Tea and Witchery Cassadaga Mysteries, Book 1
Marie Dees
Hard Shell Word Factory
Dedication This book is dedicated to my parents, John and Shirley Smith, who always had faith in my dreams.
ISBN: 0-7599-4760-0 Trade Paperback Published April 2005 © 2005 Marie Dees eBook ISBN: 0-7599-4759-7 Published March 2005
Hard Shell Word Factory PO Box 161 Amherst Jct. WI 54407
[email protected] www.hardshell.com Cover art © 2005 Mary Z. Wolf and Dirk A. Wolf All rights reserved All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatever to anyone bearing the same name or names. These characters are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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Chapter One PATRICK JOGGED PAST his house and turned to head back to the inn. He wrinkled his nose. Smoke. Not charcoal or a cigarette but a stronger smell. He looked up. A dark cloud rose ahead of him. Please, not the inn. He shouldn’t have gone jogging and left it empty. But everyone was off meditating, and he’d checked to make sure Lisle hadn’t left any candles burning in her room. He sprinted past the church. Now he could see that the smoke wasn’t coming from the inn but billowing out of a window in the building across the street. Not the bookstore side, but the meeting room. Right where Lisle, George and Wallingford always meditated. Lisle’s candles! He dashed toward the building. Rafe had told her to be careful in the old, wooden buildings. He yelled everyone’s names as he pounded up the steps. He paused just outside the door. He didn’t hear anything. Not even the smoke alarms. Probably because no one had checked the batteries. He yelled everyone’s names again, but they didn’t answer. Maybe they were unconscious. He opened the door and peered into the smoke-filled hallway. The doors to the bookstore and the meeting room were both closed. He took a deep breath, and rushed in. The bookstore was locked. Either Myra had closed early or she was meditating, too. He reached the second door. Feel to see if it’s hot. He remembered that from somewhere. He pressed his palm against the wood. It wasn’t hot. Thick smoke crowded the room and veiled shadowy shapes on the floor. He groped his way toward the first—a cardboard box. His eyes were stinging when he reached the next. Another box. He checked a third, coughing as he stumbled across the floor. Boxes not people... He ran for the door, and hit a wall. He gasped and smoke burned his lungs. Stretching out his arms, he felt along the wall. No door. It’s okay. The door is here. Just keep moving. He coughed. Low. He was supposed to stay low. That was a rule. That and call 911. And don’t run into a burning building like an idiot. He dropped to his knees. Breathing hurt, and something was screaming in his ears. LYNNE SCREECHED TO a stop in the middle of the road and stared
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at the sign. It welcomed her to Cassadaga and told her that authorized psychics were located on the right side of the street. She looked down at the directions her aunt had emailed. Yes, they clearly stated that she was to turn right when she reached the inn. She looked at the sign again. When Anthea had suggested she spend the summer in Florida, Lynn had imagined beaches and theme parks. Not the “True Cassadaga Unified Psychic Society.” She wasn’t likely to reach the inn. A dark cloud of smoke filled the sky ahead of her and fire trucks blocked the road. She pulled forward. Firefighters were hosing down a wooden building on the right side of the street. Smoke hung heavily in the air, but the damage didn’t look as bad as she might have expected given the age of the building. A little psychic intervention? Did the authorized psychics call nine-oneone in advance? Her smile at the imagined conversation faded when she saw the body on the ground. She closed her eyes. This is not a repeat of the accident scene with Mark. She wouldn’t know the person on the ground. Still, she climbed out of the car and edged closer. The body, a young, blond male, was struggling to push off the oxygen mask the paramedics held over his mouth. He’s alive. Lynn let herself breathe again. “Y’all got off pretty lucky.” Lynn looked up. A firefighter stripped off his oxygen tank and handed it to another firefighter. He surveyed the group standing around on the grass. Lynn stepped back and tried to look like an innocent bystander. The firefighter’s gaze moved over her. He addressed his comments to the main cluster of watchers. “Mostly smoke damage. We’ll have to investigate before we give a complete report, but it looks like someone might have left a coffee pot on. You’ll need to repair a couple of walls.” “How much is that going to cost us?” a woman with long blond hair demanded. “Can’t rightly say, ma’am. Your insurance should cover it.” She frowned at the firefighter, then looked back to her group. “If Patrick started this fire, I think the inn’s insurance should pay for it.” When the young male on the ground made a protesting sound and started coughing, Lynn suspected he was the accused Patrick. The paramedics pushed the oxygen mask back down and gave him official sounding orders to breathe. He did, while glaring at the group. An older man with graying hair stepped forward, working his way between Patrick and his accuser. “I don’t see how we can blame this on
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Patrick. He doesn’t drink coffee.” “If he didn’t start it, what was he doing in there?” asked the woman. Like everyone else, Lynn looked at Patrick. He pushed the mask away from his face. “I thought they were inside. Meditating.” He pointed to a trio of watchers. Lynn looked at the watchers and blinked. That couldn’t be George. No, it would be. George had known every New Age bookstore within a hundred miles of Virginia Commonwealth University, when they’d been in college. Apparently he’d widened his range. If five years hadn’t dimmed his interest, they’d thickened his already stocky build and thinned his sparse red hair. George had always reminded her of a pumpkin, plump and round. Now he made her think of a pumpkin with fringe. “We decided to meditate outside tonight,” he was saying. “I sensed something wrong around the hall.” A man wearing a long-sleeved shirt and gray slacks frowned. “I believe I was the one who suggested we meditate outside.” The third member of the trio shook back her waist-length copper hair and looked skyward. “The angels told me that we should walk to the lake tonight.” George glared. “I sensed it first.” “I’m sure I did. Patrick will remember.” The girl smiled down at the blond man, who shook his head. “Now, Patrick, remember. I told you when we were alone in my room.” Patrick’s eyes widened. Gray Slacks snorted. “That story’s no more convincing than the one about the angels. Lisle, he doesn’t remember you saying it because you didn’t.” “Enough.” The older man waved them to silence. “I doubt Patrick would have run into a burning building to rescue you if he’d known you were already outside. I am not going to support the authentication of any sign that warns you to go meditate elsewhere while Society property is destroyed and a young man nearly loses his life.” “Can he do that?” George asked. “The board is supposed to vote,” the woman with long blond hair said. “Joshua knows that.” “Vote on what, Myra? That all three of them received signs to go meditate at the lake, but the spirits didn’t think of mentioning that someone should turn off the coffee pot?” Lynn watched Patrick push the oxygen mask off again. He
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pointed toward the smoldering building “If they meditated in there,” he said, his voice rough with smoke, “then they could have turned off the coffee pot, and we wouldn’t have a fire.” Myra, George, Lisle, and Gray Slacks glared at him. Joshua chuckled. Then Lynn heard the squeal of tires and a car door slammed. The others fell silent as a man with a dark ponytail rushed past her and dropped to the ground beside the blond. “Patrick? Are you hurt?” “I’m okay,” Patrick mumbled, pushing to his elbows. “There was a fire,” Myra said. “And for some reason he was inside the building.” “Rafe, I couldn’t get out.” Lynn watched as Rafe’s gaze went to the burned building, then to the ambulance. Ignoring Myra, he turned to the paramedics. “Does Patrick need to go to the hospital?” “He seems to be recovering,” one said, putting away the oxygen mask. “But keep an eye on him.” “Myra thinks I started it,” Patrick blurted. Rafe gave Myra a glare that Lynn wouldn’t have wanted directed at her. “I am sure she does not think so.” Myra huffed. “Fine, Rafael. Then explain why he was in the building.” “I already said why.” Glaring, Patrick pushed into a sitting position. “The only person who would use that stupid, old pot in the meeting room is you. You probably forgot to turn it off when you closed the bookstore. So stop trying to blame it on everyone else.” “Yes, you seem to have recovered. I am sure Myra is not trying to blame you.” Rafael’s attention was on Patrick, but Lynn felt certain the words were directed to Myra. Then he wrapped an arm around Patrick’s shoulders and lifted him to his feet. “You will feel better after you’ve cleaned up and changed your clothes.” Lynn saw him stop and take a second look at Patrick, who was wearing nothing but shorts and a pair of sneakers. “Or put some on.” “I was jogging.” “So I see.” Rafael looked over his shoulder. “Joshua, will you come see me when you are done here?” Myra stepped between them. “You’ll get a report on the fire when the board issues it and not before.” Rafael didn’t say anything, but Lynn noticed the look the two men exchanged over Myra’s head. She had no doubt that Rafael would have a full report before the night was over. Myra huffed, but Joshua ignored
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her and stepped away with the firefighter. The other firefighters were stripping out of their protective suits, revealing simple T-shirts and dark slacks. One carried a large fan toward the building and set it up to vent the smoke. Gray Slacks grabbed Myra’s shoulder. “Can he keep the board from considering our signs?” “Joshua is vice-president,” Myra said. “That’s not an answer—” “Lynn?” George’s cheerful greeting brought everyone’s gazes to her. “Did you come for a reading?” All the way from Virginia? Lynn held her tongue as George rushed across the grass with Myra close behind. The look Myra gave her was stern. “Do you have an appointment? I don’t recall anything on my schedule.” “I’m not here for a reading,” Lynn said. “Some people just can’t resist the scene of an accident, can they?” asked Myra, her voice snide. Lynn felt her cheeks grow hot. “I’m visiting my aunt.” “Here?” George stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder. “Myra, this is Gwendolyn McElven.” Myra’s eyebrows shot up. “Anthea is your aunt?” Lynn nodded, trying not to grimace at George’s use of her full first name. “I go by Lynn. Lynn McElven Yates.” “So you married that guy who wanted to go into politics? Is he here, too?” George looked around. “Mark,” Lynn said. “He died in a car accident.” She’d explained often enough to dull the feelings behind the words. “I’m sorry. He was a nice guy,” George said. “Have you come here to contact him?” Myra asked. Lynn stared at her in cold shock. She’d spent the first six months of widowhood dealing with pain, sorrow, and guilt. Now, nearly two years later, she still felt like she hadn’t put her life back together, but she’d given up expecting anyone to bring Mark back. “No,” she managed to say. “I’m sure he’d want me to move on with my life.” “I’m glad you made it down here to us,” George said. Myra nodded. “I’m sure your aunt will be pleased. Anthea is strong in the ways of the spirit.” “She’s in harmony with her world.” The young woman with the copper hair glided forward. “I’m Lisle, no last name. Last names bind you to others, and my abilities will not permit me to be bound.”
