Bell, Book & Candlemas

by Jennifer David Hesse

  He turned back to me and looked directly into my eyes. “Listen, I would love to chat with you if you have the time. Won’t you have some coffee?”

  Gladly, I thought. I nodded and followed him to the table with the coffee and cookies. I helped myself to a cup and sat down on a cold metal chair. Reverend Natty sat across from me and pushed the package of cookies across the table. Like a magician performing a trick, he produced a small bundle of pamphlets.

  “These brochures describe a number of our programs, besides this one. Where do you attend church, dear?”

  I took a sip of the coffee, politely ignoring its bitterness. “I was raised Catholic,” I answered truthfully. “But I don’t attend any church right now. I guess you could say I’m something of a seeker. I’m interested in learning more about the beliefs of the, er, New Believers.”

  The pastor’s eyes lit up. For the next several minutes, he walked me through the history of the church, highlighting its many social programs and emphasizing the number of souls that had been saved within its doors. Several times, he quoted scripture to convince me of the divine rightness of his vision for the church. He only briefly touched upon some of their social mores, including the religion’s ban on the consumption of alcohol. Apparently, Reverend Natty had been lobbying government officials unsuccessfully for years to turn Edindale into a dry city.

  Finally, I was able to steer the conversation to what I was really after. “I understand you’ve also spoken out against metaphysical practices such as palmistry and tarot reading. Is there really any harm in those things? Aren’t they usually done just for fun?”

  I noted with interest the way Reverend Natty’s nostrils flared. He sat up straighter in his chair and leaned forward. “Actually, those things can be quite dangerous. And it’s especially dangerous because young people think it’s all fun and games.”

  I raised my eyebrows and let him continue.

  “Only God knows the future. Anyone else who claims to have such power is either a charlatan or worse.”

  “Worse?”

  Reverend Natty lowered his voice. “Now, I don’t want to scare you, but it’s a fact that some people are weak and succumb to the seductions of Satan. There are people today who call themselves witches and claim to cast spells, which is clearly an abomination against the Lord.”

  My heart started thudding, and I struggled to remain calm. Squeezing my hands tightly together under the table, I managed to speak in an even tone. “Is that so?”

  “Oh, yes, the Bible is clear on this.”

  Biting my tongue, I nodded my head to encourage him to go on. I had to find out—was Reverend Natty fanatical enough to vandalize Mila’s shop?

  “We even have sinful witches right here in Edindale,” he said. “One of them was branded as such just yesterday.”

  “You mean the graffiti on that gift shop, Moonstone Treasures? I, uh, noticed that on my way into work yesterday.”

  “That’s right,” said Reverend Natty. “I saw it too. I was on my way to have breakfast with a congregant. We were going to discuss our visiting ministry program.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. Once a month we spread the New Believers’ message in other towns around the country. In fact, I think there’s a pamphlet about that in this stack I gave you.”

  Clearly Reverend Natty was intent on spreading his beliefs as far and wide as possible. I pondered this tidbit after I thanked him and walked back to my car. The question was, were all his church members as zealous as he was? Or was he the lone crusader? More importantly, how far would he go to eliminate what he undoubtedly viewed as an “abomination” in his town?

  I shuddered at the thought.

  Chapter 6

  On my way home from the First Church of the New Believers, I stopped off at my favorite Thai restaurant for takeout. It was after 9:00 by the time I got home with my vegetable fried rice and tofu, and I ate from the white carton with relish as I opened my mail and checked messages on my phone. Then I called Wes. He sounded pleased when he answered.

  “Hey,” he said. “I was wondering if I’d hear from you tonight.”

  I smiled. “I did promise I’d call, right?”

  “That you did. So, did you have a productive afternoon? Was that old newspaper any help?”

  I hesitated. I forgot to think of an explanation for needing the paper. “Uh, yeah. It did.”

  “Oh, I get it. Say no more. Attorney-client privilege, right?”

