“Couldn't he have killed her first, then joined Debbie for a night of passion?” Maggie asked.
“And his reason for murdering his wife was … ?” Praxythea asked.
“I dunno.” Maggie looked at me. “What do you think, Tori?”
“From what I heard, I don't think he had any real desire to marry Debbie. But even if he did, there was no need to murder his wife. He could have simply divorced her.”
“Unless there was something about their relationship you don't know,” Praxythea pointed out.
“I'm sure there's lots of things I don't know about them, Praxythea,” I responded. “Wait! I just thought of something else. Bernice overheard him and Debbie in the office last Wednesday. Maybe Matavious killed her to prevent her from telling Oretta about his affair.”
“That makes about as much sense as someone murdering his wife instead of asking for a divorce,” Prax-ythea sniffed.
Maggie scribbled as fast as she could, then read, “‘Matavious Clopper. Motive to kill wife—she wouldn't give him a divorce. Motive to kill Bernice—to hide his affair. Both motives—highly unlikely.’”
“Okay. Let's move on,” I said. “There's Debbie, the receptionist. What if she wanted to marry Matavious so badly, she decided to get Oretta out of the way?”
Maggie looked up. “And she killed Bernice first, to keep her from blabbing to Oretta.”
“Write that down,” I said.
When Maggie was finished writing, she said, “You haven't mentioned the other branch of the Clopper family. Weezie and Jackson. They had reason to resent both Oretta and Bernice. Bernice, because the town's too small for two big shopping malls, and she was rushing to build her shopping center downtown before they could sell their land to a developer. And Oretta, because she persuaded Matavious to put his land in a conservation bank, making it nearly impossible for Jackson to sell his land to anybody in the future.”
Since I really disliked Weezie, I agreed with Maggie that the Cloppers were likely suspects.
“What about that nutty group Bernice belonged to?” Maggie asked. “You know, the witchie-poos.”
“What makes you think she was a member of the coven?” I asked.
“You're not the only one who can play Nancy Drew. Besides, it's hard to keep a thing like a witches’ coven a secret in a gossip-loving town like Lickin Creek.”
“I don't think they had anything to do with her death,” I said. I didn't want either woman to know I planned a sneak visit to tonight's coven meeting, for I knew they'd try to stop me.
“Okay, then. Here's the list.” Maggie ripped the top page off the legal pad and handed it to me. I studied it and decided it was a good start, but that was all it was. There was nothing definite to go by, and there could be many other people we simply hadn't thought about. The clown, for instance. Who was he? And what, if anything, did he have to do with all this?
“What's missing is a connection between the two women,” I announced. “Find that, and we find the killer.”
“We can start another list.” Maggie licked the end of her pencil. “I'll start with the Christmas pageant.”
“I nearly forgot your hunch that there's a serial killer out there bumping off sugar plum fairies,” I said with a giggle.
“Don't be so nonchalant about it,” Maggie warned. “I still think you could be next.”
The back door burst open, admitting Luscious Miller and putting a stop to our list-making.
Luscious tossed my truck keys on the table, then helped himself to coffee.
“Thanks,” I said meekly.
“Don't mention it.” He sat down without removing his jacket and sipped from his mug.
I figured he had something to say to me, and I hoped he wouldn't be too harsh in front of my friends. He surprised me, though, by not even mentioning my afternoon's escapade.
“I had a call from the medical examiner's office in Harrisburg.”
“So soon?” Usually it took a week or more to hear anything from that busy place.
“I think they were trying to clear their desks before Christmas.”
That I could understand. “Whom were they calling about, Bernice or Oretta?”
“Both,” Luscious said. “You were right about the cyanide, Tori. Bernice drank enough of it to kill a horse.”
“How could she?” Maggie shuddered. “Wouldn't it have a bad taste?”
“The cyanide was in spiced cider, which she laced liberally with gin,” I reminded them. “And she was already looped when she arrived, so she probably didn't even notice the taste.”