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“Yes, we’ve heard all about that,” Gray Slacks said. He nodded at Lynn. “I want to know about her. Does she get special privileges because she’s a member’s niece? I thought we were all on equal ground here.” “Relationship to an established member has no bearing,” Myra said. “Yeah, right.” George turned to Lynn, his smile forced. “Lynn, this is E.D. Wallingford. He is experienced in past-life regression.” “I am more than experienced,” Wallingford declared. “I am a certified hypnotist and an expert in the field of past-life research. A field that helps people.” He shot Lisle and George scornful look. “I can’t wait to see how you two feel when she’s accepted into the Society, and we aren’t even allowed to have our signs considered. I’m going to speak to Carl about it.” “Wonderful.” Myra sighed as he stomped off. “Joshua needs to let the board vote on this situation. Especially when all three of you sensed something was wrong.” ALEX PULLED TO a stop behind a fire truck and did a quick check of the surrounding buildings. Amazingly, everything was still standing. He stepped out of the car and headed toward the group gathered on the bookstore lawn. “What happened?” he asked, nodding toward the building. “Lynn is here to visit.” He turned to George. “Lynn came to visit? Is she an arsonist?” Then again, Lynn might be a poltergeist or a ghost— “No, she’s Anthea’s niece,” George said. Alex noticed the curly-haired young woman standing by George and smiled an apology. “Sorry. You don’t look much like an arsonist.” She smiled back. “Glad to hear it. Besides, I arrived after the fire.” “Lynn is an artist,” George said. “Maybe she can illustrate your book.” Alex held back a sigh. Everyone had been offering to help with the book since he’d arrived. But from the look Lynn shot George, he wasn’t the only one surprised by the suggestion. “I’m here on vacation,” she said. “I’ve never tried illustrating a book.” “I’d love to see some of your work,” he offered, trying to keep his rejection gracious. “I’m sure it’s beautiful, but unfortunately, my book
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is a dissertation, so there isn’t much room for illustration.” Lisle drifted toward him. “We’re all sure the book will be a success.” Alex nodded. Myra was eyeing him too eagerly. Soon she’d be pressuring him to let her help with his research or editing. He was finding it more and more difficult to turn her down graciously. Then Joshua stepped away from a huddle with a couple of firefighters and motioned to him. “Excuse me, I think Joshua wants me.” Relieved, he left the group. “As you can see, we’ve had a bit of trouble,” Joshua said. “Yes, Lynn came to visit,” Alex said. Joshua turned and stared at him. “What?” Alex shrugged. “Ask George.” “No thanks, I have enough to deal with. I’m going to need help. You up for it?” “I’m not a member of the Society,” Alex pointed out. “Precisely,” Joshua said. “If I needed someone to psychically intuit bits of charred wood, I would ask George. Hell, he’ll probably be at it before the night is over, and Lisle will be chatting with her angels. Wallingford’s out of luck since he can’t hypnotize the building. At least Rafael will make sure that Patrick stays clear of any more trouble.” “Any more trouble?” Alex asked. “Don’t tell me Patrick had something to do with this.” Joshua opened his mouth, then stopped. “I’ll let him tell you. I want to know what you think of it all. The fire may have been deliberate. The coffee pot was left on, and that’s what started it. Could have been an accident, but someone took the batteries out of all the smoke detectors.” “Josh, could it be someone just forgot to put new batteries in last time they were changed?” Joshua shrugged. “It’s possible. They want to have an arson specialist check out the building. The fire chief said they’ll look for traces of solvents or anything that might have been used as an accelerant. They weren’t thrilled about the boxes of old tablecloths and draperies we were storing in the meeting room.” Joshua frowned. “I know we haven’t been using it much, but I don’t remember us deciding to store anything in there.” Alex looked back at the old, wooden structure. “As old as that building is, it should have gone up in minutes even without help. Why is it still standing?”
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“Partly because I spotted the smoke right away and called for help, and partly because the table cloth that the coffee pot was sitting on and the draping we’d used to cover the back wall were flame retardant.” “That was smart.” “Rafael’s doing,” Joshua said. “He helped redo the meeting spaces when he took over the inn. Patrick helped take care of things, like smoke detectors, until Myra took over the bookstore.” “So Myra would have been responsible for changing the batteries,” Alex guessed. “Correct. I’m sure she’ll tell us that they were in perfect working order.” He looked back at the building. “And the boxes of junk will turn out to be something she moved out of the bookstore.” “She wouldn’t have wanted to burn down the building, would she?” Alex asked. “I thought the bookstore was doing fairly well.” Joshua shrugged. “Rent is partly based on profit, so I doubt we really know how well the store is doing. But that is a long way from arson. Besides, the Society owns the building.” “So she wouldn’t collect the insurance. The Society would. Josh, how is the Society doing financially?” “That’s what I mean to talk to Carl about. Though I don’t see how it would help us to burn down one of our own buildings. It’s not like we can take the insurance money and run. We’ll have to repair it, and this is going to put Carl’s conference center plans on hold.” Joshua sighed, looked at the building, and shook his head. “Alex, tell Patrick he made an interesting point about the signs. And tell Rafael not to worry. Myra does not make a convincing witness. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go tackle Carl.” Alex watched him walk away and decided that a visit to the inn sounded very interesting. THE INN’S KITCHEN was empty. Rafael was usually there or at the front desk. Alex stepped back into the lobby where woven throws draped the sofas, and winged back chairs clustered around polished wooden tables. He always thought it would be the perfect place to sit and read, but Lisle seemed to find an excuse to hover nearby whenever he tried. He strode through the lobby, down the hall to Rafael’s private quarters, and knocked on the door. “Yes? Who is it?” asked Rafael. “Alex.” “Can this wait?”
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Alex hesitated. “I come bearing secret messages from Joshua.” “What’s the password?” Patrick called out. Alex only had to think for a second. “Myra does not make a convincing witness.” “That’s kinda long for a password,” Patrick said. The door opened. Rafael stood there, his expression wary. “What is Myra not a convincing witness to?” Alex shrugged. “You’re going to have to help me with that. Or maybe Patrick will.” Looking over Rafael’s shoulder, he saw Patrick stretched out on a dark leather couch with a blanket tucked around him. Rafael wasn’t moving out of the way. Alex looked back to him. “Josh says that the fire may have been deliberate. There were no batteries in the smoke detectors. He also says that Patrick made an interesting point about the signs. I came over here to find out what it all means.” “It means someone almost killed me,” Patrick said. “They did not know you would run into the building,” Rafael said, stepping back from the door, so Alex could follow him into the room. “So?” Patrick demanded. “What’s that mean? They have to say sorry after they kill me?” He looked at Alex. “Who started the fire?” “They don’t know.” He had a sudden suspicion. “Did Myra accuse you?” “Yeah. I’m lying there almost dead, and she’s telling everyone that I did it. Then the others all start arguing about signs. Like, I’m dead, and they think it’s a sign.” “How was it a sign?” Alex asked. “Because they all sensed the spirits were telling them to go jump in a lake. Lisle tried to make me say that I heard her say it. Why would I run into the building if I knew they weren’t there? No one even said thanks for trying to rescue them. All they wanted to do was argue about signs, and Myra just wanted to blame me for the fire.” “But Joshua says she is not believed?” Rafael asked. “He said she wasn’t very convincing.” Patrick pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around his knees. “That’s ’cause she was talking about insurance and stuff right in front of the firemen. Not smart. She didn’t just say I did it, she said Rafe’s insurance should pay for it.” “She did?” Rafael looked surprised. “You didn’t tell me that.” “I didn’t want you to get mad.” “At Myra?” “No.” Patrick’s head dropped. “At you? Patrick.” Rafael sat down on the couch, facing Patrick.
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“I’m not angry with you. Not for running into the building or for going jogging when you should have been at the inn.” “Something bad is going to happen.” Patrick muttered, without raising his head. “I feel it.” “What is going to happen?” Rafael asked. Patrick drew his legs in tighter. “Gonna die.” Rafael reached out and tilted up his head. “You are not going to die.” Patrick blinked. “Someone is. Maybe ’cause I didn’t.”
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Chapter Two “GO PAST THE church and turn right,” George said. Lynn nodded. She’d managed to escape Myra and the others, but at the cost of having George show her the way to her aunt’s house. She wasn’t sure she needed the guide, since the town seemed to be small. They’d passed the inn, and a rickety apartment building, before reaching the surprisingly solid Spiritualist church. Lynn turned. The corner house across the street form the church sported charming gingerbread trim and a sign announcing it belonged to the Reverends June and Luke Kirby. “I don’t trust that Alex,” George muttered. “His aura is all wrong. He doesn’t belong here.” “Isn’t he a member of the Society?” “No. He’s just here to do research.” “Then maybe that explains his aura,” Lynn suggested. “His mind is on his work.” “That book none of us have ever seen? Myra’s offered to help him, but he’s never shown it to her. And he turned down the chance to have you help. Very suspicious.” “What do you think he’s up to?” Lynn asked in her best stage whisper. “I haven’t figured that out yet, but I’m working on it. And there’s another problem,” George said, pointing to the white cottage Lynn was driving past. A faded beach towel draped the porch rail and a red Jeep sat in the driveway. “You can see what Myra’s worried about.” Lynn slowed and decided she couldn’t see what worried Myra. “It looks like a nice house.” “It’s Patrick’s,” George said. “His whole attitude is just too unprofessional. Yesterday he was lying out front in his bathing suit. Can you imagine coming for a reading and seeing that?” Lynn didn’t have to imagine it since she’d just seen Patrick’s lean, tan figure stretched out on the grass. “It would probably inspire very unspiritual thoughts.” “See, you agree with us.” George pointed to the other side of the street. “Anthea lives there.” Lynn stopped the car. She could have found the house just by
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looking for the garden. Hibiscus and canna lilies mixed with roses and salvia, creating an English garden gone tropical. Anthea stepped onto the front porch. She waved and started to the car. “I see you’re meeting people already,” she called. “There was a little problem—” “I offered to show Lynn the way here after the fire,” George said, scrambling out of his seat. Anthea’s eyebrows rose. “I thought I heard sirens. Where was the fire?” “The community building.” George leaned against the car, seemingly unaware that Lynn might need help with anything as solid as a suitcase. “Fortunately, I sensed that our group shouldn’t meditate there. We probably won’t be able to use it for the rest of the summer.” “And Patrick didn’t even have to go to the hospital.” Anthea turned to her. “Patrick? What happened?” “He ran into the building to make sure it was empty—” “He’s just trying to draw attention to himself,” George interrupted. “—and had a little trouble getting back out,” Lynn finished. “He wasn’t burned but he suffered from some smoke inhalation.” “I see.” Anthea tilted her head, as if thinking. “Horehound. And mint for taste. George, come in while I mix it up. You can take it back with you.” George nodded. “I have something important to ask you anyway.” Lynn popped the trunk and dragged out her suitcase. She didn’t hurry since she suspected she knew what George was going to ask. “...so can you tell Joshua he needs to let our signs be considered?” Lynn dropped the suitcase in the hall and followed George’s voice. He and Anthea were in a large kitchen with white-painted cabinets and big, deep sinks. The shiny microwave on one counter looked distinctly out of place. George was sitting at a large, worn table while Anthea leaned against the counter. She seemed to be thinking through his request. Lynn decided to take advantage of the momentary silence. “Would someone explain this sign thing to me?” George gave her a surprised look. “You have to receive a sign that the spirits accept you before you can join the Society. Didn’t Anthea tell you?” Lynn shook her head. “What sort of sign?” “An occurrence outside of normal human experience,” George said. “Like all of us sensing not to go to the community building. The admission committee is supposed to vote on things like that. Joshua
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can’t just decide, can he?” The last plea was directed at Anthea. “I’ll talk to him about it,” Anthea said, “but there is usually a reason behind Joshua’s actions.” George sat back in a chair, looking only half-satisfied with the answer. Lynn watched as Anthea placed a couple of glass jars on the table and began scooping dried leaves into a plastic bag. “Anthea, what are you doing?” she asked. “Making tea for Patrick. Horehound for his throat, some chamomile to calm him, and mint because he likes it. George, make sure to tell him to take it with honey.” George nodded, then turned to Lynn. “Anthea knows all about herbs and natural healing. She studied at Findhorn before she came here.” “I recall getting a postcard or two,” Lynn said, dropping into a chair. “Marvelous summers,” Anthea said, “but Scottish winters are a bit much for me. A friend recommended I spend the season here. I stayed at the inn first, then asked to take the house to see if I could put my Findhorn gardening knowledge to use in Florida’s sandy soil.” Lynn turned to George. “Can’t you just ask to rent one of the houses?” “You still have to have a sign to stay,” George said. “Anthea’s garden is her sign. She communes with nature spirits, like they do in Findhorn.” Anthea shrugged. “I was admitted well before Carl became president. He’s revamped the admission process.” “We’re the first group to try his summer session,” George said. “We have meditation sessions and study with Society members while staying at the inn. We’ve only been here about a week, but Lisle and I are staying all summer. Wallingford can only stay part of the summer, which is why he’s so edgy about trying to claim a sign.” “Shouldn’t the spirits take that into account?” Lynn asked. She wondered what type of job George had that would allow him to take off such a large stretch of time, and then she realized that he could be in the same jobless situation as she was. “I’m sure everything is taken into account,” George said. “I’ve been visiting Cassadaga for years and know this is where I belong. Just like I can tell that you belong here.” “George, Lynn has just arrived. We mustn’t rush her.” Anthea held the plastic bag out to him. “Now if you could take this tea to Patrick I would greatly appreciate it. And I will speak to Joshua about
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what happened today.” George took the bag of herbs. “Lynn, will I see you later? Just come by the inn. I’m usually there.” “I’ll remember that,” she said. “But don’t miss your meditation sessions because of me. I need a little time to settle in.” “We’ll have plenty of time to catch up with each other,” George said. “It’s predestined.” Lynn held in a sigh of relief as he left the room. The last remark was too much for her. As soon as the front door closed, she turned to her aunt. “Anthea, what have you gotten me into?” “Poor George. He is so worried about receiving a sign.” “You don’t think the spirits will oblige him? They could hardly ask for a more enthusiastic supporter.” “Or a less marketable one. The spirits are unpredictable, but Carl has an eye for business.” “That doesn’t sound very spiritual,” Lynn said. “Who really decides this sign business?” “There is an admission committee, but sometimes personal opinions come into play. Wallingford’s business attitude fits in well with Carl’s seminar ideas. Lisle, well, she has a certain ethereal marketability. What George is going to need is an undeniable sign from the spirits.” “What exactly would count as an undeniable sign?” Lynn asked. “Has anyone had one?” Anthea stopped to think for a moment, then smiled. “Patrick.” She took a seat at the kitchen table and leaned back. “This was about three years ago. He and Rafael had just moved here, and he was barely eighteen so the committee thought it would be best to wait a while before granting him full status as a member.” “Who was on the committee?” “Let’s see,” Anthea said. “There were only four of us present that night. Luke and June from the Spiritualist church, Joshua and me. Patrick’s request was the last bit of business for the evening, so perhaps we rushed our decision. The spirits certainly thought so, because when we went to leave, the door wouldn’t open. The knob turned in my hand, but the door stayed firmly shut. Joshua gave it a few hard tugs, but it wouldn’t budge. Luke never moved. He simply suggested that we should return to our seats and reconsider Patrick’s admission. We did and the moment we approved his admission, the door flew open.” Lynn stared at Anthea. She remembered Patrick lying on the ground. “He said he couldn’t get out,” she muttered.
