Huh. That was interesting. I wanted to talk with Ricki some more, but the phantom showed up again.
“Hi,” he said. “You don’t recognize me, do you?”
I stared at him. Of course not! I wanted to say. You’re wearing a mask!
He lifted the mask to show me his face, and my heart began a tap dance in my chest. It was Levi Markham.
I tried to play it cool. It was entirely possible he didn’t know I’d snooped around in his cabin. After all, he was a distracted artist-type. Supposedly.
“How’s the book coming along?” I asked.
“Pretty good.”
“What’s it about again? You told me before, but I forgot.”
“Actually, I don’t like to talk much about my works in progress. I’m kinda superstitious that way.”
“Uh-huh.” I was finding it hard to keep the distrust out of my voice. I cast a glance at Ricki, but she seemed to be happily flirting with the skeleton men. “So,” I said to Levi, “how’d you find out about this party?”
“There was a flyer in one of Jameson’s restaurants,” he said. “I thought it would be good to get away from the cabin for a little while. Of course, I don’t know anyone here. Besides you.”
I narrowed my eyes. He knew me, all right. He knew me so well, he had my name on a list of people associated with Aunt Josephine. I wanted to bring up the Sorghum bombing, but I didn’t know how. I also didn’t know if that was the wisest thing to do.
Then I noticed Levi wasn’t paying attention to me anymore. He was looking at someone near the French doors. I followed his gaze and spotted the werewolf, standing alone and surveying the crowd. He was quite a sight with his brown rubber claws, furry chest hair sticking through a ripped shirt, and whole-head wolf mask, complete with pointy ears and a gaping, toothy mouth. As we watched, the werewolf was approached by a masked butler, who handed him a slip of paper.
“What’s this—a love letter from his she-wolf?” I joked. Levi didn’t answer. The werewolf read the note, then crumpled it in his fist. With a last sweep of the room, he swung around and headed outside.
“And it’s not even a full moon tonight,” I said. “Who is—”
Levi didn’t let me finish. “Say, I’m gonna go find a bite to eat. I’ll catch you later.” He squeezed my arm in farewell and took off.
“What is going on? Did you see that?” I turned to Ricki and her friends, only to find that they had left as well.
Crenshaw appeared at my side. “Having a nice time, Milanni?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“I’d ask you to dance, but . . .” he trailed off, waving his hand in the air. The song now playing was “Spooky,” sung by Dusty Springfield.
“Hey, is that a real sword?” said a passing knight.
“I beg your pardon?” said Crenshaw.
“I bet mine is bigger than yours. En garde!”
I glanced over at the doors again and saw Levi hurry outside. So much for getting food, I thought.
“I’m gonna go get some air,” I said to Crenshaw, who seemed to be scuffling with the knight.
By the time I reached the doors, Levi was nowhere in sight. I looked around. Most of the guests out here mingled on the terrace, but a few had wandered onto the lawn. These outliers seemed to be the smokers, including Tadd and a couple wearing square-dance apparel.
I rubbed my bare arms against the cool, damp air. Where did Levi go?
A minute later, I spotted a figure in a long dark cape heading to a grove of trees at the edge of the lawn. I took a few hesitant steps, then decided to follow. The ground sloped upward for several yards. When I reached the crest, I noticed a gazebo in the distance, nestled under the trees. Someone was standing by the rail—or maybe it was two people. I paused, not wanting to interrupt a lovers’ tryst.
I turned to leave when three things happened at once: a low yelp arose from the gazebo, a gust of wind lifted my wings, and someone cried my name. I tried to hold onto my wings while looking to see who had called for me. There was a man near the trees at the bottom of the hill who seemed to be looking my way. He wore a black suit, long cape, and a hat. Was it Crenshaw or Levi? Or someone else?
I faced the gazebo again, uncertain what to do. The lovers were gone, so I tripped up the steps to get out of the wind. As I adjusted my fairy wings, I caught sight of something on the ground behind the gazebo. I leaned over the railing to get a closer look—and gasped. It was a body, a man, crumpled in a heap.