“That's true,” Maggie said. “Once, not too long ago, I was at a party where Stanley accused her of drinking anything if it had booze in it.”
“Many alcoholics will do that.” I remembered a few times when my mother drank aftershave, mouthwash, and even vanilla extract after my father and I had emptied the liquor cabinet.
“I wonder where you can buy cyanide?” I mused.
“Lots of places, I should think,” Maggie said.
“Name one.”
“How about a drugstore?”
Praxythea laughed out loud. “I can just see someone walking in and saying ‘Hello, Mr. Pharmacist, I'd like a gallon of your very best cyanide.’”
Maggie protested. “What I meant was it's probably used in mixing medicines or something.”
I remembered when I was a kid living in some third world country, I forget which, the missionaries used to use a strychnine-based medicine as a dewormer, but I couldn't think of anything with cyanide in it. I could ask a pharmacist.
“And I think you can buy it in a garden shop,” Maggie went on. “Isn't it used in bug killers?”
“Do you want me to check that out?” I asked Luscious. I would anyway, but I thought it would be good for his self-image if I involved him.
“Go ahead, do what you want. Just stay out of trouble, please.”
“What about the bullet that killed Oretta?” I asked. “Was the lab able to determine what kind of gun was used?”
Luscious nodded and drained his coffee. Praxythea leaped up to refill the mug, earning an adoring smile from the young man. With the addition of a little tail, he'd make a perfect puppy dog.
“The bullet,” I prompted.
“It was a forty-four caliber. You don't see many of them in use anymore. Ballistics said it came from an early Colt, probably the model 1860.”
“Find any traces of black powder?” Maggie asked.
Luscious nodded in agreement.
I stared at her in awe.
“My fiance's a Civil War reenactor,” Maggie reminded me. “And he's taught me more about guns than I ever wanted to know. The Colt model 1860 was the most common sidearm used during the war. Reenactors use them a lot.”
I grabbed Luscious's arm. “The Civil War items that were found in the manger yesterday morning … in the square … were there any guns?”
“You mean that stuff that belonged to Cletus Wilson? Sure there were guns.” Luscious paused, and I could tell that he and I were thinking along the same lines. “Damn! I gave everything back to him. What if there were fingerprints?”
“I wouldn't worry too much about that,” I assured him. “Everything there had been handled by the church group. Fingerprints wouldn't tell you anything.”
“I'd better go talk to Cletus,” Luscious said, standing. “Maybe he has some ideas about who broke into his house.”
“Good idea,” I said. “There's always the possibility he made up the story about a robbery as a cover-up.” I tried to recall when he'd reported the burglary. Then I remembered—the dentist claimed his home had been broken into on Wednesday, the day of Bernice's murder.
CHAPTER 19
At the hour of midnight
ACCORDING TO THE CLOCK ON TOP OF THE Lickin Creek National Bank, it was half past eleven. I was alone on the dark streets; the bad weather had forced even the local teenagers off the “peanut circuit,” their Saturday-night party route ar
ound the downtown area on its confusing one-way streets. From what I'd read at the library, I was pretty sure the coven would meet at midnight. I hoped I was right.
A block away from the old cold-storage building, I parked and walked the rest of the way, staying close to the deserted buildings to keep from being seen. That was an unnecessary precaution, for there wasn't a soul around. It was too cold for anyone to be out, a fact I was really beginning to appreciate. I pulled up the hood of the floor-length black velvet evening cape I'd found in Ethelind's hall closet and put my head down against the wind.
When I reached the parking lot, I paused for a moment in the shadow of a pine tree, knowing I was damn near invisible in my black getup: cape, slacks, sweater, gloves, and even blackface, for I'd burned a cork and smeared its soot all over my cheeks just as I'd seen someone do in a movie. I could see no lights, but that didn't mean anything because the windows were all boarded up. There were a few cars there, and one of them I recognized as Cassie's BMW. It looked like I'd guessed right about the meeting time.
I crouched over and stepped forward.