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“Who couldn’t get out?” “Patrick,” Lynn said. “He couldn’t get out of the building when it was on fire.” She shivered, then shook her head. “No, I’m being silly. The two events can’t be related.” “Perhaps not, but it’s not safe to be too close to the spirits. I’ll mention it to Luke. He’s knowledgeable in these issues.” PATRICK SAT ON the bed with his legs crossed and his eyes closed. He took a deep breath. He’d drunk Anthea’s tea and now everything didn’t taste like smoke. He breathed again, pulling in his focus. He divided his tarot card deck in two and pushed it back together without opening his eyes. He repeated the shuffle two more times. The cards felt right. He was using his favorite deck because he wanted to get a good reading. He took a deep breath. The scent of juniper teased his nose. He opened his eyes. Rafe leaned against one of the bed’s wrought iron posts. His shirt was off and his hair fell down around his shoulders. He looked like The Magician from the tarot deck. “You’re making me not concentrate,” Patrick warned. “I have to find out what’s going to happen next.” “I have some suggestions.” Patrick forced his gaze back to the tarot cards. He could put them away and let Rafe’s touch drive the doubt from his mind. He shook his head. “This is important.” Rafe’s shadow moved along the bed and Patrick hunched over the cards. He was already losing his concentration. Rafe’s fingers brushed his hair. “You are worried.” “I told you. Something is wrong. I need to figure it out.” The bed dipped. “Can you tell me?” Rafe asked, settling close but not touching. Patrick opened his eyes and shifted the cards in his hands. “I ask the cards to show me the near future, then I pick one card for each person.” “Just one card?” “Yep, ’cause whatever is wrong, it’s wrong now.” “Do your future first,” Rafe said. “Why?” “Because I need to know if you are in danger. Show me.” Patrick nodded. He took a breath and turned over the top card. “Ah.” Rafe’s breath was soft in his ear. “The Patrick card.” “You always say that,” he said. “It’s The Fool.” “No. It’s Patrick with the angel Raphael protecting him. It means
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you won’t be in danger if I protect you.” The card did show The Fool with the angel Raphael in a stained glass window behind him. Rafe didn’t do readings, but sometimes he guessed right. “So are you gonna protect me?” “Always.” “I can find out. I’ll do your card next.” The card he turned over showed muscular winged man balancing a glowing sphere on his knee. “Knight of Spheres.” “I don’t know that one.” Patrick thought through the card’s story, letting it focus the pictures crowding his mind. Rafe, rock solid and holding everything in place. “It means you have to help hold things in balance.” “I am not in danger?” “No. And you aren’t causing the danger. You’re kinda...” he searched for the word, “...stabilizing.” “Protecting,” Rafe suggested. “Who is next?” “Alex.” Patrick turned over the next card. In it, a male angel hovered above an unwinged woman. “Weird.” “The Lovers?” “Let me think.” The card could mean choice. He studied it. Alex was kind of aloof, like the angel in the card, floating above the woman. But he couldn’t stay up the air like that if he chose the woman. “Alex is about to fall in love.” “With who? Lisle?” “Nah. He doesn’t even notice when she flirts with him.” Rafe chuckled. “What’s that mean?” “It means that Alex is not the only one who doesn’t notice when Lisle is flirting.” “I noticed,” Patrick said. “She kinda stopped when she found out Myra doesn’t like me.” He sighed. “Now you have me thinking about Lisle, so I better do her card.” He turned over the next card. A female angel knelt, gazing up at a glowing star. “Weird. Lisle and Alex both got cards from the major arcane.” “Is it important?” Patrick shrugged. “I think it means something big is going to happen in both their futures. Alex is gonna fall in love. Lisle is—” he stared at the card. “Lisle is the one who knows something important.” “Perhaps it is the sign she wants.” “I think it’s more important than a sign.” Rafael grunted. “Nothing is more important than a sign. Not to
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those three.” “George thinks about signs a lot,” Patrick said, turning over the next card. The Moon card showed Lilith as a sexy female angel. “Well, George and the angel both have red hair,” Rafe said. “Other than that, I don’t understand it.” “Lilith brings confusion. It could mean, umm, like, a woman who makes George confused.” “That would not be difficult. Perhaps the mystery woman is Lisle. Does she appear in Wallingford’s future, too?” Patrick turned over a card. It showed a young angel resting on a big glowing sphere and looking warily into the distance. Rafe sat back. “Is a young man in Wallingford’s future?” Patrick smiled at his suspicious tone. “That’s not what it means. It’s the Page of Pentacles. See, the sphere is worldly stuff, like Wallingford’s degrees and his money. He’s trying to protect it, but he also wants to hide behind it. That’s the new people. I’ll do Anthea now.” He turned over a card. It showed a mature female angel handing spheres to a young woman. “More spheres,” Rafael said. “But Anthea does not worry about material things.” “This is like passing things on.” Patrick studied the card. “Like teaching. Look, the angel in the card is Anthea.” “With another mysterious woman.” “Not another. The same one. But who is she? ’Cause it’s not Lisle.” He leaned against Rafe, enjoying feeling the warmth from his bare chest. The front desk bell chimed and his hand jerked, scattering the cards. “Calmate,” Rafe said. “It is probably only Wallingford wanting something. Stay here and finish your reading.” He stood, reaching for the shirt he’d left draped over a chair. The bell rang again. Patrick gathered the cards with a sweep of his hand. “Nope. I want to know who it is. Otherwise I’ll just be worried. And your hair is down.” “What? Oh.” Rafe grabbed an elastic band from the dresser and pulled his hair back into its ponytail. “Come, let us see what the fuss is about.” Carl stood in the lobby with Myra beside him. Myra was smiling, like something good was about to happen. Carl was just smiling like normal. And he was wearing a suit, which meant he’d probably been speaking to a group somewhere, and Myra had grabbed him as soon as
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he got back into town. That wasn’t good. Patrick slowed and moved behind Rafe. “Rafael,” Carl held out his hand. “How’s business?” “Not bad.” Rafe shook Carl’s hand. “We had some bookings during the last seminar.” “Glad we could help. I feel it’s important for members to support each other whenever possible. I know you agree with me.” Patrick leaned against the desk. Carl would take forever to get to the point. Then he noticed the box in Myra’s hand. “Hey, those are my business cards. What’s Myra doing with my cards?” Carl looked at him. His lips tightened, and he shook his head slowly, like he was about to deliver a scolding. “I wanted to speak to you about that. I believe we determined that Society members wouldn’t advertise with non-members. It blurs the lines.” “It’s not advertising,” Patrick said, knowing where they’d found the cards. “They aren’t brochures or anything. Just business cards with my name and phone number.” “Professionals don’t advertise in junk stores,” Myra said. “It’s not a junk store. It’s a general store.” “Regardless,” Carl said, “it would be more circumspect to leave your cards in the bookstore.” “Yeah, right. Like that does any good. Myra just tells everyone that I’m too young to do a good reading.” “You are,” Myra said. “I do better readings than you.” Carl held up his hands. “Please, I don’t think this is the time or place to discuss this.” “I had a sign,” Patrick argued. “The rule is that you can do readings if you have a sign. It doesn’t say anything about age and discussing things.” “We aren’t suggesting that would change,” Carl said. “What are you suggesting?” Rafe asked. He shifted position and Patrick was behind him again. Patrick glared at Carl over Rafe’s shoulder. Carl gave his answer to Rafe. “Just some additional guidelines, standards if you will, to ensure the professional qualities of our members. Patrick will still be able to rent his house and participate in Society events.” Like the seminar I hadn’t been allowed to speak at. He couldn’t stay quiet while Carl ruined his life. “What about my clients? Are you going to tell them that suddenly I’m not any good? What will that do to
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the Society’s professionalism?” “I’m sure the board will find a way to take that into account.” “Other readers can easily accommodate your clients,” Myra said. Patrick felt the heat rising in his face. “You’re trying to steal my clients. This is stupid. Joshua won’t let you.” “Joshua is no longer president,” Carl said. “And I think we all know that he wasn’t able to devote the time and energy the Society needed to move forward.” “Will I be included in these discussions?” Rafe asked. “You aren’t a member of the board,” Myra said. “No, I am not.” Rafe’s voice was low and Patrick knew he was angry. “I am the owner of this inn, and I must consider the atmosphere that it presents to my guests. It is important for me to have a reader on site, so Patrick will continue to offer readings here regardless of the Society’s decision.” “If he can’t follow the Society’s rules, then he shouldn’t be in the Society,” Myra said. Rafe shrugged. “If the Society decides that he cannot do readings, then he loses nothing by not following the rules.” “We have not made that decision,” Carl said. “So I understand.” Myra held out the box of cards. “But until a decision is made, Patrick shouldn’t advertise.” Patrick glared at her and refused to take the cards. Rafe reached to the desk, where they kept the rack of everyone’s brochures and business cards. He pulled out Myra’s and held them out to her. “Until I have determined the relationship between this inn and the Society, perhaps you would be more comfortable not displaying your brochures here.” Myra stared at him. “But you agreed—” “And the Society agreed Patrick was a member in good standing. Apparently, these decisions can be changed.” “If that’s the way you want it.” Myra threw the box of business cards at the desk. The box hit the edge and opened. Patrick watched as his cards fell in a shower to Rafe’s feet. Carl reached out and took Myra’s brochures from Rafe’s hand. “I’m sure we can come to an agreement that suits everyone. Patrick, I hope you’ve recovered from your accident today.” Patrick let his silence echo Rafe’s. Carl shrugged, then turned and walked out. Myra gave Patrick a final glare before following him. Patrick waited until the door closed before dropping to the floor.