“Hey!” I yelled.
The man didn’t stir. In an instant, I was at his side. I found his wrist and checked for a pulse. It was there, but faint.
“Hey!” I called again. Then, into the wind, I yelled, “Help!”
Carefully, I tried to turn the guy over to give him some air. He was heavy and solid, but I managed to push him onto his side. That’s when I realized who he was—the weird werewolf. As gently as possible, I lifted the mask from the front of his face. Even in the darkness, I now recognized who he really was. Not Lon Chaney Jr., but Gil Johnson. And he was bleeding profusely from the back of his head.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The rest of the night was a blur—people running and shouting, paramedics and police weaving through the crowd, barking orders. It was after midnight when the officer in charge finally allowed me to leave. Crenshaw insisted on driving me home, even though I kept assuring everyone I was fine. In the end, I gave him my car keys, if only so he’d stop making a scene. Beverly followed to give Crenshaw a ride home.
On the way, I called Wes to let him know I was all right. Knowing how fast lurid news traveled, I figured someone would come into the bar and start flapping their lips about trouble at the masquerade party. I didn’t want Wes to worry. Even so, he decided to come home and see for himself that I was okay. He met us on the street in front of our house.
Crenshaw scurried around the front of the car to open my door, then stepped aside when Wes approached. “She’s had quite a shock,” he said, in a sonorous tone.
“I’m fine,” I said for the thousandth time. It must have been the fairy costume, I decided, that made me appear vulnerable. “It’s Gil I’m worried about.”
We headed up the walkway to our house, as Crenshaw climbed into Beverly’s car. Wes paused and watched them take off. “You know, I don’t care for the way he looks at you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He has feelings for you—which, who can blame him? It just bugs me sometimes.”
“Wes, I can’t even think about that right now. Crenshaw is the least of my worries.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He opened the door and stepped back to let me in. “So, you were right, then? About Gil being in danger?”
“It sure seems like it. I’ll call Detective Rhinehardt first thing in the morning. I only hope Gil makes it through the night.”
* * *
As it happened, the detective beat me to the punch. He showed up at our front door before I’d had my first sip of coffee.
“Trick or treat.” His straight face threw me off, leaving me at a loss for words. “Sorry,” he said. “Bad joke. Got a minute?”
“Sure. Come on in. Would you like some coffee? Or something else to drink?”
“Nah—well, unless you already have it made. That coffee smells good. Black is fine.”
“I’ll get it,” said Wes, from the kitchen doorway.
“Cute cat,” said Rhinehardt. “What’s his name?”
The cat lolled on the windowsill, pretending not to notice us. I smiled. “She doesn’t have a name yet, but we’re working on it.”
Wes handed the detective a mug and invited him to have a seat at the small dining table in the corner between the kitchen and the living room. I opened the blinds on the patio doors to let in some light, and Wes brought out a plate of cookies Mrs. Hammerlin had sent over. It was all a little too cozy, given the circumstances.
“How’s Gil?” I asked. “Any word from the hospital?�
�
“He hasn’t woken up yet, but they think he’ll make it.” Rhinehardt pulled a small notebook from his pocket and flipped it open. “Now then, I’ve read the statement you gave to the responding officer last night. If you don’t mind, tell me again how you happened to find Johnson on the ground?”
I explained that I was following someone I believed to be Levi—who, in turn, seemed to be following Gil. I also told Rhinehardt about the note Gil had received.
“And you have no idea who this butler character might have been?”
“No. I asked around last night, and no one even remembered seeing that costume.”
“Anyone could have walked into the party, right?” asked Wes. “You didn’t have to have an invitation.”
“That’s right. All you needed was money and a mask.”
“Which presents a challenge,” said the detective.
Except, in my mind, we already had a prime suspect. “I think Levi is hiding something,” I said. “I overheard him tell the cops he was nowhere near the gazebo, but I don’t think that’s true. Is there any chance you could make him take a polygraph test?”
