“Just so you know, in my official capacity as sheriff, I had to talk to Doc and the others. And I found nothing to associate them with the crime.”
“As I knew you would.”
“So.” His voice got all deep and melty. He sounded good even on the phone. “I want to see you again. Maybe get out of the village a little. Take a day trip to Machias. Get to know each other better. And…come back for supper and get to know each other…even better.”
That sent a pleasant shiver up my spine. “That sounds spectacular. But I was wondering if you wanted to come over now.”
“Now? I’m still on duty.”
“Just a quick visit…over to Ruth Russell’s.”
“What? Uh…why do you want to do that?”
“She and I got on the wrong foot and I’m afraid if we don’t patch things up, it’s going to get difficult. And it’s too small a town for that. So I baked her a cake and thought I’d bring it over.”
“What do you need me for?”
“So she doesn’t slam the door in my face. Maybe if she sees you, she’ll know I’m on the level.” How many lies had I just told in that one sentence? I hoped no one was keeping score. “Please, Ed? I could use you as backup.”
“Kylie, I’m in the middle of several murder investigations. Not to mention missing persons.”
He sounded tired. I felt bad for him. “I know. But all work and no play…”
He sighed. “It won’t take too long, will it?”
“Just enough time to hand over the cake, chat a little, patch things up.” And in the meantime, I would try to think of an excuse so I could sneak away.
“Okay. For you, anything. I’ll be right over.”
Ed was such a blessing. I’d be a fool to turn him away. And my mother did not raise a foolish daughter.
When Ed arrived, I was ready to roll. I had to admit, he was pretty sexy in that uniform, with its tight tailored shirt, the gun belt, and even—God help me—the Smokey Bear hat. We went in the sheriff’s black and white Ford Interceptor SUV, and I pored over the gadgets on the dashboard. The radio was on, but he turned the volume down and I got to listen in to the chatter from the dispatcher. Her name was Patty and she was apparently a sore loser at poker.
“Sorry about that,” said Ed, turning the volume even lower. “Patty isn’t supposed to use that kind of language on the job…or talk about off-duty stuff.”
“It’s a small town. It’s kind of—”
“So help me if you say ‘quaint’…”
“Uh…amusing?”
He said nothing, but a smile spread wide on his face.
We pulled up in front of the Russell mansion—because it really couldn’t be called anything else—and got out of the car. I protected the cake plate from the rain with my arm as we hurried up the path to the front door.
This time a welcome mat with “Russell” emblazoned on it covered the mandala I knew was there. As if there was any doubt as to whose house it was. As surreptitiously as I could, I toed one corner of the mat away and made a mental note: One mandala of protection? Check.
The maid answered the door. She was surprised to see Ed but far more surprised to see me. “Hi!” I said chirpily. “Is Mrs. Russell home?”
She gave Ed the once-over again and left us hanging on the porch as she said, “One moment, please,” and took off.
A moment later, Ruth showed up and, as polite as you please, opened the door. “I don’t know what Stella was thinking leaving you out here. Won’t you please come in?”
She was one of those women who never wore slacks, apparently. A tweed, mid-length skirt and short matching jacket was her preferred country manor look. A gold locket hung over her silk blouse, with simple gold earrings peeking out from a solid Nancy Reagan coif. Her hair was shellacked with so much hairspray that it couldn’t move even if you begged it to.
We walked through the foyer and followed her into the living room. Before Ed could say anything, I forged ahead.
“Ruth, I couldn’t help but feel we got off on the wrong foot. I would love to start over. I baked you one of my famous chocolate-toffee Bundt cakes as a peace offering.”
She took it graciously. “This looks positively delicious.” You don’t fool me, you old crone, I thought. Perhaps that was uncharitable, but she’d never acted this nice when we were alone. “But if you don’t mind if I ask, why is Sheriff Bradbury here?”
