Still, I couldn’t help feeling intrigued. Like a multi-tiered wedding cake, there were so many tempting layers to dig into. Maybe I was crazy, but I couldn’t shake the image of Elaine looking down on me from her portrait, practically begging me to make things right.
Oh, who was I kidding? Whatever the reason, I had already been sucked into this unlikely mystery. I was all in—ready or not.
Chapter Six
Since Farrah and I were without wheels, and Mila had four good tires, she offered to take us home. During the whole drive, Farrah pressed me for details about what was going on at Turnbull Manor. I gave her and Mila the condensed version, leaving out the part about Crenshaw’s phone call from Dr. Lamb. I didn’t want to spread unproven rumors. To be honest, I also didn’t want to believe his suspicions were true—especially if I was going to be spending a few days at the mansion.
When we pulled up in front of my cheerful brick town house, Mila turned to me and smiled. “Stop by Moonstone when you can. I received a new shipment of crystal jewelry I think you might like.”
“Sounds great. I’ll come in soon,” I promised.
Farrah tugged on my ponytail. “And call me! I want to know more about this sketchy situation Crenshaw has brought you into. It all sounds very bizarre, if you ask me.”
I waved away her concern and assured her it was fine. But as I climbed the steps to my lit-up front porch, festively decorated with a country-style harvest wreath and barrel planters bursting with flowers of rust-red, butter-yellow, and gold, I began to have second thoughts. Maybe I should have discussed it with Wes before saying yes to Crenshaw.
The house was quiet, except for faint strains of jazz music coming from upstairs. I kicked off my shoes, dropped my purse in a chair, and followed the sound to the bedroom—where I found Wes tossing clothes in a suitcase sitting wide open in the center of the bed.
“And here I thought things were going so well,” I said from the doorway.
He looked up and grinned. “Hey, babe. You’ll never guess what happened. Al called and said the Gazette has an extra ticket for the Chicago Journalism Conference this week. He asked if I wanted it, and of course I said yes. I’m taking the early train tomorrow morning.”
“Really?” I was a little confused at his enthusiasm. “Do they have a lot to offer photojournalists?”
“I don’t know. There will probably be a couple of panels. But that’s not my main reason for going. I can cut out early and track down that friend of Lana’s.”
“Oh.” Now I understood. “You think you’ll have more luck than the P.I. firm?”
“Yeah, maybe. I mean, Crenshaw didn’t seem very impressed with the job they did. He thought you could do better, so why not me? It’s the perfect opportunity.”
I glanced at the pile of shirts, pants, and socks on the foot of the bed and noticed a sizable book sticking out from underneath. I pulled it out and looked at the cover. “Your senior yearbook?” I shoved the clothing aside and sat down with the yearbook on my lap. “Why have I never seen this?”
“It was at my folks’ house. I stopped by to get it earlier this evening.”
I flipped through the pages, pausing when I came to the senior students whose last names began with the letter C.
“And there you are, cute little Wesley Callahan.” Seventeen-year-old Wes had longish hair, curling at the neck, and a devilish grin on his handsome face. “What a fox you were. I bet you drove all the girls crazy.”
Wes snorted. “I don’t know about that. I was about as anxious to get out of that place as Lana was.”
I turned next to the T’s and found Lana Turnbull’s senior picture. She had a pretty face, if slightly plump, and fair skin and hair. Her tailored silk blouse and side-swept hair gave her a refined, moneyed appearance. But she didn’t look happy. If anything, her expression was defiant as she stared, unsmiling, into the camera . . . with haunted eyes. Or maybe that was my own projection based on what I knew. The photo must have been taken shortly before her father was killed and she ran away.
“I took a picture of her photo with my phone,” Wes explained. “That way I can show it to people when I ask if they knew her.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”
“Of course. I want to help, you know?”