Rhinehardt’s expression betrayed a mixture of amusement and regret. “Afraid not. You said you saw him go outside and then lost track of him. There’s no evidence he was involved. Anyway, I hope Johnson will have something useful to say when he wakes up, but don’t hold your breath. With everyone running around in a mask, he might not know who hit him. Plus, he was hit from behind.”
“Did you find the note on him? Or on the ground at the gazebo?”
“No. I’m going out to Honeycutt Mansion from here. It might have been missed in the dark last night.”
I was itching to go out there myself. Rhinehardt must have guessed as much.
“Look, Keli, I know you might not have much faith in me—”
“Sure, I do,” I said.
“Well, listen, I do appreciate your candor and all the information you’ve managed to uncover. In light of what happened last night, I did some more research on Gil Johnson. Turns out he has a record in Texas. Nothing too major—vandalism, petty theft, disturbing the peace. This was years ago and doesn’t necessarily have any bearing on the present. But there was one other thing.”
“What is it?” I expected him to say something about the Sorghum bombing, which occurred in Texas.
“Evidently, he was wanted as a person of interest in connection with the murder of a guy by the name of Davey Winslow. And he wasn’t the only one. Josephine O’Malley was wanted for questioning as well. I guess their stories checked out, and they were never charged. Still, it’s an interesting piece of info.”
I was rattled by Detective Rhinehardt’s news. In spite of Josephine’s sketchy past, I didn’t honestly think she’d turn out to be a killer. For that matter, this was the first time I’d heard Davey’s death officially referred to as a murder. It gave me an icky feeling.
When Rhinehardt left, Wes came over to me and rubbed my back. “What do you want to do today? This is your holiday.”
He was right. Today was October 31. Halloween to the masses, Samhain to Wiccans like me. It was not only the last of the harvest festivals and the start of the darker half of the wheel, it was also considered the Witches’ New Year. Normally, I’d do a special ritual and meditate on my goals for the coming year. But now I couldn’t see past Monday, when my parents were due to arrive.
I leaned into Wes and closed my eyes. Then I promptly opened them as a thought occurred to me. “Hey, you haven’t told me about your interview with Tadd Hemsley! I guess we both saw him yesterday, you in the afternoon and me in the evening.”
“It wasn’t my interview. Jason, the reporter, interviewed him. I just took the pictures. Anyway, there’s not a lot to tell. We got a tour of his facility. It was a lot cleaner than you might expect. Everything seemed to be stored nice and neat, with lots of clear signage for safety. Oh, and get this. He said he’s been experimenting with organic fertilizers. He wants to reduce the environmental impact of his products.”
“Wow. Ricki told me his business complies with all relevant regulations. It sounds like he’s going above and beyond.”
“Yeah, he seemed pretty progressive.”
“Wait, what about his unusual hobby?”
Wes grinned. “See for yourself.” He reached for his laptop, pulled up his most recent pictures, and turned the screen toward me. I found myself looking into the eyes of a tiger.
“Whoa! Seriously? You were this close to a tiger?”
“Yeah. With bars between us.”
“So, Tadd’s hobby is . . . ?”
“Collecting exotic animals. He has several tigers, lions, even a bear.”
“And this is legal?”
“I guess so. He’s got a permit as an animal refuge on a couple acres behind HAPCO. Oh, and he told us the reason he has such a high barbed-wire fence around his facility is not to keep the animals in, but to keep people out. He doesn’t want hikers wandering onto his property and getting too close to the cages.”
“Good idea.”
“He also said he lets a couple of his tigers roam the warehouses at night, instead of security dogs. But I think he was joking about that.”
“Wow. You were right—Tadd does have an unusual hobby.”
“Yeah. But it doesn’t help you any, does it? Did Josephine have anything against private zoos?”
“I have no idea. It doesn’t really fit in with everything I know about her. Anyway, from what you learned, it seems unlikely that she could have gotten onto his property, even if she wanted to.”
