Bound

by Kirsten Weiss

  “I couldn’t. Ellen was talking. I kept thinking she might be trying to speak to me, that she was awake. But she wasn’t. She was rambling. Dreaming out loud.”

  Jayce set the teapot on the stove and turned on the heat. “What did she say?”

  “At one point, she seemed to be giving someone instructions on baking a cake.”

  A laugh escaped my sister’s throat. “I wonder if she was thinking about us. Remember the messes we made?”

  “You were the little kitchen witch, not I.”

  Jayce sobered. “To think all these years she was secretly researching that curse. There’s so much I want to talk to her about. But now it’s too late.” She took three mugs from a shelf by the sink, and set them on the butcher-block work island.

  “I know. She managed to tell us a lot in the last few days, but…”

  “But, there’s the family spell book, go forth and break the curse, doesn’t really cut it, does it?”

  I snorted. “Blessed be.”

  The front door snicked open, and Lenore, in a crochet slip dress, wandered into the kitchen. Her eyes were wide. “Ellen’s the same. But her ch—”

  “Isn’t it great?” Jayce asked.

  “No,” Lenore said, “it’s not great. She should have passed last night.”

  Jayce poured three mugs of tea. “You can’t be upset your prediction was wrong.”

  “Of course not,” Lenore snapped. “I want Ellen in this kitchen, brewing coffee and ordering us around. But this isn’t…” She pressed her lips together. “Never mind. I’m glad I was wrong. But what happened to her face?”

  “Her face?” Jayce’s brow furrowed.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “The red marks on her cheek appeared last night. I don’t understand where they came from.”

  Lenore frowned. “She didn’t bump against anything, did she?”

  “They don’t look like bruises or scratches.” My shoulders drew up. Had I missed something? Done something wrong? “Maybe some sort of rash?”

  Lenore glanced at her watch. “It’s almost eleven. Maybe Doctor Toeller can tell us when she gets here. I didn’t miss her, did I?”

  “No,” I said. “She’s a little late, but God knows when she finally got home last night. We can’t hold it against her if she wants to sleep in. Could you two help me clean Ellen up?”

  My sisters and I went to the bedroom and rolled Ellen to her side. We still hadn’t become expert at managing the messy, human side of a grown woman’s personal functions. By the time we’d finished, our teas had cooled, stained nearly black by the seeping leaves.

  The doorbell rang.

  Jayce left the kitchen to answer it, and she returned with the doctor.

  Toeller set her bag on the kitchen counter. If the late night had taken a toll on the doctor, it didn’t show. Her skin glowed, luminous. She’d make a good match for Councilman Woodley, I thought. But if the rumors about her taste for younger men were true, Woodley might be too old.

  “How is our patient?” The doctor smoothed the front of her pale blue top.

  “She slept all night,” I said, “but she has some strange red marks on her face. Could they be a reaction to her medication?”

  “I’ll take a look.” The doctor grabbed her bag and paused. “You look tired, Karin. How are you feeling?”

  “I am tired.”

  “Be careful you’re safe to drive if you plan on going anywhere.”

  “I’m not that tired.”

  The doctor smiled. “All right. I’ll check on your aunt.”

  Lenore followed the doctor into the bedroom.

  Jayce reheated her tea, standing to the side while the microwave hummed. “For a moment I let myself hope Ellen was getting better. But she’s not coming back, is she?”

  “We don’t know that. She might wake up.” Hope bottled my breath in my chest. The spell could work.

  “The cancer’s everywhere,” Jayce said. “All we can hope for at this point is a peaceful death.”

  “Or a miracle.” They did happen.

  “Or magic, you mean?”

  I stilled. Had Jayce found out about my spell?

  She grimaced. “I wish we had that kind of power.”

  “But people do get better sometimes.” And Ellen didn’t want to die. She wanted to fight. I changed the subject. “I’ve been thinking about who might have killed Alicia.”

  “Don’t. Don’t poke around in this,” she said sharply.

  I stared. “You could be charged with murder.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I.”