  “Something like that. Thanks again for bringing me the paper. If not for our lunch meeting, who knows when we would’ve cleared up our little . . . misunderstanding.”

  Wes chuckled. “I know. Crazy stuff. So . . . when can I see you again?”

  “Well, I have plans with Farrah tomorrow evening. How about Thursday?”

  “Perfect.”

  After hanging up with Wes, I changed into yoga pants and a comfy blue sweatshirt, then took my laptop over to the couch. I needed to research wildlife import law for the special memo Beverly had assigned to me.

  First, I looked up rhino horns and opened a page created by a wildlife conservation group. My hand flew to my mouth as a grotesque image filled the screen—a mutilated rhinoceros whose horn had been hacked off.

  “Oh, jeez,” I muttered, scrolling through similar distressing photos.

  Quickly, I switched to a database of federal statutes and delved into the legalities of import/export law, jotting notes on a pad of paper as I went. As I suspected, some species of rhinoceros were on the endangered list. It was against the law to buy or sell rhino horns—or anything made out of them. However, it wasn’t illegal simply to own a rhino horn if it had been acquired prior to the enactment of the law. Hopefully, Edgar’s piece was an antique.

  Still, I thought, yawning, having one on display is pretty tasteless. I’d have to add some facts to the memo to win Beverly over to my point of view.

  I continued to read about the plight of the poor rhinos. In many parts of Asia, people coveted rhino horns, believing they contained powerful medicinal properties. Wanted as not only an aphrodisiac, but also as a cure for a host of ailments—including cancer, of all things—rhino horns were worth more than their weight in gold. This, of course, led to rampant poaching and a dangerous illegal trade.

  Belief is a powerful force, I thought sleepily, as I closed my laptop. Those gullible people might as well ingest their own fingernails. They’re made from the same stuff as rhino horns.

  Pulling an afghan over my legs, I leaned back to lay my head on the arm of the couch. I would get up and go to bed pretty soon. I just needed to rest my eyes for a minute.

  The sound of my cell phone jarred me awake. Fumbling in the darkness, I reached over and grabbed it from the coffee table.

  “Hello?” I croaked.

  “Keli, you need to get over here right now.”

  Rubbing my eyes, I pulled the phone away to squint at the unfamiliar number. I also noted the time—3:30 A.M.

  “Who is this?”

  “It’s Catrina. Sorry I woke you, but we need you at the shop. There’s been a fire.”

  “What?” I sat up on the couch and shook the fog from my brain.

  “Please,” she said. “The fire department has already been here and left. I want you to see what’s left before we clean it up.”

  Alarm coursed through my veins. “What do you mean ‘what’s left’? Was the shop destroyed?”

  “No, that’s not what I meant. Please just come here as fast as you can.”

  Catrina hung up, leaving me staring at my phone in disbelief. Terrific. After a quick trip to the bathroom, I pulled on a coat, a scarf, and some boots and quietly slipped out of my town house. The last thing I needed was to awaken my curious neighbors.

  The streets were empty as I drove the few short blocks to Moonstone Treasures. Stepping out of the car, I could see my breath by the light of the corner street lamp. Light flurries swirled in the air before me. I jogged up to the front of the shop a
nd tapped on the door. After a few seconds, Catrina opened the door and ushered me inside.

  “You said there was a fire,” I said, taking in the quiet, shadowy shop. A light from the back room cast a soft glow that reached the center of the store. From what I could tell, nothing appeared to be disturbed.

  “Come on,” said Catrina, pulling back the purple curtain. As soon as I entered the back room, I detected the faint acrid smell of lingering smoke, along with a strange mixture of other odors. The floor was littered with assorted containers, bottles, boxes, and candles. It appeared as if someone had ransacked the place. In the middle of it all stood Mila with her eyes closed and her arms outstretched, intoning some words I couldn’t make out. She appeared even thinner than usual, in an open black cloak over a white nightgown. Her feet were bare.

  I didn’t want to interrupt Mila in the middle of her spell, so I turned to Catrina and spoke in a whisper. “Where was the fire?”