I just looked at him, waiting for him to elaborate. He sighed and sat down next to me. “Maybe I’m also trying to make up for past mistakes. The truth is, I feel bad about not being more of a friend to Lana. I keep thinking back to the last time I saw her. It was obvious she was lonely and troubled.”
I reached for Wes’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “You couldn’t have known what she was going through.”
“I knew enough to see she could use a friend. Like, this one time, she asked if I would stop by the art room after school to help her with a project. The assignment was to sketch a friend, or something like that. I said I would, but I forgot. I only remembered later when I was out with my buddies. Lame, huh?”
“Did you apologize?”
“Sure. I apologized the next time I saw her, and she said it was no big deal. But I could tell she was hurt. I tried to tell myself it was nothing, like she said. But deep down I knew better.”
“Well, if you want to help find her, that’s cool with me. Crenshaw keeps expanding my so-called consulting role anyway.” I told Wes about Crenshaw’s request that I stay at the manor for a few days.
“But that’s great!” said Wes. “Now you won’t be here alone while I’m out of town.”
“I suppose.” I stood up and headed for the adjoining bathroom. “I’m going to get ready for bed.”
“I’ll be done here in a minute,” he said, tossing more items into his suitcase.
As I washed my face and brushed my teeth, I realized Wes had a point about me not being alone. Although I lived by myself before he moved in, I’d become somewhat jittery in recent months. It all started when a mad killer decided to terrorize me with bizarre phone calls—and then set a fire on our deck. To make matters worse, a second weirdo bugged my office with a hidden camera and sent me cryptic, vaguely threatening notes. Luckily, the first criminal was no longer a threat, but the second one was still at large.
After changing into pajamas and a well-worn satin robe, I slipped out of the bathroom and headed straight for the spare bedroom, which I’d converted into my personal sanctuary. It was where I sat in meditation, drew tarot cards, and performed a variety of spells. Beneath the window was my altar, fashioned from a long narrow console table with decorations that changed with the season. I lit a pillar candle and looked outside to the backyard, where it was dark and quiet.
Immediately, my mind flitted to Farrah’s possible stalker, and I once again recalled my own ordeal last spring. Whenever I thought about the one who wasn’t caught, who even now might be lurking about somewhere in the darkness, I always felt fear first, followed by anger. It was so bizarre. What did this person have against me? I figured it must be somebody who felt I’d done them wrong, but I had no idea who it was. From what I could tell, the whole reason for planting the hidden camera seemed to be to sabotage my law practice. Yet I also had the impression the creep was toying with me. In fact, because of the dubious gifts sent to my office, I had nicknamed my enemy the Giftster. Use of the goofy name made the whole situation slightly less scary.
I hadn’t received any tricky gifts in a few months—knock on wood. But that didn’t mean I had lowered my guard. I constantly had the urge to look over my shoulder, and I couldn’t sleep at night unless I’d cast an iron-clad protection spell to shield the whole house—which I now set about doing.
Since I had done this so many times, all my supplies were readily at hand. I pulled open a slim drawer in the altar table and brought out four items corresponding with the four ancient elements: a vial of purified water, a bundle of sage, a black candle, and a bowl of red brick dust. As I placed each item in the direction associated with the element, I
mentally created a circle of light and intoned a simple chant to “call the quarters”:
By the Sun of God and Moonlight’s daughter,
I now invoke earth, air, fire, and water.
From the north, dust of earth,
From the east, scented smoke,
From the south, a flame so bright,
From the west, water’s light.
I lit both the sage stick and the black candle, and took three deep, centering breaths. For a moment, I contemplated the flickering candle flame until I felt the presence of Spirit within my sacred circle. Then I traced a pentagram in the center of the altar and placed a ceramic bowl on top. Next, I poured some of the red brick dust into the bowl. Wafting sage smoke over the dust, I chanted a spell I knew by heart:
Guarded by angels of the Goddess,
I am safe.
Strong as a mighty fortress,
My home is safe.