He’d removed his hat and crushed the rim in his fingers. “Well, Kylie…that is, Ms. Strange…Kylie and I are dating and she just thought…we thought…”
“My goodness,” she said with a pasted-on smile. “Stella! Where is that girl when you need her? There you are. Could you take this into the kitchen and put some slices on plates. Bring in the coffee service too.”
“Oh, we couldn’t impose,” I said half-heartedly. Impose away! The more distractions the better.
“Don’t be silly. Please, sit down. May I take your coats?”
Ruth didn’t take them, but Stella balanced the cake plate in one hand, and had us lay our coats over her other arm. We moved into the living room and sat on one of the sofas while Ruth took a chair opposite. She folded her hands primly in her lap and cocked her head at me.
The room was the same from last week, decorated to the nth degree for the fall, with sprays of fall leaves, cattails, and sheaves of wheat. Pumpkins, both real and made of Venetian glass, were dispersed throughout, and the huge fireplace was aglow with birch logs.
“Now Kylie, I do believe you’re right about being wrong footed,” said Ruth. “I just don’t know how it happened.”
“Well, Ruth, I did look around in your library without permission, and I do apologize for that. I was just so anxious to learn about Moody Bog, and everyone said you were the person to go to. But I’ve since been to the library and did some studying on my own.”
“Oh?” Her fingers squeezed one another so tightly they whitened.
“Yes.” Should I spill the beans? Well, I’d already let the cat out of the bag to her. No use in hiding it now. “It looks like the Stranges have lived here since the founding too. And I’d only just recently remembered that my grandfather used to live right here in Moody Bog and I used to come here in the summer. Isn’t that a weird coincidence?”
“Startling,” she said tightly. She was spared further comment when the maid came in with a rolling cart. She placed the plates of cake in front of us with silver dessert forks and laid out the coffee service. She poured it into teacups and saucer, asking if we wanted milk or sugar and actually doing it for us. I wondered where Ruth and Mr. Russell got their money. Wherever it was, she seemed to still have plenty of it.
Ruth complimented the cake and Ed gave an embarrassing moan at the taste. “Sorry,” he said, covering his mouth, “but darlin’, you know how to bake!”
My cheeks warmed from the compliment, but I hid it by raising the coffee cup to my lips. I remembered at the last moment that I wasn’t supposed to eat or drink anything. And now I wished I’d vacuumed myself before I left the house. I didn’t want to leave a hair behind. I resisted the urge to straighten or fluff my sweater. I didn’t want to shake loose any stray strands. And now that I knew I couldn’t, the compulsion to do that very thing was almost overwhelming.
“Sheriff, I’m so happy to see that you’ve started dating again. Our Miss Strange seems like a good match for you.”
Started dating again? Who had he dated before? And why was it such a thing that she would mention it?
Ed sensed a change in my energy perhaps and glanced worriedly in my direction. “Uh…I hope you and Kylie can patch up this little tiff between you. I think you both have more in common than you might believe.”
“We do?” she and I said at the same time.
“Jinx,” I said with a fake chuckle.
Ruth narrowed her eyes just that much.
“This is such a beautiful house,” I rushed in. “You built it
yourself?”
“My late husband and I designed it, and we watched over its construction.”
Well I didn’t think your scrawny hand ever picked up a hammer. “It must be nice to be able to do that.”
“Yes, it is. I’m very glad that my husband got to enjoy it for at least ten years.”
“I was sorry to hear about your loss.”
“Yes, not a day goes by that I don’t miss him.”
“What sort of work was he in?” I almost tipped the cup to my lips again, and I set it down to forestall any accidents.
“He was in real estate, investments. And what about your people, Kylie? I thought you said they were from California.”
“On my mother’s side. Apparently, my father’s side is from Maine.”
“So you said. I can’t say I remember anyone named Strange…”
I know Ed was only being helpful, but there wasn’t a thing I could do to stop him when he offered, “Up on Alderbrook Lane. I didn’t recall either, but now I seem to remember Robert Strange up there. That’s Kylie’s grandfather, but he passed some twelve years ago. Same as Gene.”