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He gathered a handful of cards from the polished wood. “She wanted to do that,” he said. “So they’re bent and dirty and I can’t use them.” Rafe knelt beside him. He gathered up a few cards. “They are not too bad. Do you still have the receipt for the printing?” “Yeah. I put it in the tax deduction file.” “Good. Find it for me tomorrow. I will present Carl with a bill for the damage.” He sat back on his heels. “It was a bad decision to elect Carl president of the Society.” Patrick checked another handful of cards. “Yeah. But what can we do about it?”
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Chapter Three LYNN WOKE FROM a dream jumbled with fires and psychics and struggled with the disoriented feeling the world always took on when she woke in a strange place. Cassadaga. Her memories caught up with her dream, and the world didn’t seem any less strange. She kicked off the sheet and swung her legs over the bed. At least, she didn’t have to go to DCDécor.com and artfully arrange photos on endless web pages. She didn’t have to answer emails from frustrated customers who hadn’t received their orders. She never had to go to DCDécor.com again because the business had crashed and her fledgling career with it. She looked in the mirror in its swivel stand above the dresser. The ancient, spotted glass didn’t help her appearance. Wondering if the heavy dresser had been standing in the same spot since the house had been built, she leaned sideways and found a fairly clear bit of reflection. She ran her hands through her hair, catching her fingers in the tangled brown curls. After a few minutes, she gave up the fight and pulled her hair into a ponytail. Messy and unsophisticated. Mark had fussed when she’d worn it that way. She sighed into the mirror. There was so much she needed to put behind her. Since sounds from downstairs suggested that Anthea was already up, Lynn put on a pair of shorts and a blouse and made her way to the kitchen. She found Anthea there, dressed in jeans and an oversize Tshirt. “Good morning, dear.” Her fingers deftly sorted the flowers covering the table. “Don’t mind the mess. I have to cut and bundle the flowers before the dew dries. There’s a pot of tea on the stove. Did you sleep well?” “Weird dreams,” Lynn said, picking up the teapot. A sweet fragrance drifted up from her mug as she poured. She gave it a suspicious sniff. Delicate and herby. She didn’t want delicate. She wanted coffee, dark, rich and caffeinated. “Do you have any coffee?” “Gave it up years ago. Eagle sells it if you want to walk to the store. If you’re having bad dreams, I’ll give you some valerian to take before bed tonight.” “Just need to settle in,” Lynn said, glancing at the clock. It was
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barely seven. Too early to go anywhere. She took a sip of the herbal stuff. It wasn’t bad. “Eagle? American Indian?” “Ex-Air Force,” Anthea said. Lynn lowered herself into a chair. “I don’t think I need caffeine badly enough to wake him.” “I believe they train them to wake early.” Anthea strolled over to the stove and poured herself a cup of tea. “Aztec sweet herb. I grow it myself.” Lynn studied her aunt. Anthea’s hair, pulled back and neatly braided, had been gray as long as she could remember and wrinkles softened but couldn’t hide the sharp, intelligent features. Sipping her tea, Anthea was the picture of tranquil innocence. “Do you really see spirits in the garden, like they do in Findhorn?” Anthea laughed. “They are more often sensed than seen. You’ll come to understand in time.” “Is that why you invited me down here?” “You needed a break, and we haven’t spent time together in ages.” “You don’t think I should try to contact Mark?” Lynn asked, surprised that she sounded almost angry. “If you want to, there are people here who can help,” Anthea said. “But, no, that’s not where I think your answers lie. Why don’t you take a walk around the town? Eagle’s shop will be open, and you can buy some coffee.” Lynn took another sip of the herby stuff, then put down her cup. Coffee sounded wonderful. “Where’s the shop? Do I have to go by the inn on my way there? Because I can’t handle George without coffee.” Anthea smiled. “Same corner, different side of the street. Go uphill, around the block, then downhill on the left side of the street. Don’t worry. George avoids the unofficial side of things.” THE ROAD CURVED as Lynn walked uphill and revealed an uneven scattering of houses, as if someone had tossed a bundle of child’s blocks in the air and built where each one landed. A large house caught her eye. A sign hanging from the front porch advertised: Readings by Myra, By Appointment Only” followed by a telephone number. The neat lawn and screened porch did have a more professional appearance than Patrick’s beach-towel-draped porch, but one look across the street made Lynn wonder why Myra bothered to complain about Patrick.The house was hidden behind a wall of hibiscus bushes, and a picket fence
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that looked like it hadn’t been touched since Tom Sawyer was in the painting business, outlined the yard. Lynn stepped closer. Instead of a welcome sign, a board dangling from the gate announced “I am not a psychic.” But the tomb-shaped rock with the house number painted on it seemed designed to encourage the curious. The same could be said of the wooden figure hanging beside the door. Shaped like a sheeted ghost, it held a sign that said, “You only haunt the ones you love.” She stepped back as the front door opened with a ragged squeak. The gray-haired man she’d seen at the fire looked out. “If you’re looking for a reading, you should head down to the inn.” Joshua Sands. She remembered the name from the day before. But seeing him standing next to the ghost sign brought back another memory. A collection of books Anthea had sent her. “I’ve read your books,” she blurted. During the last few years when she’d needed to retreat from reality, Sands supposedly truthful and always melodramatic ghost stories had been a favorite escape. Grinning, he stepped onto the front stoop. “I’m not sure that counts in your favor.” “I didn’t say I always believed your stories,” Lynn said, then stammered into an apology. “I meant I enjoy your sense of humor.” “It’s called sarcasm, girl. I’ll tell your fortune for free. You’re about to meet a tall, dark, handsome man at the Cassadaga Inn. Don’t get your hopes up, though. He dates the handsome, young blond who will give you a reading for a reasonable rate. When you’ve had your fill of love in the new millennium, come back here for some fun with an old, sarcastic writer.” “I didn’t come for a reading or a date. I’m visiting.” She pointed back toward Anthea’s. Joshua turned in the direction of her finger. “Good lord, you’re Anthea’s niece.” He walked out to the gate. “Sorry. Thought you were a wandering tourist.” “Do you get a lot of them?” “Depends on what you consider a lot.” “Do they come to see Myra?” Lynn couldn’t imagine hoards of customers lined up outside the dark screen porch, but Joshua must have had a reason to put up his sign. Joshua chuckled. “Ask Myra and she’ll tell you they do. Did Anthea need something from me or are you just exploring?” Lynn shook her head. “I’m on my way to the store to buy some coffee.” “Coffee?” He whispered the word. “So Anthea hasn’t converted
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you completely to her healthy, holistic ways? I’d invite you in for a cup, but I just emptied the pot. I’ll save some next time, so I can lure you in. I’ll even throw in an autographed copy of my latest masterpiece, Southern Haunts. I might even manage to behave myself. Unless you’d rather I didn’t.” Lynn laughed at the theatrical leer that accompanied the last statement, and Joshua threw up his hands. “You have no idea what damage that has done to my fragile male ego. Come by anyway. I heal quickly. Keep on the way you’re going, and you’ll find our large and well-stocked market.” With a laugh, he waved her on and disappeared behind into his house. Lynn took another look across the street. She found it interesting that Joshua had suggested Patrick for a reading, not a reservation with Myra. A brisk walk brought her to the end of the street, and once again she found herself facing the sign that welcomed her to Cassadaga. She turned and started downhill and found herself at the scene of the fire. Yellow tape fluttered around the scorched half of the building. Then she spotted Myra going inside carrying a mop and cleaning supplies. Lynn hesitated. Did Myra have permission to be in the building? Then she spotted Myra in the window of bookstore. Lynn smiled and shook her head. She worried too much. Myra was just cleaning up the store. The first sight of the Cassadaga Market made her stop in her tracks. The squat, one-story building looked like it had been created by shoving three smaller buildings together. Signs dotting the front promised antiques, sandwiches, and cold beer. Hoping the offer extended to hot coffee, Lynn opened the door. A bell jangled, announcing her arrival, and a pot of coffee simmered behind an unattended counter. Jars of pickled eggs, beef jerky, horoscope scrolls, and crystal key chains cluttered the counter while doughnuts and some wrapped deli meats peeked from a glass case. The front of the case was covered with more signs. These advertised a variety of psychic readings and past-life regression sessions. Wondering if authorized or unauthorized psychics advertised on deli cases, she searched for Myra’s name. It wasn’t there. Lynn looked around. No sign of Eagle. The coffee smelled freshbrewed, but she didn’t want to be caught behind the counter. She moved past the low refrigerator chest filled with sodas and beer to discover a half wall of shelves boasting everything from bread to paperbacks. The shelves seemed to serve as a boundary marker. On the other side, a carpeted area held items advertised as antiques and
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collectibles. She spotted a Depression glass vase and some Star Wars figures. She remembered Joshua Sand’s remark. Well-stocked, indeed. A man dressed in jeans and a camouflage shirt emerged from the back of the store. He was short and very thin. Lynn had heard once that pilots were short because they fit better in the plane. She waited for the man to offer to help her. Instead he leaned against the backdoor and tugged down the bill of his baseball cap. Lynn let her gaze move from shelf to shelf. If she touched anything, would Eagle leap into action? When she thought she’d taken as much of that silent stare as she could endure, she noticed some packages of ginseng and Super-Dieters Tea. Tea bags. Someone made coffee in big tea bags? Anthea wouldn’t have a coffee maker, but even instant would tide her over in the mornings. Lynn stepped closer and picked up one of the packages of diet tea. Eagle didn’t move. She peered into the dark space behind the boxes. Back against the wall was a dusty package of Maxwell House Singles. “Find it?” Eagle had moved to the cash register. She hadn’t heard him move over the floor that seemed to creak with her every step. She put the coffee on the counter, and Eagle rang it up. “That all?” Lynn’s gaze were drawn to the glass cabinet. She hadn’t had breakfast. She pointed past a cheaply printed sign offering to reveal her lucky lottery numbers to a doughnut dripping with chocolate. “That, too.” Eagle punched in the price of the doughnut. “Got coffee. Fresh.” Lynn nodded and he poured a cup. “Got this, too.” This was a basket filled with little containers of flavored creamers. Lynn poured three of the chocolate creamers into her coffee. Would Anthea notice if she snuck down for breakfast every morning? Eagle watched as she stirred the coffee. “You Anthea’s niece?” “How’d you know?” She was going to end up speaking in his abbreviated fashion if she stayed here long. “Heard.” He put her purchase in a small paper bag and threw in some chocolate creamers. Lynn sipped her coffee. “Seems like a nice place.” “Seen better, seen worse. Busy.” That assessment surprised her. “Tourists?” He waved, dismissing her comment. “Not them. UFOs. Too many lights in Orlando. Keep an eye on ’em out here.” “Oh,” Lynn said. “That’s good.” Eagle nodded and leaned against the counter. The door jingled again, and Lynn turned. She recognized the tall,
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young blond. Patrick. He looked like he’d recovered from the previous day’s adventure. He held a small box in his hands and his face wore a determined look. “I brought my business cards back,” he said, putting down the box on the counter. “I don’t care what Myra says. She doesn’t get to make all the rules.” “Thinks so.” Eagle picked up the cards and tucked them behind the cash register. “Stealth operation.” He took out one of the cards and dropped it in Lynn’s bag. “Hey, good idea,” Patrick said. “Then she won’t even know. She threw them at Rafe last night ’cause when she yelled at me for putting them here, he picked up all her brochures and said she couldn’t keep them at the inn.” He looked at Lynn, and his eyes widened. “Hey, I know who you are.” “You do?” Lynn asked. “I think so. Do you know Anthea?” “I’m her niece.” “Do you know George?” Lynn shrugged. Considering George’s reaction to Patrick, she was reluctant to acknowledge she knew him. “We went to the same college.” Patrick nodded. “Do you know Alex?” “I met him yesterday. Just for a couple of minutes.” “Did you like him?” Lynn crossed her arms and glared. “Aren’t you a little tall for Cupid?” He grinned. “You did like him.” “I didn’t say that.” “But you thought it. Don’t worry, Alex will like you, too. Gotta go clean up breakfast dishes.” The door jangled behind him before Lynn could think of a response. THE SOUND OF raised voices drew Alex from his morning meditations. He sighed and rose. Cassadaga looked like such a quiet town, but no place near Myra was quiet for long. He moved out to the porch. He’d taken the second story apartment because it gave him a good view of the area. Myra stood in the street in front of the bookstore. “You can’t put these up here.” It took Alex a moment to identify the woman she was yelling at.