  Catrina, who looked incongruous herself in combat boots and an army jacket over Hello Kitty pajamas, led me to the back door. She opened it, revealing a mess of white foam over a pile of candles and charred books.

  I gave Catrina a questioning look.

  “Check it out,” she said, pointing. “Someone spray painted a crude pentagram on the ground and arranged candles in a circle around it. In the center of the star, they had themselves a little book burning. From what I can tell, the books aren’t connected except that they all have black covers.”

  I stared at the heap of damaged books and felt frustration rise within me. Catrina had woken me up to see this? I thought the place was going to be up in flames, the way she had sounded on the phone. She had me really worried. Enough with the melodrama already!

  I took a deep breath. “Was there a note?”

  Catrina shook her head. “Not that we’ve found.”

  “Well, what did the police say? Is this still a crime scene, or what?”

  “They asked some questions and took some pictures. They said it appeared to be a prank,” Catrina said scornfully. “They didn’t seem to realize the significance of the pentagram. This is clearly another hate crime.”

  I rubbed my temples. Why did this girl always give me a headache?

  “Let’s clean it up,” I said. “Do you have a snow shovel we can use?”

  Catrina disappeared inside. I stuck my hands in my pockets to keep warm and looked up and down the dark alley. There was nothing to see besides garbage bins and darkened back doors. At one end of the alley, a neighboring building had a shed attached to its back door, effectively blocking the view of the street beyond.

  I shuddered. Mila should install a spotlight out here, I thought, trying not to imagine what other unsavory crimes could easily take place in the secluded alleyway.

  Catrina returned with a shovel, a broom, and a box of trash bags. For the next few minutes, we worked silently to clear away the debris. As we did, I counted nine pillar candles and five paperback books. All of the books had pages ripped out, presumably to help fuel the fire. Catrina was right that there didn’t appear to be any particular significance to the chosen books other than the color of the covers. There were a couple of guides to witchcraft, a book of spells, a memoir, and a young adult novel.

  Still, while the books were random, the whole setup itself appeared to have been done with careful deliberation. I doubted the perpetrator would have been careless enough to leave fingerprints. Even if the person had, the foam from the firefighter’s extinguisher probably would have obliterated any prints.

  As I tied up a garbage bag, a thought occurred to me. “How did you and Mila find out about the fire?”

  “Someone was driving by and saw it, so they called nine-one-one. A police officer called Mila, and she called me. It didn’t take the firefighters very long to put out the fire. Luckily, it was outside instead of inside the store. Which is kind of weird, since they made a mess of the place inside.”

  When we went back in, Mila was cleaning up her divination parlor. She had already put away the bottles and containers and was sweeping up spilled herbs and bits of broken candles. She smiled faintly when she saw me.

  “Catrina called you before I could tell her not to,” she said, with a note of apology in her voice. “I can make you some tea, if you’d like, but I’m sure you’d rather just go back home.”

  I followed Mila through the curtain into the main part of the shop. I started to ask her how she was holding up, when I was distracted by headlights that momentarily shone through the front window. I walked over to the window and peered outside. Mila and Catrina joined me, and we watched as a small car pulled into the parking space nearest the alley. A slender young woman wearing a trench coat got out of the car and took a few tentative steps toward the alley. Her shoulder-length honey-colored hair gleamed under the streetlight.

  “Who is that?” I asked.

  “Looks like Sheana Starwalt. She’s a reporter at the Edindale Gazette,” Catrina answered.

  Uh-oh. The last thing I wanted was to see my name in the paper in connection with Moonstone Treasures. I also wondered if Wes knew this reporter. What would he think if he found out I was here?

  Mila hugged her arms across her chest. “I assume she heard about the fire on a police scanner. The vulture.”

  Feeling a twinge of panic, I turned to Mila and lightly squeezed her arm. “I’m gonna get going now, but I’ll stop by tomorrow.” With a curt nod to Catrina, I opened the door and ran to my car, wrapping my scarf around my face as I went.