  “It doesn’t seem that way. You’re acting like nothing’s happening.”

  “Nothing’s happening? Ellen’s dying,” Jayce hissed. “How am I supposed to act?”

  “You’re being framed, Jayce. Someone killed Alicia in Ground so it would look like you did it.”

  “And I don’t want them turning on you!”

  “Jayce—”

  “It’s bad enough that someone’s come after Alicia and me. Now Ellen is dying. I can’t lose you and Lenore too.”

  “You’re not going to.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I can’t. But I’d rather we know who this enemy is than stay in the dark, where we’re vulnerable.”

  Jayce rubbed her temple. “I’ve got no idea who it could be. Under other circumstances, I would have said…”

  “Alicia?”

  Jayce’s lips pinched together. “There was nothing between Brayden and I. And there never will be.”

  “But Alicia thought there might be.”

  Jayce nodded.

  “Then who could have done this? Think. There must be someone.”

  Jayce sighed. “Did you ever consider it might not be personal? It might have been convenient to put her in Ground?”

  “The sheriff had a grudge against Alicia. For all we know, she’s behind this. We need to figure this out if the police won’t.”

  “No, we don’t. I have a great lawyer who’s told me to sit tight, and we’ve got Ellen to worry about.”

  And then realization dawned. “You believe Brayden’s guilty.”

  “No!” More quietly, she said, “It’s not who he is. Maybe, in a fit of anger, he might hurt someone. We’re all capable of doing the unimaginable under the right pressure. But I’ve never seen him angry. And to plot and plan and sneak into Ground? It’s not him. Please, Karin, leave it. Stop trying to fix everything, and leave the case to Nick. He knows what he’s doing.”

  “No kidding,” I said, glum. He’d turned me upside down and inside out.

  Jayce narrowed her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  My face heated. “Nothing. He seems competent.”

  “Competent? The last I heard, you thought he had ulterior motives. You’re not…” Jayce smiled. “You do. You like him.”

  “Sure I like him.” I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “He helped me out when the sheriff questioned me. He’s keeping you out of jail. Nick’s a decent lawyer.”

  “A decent lawyer.” Jayce rolled her eyes. “He’s gorgeous, and you’ve got a crush on him.”

  “I’m too old for crushes.” It wasn’t a crush, for God’s sake!

  “You’re younger than me—”

  “By three minutes.”

  “And I’m not too old for crushes.”

  “I’m not…” My throat thickened. “I couldn’t. Not with Ellen so sick.”

  Jayce pursed her lips, a brow raised. “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “A heart should be big enough to mourn and love at the same time.”

  “But not to fall in love. It’s wrong.”

  “I doubt Ellen would agree. She did basically tell you to go for it — that was what she was talking about, wasn’t it?”

  Doctor Toeller walked into the kitchen, saving me from answering. “Well, ladies, your aunt is hanging on.”
/>   “That’s good, right?” Jayce asked.

  She shook her head. “Ellen could stay like this a day or a week. It’s impossible to say for sure.”

  “And the marks on her face?” I asked.

  “When someone’s in a sick bed for a long time, all sorts of unusual marks can crop up. I wouldn’t worry about it.” She checked her watch. “And now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to dash.”

  We thanked her, seeing her out the door, and returned to Ellen’s room. Lenore sat in the wing chair beside the bed and twisted her blond hair, her forehead creased.

  “Well?” Jayce asked. “The doctor’s spoken. What do you think?”

  “Ellen’s not going anywhere.” Her blond brows crumpled together. “Not today at least. I’ll stay, take watch. You must want to get home and freshen up, Karin.”

  “I could use a shower and clean clothes,” I admitted. “You’ll call me if there’s any change? Any at all? I want to be here if she… I want to be here.”

  “I’ll call,” Lenore said. “And make sure your cell phone is on.”

  “I need to check in on Ground,” Jayce said. “Will you be okay here by yourself?”

  “Do what you need to do,” Lenore said. “I’ll call if there’s any change.”

  Jayce and I walked outside. The morning smelled of warming greenery and mountain herbs.