The spell was broken. She blinked and I could see the scales fall away from her eyes. She turned them on me. “Your grandfather was Robert Strange?”
“Guilty as charged.” I wanted something to do with my hands, almost picked up the cup and saucer again, but resisted the urge.
She kept staring and I kept feeling fidgety…until she finally turned away. “I remember him well.”
Where was a Ouija board when you needed one? I really wanted to talk to Grandpa about the Russells, see if he knew if they were a little less than ordinary folk.
“You’re involved in the church, aren’t you?” I asked.
She sipped her coffee but never touched the cake. “Why, yes. We have our pew and I daresay we’ve donated more than our share to keep the roof repaired, that sort of thing.”
“Then you should know about the murder of Daniel Parker.”
“Kylie!” hissed Ed.
Not protocol, but I wanted to see her reaction. Which surprised me since it didn’t look faked. Maybe she was a good actress. “Murder? Dear God.” She turned to Ed. “What happened?”
“It’s not general knowledge,” he said to me with a stern brow, “and I can’t go into the details. But it happened sometime last night, at his home.”
She was becoming more upset as she sat there. She didn’t seem to know where to look, what to do with her hands. “But this is dreadful! Does Reverend Cleveland know?”
“Yes, I informed him.” Ed looked like he was about to get up, announce that he had to go and continue his investigation, and I hadn’t even looked around yet. I drummed up a sudden coughing fit. Ed pounded me on the back. “You okay?”
I feigned that I couldn’t talk, kept coughing, and with hand signals excused myself down the hallway. Once out of sight, I coughed a bit to keep up the pretense of searching for a bathroom. There was the library and I headed toward the door. Locked. Damn! I bet she did that right after Stella told her of her guests. Okay, there were more rooms to explore.
I quickly headed up the stairs for the next likely room, something at the far end that had double doors. Pay dirt! The main suite. A large four-poster with a canopy amid other colonial furniture—the real thing, no doubt. French doors out to a balcony. An eighteenth-century painting of some stern-faced Puritan woman glared down at me from across the room. One of the fabled Howlands, I supposed. I hurried over to it and took a quick look at the little engraved plate on the frame.
Wait. Constance Howland?
I stared at her anew, Chosen Host to Chosen Host. The painting was in that flat, primitive style of the eighteenth century, when traveling portrait artists went from town to town, hiring out their services for rich landowners who could afford a portrait, then moving on to the next place. So the Howlands had always had money.
But here she was, in the flesh, if you will. Her face was plain, if the artist’s rendering could be believed. Very European looking, with pale skin, long features of face and nose, light brown brows in faint arches, green eyes, and light brown hair, parted in the middle, under a starched white bonnet. She wore a gold necklace, but whatever was on the pendant was cut off by the bottom of the frame. The background was just dark brown, nothing distinguishing it from anywhere else. But it was probably painted in my house, since that’s where she lived. Come to think of it, why didn’t the Russells live there? I bought the place from a holding company, probably owned by the Russells. I’d have to look at my contract later. But for now, I was busy trying to be stealthy but rushed.
I searched from room to room, but when I felt I’d been gone too long, I finally made my way to a downstairs bathroom, splashed my face with water, and headed back. No charm pouches, no sigils marked anywhere that I could find in my hurried perusal.
I patted my damp face as I returned to the living room. They were both standing. Ed had his coat on and had mine over his arm.
“You okay?”
Ed looked solicitous; Ruth looked suspicious.
“I’m fine. I don’t know what came over me. I’ve had a lot of weird allergies since coming here. Not used to the damp, I guess.”
Ed helped me on with my coat and placed his hat on his head. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Russell.”
“Yes, Ruth. It was so nice of you to give me a second chance. Thanks. I appreciate it. Don’t worry about the plate. Send it along when you’re done with the cake.”
A quick glance at our plates revealed that only Ed had eaten his slice.
Ruth walked us to the door. “Please come over any time, Kylie. We really should get to know each other better. Perhaps for tea, just you and I.”