“Well, Tadd seems to really love his animals. He said he’s considered a wild animal sanctuary.”
“Interesting guy.” I took my cup to the sink and looked out the window. It was a beautiful day. The sun shone brightly through the treetops, and the leaves on the ground glistened like strewn confetti.
“I’ll rake today,” said Wes, behind me.
I turned around and smiled. “I don’t mind the yard as it is, but you can rake if you want. Looks like a great day to be outside. I think I’ll go for a run.”
A short time later, dressed in running shorts, a bright T-shirt, and running shoes, I jogged through Fieldstone Park, then hopped onto the rail trail, a moderately traveled path that ran through town and out toward the river. Though it crossed a couple roads and passed behind neighborhoods, it was largely shady and quiet. It was easy to imagine I was in the middle of a forest.
I loved running, not only for the exercise and endorphins, but also as a meditation practice. The repetitive motion of my footfalls and even rhythm of my breathing almost always brought me into a calm mental state. I was able to focus on the present moment and quiet the chatter in my mind.
Of course, my thoughts still wandered now and then. Even so, things seemed clearer out here in the open air with only the trees to keep me company. As I ran, I thought about Aunt Josephine. I really did have a lot in common with her. We both cared about the earth and tried to live in harmony with the environment. But our approaches were vastly different. Whereas I adopted a vegan lifestyle and tried to reduce my carbon footprint, she went out into the world to promote organic farming—and to stop things she believed were destructive to the environment. If my suspicions were correct, she was willing to commit crimes to advance her cause. I’d never do that.
As soon as I thought it, a wave of guilt coursed through me. I had broken the law. I illegally entered Levi’s cabin and Gil’s house. I trespassed. I invaded their privacy. My intentions were good, but that was no excuse. I knew what I was doing was wrong. That was why I never told Detective Rhinehardt about the postcards. I was embarrassed. I told myself the correspondence between Josephine and Gil didn’t necessarily tie in to her murder. Rhinehardt probably couldn’t do much with them anyway—except ask Gil what he and Josephine were referring to. And now Gil couldn’t talk.
But those postcards did tell me something. They told me Josephine felt guilty, to
o. After all these years, she wanted to come clean.
I reached the two-mile point and turned back. Heading in the other direction, it occurred to me that if Josephine wanted to confess her past crimes, it wouldn’t make sense for her to want to commit another one. So, what was she doing in the woods around Briar Creek Cabins?
I’d hit my stride and was running faster and faster now. With my heart pumping and the wind in my hair, I realized I couldn’t outrun the decision I had reached. Because, above all the confusion, one thing had suddenly become crystal clear. It was something I should have realized a long time ago. Deep down, I probably always knew it: The only way to find out what had happened to Aunt Josephine was to ask her myself.
I was going to have to communicate with her spirit. And I had to do it tonight.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
As soon as I got home from my run, I called Mila for advice.
“I know about ancestor veneration,” I said. “That’s not a problem. But, what is the best way to receive a message back from Josephine? Use of a Ouija board seems a little too hokey. Do I need to hire a psychic medium? I mean, I don’t actually need to host a séance, do I?”
“Oh, no. You’re perfectly capable of being a channel yourself. You’ve already heard from your aunt in dreams and visions. You just have to remember the language of Spirit. Spirit speaks in symbols. No Ouija board required.”
“Oh. That’s good.”
“You sound disappointed!”
“I’m not. It’s just that symbols require interpretation. I was hoping for some clear answers.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You can do it. Although. . .”
“Although what?”
“It might help to have a bit of magical support.”
“You mean like a talisman or a potion?”
“I mean like an extra witch or two. One witch can certainly cast a spell, but when you have multiple witches chanting and raising energy, the effect is that much more powerful.”
I was silent for a moment. I’d always been perfectly happy as a solitary Wiccan. I didn’t feel a need to join forces with others. Now, I wasn’t so sure. With everything that had been happening lately, having some extra help didn’t sound like such a bad idea. Truth be told, I was a little frightened about the whole thing.
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