs."
"Yes, but from what I've heard, Isabella liked 'em younger. The question is, was Reverend Martin far gone enough to murder her?"
"He came to her funeral, did I mention that? At least I think it was him. Hiding behind some trees along the fringes. My friend and I both saw him. But to answer your question, I can't see it. However unstable he's become, he's still a man of God. Call me naive, but I just can't see him killing her. Happy to have her gone, sure. And maybe he is the kind of man who is capable of killing. I don't know him personally. But I just can't help thinking that Isabella was killed by someone who knew her daily schedule. The timing proves that."
"Wouldn't hurt to check up on him. What about this Davidson guy? What do you know about him?"
"He's legal counsel for the hospital. Isabella was on the board of directors. I don't know how serious it was. He's very toothy. He's also running for Congress. I doubt Jeremy will be as generous with his funding as Isabella presumably was. I can't picture him killing her, either. Isabella was his meal ticket. Why would he have jeopardized that?" I paused delicately, wondering if I had a right to say anything about last night, then decided, to hell with it. It would soon be out all over town anyway. "Besides, he appears to have made a few enemies of his own along the way. Last night he was the victim of a drive-by shooting. And that would have been after he and Jetta were seen together at the gardens."
His brows shot up. "Where'd you hear that?"
"Friend of mine was there. As for the shooting, I was with Tom Fielding when the call came in."
"And?" His eyes, icicle sharp, bore into mine.
"And I was allowed to be there while Tom questioned Davidson. Someone took a potshot at him through his living room window just after midnight, then squealed off into the night. He claims not to have seen the person who did it, or much of anything else either, since he dropped to the floor the moment the bullet went through his window."
"How inconsiderate of him."
"But prudent." I sighed again.
"Any speculation from your cop connection?"
"None yet," I said as vaguely as possible. I was not going to share anything about my pathetically nonexistent love life with this gorgeous man. My loyalty to Felicity did not reach that far.
"Too bad." If he suspected I wasn't telling him everything, he was well mannered enough to let it go. "I wonder what the connection is between Davidson and Jetta. I guess we're at a dead end, until we can find out more."
"Not quite." I'd already shared information about Ryan Davidson. Might as well go for broke. "The forensic tests showed that Isabella had ingested a large amount of a drug called Rohypnol shortly before her death."
He frowned. "The date-rape drug?"
"The very same. Evidently they found it mixed into the tea in her teabags Not just the one she'd used that morning, but all the rest in the tin to boot."
"Let me guess. A special blend available only from Enchantments?"
"How did you know that?" I said, amazed.
"Call it instinct. I suppose that's yet another nail in Felicity's coffin."
"What are we going to do, Marcus? Someone is making damned sure that Felicity is suspected in Isabella's death."
Marcus's mouth tightened. Without a word he stomped back and forth around the clearing, his emotion rising visibly with each step. Suddenly he stopped at a tree and drew his foot back as if to kick it. Then he changed his mind at the last second, stood with his feet planted at shoulder width apart, his hands pressed flat against the sturdy trunk, closed his eyes, and let his chin fall forward to his chest with an unintelligible uttering. To my astonishment, I saw the frustration, the anger, leave his body.
"What happened?" I asked when it was safe to speak.
His eyes flickered open. "Sorry," he said, his voice gruff. "I had to rid myself of that."
"Of what?"
"Excess energy. Negative energy. It was building to a dangerous level, so I grounded it. Sent it back to Mother Earth," he explained when I opened my mouth with the question.
"Sounds like a good trick."
"No trick. It's Craft training, and very effective."
Something clicked in my memory. "I had almost forgotten. You're a witch, too."
The grin he flashed was pure, unadulterated male mischief, and damned attractive. "Are you afraid of me?"
"Should I be?"
"Well, you know. Demon worship. Black magic. Sacrificing virgins on the altar of my lust."
"You're joking," I said, hoping I was right.
"Yeah. Well, maybe not about the virgins." He waggled his eyebrows. And then he took pity on me. "You don't know much about the Craft, do you."
"I'm reading up so that I can understand better, but—no. Not a whole lot. I understand enough to know that the old representations of witches aren't true. Witches are like people—some good, some not so good."
"That's good enough for starters. Hey, I'd like to show you something. Unless you really are afraid." He tipped his head to one side, assessing me.
I was, but not of his being a witch. Somehow I found his masculinity more threatening to my peace of mind. Remember Liss… I lifted my chin and leveled him a confident stare. "Lead on."