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From his porch, all he could see was a tall figure in a dark suit. His first thought was that she was the Society’s insurance agent. Then she turned slightly, and the blunt cut dark hair swung back to show her face. Colleen. “I don’t see why not.” Colleen’s voice was cool, but pitched to be heard, since Lisle, Wallingford, and George were gawking at the confrontation from the inn porch. “It is an open invitation for Society members, and I don’t suggest anywhere that we are associated with your precious Society.” “Only approved Society events can be advertised in the bookstore,” Myra said. “Then I’ll take them to the inn.” Colleen said, turning in that direction. “No, you won’t.” Colleen turned back, dark hair swinging. “My dear, I think you’ll find you have very little say over how Rafael runs his inn.” “I think,” Myra spat back, “that if he can’t obey the rules, Rafael will find that he and his inn can lose the Society’s backing.” Colleen stared at her. “Now what could Rafael have done to annoy you?” Then she shrugged and shook her head. “Well, I’ll just hand these out myself. Consider them,” she looked down at the papers in her hand, “party invitations.” Alex saw Patrick move along the shadows at the side of inn. He’d slip into the inn through the kitchen door and tell Rafael what was happening. Alex started down the apartment stairs. He was supposed to be an observer, not an interferer, but he doubted Rafael was in any mood to deal with Myra or Colleen. When he reached the inn, Colleen had the trio on the porch cornered and Myra was missing. “Alex, I have an invitation for you, too,” Colleen said, thrusting a flyer at him. “Perhaps you will tell these three that Myra can’t keep them from exploring other paths.” Alex took the flyer. A glance told him what Colleen had planned. “Do you think this is wise?” “Tonight is the full moon and after yesterday, I thought everyone might need a chance to refresh their energies.” Alex looked again at the paper. “Have you checked with Carl on this?” Colleen laughed. “I’ve spoken with Carl about this and many other things. I have no doubt that in time he will come to see the benefit of combining our efforts. Tonight we will be holding our Esbat
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celebration for anyone brave enough to come.” “Can Carl let her do that?” George asked as Colleen breezed away. Alex shrugged. “She isn’t meeting on Society property, so I don’t think Carl can do anything to stop her.” “She’s a witch,” Lisle said. George nodded. “Myra doesn’t think it’s good for Society members to associate with witches.” “No, I don’t.” Myra stepped out of the inn’s front door. “They are particularly dangerous to the young, who can become enthralled by their odd ideas. I have been explaining this to Rafael and suggesting that he keep a close eye on Patrick.” “I’m sure he will,” Wallingford smirked. “A very close eye.” “All the better,” Myra said, seeming to miss the intimation, “if Patrick insists on going to tonight’s little event with us.” “We’re going?” George looked confused. Myra tapped the flyer against her hand. “We have to go or we’ll never know the lies she’s spreading. It will be a difficult night.” She looked at Lisle. “If you think it’ll be too much for you, we’ll all understand.” “The angels have supported me through many challenges,” Lisle said. “I’m going.” “And you?” She gave Alex a sharp look. “I should show my support, too,” Alex said. If he was vague about who he was supporting, Myra didn’t notice. “We should all walk down together,” Lisle said. “That will show our strength. Alex should come to the inn and meet us.” The plan sounded innocent enough but the intensity of her gaze made him nervous. “Perhaps.” “I’d feel much safer with you there.” Her hand rested lightly on his arm. “I’m sure there will be no real danger.” He wondered how to slip out of her grip. “No danger?” Myra chimed in. “The dangers are very real whenever anyone steps into the spiritual realm without full knowledge and control.” “I was thinking more of the physical danger,” Alex said. “But you’re right. Let me discuss the plans with Rafe.” He managed to release himself from Lisle’s hand as he moved to the inn’s door. Lisle’s smile froze. “If he’s what you want, you’ll find him in the kitchen with Patrick.”
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The unexpected insinuation took a moment to register. Denying it would only give it weight, but Alex felt his face warming. He opened the door and fled. The inn was cool and quiet. Alex took a couple of deep breaths. The lobby smelled of wood polish and coffee. Alex pushed open the door to the inn’s kitchen. Rafael leaned against a counter, head down, and Patrick stood facing him. He sounded like he was in the middle of an argument. “—gonna make Carl say you have to do what she wants or else. Like, she’ll say you can’t give out Colleen’s stuff. Then she’ll say you can’t give out my business cards, either.” “I will take care of it,” Rafael said, reaching for Patrick. Alex cleared his throat. Rafael looked up. “Alex. I did not hear you come in.” He let the arm that had been circling Patrick’s waist drop. “Sorry to interrupt,” Alex said. “But I wanted to discuss this.” He held up Colleen’s invitation. “Myra seems to expect everyone, except Patrick, to attend.” “She thinks I’m too young,” Patrick said. “Is Lisle going? She’s barely older than me.” “Lisle is going, but if it makes you feel better, Myra suggested that she might find it difficult.” Alex shrugged. “So Lisle suggested that I come along as her protector.” “Lisle? Don’t go with her. She’s not the right girl.” Alex looked at Patrick in surprise. “At the moment, I’m not interested in any girl.” “You might be,” he said. “If it was a nice girl.” Rafael chuckled. “Have a seat, Alex. Do you want some coffee? You’ll need it if Patrick is giving advice on girls.” Alex pulled out a chair and sat down. “I’m afraid the advice would go to waste right now.” “Why?” Patrick asked. “You’re not married or anything.” Or anything could cover a lot of ground. “I’m too involved in my work.” “So? Lots of people have work and stuff.” “Why are you suddenly so worried about this?” Alex asked. “’Cause.” “He did a tarot card reading last night,” Rafael said, leaning over to pour the coffee. “Oh.” Alex shook his head. “Patrick, I’m afraid the cards are wrong this time.”
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“We’ll see.” Rafael sat down and picked up his cup. “Patrick keeps trying to convince me to give up coffee,” he said, neatly changing the topic, “but I’ve explained that Latin physiology will not function properly without caffeine.” “True,” Patrick said. “A scientific breakthrough by Juan Valdez, or maybe it was the donkey.” He opened the kitchen’s industrial refrigerator and pulled out a bottled water. “Expensive water is for the guests,” Rafael warned, and Patrick switched the Evian for a local supermarket brand. “I didn’t think any of the guests would buy Evian,” Alex said. Rafael shrugged. “Wallingford does.” Patrick dropped into a chair. “Wally Wally makes a point of it. He always orders expensive stuff so the others know he has money. Carl really wants to get him in the Society ’cause he thinks he’ll get some of the money.” “How do you think Carl’s reacting to this?” Alex asked, putting Colleen’s flyer on the table. “Colleen has money, too,” Patrick said. Rafael nodded. “This is true. Colleen has asked to hold meetings in the community building. Carl would like to agree, but has not yet.” “He doesn’t know if he’s more scared of Colleen or Myra,” Patrick said. “Hey, do you think Myra burned the building to keep Colleen away?” “Her bookstore is there,” Alex pointed out. “I don’t think she’s that desperate. Would Carl really give in to Colleen?” “It is not just Colleen,” Rafael said. “For Carl’s idea to hold conventions and seminars to succeed, the Society will have to be flexible about who it offers space to.” “Yeah, you can’t tell everyone they have to be approved by Myra first,” Patrick said. Rafael leaned back in his chair. “I think after last night, Carl is wondering if Myra is his best ally in the Society.” “What happened last night?” Alex asked. “Carl came over with Myra,” Patrick said. “She’s trying to make me stop doing readings ’cause she thinks she can steal my clients. She wants to make an age limit.” An age limit Patrick didn’t meet. She’d have to move carefully if she didn’t want to upset the rest of the Society members. “Can she change the rules like that?” “First the board must consider it,” Rafael said. “Then the general
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membership, which includes non-resident members, vote on it. The people who live here, I am not worried about. Carl might support Myra on this if he thinks he can trade his vote for her support on the seminar business. But I think Anthea and Joshua would both support Patrick. Luke and June—” He shrugged. “Luke knows I do good readings,” Patrick said. Rafael nodded. “True, but June is very involved with Carl’s seminars. She might give her support to Myra to smooth the waters.” Alex had been keeping track of the count. “That would leave an even split. Does anyone here know that you aren’t supposed to have an even number of voting board members?” “The only other Society member who is a full-time resident is Patrick,” Rafael said. “And I’m too young to be on the board,” Patrick chimed in. “So, does this mean that if any of the current applicants have a sign and agree to live in the Society, they’re likely to be appointed to the board?” “Probably,” Patrick said. “Especially if it’s Wallingford. Carl likes him.” “Myra might nominate Lisle or George if she thought they would follow her lead,” Rafael added. “And Colleen?” Alex asked. “She isn’t trying to join the Society,” Patrick said. “She just likes being part of things. Are you gonna go tonight?” Alex looked down at the flyer. “Me? Do you think I’d be drawn by common sensationalism?” Alex paused just long enough for Patrick to struggle with the question. “I’m calling it research.” Rafael looked at Patrick and nodded. “Research.”