“That would be nice.” I put out my hand to shake and she took it briefly.
I dug my arm through Ed’s as we walked back to the car. “That went all right,” I said, even though I had found nothing to incriminate her.
But if Constance Howland was such a sore subject, why did Ruth keep a portrait of her in her bedroom?
Ed had to go and do his sheriffing, but now that I was back in my shop, I felt a little lost. Open the doors, don’t open the doors? Was there a point to it anymore?
A knock at the back of my head and I whirled. The damned Booke! It was hovering, trying to knock against me again. “What is your problem!” I yanked it out of the air and slammed it down on the nearest surface. The cover fell open to the page I had written in my own blood about how I secured and captured the succubus. The page flipped over to reveal a blank one. Pages kept flipping, showing me all the other blank pages waiting to be filled.
“I know, all right! I know!”
I slammed the cover closed and kept my hand on it, even as it tried to wriggle away from me. “So you want me to hunt, huh? Is that why the pre-show? Okay. Fine. Why not? I’m doomed if I do, doomed if I don’t.”
Without even realizing it, I flung my arm up in time to receive the crossbow as it hurtled through the air. A full conspiracy, then, between Booke and crossbow. Lovely. If this was my last day on earth, then so be it. I’d have to leave the Wiccans to figure out Ruth’s plot for the mother of all gates. Maybe I’d be around to help, maybe not.
I didn’t bother locking the door. I didn’t bother with my car. I just stalked toward the woods, planning on heading down the first path that led to a stream or bogan.
I wasn’t interested in stealth, and it was a good thing, because my heavy steps mashed crackling leaves and broke the loudest twigs ever. I was a bull in a china shop for sure, but, in a way, I wanted it to know I was coming. Because this was it. No more playing games. I was done. This needed to happen and this was how it should be. Me, alone. No one riding shotgun, no one to worry over. No help at all. I didn’t need it. Maybe it was the Booke giving me courage, maybe it was just my natural foolhardiness. But the kelpie, at least, was done…today.
The shad
ows darkened. When I looked up, I saw gray clouds swiftly moving, covering the sunshine. The wind picked up and leaves from the forest floor took flight in small whirlwinds around my feet. The branches above me groaned and creaked. For once, it wasn’t the middle of the night, but it didn’t seem to matter to the general creepiness of the situation. I could see, yes, but maybe that made it worse. Every little movement was my creature, and my head swiveled around more than Linda Blair’s in The Exorcist.
The gathering clouds darkened the forest even more and the ground began to slope downward. I adjusted my grip on the crossbow. It had armed itself. “Here we go.”
I followed my own path until I could hear running water. The smell of marshy wet filled my nose as I got closer. “Come out, you Celtic nightmare! Let’s get this over with.”
A whinny behind me, and I spun.
There it was. That white pony standing in a clear pool of water. The leaves that had sat on the pool seemed to make room for it, scooting to the edges and leaving a wide berth of mirror-smooth surface. The white pony was beautiful, shimmering and majestic as it bobbed its head. Its flowing mane was plastered flat to its neck, and barnacles and shells clung to the wet strands.
It looked perfectly normal, even whinnied again, its dark eyes sad as it gazed at me. So deceptive. So deadly. Standing in such…lovely, clear water. Water that reflected the moss and fern of the woodlands. Such calm water. So smooth.
The pony shook its head, lowered it, coyly watching me.
I walked forward, my feet feeling heavier and heavier. Each time I lifted a foot, it seemed to drag along the duff. Wouldn’t I be weightless in the water? Wouldn’t I flow smooth and quiet through those waves?
Slowly, I felt the heavy crossbow lower to my side…
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I walked to the edge of the water and the pony took one step back, sinking deeper. Before I realized it, my feet and calves were wet. The water was starkly cold, but for some reason I didn’t seem to mind. I lifted my free hand without thinking, stretching it toward the beast. In my mind, all I could think of was how soon it would all be over. I could float free in the depths of those dark, cool waters.
Deadly Rising Page 21