The woods were dark, cool. A thick-carp
eting of leaf humus muffled the sounds of our passing. Above us the treetops swayed and danced, filling the air with sylph-like movement. The afternoon sun barely reached us. I shivered. Wordlessly Marcus took my hand and pulled me along after him, gentle and yet relentless at once. The underbrush thickened around us, humus giving way to waist-high fern fronds that parted like the Dead Sea for Marcus as he led the way.
Without warning, we broke into a wide, circular clearing of soft, soft grass. Marcus let go of my hand and stopped just ahead of me. "Welcome to the glade," he said, spreading his arms wide and turning joyous circles in the stream of sunlight that spilled in from above.
I stepped into the clearing after only a moment's pause. Like the place we'd just left, this place contained a memory that was almost physical, palpable in the very air around us. This one, however, had nothing to do with sex. The farther I traveled within the circle, the stronger the impression became. A tingle of electricity. Energy.
Spirit.
"This is—"
"Where Felicity practices," I finished for him, my head filled with the sensation. I was new to the realization of what I was feeling, but once felt, I could never mistake it. "I know."
He just looked at me, his expression unreadable. "Sorry to underestimate you. It appears your abilities are growing." He nodded to himself. "Good."
"It's amazing. I've never felt anything like it." I held out my hand. Sunlight threaded in and around my fingers, glowing like a ball of backlit crystal. The sensation was heady, and—dare I say it?—magical.
"I brought you here so that you could understand a little better. Intellectually you knew that being a witch does not equate to being evil. I wanted you to feel it."
I nodded, still overcome with the fullness of emotion. "Thank you."
I was silent as he led the way back to my car, my head filled with the experience and everything we'd talked about. I was glad that I'd run into Marcus today. I'd felt so… so isolated until then. Like I was the only one who could see that the threat to Felicity was very real. I now knew without a doubt that I had an ally in Marcus, that I could trust him with anything when it came to Felicity. I knew we were both working for the same end. .
But would it be enough?
Chapter Fifteen
I was having that feeling again—that sickening, spiraling feeling that always came at times when I knew that control was just out of my reach, that no matter what I did or said, I had no more influence over the course of the future than your average, everyday palm reader.
Things were coming to a head. I could feel it.
The impression stayed with me as I drove in to work Monday morning. Felicity wasn't in yet, so I opened up on my own and set a pot of coffee on to brew. Friday I had decided to start boxing up some old files that were just taking up space and had discovered the filing system left a lot to be desired. So, after pouring myself a gigantic cup of coffee, I settled in for the long haul, keeping one ear open for the bell. The work wasn't exactly exhilarating, but it desperately needed to be done. Felicity was one hell of a businesswoman, but her filing methods were… well, creative. Everything was just kind of thrown into a number of very large expandable files. One per month. Or so. And they went back years! Before I'd flipped through a tenth of the first file, I realized I was going to have to completely resort them all. Taking a deep breath, I organized the office floor with a number of small boxes, all labeled for sorting purposes. Once I'd broken things down into these broader categories, I could go further and break each pile down by month and year.
For once, my accounting experience was going to come in handy. If there was one thing I had down pat, it was filing.
The growing stack of bills of sale had given me a true eureka moment. The Enchantments tea. If it truly was from the store, then it stood to reason that someone had bought it. The receipts contained itemized information about what was purchased, the date of purchase, and the buyer's name and address or credit card impression. My enthusiasm renewed, I began to sort at a furious pace.
It was nearly nine-thirty before I realized that (A) it was nine-thirty, and (B) Felicity had never arrived at the store.
I abandoned my piles and got to my feet. That bad feeling was back, a cross between fear, panic, and the stomach-wrenching antics of the flu. It settled at the pit of my stomach like some slavering beast, waiting for me to show even the smallest sign of losing it. I swallowed bravely, determined to show the beast No Fear. Grabbing the phone, I dialed Felicity's home number.
The phone rang in my ear, jangling my nerves with each electronic jingle. I counted to twelve before the canned operator came on the line, telling me my party was not answering.
Like I hadn't noticed.
Okay, so Felicity wasn't home. Maybe she was on the way. Digging in my purse for her cell phone number, I dialed it with shaking fingers.
Different number, same scenario, except this time her cell's voice mail picked up my call. Did I want to leave a message? I did.