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Chapter Four RETURNING FROM THE store, Lynn found Anthea working in the front garden. She took a seat on the middle front porch step, and leaned back against the one above her. She’d finished her coffee and doughnut, but she had one of the flyers that had been upsetting Myra. “Anthea, do we want to go to an Esbat?” Her aunt looked up from the roses. “Tonight is the Full Mead Moon. Have Colleen and Skye invited you?” “Tall, dark hair, expensive wardrobe?” “Colleen,” Anthea supplied. “It was kind of her to invite you.” “Oh, I don’t know,” Lynn drawled. “After all, she has invited the entire Society.” “She’s what?” Anthea stopped, and stared at her. “You must have misunderstood. Certainly not Myra.” Lynn waved the flyer. “Everyone. Myra received a personal invitation. Trust me. I heard her reaction.” “Oh, dear. Let me think about this.” Anthea sat beside Lynn on the steps. “If Colleen has invited everyone to the Esbat then she’s up to something.” “Anthea, everyone in this town is up to something. Why do you expect the witches to be any different?” “Wiccans,” Anthea said, absently. “Everything was much quieter before Carl started up this seminar business.” “Has he invited Colleen to the seminars?” Anthea shook her head. “Not as a speaker.” “There’s your problem. Honestly, haven’t any of you read Sleeping Beauty? Always invite all the magical people to the party because you don’t want to be on their bad side.” Anthea leaned back and laughed. “And your mother said fairy tales weren’t good for you. So far we’ve limited our speakers to Society members. I could suggest to Carl that we expand.” “Myra will scream,” Lynn said. Anthea sighed. “There is that.” “Maybe you should just let Colleen work through her own problems,” Lynn suggested. “She looks like she could take on Myra. Are we going to this thing tonight?”
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Anthea shook her head. “It’s a foolish, theatrical attempt to gain attention, and I don’t want Colleen to think I’m supporting it.” She paused. “Of course, no one will blame me if my curious niece can’t resist attending her first Esbat. Then you can tell me if anything out of the ordinary happens.” Lynn raised her eyebrows. “Anything out of the ordinary? Let’s see, a bunch of witches invite a bunch of psychics to a party, and I’m supposed to keep an eye out for anything unusual. Sure, be glad to.” “I’ll call Skye and ask her to walk you down. That way you won’t have to go on your own.” “Sky?” “Skye Cloude, with an e on the end of each.” Anthea smiled at her. “Do you mind?” “The extra e or the Esbat?” Lynn asked. “Don’t worry. I’m dying to go. After all, I am your curious niece.” A DEMANDING KNOCK on the apartment door made Alex look up from the computer. He glanced at the clock. The morning was half gone. The knock sounded again, and he turned to see Carl standing on the porch. Carl glared at him through the window and crossed his arms. Alex turned off the monitor and went to answer the door. Carl stepped in, closing the door behind him. “You took long enough.” “Just trying to finish a thought.” “Yes, the dissertation. I’ve been meaning to stop by and ask you how it’s going.” Carl looked around the room, then settled into one of the worn rattan chairs. It creaked painfully. “I try to avoid sitting in that one,” Alex warned. Carl adjusted his position closer to the edge of the chair, but didn’t stand up. Alex shrugged. Carl could hardly complain if he fell through. He’d rented the place furnished to Alex. Carl rested his folded hands on his knees. “Are you going to tonight’s, umm, coven thing?” “I was considering it.” “Good. Colleen has a wide network of contacts who might want to make use of our facilities, if we present a, umm, positive attitude. Myra.” He paused. “I’m not sure she understands the compromises of business. I need to know what happens tonight.” “You aren’t going?” Alex asked. Carl shook his head. “Unfortunately, I’m scheduled to speak in Orlando.”
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“How convenient. A last minute engagement?” “Yes, something that came up suddenly. I’ve told Colleen how sorry I am that I won’t be able to attend tonight.” “And you’ve told Myra how terrible it is you won’t be there to take a stand against Colleen,” Alex finished for him. “I see you understand me. I need to know what happens. I need the help of someone I can trust.” “I am not your spy.” “Yes, I rather believe you are, Professor Janick, or should I say, Brother Alex?” Alex forced himself to meet Carl’s gaze. “I’ve left the order. If you’ve been checking up on me, you already know that.” “Correction—you are on leave from the order. Perhaps you mean to make that permanent. That isn’t my concern. Tell me, is a Catholic University likely to award a doctorate for a positive book on Spiritualism?” “It’s an academic work,” Alex said. “It isn’t meant to be positive or negative but to provide a study of people living in isolated or closed religious communities.” Carl looked confused. “Cassadaga isn’t a closed community.” Alex dropped into his best lecture voice. “Few communities today, or even in the past, are completely isolated. My criterion fits those communities whose members follow a single set of beliefs and restrict the majority of their daily interaction to fellow members who follow the same beliefs, regarding others as outsiders. I come from Philadelphia where the Amish fall into this category. Here in Florida, Cassadaga does.” “Interesting,” Carl said. “But you didn’t choose to study the Amish.” He shrugged. “No place to plug in the computer.” Carl chuckled. “If you work with me, I think we can keep that computer plugged in. Keep an eye on things for me tonight. I’ll call you in the morning.” He opened the door, then turned back. “Oh, and put that chair out with the trash. I’ll get you something better.” Alex sat, staring at the closed door. Somehow threats from Carl didn’t surprise him, but did the man mean for the remark about the chair to be a bribe? THE NOON SUN left Lynn sitting in a small circle of shade under Anthea’s loquat tree. Anthea stood in a garden bed filled with raggedy green leaves. She reached into a bag then swung her arm out to scatter
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white grains over the soil. Lynn let her fingers dance over the surface of her sketchpad as her aunt repeated the action. “Anthea, what are you doing?” “Putting out grits for the fire ants.” Lynn frowned. “I’m all in favor of animal preservation, but feeding fire ants seems extreme.” “They’re supposed to eat the grits, then swell up and die. It’s an old-fashioned way of getting rid of them. I suspect it’s not very effective, but I don’t want to spray pesticides on anything that may go into me later.” “I guess that makes sense.” Lynn dropped her gaze to the sketch. Her pencil slowed to a waltz as she smoothed out the finer details. She propped it against the tree and sat back to examine it. “That’s very good,” Anthea said from behind her. “Are you going to paint it?” Lynn looked at the sketch with a professional eye. It was a good composition. Of course she’d have to rework the scene on heavier paper. She flexed her fingers. They felt as if they wanted to crawl off her hand and go find a paintbrush to wrap themselves around. “This heat is a problem. The watercolors would dry before they touch the paper.” Anthea laughed. “It’s not that bad. Go get your paints or if you didn’t bring them, check my workroom.” Lynn flexed her fingers again. “I brought them.” That had been one reason for the visit—the hope that a vacation would give her time to paint. Why was she so hesitant about starting? Was she worried, she’d lost her ability? There was only one way to find out. Lynn dropped her sketchpad on the kitchen table. She meant to go upstairs and dig the watercolor paints out of her luggage, but she found herself staring at the closed door on the other side of the kitchen. It wasn’t the door to the workroom. That stood open, revealing a jumbled collection of wreath frames and drying flowers. She was putting off tackling her painting. She crossed the kitchen and opened the door. Behind it lay a dusty, unused dining room. Of course there would be a dining room off the kitchen. Lynn stepped inside and looked around. A dark sideboard held a collection of heavy candlesticks and a large round table filled the center of the room. She could envision ladies in long skirts sitting in the flickering candlelight. She looked at the table. No, not a dining table. Here the ladies would hold hands in the dim candlelight waiting for ghostly messages. Perhaps she could paint something like that. She
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closed her eyes, imagining the scene and jumped when she heard a soft series of thumps. She opened her eyes and looked around the room. Nothing moved. The thumps sounded again. Lynn tiptoed through the dining room, following them. The sound led her out into the hall. She paused and stared at the front door. This ghost sounded very solid. She opened the door. Joshua Sands stood on the front porch, holding a covered dish in one arm and large platter in the other. A package of hamburger rolls wobbled on top of the platter. His foot hovered near the bottom of the door. “It’s about time. This stuff is hot. What took you so long?” “I didn’t know you were coming. Perhaps you should have sent your astral body ahead to warn me.” She stepped back so he could enter. Joshua laughed. “What makes you think I didn’t? You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to claim a sign.” “I’m not sure I want to. The competition seems a little intense.” “It’s not supposed to be a competition,” Joshua muttered, as he headed for the kitchen. “But you’re right. Somehow Carl’s summer session idea seems to have turned it into one.” He put everything on the kitchen table while Lynn called to Anthea, who was in the vegetable patch in the far corner of the yard. She came in carrying a basket of lettuce, basil and tiny red tomatoes. “Ripe cherry tomatoes,” she said, putting down the basket. “We can have salad with lunch.” Joshua winked at Lynn. “How did Anthea know we’d need salad if I didn’t send my astral body here to tell her?” “Your house isn’t that far away,” Lynn said. “She probably smelled the charcoal. Since most people don’t grill out just for themselves, she knew you’d be bringing it over here.” “Very good, Sherlock,” Joshua said. Lynn wasn’t finished with him yet. “Of course there is an even easier answer.” “What’s that?” “For all I know, you two might always have lunch together.” “A couple of times a week,” Joshua said. “I think you’ll do.” “Do what?” “I haven’t decided yet,” Joshua said, handing her a roll. “But I can think of a number of circumstances where a sharp mind could be of use. Try the baked beans. I make the best baked beans in town.” Lynn settled down with a burger, beans, and a salad. She tasted a
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forkful of the beans. The sauce was sugar sweet and just a little spicy. “These are good.” “Brown sugar and some of Anthea’s savory,” Joshua said. “What do you think of our little town?” “I’ve never seen any place quite like it,” Lynn said. “Let’s see: a fire, three claims of psychic signs, a very tall cupid playing matchmaker, and an invitation to an Esbat. And I only got here yesterday.” Joshua gave her a questioning look. “Who’s trying to play matchmaker?” “Patrick. He thinks Alex and I should like each other.” “Hmmm. Interesting.” “Alex is a nice boy,” Anthea said. “Not you, too?” Lynn crossed her arms and glared at both of them. “I didn’t come here to find a boyfriend.” “Good, you can stick to the usual pursuits: ghosts, tarot cards and magic spells.” “Don’t forget UFOs,” Lynn said. “Doesn’t anyone around here do anything normal?” “Rafael runs the inn,” Anthea said. “That’s normal.” “He’s not a psychic?” Joshua shook his head. “Nope, he only dates one. This brings me to one of our current problems. Myra convinced Carl to scold Patrick for advertising at Eagle’s and to suggest the Society is going to place an age restriction on practicing psychics. Patrick is understandably upset, and Rafael is threatening not to follow Society guidelines if Patrick is dropped. Carl was surprised by that.” “He didn’t realize—” Anthea began. “I think he just underestimated.” “What’s the age limit?” Lynn asked. “Lisle doesn’t look much older than Patrick.” “Lisle is twenty-five,” Joshua said. “Or so I suspect since Myra is suggesting an age limit of twenty-five. Patrick is twenty-one. I will agree with Myra that he’s very young to be advising others, but he has a surprising number of repeat clients.” “What about Patrick’s sign?” Lynn asked. “Doesn’t that count?” Joshua looked at her for a second, then got up and walked over to the kitchen door. He gave it a tug. It seemed to resist him for a moment, then pulled open. “It sometimes sticks in the heat,” Anthea said. “Perhaps,” Joshua said, “but I’m not taking any chances. We need
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a solution that keeps Patrick, Myra, Rafael, and Carl happy.” “And the spirits,” Lynn added. “Don’t forget them.” Joshua looked at the door. “I do my best not to.” He moved back to the table and sat down. “But then, I’ve been researching some of our less-famous Southern ghosts for my next book. Want to hear about the Sea Captain of South Seagrave?” Lynn leaned forward. “I love a good ghost story.” “The Captain is a quiet ghost. About a century ago, he built a house in Daytona. Not oceanside, but then the man knew a thing or two about hurricanes. In fact, he seemed to have a fear of disasters. The old seadog was terrified of fire. He built his house so that his wife and kids could never be trapped. Every upstairs bedroom has a door to the hall then doors to the rooms beside it. The master bedroom has a door to the roof. If a fire ever blocked the stairs, you could run from room to room then scramble down to the front porch. The only room in the house that doesn’t have multiple doors is the bathroom. Maybe the Captain figured no one would get caught there.” “Maybe his wife had some say in that one,” Anthea said. “Since this house is still standing, I assume the fire the Captain feared never happened.” “Not yet,” Sands said. “But the old man hasn’t given up watching. I talked to the family who has owned the house for a good half-century since the Captain’s death. They say you can still hear him every night going up and down the stairs and from room to room checking for fire.” Anthea waved a forkful of salad at him. “Sounds like the old house is settling.” Joshua shrugged. “The Sea Captain of South Seagrave is a much more marketable story than the Settling House of South Seagrave. Besides, I visited the house. With wiring that old, the place should have gone up in flames years ago. Either good luck or the good ghost is keeping it standing.” He pushed away his plate and stood. “Ladies, I’ll amuse you with more ghostly tales later, but now I have a phone call to make. Will I have the pleasure of seeing either of you at Colleen’s little shindig?” “Not me,” Anthea said. “But Lynn will be there. I’m going to send her down with Skye.” ALEX STARED AT the computer screen. He wasn’t going to write anything new. He couldn’t even concentrate long enough to proofread the pages he’d written earlier. Had requesting leave from the order been a mistake? Apparently he couldn’t remain focused among the