  “Are you okay to drive?” she asked.

  “I’m tired but not exhausted. I’ll be fine, especially after a shower.”

  “All right.” Jayce hugged me. “I’ll see you soon.”

  I drove the speed limit, watchful for playing children or stray animals. A broad-shouldered man walked along the road, his hands in his pockets.

  Nick.

  My heart leapt.

  He stopped in front of a mailbox and turned his head.

  It wasn’t him. My heart folded in on itself with disappointment.

  I pulled into my bungalow’s gravel drive and let myself in, dropping my bag to the floor. Kicking off my shoes, I walked to the bathroom, showered and dressed. I rubbed my fingers across my scalp and stretched, human again in shorts and a fresh, cotton shirt. And then I caught a glance of myself in the mirror, at the unreal, almost waxy perfection of my skin. How had I not noticed this until Nick had pointed it out? Gingerly, I rubbed my cheek. I’d always enjoyed the feel of my own skin, but now I shuddered.

  Booting up my computer, I found my notes from my client meetings. It was time to get some work done, to finalize the trusts and a business contract for a buy-sell agreement.

  I hesitated, then clicked on a file of photos, scrolling through pictures I’d snapped in college. Me looking uncomfortable with some friends at a bar. A group picture with some dorm mates on the dock in Salem. My roommates and I in our graduation robes. My skin looked like theirs. In the Boston photos, I looked like everyone else. Did the magic – whatever it was – only extend to Doyle? And if so, what did it mean?

  Shaking myself, I made the changes to the documents and printed them out in the breakfast nook I’d converted to a mini-office. The paper was warm, smooth beneath my fingers. I loved the overlong legal paper, the pebbled blue folders, the ritual of the notary’s seal. Legal work seemed from an age past, as if the profession resisted my generation’s bytes and disposables and nows.

  My finger hesitated over the computer’s power button. I sat again and searched the Internet. As I read, my frown deepened.

  I reached for the phone. It buzzed beneath my fingers. Startled, I picked it up.

  “Hello?”

  “Karin, it’s Nick.”

  “Nick. How are you?”

  “I should be asking you that. How’s your aunt?”

  “No change.” I crossed my fingers. Please God, let the spell work. Let her get better.

  “I wanted to come see you, but then I thought it would be better if I didn’t. You’re right. You’ve got a lot going on.”

  I swallowed, unhappy. But he wasn’t wrong. “Have you learned anything new about Alicia’s murder?”

  “It comes down to the keys to Ground. A barista swears she saw the key in the drawer when she was closing up, the day before Alicia’s body was found.”

  “Which barista?”

  “Indigo.”

  “If she said it, then it’s probably true.”

  “I got that sense as well.”

  “And she saw it when she was closing up? Why was she in that drawer?”

  “There was a leak beneath one of the sinks. She was looking for a tool to tighten the joint.”

  “Did she find what she was looking for?”

  “Jayce did. She fixed the sink.”

  I tried to imagine that procedure. “Who else was there during that closing?”

  “Only Jayce and Darla.”

  “Darla has a key to Ground. So either Darla let Alicia in to kill her, or Indigo took the spare key, or someone somehow broke into Ground without a key.”

  “There was no sign of a break-in. The police are going to look for the most likely explanation, and Indigo and Darla don’t have motives.”

  I braced my hand on the still-warm printer. It hummed beneath my palm like a living thing. “So they’ll think Jayce used her own key.”

  “I’ve already asked Jayce this, but you were there when the body was found too. Was there anything else you can think of we’ve missed?”

  “Darla told me she didn’t like Alicia, though she wasn’t able to give me a good reason why. Steve Woodley…? If there’s anything corrupt going on at the town council, he won’t admit it to me. But he was on the spot when Alicia’s body was discovered. Brayden might have had motive. He was the husband, after all. But if what you say about the key is true, I don’t see how he could have got Alicia inside, short of sneaking in through Jayce’s apartment window. Have you heard anything about the autopsy results on that man I found in the alley?”