Something grabbed my ankle and held on. I tumbled to my knees and was face-to-face with Lickin Creek's best-known homeless man, the notorious Big Bad Bob. He'd lived on the streets for years and constantly refused any and all offers of shelter, even on nights like this.
“Let me go,” I whispered, trying to pull away from him. I wasn't afraid, because Bob was neither big nor bad, and he'd never harmed anybody but himself. His body odor, though, was enough to asphyxiate a skunk.
He stared intently at my face, then said, “Hey, Miz Miracle. Damn near didn't recognize you with that dirt all over your face. You one of them witches?” He lisped his question, due to the absence of all but his incisor teeth. With his wide face, low brow, receding chin, glassy eyes, and fanglike teeth, I thought he resembled a well-fed python.
“Not really,” I said softly. I turned my face to the side to avoid his foul breath and asked, “Are they inside?”
“Yeah. Bet you'uns is writing a newspaper article 'bout them, ain't you?”
“Yes. Yes, that's exactly what I'm doing. So if you'll just let go of my ankle, I'll be on about my business.”
“You want me to come with you? I can take care of you if they try to hurt you.”
“Good God, no! I mean no, thank you. There's nothing to be afraid of.”
He released my leg, then put his face very close to mine and rasped, “I done hear they kill babies and drink their blood.”
I scrambled to my feet and shot across the parking lot before he could share any more local folklore with me.
Thanks to Stanley Roadcap, this time I knew where the safe entrance to the building was located. The door was unlocked, and with one last glance around to make sure I was unobserved, I slipped inside.
It was reassuring to feel the solid concrete stairs beneath my feet as I slowly made my way up through the heart of the building. Although I'd brought a flashlight with me, I didn't dare turn it on, so I groped along in the darkness. From above, I heard music. A harp. It sounded more heavenly than sinister.
I reassured myself that I had nothing to fear. After all, these people were just local women who happened to have some rather unorthodox beliefs. One of them was my own employee, Cassie. There was absolutely no reason for them to harm me. So why was I sneaking in when Cassie probably would have invited me to come if I'd asked? Because, I told myself, if they knew they were being observed by an outsider they might do things differently. This way I'd learn how they really celebrated the winter solstice.
Up ahead flickered a dim orange glow. I moved silently through the open doorway at the top of the stairs and ducked behind a post. It was pitch-black here on the edge of the large room, and I knew the people around the altar in the center of it would not be able to see me. From my position behind the pillar, with my black hood nearly covering my face, I was in the perfect position to observe everything that went on.
About a dozen women, in long white gowns, held hands in a circle, while another sat on a stool and strummed a Celtic harp. Their faces were lit by the black candles on the altar, but I was too far away to identify any of them.
As the last chord of the melody I recognized from the Irish musical production Riverdance faded away, one woman stepped into the center of the circle, raised her arms over her head, and began a melancholy chant. I immediately recognized Cassie.
She stepped outside the circle of women, and began to walk clockwise around then, her arm outstretched, one finger pointing to the floor. Four times she stopped to chant words I couldn't hear, then moved back to the center of the circle and raised her arms. “Sisters, we stand between the worlds, where darkness and light, birth and death, love and hate, meet as one. Under the Cold Moon, we have aligned ourselves with the Goddess to celebrate the sabbat of the winter solstice.” After some arm waving in the direction of the women, Cassie stamped the floor with one foot and called out, “As above, so below—this circle is sealed.”
One after another, four women in the circle murmured something I couldn't catch. I edged forward a little closer, knowing I was still in the shadows.
“I, your priestess and witch, do call upon our blessed Lady of the Moon. Descend upon me now.” A candle flared on the altar behind her, and Cassie's whole body seemed to glow from within. “I am the Maiden, I am the Great Mother. I am the Crone. I am Mystery, but I am known to all.” Cassie lowered her arms and held them out as if embracing everyone in the circle.
“Tonight we will say good-bye to our dear sister Ber-nice and assist her on her voyage to Summerland.”