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distractions of the outside world. Or was he simply becoming too involved with the people of Cassadaga? He put his hands on the keyboard, stared at the monitor, and sighed. Maybe a walk would help jumpstart his creative flow. He reached the bottom of the apartment steps and started to turn toward the inn. He stopped. Carl and Wallingford were sitting in the meditation garden beside the bookstore, and they seemed to be in the middle of a heated conversation. Probably about the signs. Above the two men, a figure moved against the bookstore window. Alex caught a glimpse of red hair. George was eavesdropping. Was George just interested in finding out if Wallingford could convince Carl to reconsider their signs or was he hoping to overhear something that he could later use to create his own sign? Stepping back into the shadows, Alex moved toward the end of the building. Maybe he could do a little eavesdropping, too. Then Carl’s head went up. Alex flattened against the wall. He saw George duck out of sight in the bookstore. Carl looked around and said something to Wallingford, who nodded. Alex moved back to the stairs then he stepped out of the shadows and strolled toward the church. If Carl came after him, he could always claim he was on his way to meditate. Patrick and Luke were already in the church. Alex stopped in the entryway. Neither looked up, so they apparently hadn’t heard him come in. He hesitated. “She’s trying to make me lose my clients,” Patrick said. “Even if she doesn’t get everyone to agree to the age thing, she’ll find other ways. She and Carl already don’t let me do seminars. How does it look to clients if I’m the only one who can’t talk at the seminars? This is only my life. I’m not asking for anything special. I just want to be treated like everyone else.” Luke put a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “My young friend, you are not like everyone else.” Patrick shrugged, his blond head dropping. “I did the tarot cards but I can’t see who made the fire or what’s going to happen next. Does that mean I’m losing my power?” Luke reached out and tilted Patrick’s head up. “No, you are not losing your power. I’ve been at this two decades longer than you, and I can’t see these things, either.” “You tried? What do you see about me?” Luke closed his eyes and his features relaxed. Then he opened his eyes. “I am told that all will be well for you if you don’t react out of
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anger or frustration.” “It’s hard not to be frustrated.” “Not if you don’t try,” Luke said. “Now, go meditate on that and we will discuss it next time.” Patrick rose, and Alex slipped out of the church. He realized he wasn’t going to get far, so he took a few steps, turned and pretended he was just arriving as Patrick stepped out. “Hey, Alex. Are you in love yet?” Remembering Patrick’s doubts about his power, Alex paused before answering. Sometimes the truth was necessary. “Patrick, that’s not going to happen.” His answer didn’t seem to upset Patrick, who shrugged and grinned. “If you say so. I gotta go meditate now.” Alex watched him leave, then slipped inside the church. Luke was sweeping the floor with a straw broom. He wore a white Karate gi, loosely belted. His sweeping didn’t break its rhythm. “Hello, Alex. Did you overhear anything interesting?” “Nothing I didn’t already know,” Alex admitted. “Do you think you’ll be able to convince Carl and Myra to leave Patrick alone?” Luke stopped sweeping and looked up. A momentary flash of frustration marred features that were normally so calm they showed no sign of Luke’s forty-odd years. “No. That I can’t do. But there are other ways to solve Patrick’s problems. The problem is secrecy. It’s very hard to do things around here secretly. Did you know that Alex?” “I’m finding that out,” Alex said.
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Chapter Five THE PAINTING WASN’T bad. Lynn propped the watercolor pad against the loquat tree and stepped back for a better look. She hadn’t lost her skill. She also hadn’t gotten the hang of working in such humid heat. She must have put down some red before the blue glaze. The sky had dried completely because a purple haze surrounded Anthea’s figure. Well, she had plenty of time to get better. She collected her paints and brushes, then picked up the pad by one corner and headed for the kitchen. She heard voices and stopped just outside the door. “I’m relieved to know that you didn’t encourage Colleen in this little escapade,” a male voice said. “Colleen does as she pleases,” Anthea said, and Lynn moved closer, listening. “But there are other issues I’m concerned about.” “Nothing I can’t handle,” the male said. “Carl, you’ve upset Patrick, who is a Society member.” Anthea sounded tense and frustrated. “You’ve angered Rafael, who handles the largest business in town. You should check with Joshua or with me before acting on Myra’s suggestions.” Lynn grimaced as the watercolor pad shifted in her grip. If it fell they would know she was there. The pad slipped further. She stuck out her foot and caught it with the toe of her sneaker. She wobbled and tried to stay focused on the conversation. “I was only going to suggest that we set some professional standards.” Carl’s tone was reassuring. “I’m afraid Myra took that to mean I approved of all her suggestions. I haven’t had a chance to explain that to Patrick or Rafael, yet.” He paused. “Perhaps that would be premature, because I can’t guarantee what measures the board will decide to propose.” “Those measures will have to be approved by a majority of the members,” Anthea said. “Not just Myra. This time of year it’s unlikely you’d be able to track down most of the non-resident members for a vote.” Non-resident members? Lynn struggled with her balance. Damn, she wanted to hear this. “I realize that,” Carl said. “We wouldn’t enact the measure fully
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until a vote could take place.” “Fully?” Anthea’s voice rose. “Carl, do you mean to suggest you’d leave Patrick in limbo for months? Or has Myra suggested an interim solution?” “Just that he not take on any new clients until a decision is made. It seems reasonable to me.” Lynn’s foot hit the ground, followed by the pad and the paints and brushes. She scowled at the art supplies, then looked up as the door opened. “Hello, dear,” Anthea said. “Did the painting turn out well? We’ll have to find you something to carry your things in.” “I thought I had it,” Lynn said, as a figure stepped behind her aunt. Carl. The man was just a few inches short of being tall and just a touch too stout to be called thin. The smooth darkness of his hair didn’t quite go with the lines on his face. He looked like a man who fell short of being who he wanted everyone to think he was. His expression as he looked at her was curious and cautious. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” “This is my niece, Lynn,” Anthea said. “Lynn, this is Carl Hansel.” Carl stepped out of the door and bent to pick up Lynn’s things. He turned the watercolor pad over and studied the picture. “Wonderful. You’ve captured Anthea perfectly. We must have you do some more work while you’re here.” He lowered the painting and smiled at her. “How long are you staying?” “A few weeks,” Lynn said. His praise was too enthusiastic, and he sounded like a politician trying to court a voter. “Cassadaga is privileged to have you with us. We must talk more, but if you’ll excuse me, business calls. I have to go meet with our insurance agent.” Lynn followed him inside. Politician. Business called, but she shouldn’t think the business more interesting or important than her. He sat the painting on the table, and gave it a knowing nod. “Excellent. My dear, you paint with great sensitivity.” He gave Lynn another smile, then left. “He certainly puts effort into making an impression,” Lynn said. Anthea chuckled. “Come on, let’s find you something to carry your things in so you can eavesdrop more effectively.” She headed into her workroom. Lynn followed. “I didn’t want to interrupt your conversation.” “What did you think of Carl?”
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Lynn picked up a piece of floral wire from Anthea’s workbench and twisted it around her finger. “He made me think of a politician trying to decide if he wanted to support the conservatives or the liberals.” She looked up. “Does a place like this have much of a conservative side?” “In its own way, yes. The conservatives, like Myra, are concerned more with the business aspects of the town. The liberal group tends to drift off in spiritual pursuits. The town needs both sides to survive, and we need a president who can find a balance between the two.” “Instead you’ve got Carl,” Lynn said. “Anthea, can you really make a living here?” “I’ve managed so far.” She picked up a large floral wreath done in shades of dusty pink and blue. “I may get fifty dollars for this.” Lynn remembered all the floral creations she’d uploaded graphics of at DCDécor. A talented crafter could charge a small fortune for a collection of dried flowers wrapped on wire. Anthea put down the wreath. “Of course, wreaths are seasonal items. They sell better around the holidays. Patrick helped me set up my tarot bag business.” Anthea opened a drawer and pulled out a dark velvet bag embroidered with silk ribbon flowers. “We sell them on Ebay.” “Beautiful,” Lynn said, taking the bag. Green leaves twined around a central design of pink and red roses. “It’s for a reader who wants some gentle designs to put her clients at ease. I’m still finishing the second bag she ordered.” She held up an embroidery hoop. Lynn could make out the sketch of a tree against the soft, buff velvet. Anthea was working this one in ribbon. “I can’t wait to see it finished. But what kind of living can you make doing things like this?” Anthea put down the embroidery. “Maybe if you tell me why you want to know, I can answer the question better.” Lynn sighed. “I’m considering the impossibility of making a living from my art.” “Dreams must have an element of impossibility,” Anthea said. “Were you happier investing in certainties?” “Certainties. Do you know how many people lost fortunes and jobs that were supposed to be sure things?” Lynn’s shoulders dropped. “I feel adrift. I’m not sure I regret losing my job. The money maybe, but not the job. As much as I miss Mark, I don’t think I’d miss the life I would have had with him.” Anthea smiled. “That’s because you weren’t living your dream,
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you were living Mark’s dream.” Anthea put one hand under Lynn’s chin and lifted it up. “Never think the accident was your fault.” Lynn nodded. She’d spent the first year of her widowhood with self-recriminations. She shouldn’t have let Mark drive that night. She should have insisted they go to fewer holiday parties. But Mark would simply have told her that their attendance was expected, and he certainly wouldn’t have been seen handing the keys over to her when leaving a power party. In the end, she was only guilty of being there while he lived the life he chose. Anthea picked up a small paper bag. She sighed. “After all that, he forgot his tea.” “Who?” Lynn asked. “Carl. He heard about the tea I gave Patrick and asked if he could have some. All the speaking he does at seminars leaves his throat sore.” Anthea shrugged. “It was also a good excuse for him to stop by. Could you run it over to his house? You might be able to catch him before he leaves town. If not, you can leave it by the door.” Lynn took the package. “I may leave it by the door even if he’s there. I’ll put it down, ring the doorbell, and run.” Anthea laughed. “What do you say next time you meet him?” “Say? Anthea, around Carl’s type you don’t have to say anything. You just smile, nod, and let him talk. Now where do I go?” “Go down to the inn—” “Ugh.” “What? Are you still avoiding George?” “George, Myra and a tall Cupid,” Lynn said. Anthea chuckled. “In that case turn right when you leave the house and go down the hill past Patrick’s house. Don’t worry, Cupid is probably at the inn. When you get to the next street—the church—turn right and follow it past the Spirit pond. You’ll come to Carl’s house. There are signs so you can’t miss them.” “Of course there are signs. ‘Signs, signs, everywhere there’s signs,’” Lynn sang as she left the room. Lynn stopped when she reached the end of Anthea’s street. She moved toward the gingerbread-trimmed house, trying to blend in with the bushes while looking up the street. It stretched in a long curve with a single house at the end. Carl’s. She saw a carport just to the side of the house, but she couldn’t tell if it was empty. She moved around the bushes, trying to find a better angle. “Looking for something?” Lynn turned. A petite woman with graying hair cut in a smooth
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bob stood in the doorway of the house. “Are you looking for someone? A reading? Perhaps I can direct you. I’m June Kirby.” She spoke carefully as if Lynn were a timid creature who might flee at any moment. Lynn held up her paper bag. “Just dropping this off at Carl’s.” June stepped out. She wore a gray skirt and blouse that blended with her hair. “I’m sorry. I just saw him leave. Was he expecting you?” Lynn shook her head. “Anthea said just to leave it by the door. It’s some of her tea.” “Oh, you’re Anthea’s niece.” June visibly relaxed. “You might want to put the tea around back by the kitchen door. We get our fair share of curiosity seekers here.” “Do they often steal?” “Of course not. But they are so curious. We try to set them on the right path. I hope to see you at services.” Lynn glanced across the street at the church. “I’m, well, Catholic.” “Don’t worry, so are many of the spirits.” With a smile, June stepped back into her house. Now that she knew Carl had left, Lynn stepped boldly out into the street. On one side, the ground sloped to a small pond and gazebo. It was a charming scene. Worth painting. She wandered down the grassy slope. She left the tea on the rail of the gazebo and walked to the edge of the pond. She heard the heavy beating of wings and looked up to see a great blue heron flying overhead. “Did you see it?” a voice called from behind her. She turned. Alex was making his way down the slope. Irritated, she tried to think of an excuse to escape, then realized that Alex probably didn’t know about Patrick’s match-making attempt. “Are you a birdwatcher?” she asked when he reached her. He shook his head. “I know flamingoes are pink, but other than that, I’m clueless about bird species.” “That was a heron.” “I did notice it wasn’t pink.” He looked out over the pond. “Somehow, around here I wouldn’t be surprised to see a gryphon or a phoenix rising from the waters.” “That would probably count as a sign. But you should spot the phoenix rising from the ashes of yesterday’s fire.” He smiled. “Have you joined the ranks of the eager sign seekers?” “Heavens no,” Lynn said. “Why can’t anyone believe I’m just here to visit my aunt?”