  Nick hesitated. “Since Jayce hasn’t been charged, technically I’ve no right to see them.”

  “Un-techically?”

  “I pulled some strings.”

  “And?”

  “His dental records and fingerprints match up with Ely Milbourne’s. But the body has the physique of someone in his mid-thirties. Ely should be fifty-seven.”

  “Clean living?”

  “The initial report said he was malnourished. They’re running more tests, which I may not be able to get my hands on.” His laugh was acidic. “This is turning into an X-Files case.”

  “No,” I said, thoughtful. “Something happened to us in that forest, and it had nothing to do with little green men.”

  “Even if it did, it doesn’t have any bearing on the case. The question is who killed him, not how Ely turned up here looking like he hadn’t aged a day.”

  I paced, anxiety twisting my insides. “He must have seen the killer in the alley after Alicia was murdered. Maybe the killer knew he’d been spotted and went after Ely.”

  “It’s possible.”

  “What about Alicia?” I asked. “Did they learn anything from her autopsy?”

  “Only that she was killed by a knife through the back of the neck. But you already knew that.”

  “Oh.” But I hadn’t known. I’d guessed, because the cops had confiscated all of Jayce’s knives. But when we’d found Alicia, it had looked like she’d been hit in the back of the head. There’d been so much blood pooled around her. “And Ely was stabbed as well.” And the police would believe Jayce was responsible for both murders. I twisted my watch. “The police took all the knives from Ground and Jayce’s apartment. If they found blood on one of them, wouldn’t they have arrested her by now?”

  “Unless they believe she disposed of the murder weapon. Finding the knife that killed Alicia might help their case, but given where the body was found, they don’t need it.”

  “You’re not filling me with confidence,” I said.

  “I haven’t given up yet. Is there anyone else who might have had a key?”

/>   “That’s a better question for Jayce.”

  “I’ve asked her. She says ‘no.’ She hired some contractors for renovations, but she was at the site during construction. She says she never gave them a key. The landlord lives in Boston. We’re missing some…” He trailed off.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “It’s never nothing.”

  “I was thinking…” A phone rang in the background. “Listen, I’ve got to go. Can I call you later?”

  “You’d better.”

  We hung up, and I turned off the printer.

  A net was closing around my sister, one my magic was powerless to unravel.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  I stood in my aunt’s front yard. The noon sun beat on my shoulders, and I unstuck my sweaty cotton shirt from my back. Shutting my car door, I hurried up the porch steps and into the house.

  Lenore stood in the hallway outside Ellen’s room. She dashed her hand across her cheeks. Her skin was pink, blotchy, her cream-colored dress rumpled.

  My breath came in thin, fearful gasps. I hurried to her. “Ellen, she’s not—?”

  “She’s alive,” Lenore said.

  I covered my mouth. Alive. Thank God. “Then what’s wrong?”

  “That rattle. She’s fighting so hard for air.” Tears silvered her cheeks. “She’s suffering. And it goes on and on.”

  The front door opened, and Jayce joined us. “What’s going on?” she whispered.

  “We need to call Doctor Toeller,” I said, words clipped. “Lenore says Ellen’s having trouble breathing.”

  “I’ll do it,” Jayce said. She pulled a cell phone from her back pocket, walked to the kitchen.

  “At least she’s still alive,” I said. “There’s hope.”

  “No,” Lenore said. “She’s not going to get better. She’s in pain, smothering. This isn’t life or hope. It’s torture.”

  “No.” I walked into our aunt’s bedroom and dropped my purse on the window seat. The window was open, a warm breeze flowing through the room. Sunlight slid across the carpet, sparkled on the dangling witch ball. Outside, birds chattered to each other.

  “No,” I whispered. I pulled the wing chair closer to the bed and sat, taking Ellen’s hand. Her skin was cool, the bones in stark relief against the wrinkled flesh. Her breath pulled in, rattling in her chest, a swimmer coming up for air. Then silence — long, excruciating — and an exhale. Rattle, silence, exhale. I counted the beats between the breaths. Seven counts. Over and over.