Shielded by Nature’s highest forces,
Those I love are infinitely safe.
Defend, protect, repel
Defend, protect, repel
Evil halt and danger quell
By my power, all is well.
I blew gently into the bowl, then picked it up and carried it with me as I made my nightly rounds. Room by room, I sprinkled red dust along the threshold of every window and doorway in the house. Somewhere along the way, I became aware I had picked up a shadow.
“You should be used to this by now,” I said to Josie, the cat.
She purred in response.
I had to smile. It had been a little less than a year since I’d brought her home, but I couldn’t imagine being without her. A sleek black feline with keen yellow eyes and a tendency to stick close to me, Josie was a perfect witch’s familiar—though I didn’t usually call her by that term. She certainly wasn’t my spirit animal. She was much too independent. Besides, by now she belonged to Wes as much as to me. Still, when we found each other last October, our connection was undeniable. And like her namesake, my late aunt Josephine, Josie the cat seemed to look after me, sometimes in uncanny and mysterious ways.
Now, however, she was kind of in the way. While I tried to smudge the back door, she wound herself around my legs and kept purring for attention. I had to be careful not to step on her.
“Watch out, kitty! If I didn’t know better, I might think you’re trying to keep me from doing this spell. Fat chance.”
I had been performing this ritual every night for the past four months. Since there had been no further incidents with the Giftster in that time, I assumed the spell was working. I wasn’t about to stop now.
Of course, I wouldn’t be doing it tomorrow night, or the night after that. I’d be in a strange house then. I couldn’t exactly go around scattering red dust all over Turnbull Manor. Someone would be bound to notice.
But maybe there was something I could do. As I washed my hands and went back upstairs to clean off my altar and extinguish the candles, I thought about the talismans and amulets I could take with me on this little getaway. Maybe I would bring along some lucky red powder after all. I would just wear it close to my body.
It couldn’t hurt.
Chapter Seven
I woke up early Sunday morning, not because I wanted to, but because I was uncomfortably hot. Wes had kicked off the blankets in the night, and they all landed on me.
After a quick trip to the bathroom, where I splashed water on my face, I slipped quietly downstairs and stepped outside onto the back deck. The cool morning air was refreshing. I turned my face toward the rising sun and breathed deeply. Sometimes there was nothing more to be done—no magic words to say or elaborate rituals to perform. It was enough simply to be present beneath the open sky. To simply be.
Balance.
That’s what I needed. All the banishing, repelling, and shielding work I’d been doing lately was starting to take a toll. It was making me feel heavy and constricted, like I was wearing a thick, woolen cape—or like I was being buried under a pile of blankets in a hot bed. I almost laughed as the realization hit me. I was creating too much negative energy. It was time to work some light magic and balance out the darkness—and I ought to do it before we entered the dark half of the year.
In fact, with the approach of the Autumn Equinox, it was the perfect time to think about balance. In two short weeks, night and day would be nearly equal, and the sun would be entering Libra, the sign of balanced scales.
For starters, I could bring a bit of nature inside. I went back in for scissors, then trotted out to the backyard in my bare feet. Bright yellow sunflowers were just the thing to lighten up my mood.
On my way to the flower patch, I was sidetracked by the tomato plants in my vegetable garden. They were dripping with fat, ripe cherry tomatoes, begging to be picked. I plucked one and popped it in my mouth, the tart juices bursting with flavor. Eating directly from the earth made me feel close to my ancestors, who had lived off the land. It also made me think of the other reason this time of year was so special. Besides offering the gift of balance, the Autumn Equinox coincided with the Wiccan holiday Mabon: a celebration of the earth’s bounty and the second of the three harvest festivals, including Lughnasadh and Samhain. A bountiful harvest was cause for thanksgiving indeed.