  As I started the engine and shifted into reverse, I spared a glance toward the sidewalk. The reporter, who was now heading toward the entrance to Moonstone Treasures, turned my way at the sound of my car. I hurriedly looked away and hit the gas.

  * * *

  When my alarm clock rang at 6:00 A.M., I groaned and rolled over. My body was so tired, I considered calling in sick—which was something I hadn’t done once in all of my six years with the firm.

  But no. There was too much to do.

  After forcing myself out of bed, I took a bracing shower; applied makeup, to at least give me the appearance of being more awake; and then dressed in one of my favorite power suits. I went to the kitchen and concocted an energy-boosting smoothie consisting of almond milk, bananas, kale, and frozen berries, as well as an assortment of powders—macca root for vitality, flax seed for longevity, cayenne for heat, and guarana for a caffeine kick. As I prepared the smoothie, I muttered an improvised spell:

  “Oh Blessed Shakti, Mother bright

  Hear my plea and bring your might

  I’ll work by day and sleep by night

  Rest at dark and wake at light

  Give me strength that I may fight

  By your grace, I’ll be all right.”

  By the time I walked into the reception area of Olsen, Sykes, and Rafferty at five minutes before 9, I had a spring in my step and a grin on my face. My spell had worked wonders. The only thing I didn’t know was how long it would last.

  “Well, you seem awfully chipper,” said Pammy, by way of greeting. She was standing next to Crenshaw, who was leaning his elbows on Julie’s desk. He turned to me and raised one eyebrow.

  “Morning, Keli,” said Julie, looking up from her computer. “Did you hear what happened last night? It was on the Gazette’s website this morning.”

  I froze in my tracks, unable to think of a reply. Is she talking about the fire at Moonstone Treasures?

  “There was yet another burglary,” said Pammy. “This time it was Gigi’s Bar and Grill.”

  “Do you know the place, Ms. Milanni?” asked Crenshaw, with a sly smirk. “They have wonderfully juicy steaks.”

  Another jab at my veganism. Every chance he gets. I gave Crenshaw a weak smile that was more like a grimace and turned to Pammy and Julie. “How many does that make now? Do the police think it’s all the same burglar?”

  “The police aren’t saying much at all,” said Julie. “Just that their investigation is
‘ongoing.’ This is the fifth burglary in three months.”

  “At least it’s always businesses,” said Pammy soberly. “If these were residential break-ins I don’t think I could sleep at night.”

  Crenshaw straightened and began stroking his beard. I sensed he was about to pontificate, so I quickly excused myself. I didn’t think my energy spell was strong enough to withstand one of Crenshaw’s speeches.

  As soon as I settled in at my desk, I dialed the number for Moonstone Treasures. Mila answered on the second ring.

  “Hi, Mila. It’s Keli. How are things this morning?”

  “Everything seems more or less normal,” she said. “So far.”

  I could tell from Mila’s voice she was holding something back.

  “What did that reporter want last night? I hope she didn’t keep you up much later than it already was,” I asked.

  “She didn’t stay long,” Mila said. “I raised a psychic shield as soon as I sensed her aura. I didn’t like her insinuations.”

  “Why? What did she say?”

  “It was her questions. She asked me if one of my spells or ‘curses’ had gone wrong, thus causing the fire. She asked if I performed rituals in the shop. And she asked me what ‘brand of magic’ I practiced, and if it could be considered ‘black magic.’”

  “Well, she’s definitely angling for a story,” I said. “What did Catrina say?”

  “Oh, I sent Catrina to the back room before the reporter even came inside. I know Catrina thinks publicity is important, but I’m not so sure I agree.”

  You and me both, sister.

  “Did you tell the reporter about the threatening notes you’ve been receiving?”

  “No,” said Mila. “I just wanted her to leave. But I did mention the vandalism, which, of course, she already knew about. She asked if I thought it was a dissatisfied customer who damaged the shop. Perhaps someone who bought a charm or potion that backfired.”