“To Summerland.” A bell rang three times.
“There she will rest, till she returns.”
“Rest and return.” More bells.
Cassie pulled something from the purple cord that circled her waist and held it above her head, where it glittered in the flickering candlelight. “Hold your athames high, my sisters, and send your energy through them to our beloved sister Bernice.”
Now, I recognized the shiny articles all the women held as ceremonial daggers.
She began to chant again. “As the Moon waxes and wanes, so do the seasons flow, and so do we move from death to rebirth.” The others joined in. The room filled with the eerie sound of panpipes. The heavy odor of the sandalwood incense burned my eyes and made them heavy. My vision became blurry, and I blinked my eyes several times trying to clear them. I wondered what was going to happen next.
“Dance!” Cassie cried. “Dance and raise the Cone of Power!”
One of the women accompanied the harpist on a small drum that resembled the bongo played by Desi on I Love Lucy. The rhythmical drumbeat was strong and hypnotic. On a bamboo flute, another woman played a haunting melody that wove in and out of the drumming. As I watched the women circle the altar, it became difficult to keep my eyes focused. I wanted to get out. To leave them alone with their ritual. This was a private place, and I didn't belong here.
I suddenly realized the huge room had fallen silent. The women had broken their circle and were looking in my direction. I knew there was no way they could see me, but even as I thought that I knew somehow they could. I turned to flee, and someone grabbed me around my waist. I screamed, pulled free, and ran toward the exit, but the door had closed, and I couldn't find it in the darkness. I crashed into the cold brick wall, almost knocking myself out.
Behind me, someone shouted “Get him,” and I ran, as fast as I could, with one hand on the wall, hoping, praying, to find a way out before I was caught. At last, I reached an opening. I charged through it and down the stairs as fast as I could run, only to realize, too late, that I was on the rickety staircase I'd been warned about yesterday.
Above me, someone screamed. The staircase began to shake and groan. I clutched at the railing as if hanging on to it would save me. The whole thing leaned to my right, swayed back, then leaned again. With a terrifying screech, it pulled away from the wall in slow motion. As i
t started to drop, I had the presence of mind to fling myself off the steps before I could become entangled in the twisted metal. I plunged through the black air forever, although in retrospect it was probably only a second or two, and heard a scream that I recognized as my own. It was cut short when I hit the icy water and my mouth filled with water.
Down I went. Down into the frigid water. I held my breath as long as I could, until, at last, my feet touched the bottom. I pushed off with all my might and shot back up. Just as I thought my lungs were going to burst, I surfaced and gulped a mouthful of air and water.
A flashlight beam played the surface, then shined directly in my eyes. I couldn't see who was behind it. Something whacked me on the side of my head, and I again slipped beneath the surface.
I came up spluttering, and heard someone yell, “Can you see him?”
“Here,” I gurgled.
The flashlight swung around. “There he is. See if you can reach him with that pole.”
This time I ducked when the thing came round.
“Grab on,” a voice called out. “We'll pull you in.”
I already had a tight grip on it. “Got it,” I yelled.
I was pulled rapidly through the water until I bumped into a solid wall. I could see by the glow of the flashlight that the landing was several feet above my head. Many hands reached down, took hold of my clothing, and tugged. Everything I had on was so heavily waterlogged, I thought I'd never be able to get out, but they finally managed to drag me onto the landing, painfully scraping my stomach in the process.
I gasped and choked, facedown on the cold pavement, until someone rolled me over and held a flashlight close to my face.
“Good grief, it's Tori Miracle,” came Cassie's familiar voice. When she stopped shining the light in my eyes, I was able to see a dozen angels in white gowns and one creepy-looking python staring down at me.
I struggled to a sitting position. Cassie knelt down beside me and supported me with an arm. “What on earth are you doing here?” she asked. “We thought you were one of those teenagers that break in to smoke pot. You're sure lucky. If we'd had a gun, you could be dead.”
Valerie S. Malmont Page 20