That done, I went up to the front of the store to peer out at the street through the windows. No sign of Felicity anywhere.
I started to pace. What could have happened to her? An accident on the way in? An unexpected emergency? I felt so inadequate. I couldn't think of a single thing to do to find her other than what I'd already done. It was too soon to phone the hospital emergency room. And if they hadn't seen her and had no admissions of a Jane Doe, what then?
I was quickly losing ground to that prowling beast when Marcus screeched his motorcycle to a halt in front of the store, thrust down the kickstand, then hit the door running.
"What?" I asked when he burst through the door, wondering if it was all right to lose it now that I had backup. "Where is she?"
Marcus took both of my hands in his. "Liss has been arrested."
"Arrested… ?" There are certain moments in one's lifetime, moments of such power and clarity that they somehow become lodged permanently in the fabric of your mind. I knew, even before the moment had passed, that I would remember this moment for the rest of my life. "How… ? When?"
He touched my lips with his finger, shushing me. "This morning. Bright and early. Don't panic. It won't do Felicity, nor you, any good."
I nodded. Deep cleansing breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Again. And again. When I was calmer, I asked, "What happened?"
"Cops came for her as she was leaving the house. She phoned me and asked me to let you know."
I frowned, trying to take it in. I had a sneaking suspicion…
"Before you ask, yes. Fielding was one of them."
After our pseudo-date, after the connection I'd experienced with Tom, I felt the sting of his betrayal even more sharply. "So they charged her with Isabella's murder?"
"Yeah." He paused, then added, "And the attack on Ryan Davidson."
"What?" I blinked as a red haze overtook my vision. I pulled my hands away from him and stalked back to the office. "I can't believe it. I can't believe he would do that. How can you charge someone without evidence?"
He followed me, hot on my heels. "I guess they think they have evidence." He gave a pause that was almost delicate while I flung open the closet door and pawed for my jacket. "Felicity said they believe the bullet came from one of her husband's old guns. Now, guns are not my thing so I don't entirely understand the specifics, but evidently Fielding and another cop served her with a search warrant yesterday morning, confiscated a few things—her husband's collection of various style guns, for one—then left. They must have pushed through whatever testing they had to do, because they were waiting on her doorstep this morning."
I'll bet. I remembered the determined look on Tom's face when I'd passed by him yesterday morning in front of the cop shop. He'd seen me as sure as I'd seen him, but he wouldn't look my way. Was that before or after he'd served Felicity with the warrant? I didn't even know Felicity's husband had kept guns, much less been a collector, so the news had caught me off guard. Damn it, why didn
't she call me? I could have contacted an attorney for her. "I'm worried, Marcus. Someone is trying to set her up. It's the only explanation for everything that's happened."
"Agreed. So we're back to square one. Who had the motive and the opportunity? Not Reverend Martin, as it turns out. I found out last night that the good reverend has been volunteering at Blackridge School, giving spiritual guidance to the boys being held there as wards of the state. He was there the morning that Isabella passed. No question about it."
I sighed wearily. "Another prospective murderer bites the dust. Where does that leave us?"
"We know it has to be someone who knows her well. Someone who has access to her house."
"And once again the finger points toward Jeremy Harding," I said firmly. "Their properties are connected. No doubt Jeremy has been inside The Gables countless times. He would know Gerald Dow was a gun collector."
"We don't know what he was doing last night, do we?"
"No, but we know what Felicity was doing. She was here, with the rest of the N.I.G.H.T.S."
He shook his head reluctantly. "The meeting broke up shortly after you left with Fielding."
"Liss didn't go with you?" I asked, giving up any pretense of discretion.
He opened his mouth to answer then paused, looking at me strangely. "No. No, she didn't."
Of all the times to go home to her own bed. "Well, that doesn't change anything."
"Not for us. For your boyfriend Fielding, that means she had time to take a potshot at Lawyer Boy.'"
"He's not my boyfriend," I said irritably. "And Liss was still here when we decided to get: some coffee."
"Small town. You know as well as I do that it only takes about seven minutes to drive across Stony Mill the long way. Ten minutes at rush hour."
I was silent a moment, knowing he was right, but oh, I wanted to deny it. Except denying the truth was no way to help Liss. Right now we needed straight heads and clear thinking.
"Do you think Isabella had a key to Liss's house?" I asked him. "Because if she did, that means that Jeremy would have had access to it as well. Access to the house, access to the guns, and any number of things he could have used to implicate Liss."