Finally, I moved along and cut a bunch of miniature sunflowers, which I took inside and placed in a tall, metal vase. After arranging the cheerful flowers with sprigs of greenery, I set them in the center of the table and admired the effect. Then I mentally kicked myself. What was I thinking? With both Wes and me leaving the house for a few days, it probably wasn’t the best time to bring fresh flowers inside.
“Pretty,” said Wes, coming up behind me. “The flowers aren’t bad either,” he said with a grin.
“Cute.” I smiled in return, then noticed his bags. “Are you leaving already?”
“Soon. The crew from the paper is meeting for coffee, and Al has my ticket.”
“Oh. I thought we’d at least have breakfast together.”
“I have a few minutes.” He pulled me in for a hug. “I wish you could come with me.”
“Really?” I looked up at him in mock surprise. “Yesterday you seemed determined to track down Lana on your own. Like a regular Sam Spade.”
“What’s the matter?” Wes asked, matching my teasing tone. “Don’t you think I can do it? I have skills, you know. You’re not the only one who can ask questions and follow clues.”
“Oh, I’m sure you can do it. But it’s not as easy as all that—especially when the person you’re pursuing doesn’t want to be found.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, that’s so. I do have a bit of experience in this area, as you might recall.”
With a twinkle in his eye, he lifted my hand and held it between his palms like a supplicant. “Oh, most experienced one, please tell me your ways. Share your wisdom so that I might follow in your footsteps and one day be as great a detective as you are.”
Suppressing a smile, I jerked my hand away. “You don’t need my help. You have skills, remember?”
“True. Never mind, then.” He turned away and grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl on the counter. He peeled it and took a bite, then paused and regarded me thoughtfully. “I just had an interesting idea.”
“Do tell.”
“How about we engage in a friendly competition? Let’s see which one of us can solve one of the Turnbull mysteries first. Who can find Lana first? Or the missing will, or whatever else Crenshaw wants you to get to the bottom of. What do you say?”
“I say you’re awfully sure of yourself. You know, it’s more likely Lana is near Edindale than in Chicago, based on that blog post in the P.I.’s file.”
“So, is it a bet?”
“What are the stakes?”
“Hmm. Besides bragging rights . . . how about if the winner gets a pass on kitchen cleanup duty for the rest of the year?”
“The loser does the dishes after every meal?”
&nb
sp; “Absolutely. I’m sure you can handle it.”
“Ha! You’ve got yourself a deal.”
* * *
After Wes left, I had breakfast alone in the quiet kitchen and considered what to do with my Sunday. Part of me was itching to start looking for Lana right away. I had no intention of letting Wes win the bet. But then I checked my email and realized I had a number of things to take care of before I could devote any time to Crenshaw’s assignment. I took a quick shower and dressed in a nice pair of jeans, a soft cotton blouse, and a pair of faux suede boots. Then I grabbed my purse and keys and set off for my office downtown.
The drive took all of five minutes. As a college town, county seat, and nature-lover’s destination, Edindale had a lot to offer, but it was still on the small side. That suited me just fine. If not for all the errands I had to run today, I might have walked to work.
I pulled into a parking space on the street in front of the square brick building that housed my office. A 1950s-era former bank, it had once conveyed solid trust and respectability. Now it was a somewhat dusty relic offering cheap office space. But the location, one block off the town square, was ideal, and the antique aura held a certain charm. My footsteps clicked along the tile floor as I made my way down the quiet hallway to the door bearing my name in gold lettering: KELI MILANNI, ESQ.
I paused, feeling a familiar twinge of apprehension. Following the incidents last spring, I had changed the locks here and installed a host of magical talismans and enchantments. Still, I always felt a little wary when I inserted the key and pushed open the door.
“Hold it!”
I almost jumped out of my skin at the sound of the voice behind me. Whirling around, I gaped at the petite woman rushing toward me. It was my fellow building tenant, Annie Chapin. She giggled at my reaction.
“Sorry to startle you. I wanted to give you this package before I leave. I’ve been trying to catch you for days.”
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