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He leaned against the gazebo and studied her for a moment. “If you’re thinking about George’s enthusiasm, it’s because he wants to be here so badly he can’t imagine anyone else not feeling the same way.” “I was thinking of him,” she admitted. “Some college friendships just don’t translate to adulthood.” “Was George different back then?” “No. It’s just...” She searched for the right explanation. “Well, that was college. We’re supposed to be adults now.” “Supposed to be?” He gave her another appraising look. “An interesting way of putting it. But I think you’re safe from George for a bit. He’s at the bookstore with Myra. He’s usually fine if he’s not alone.” That remark surprised Lynn. “I don’t remember George having problems being alone. He could spend hours meditating.” “You’re forgetting about the signs. George, Lisle, and Wallingford want to make sure that if they have one, they have a witness.” “Anthea mentioned that George needed an undeniable sign for Carl to accept him into the Society.” “Probably why he’s hanging around Myra,” Alex said. “He thinks Carl will accept a sign if Myra approves it.” “Will he?” Alex shrugged. “Carl seems to bend in the direction of the majority. If Joshua or your aunt don’t oppose letting George in, he should be fine.” “Oh, no,” Lynn said, as the realization hit her. “That means George will be even more determined to hang around me.” She stopped as she saw Patrick jogging their way. Once again he was wearing nothing more than shorts and sneakers. “Hey, what are you two talking about?” “We were just bird watching,” Alex said. “We saw a heron fly over.” Patrick nodded. “I see him a lot. He has a nest in one of the trees.” Alex looked up at the trees, but Lynn wasn’t distracted. She let her gaze wander from Patrick’s tan, bare chest to his clear, blue eyes. “You dress that way just to annoy Myra, don’t you?” she asked. Patrick’s eyes widened, then he laughed. “Mostly I do it ’cause it’s summer, and I can get a good tan. But after Myra moved in, she wanted to make a dress code. It said all Society members had to wear a shirt and shoes in public spaces. They had to vote at the next meeting, so Joshua, Luke, and Rafe went wearing their dress shirts, and ties and
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shoes.” He stopped and seemed to wait for a reaction. Lynn heard Alex chuckle. “Underwear? Or did they wear what a Scotsman wears under his kilt?” he asked. “Bathing suits,” Patrick said. “Myra was pissed. That was before Carl was president. It was more fun then.” Lynn joined in the laughter, delighted with image of three pantless men striding into the room. From what she kept hearing, everything had been more pleasant before Carl arrived. “I’m supposed to take some of Anthea’s tea to Carl.” “Is he still here?” Patrick asked. “I thought he was going to Orlando.” “Already gone, according to June,” Lynn said. “I’m supposed to leave the tea by the back door.” “I’ll jog it up there for you if you want,” Patrick said. “Would you?” Lynn ran to the gazebo and picked up the bag. “Just leave it where he can find it.” “No prob.” Patrick took the package and headed back to the road. “See you both at the Esbat,” he called over his shoulder. “You could walk down together.” Lynn heard a cough. She turned. Alex didn’t meet her gaze. “Excuse me,” he said, then cleared his throat. “I really should get back to my work.” Lynn watched him walk away. He hadn’t looked like a man pricked by Cupid’s arrow, not even a slight wound. Amused, she strolled up the grassy hill and headed toward Anthea’s house.
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Chapter Six ALEX CLIMBED THE steps to his apartment and found Lisle sitting cross-legged in front of his door. She flowed to her feet. “I came to apologize. I have been unlike myself lately.” “I’m sure that waiting for a sign is stressful.” She nodded. “But I shouldn’t let that become more important than everything else. I’ve been thinking about that. And about everything Myra has tried to teach us about living here.” She twisted a strand of long, copper hair around her finger. “Is it wrong to pretend to believe something if you do it to help someone?” “I’m not sure I understand.” “The Wiccans. I want to help them. Myra says they’re on the wrong path, and we should stay away from them. But if we’re supposed to help people, shouldn’t we try to bring them onto the right path?” And impress Myra. He doubted anyone else in town was worried about the Wiccans. “Do you need to pretend to follow their beliefs to do that?” “I thought if I pretended to be interested, they’d be more likely to talk to me.” “I don’t think that’s necessary,” Alex said. “After tonight, I’m sure they’ll be expecting questions.” “Yes, I suppose I could wait.” “You weren’t expecting to convert them before the Esbat?” he asked with a chuckle. She shook her head. “I’ve explained to the angels that it would be easier for all of us if this tension ended today, but perhaps I do not see their plan clearly. We must rise above the evils that we humans commit.” “What evils?” “Envy,” Lisle said, surprising him. “Myra envies Carl’s power and Colleen’s sureness. Carl envies Wallingford’s money. George envies Patrick because the spirits accept him. Patrick envies Myra because she’s more established.” Alex laughed. “I think you’re wrong on that last one. “Do you think so?” Lisle sighed. “It’s what Myra says, but it doesn’t feel right.
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“Perhaps you shouldn’t depend on Myra so much.” “Yes, you’re right,” Lisle said. “I should remember to consult the angels. Thank you.” Alex watched her glide down the stairs, thinking that consulting the angels wasn’t what he’d meant at all. Then again, Lisle had been right about everyone except Patrick. Whatever mysterious voices she listened to, they were apparently more reliable than Myra. “THERE IS A GREAT deal of difference between witchcraft and spiritualism,” George said. “Of course,” Lynn agreed. She was on Anthea’s porch, sipping sweet tea and listening to George lecture. “But people don’t understand that, so the Society has to be very careful about how it presents itself. Myra says that when she first came here, Joshua was president and everything was very unprofessional. She isn’t sure Carl is really moving things in the right direction.” “Then maybe Myra should be president.” “That would be the best answer,” George said. “Everyone didn’t realize it when they elected Carl.” “Or even now, I imagine,” Lynn muttered, her attention caught by the girl walking towards them. She was a plump young woman with long, tangled hair that looked like it needed a good trim and brushing. She wore a purple top with beaded fringe along the neckline and a flowing black skirt. “She’s one of them,” George hissed, as the young woman stepped onto the porch. “I’m Skye,” she said, giving Lynn a shy smile. “Anthea said you wished to join us tonight.” Lynn ignored George’s protesting gasp and smiled back. “If having a stranger around doesn’t bother you. Am I dressed all right?” She gestured down at her jeans. “You are more than welcome,” Skye said. “And your clothes are fine. Since Colleen has made this an open night, we don’t expect everyone to wear ritual garments. Or even to understand the ritual.” The girl glanced at George. George stood, and ignoring her, turned to Lynn. “I thought you were going to walk down with our group.” “I’m sorry, but Anthea already arranged for me to go with Skye.” “Anthea arranged it?” George looked quizzical. “But I’ll see you down there, won’t I? You can join our group then.” “You’ll see me there,” Lynn said, leaving her plans open to
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interpretation. George nodded and, after a casting a suspicious glare at Skye, he left. “I’m sorry—” Skye waved away the apology. “Don’t worry. I’m used to the reaction. Tonight is a night for curiosity seekers, even though most of us prefer private celebrations to public events. Colleen wants to be more open to cowans, but that idea doesn’t appeal to everyone.” Lynn followed Skye to the street. They walked toward Joshua’s house—in the opposite direction that George had taken. “Um, cowans?” “Non-Wiccans,” Skye said. “People who don’t understand or accept our beliefs. If Colleen can convince Carl to include her in the Society seminars and let us use the meeting areas, we might begin to change that. But—” They’d reached the road that divided the two sides of the town. Skye pointed to the entry sign. “—Myra takes that very seriously.” Lynn nodded her understanding and they crossed to the unauthorized side of the street. As they walked along a street where cinder-block houses lurked behind chain-link fences, Lynn noticed a number of signs advertising psychic assistance. Clearly pursuit of the spiritual and supernatural wasn’t limited to the Society. Skye turned up a wide walkway. Gleaming brass lamps illuminated a two-story stucco home easily twice the size of its neighbors. Instead of a chain link fence, tall pines outlined the yard. Lynn followed Skye through the door. Inside, elegance gave way to glittering fascination. Candles provided a dancing light that leapt from glass tabletops. A copper Green Man mask caught the candlelight and sent it dancing. Lynn found herself moving toward the mask. It was beautiful. The male features melded into copper leaves which then met stained glass leaves in greens and golds. More stained glass trailed from the mask, drawing Lynn’s attention to the table below. She gasped. A black cloth draped the table and on it laid a sword. Its blade was a shimmer of silver and the hilt something clear that caught the candlelight. “Glass?” “No, it’s a crystal.” Skye’s tone was hushed. “It’s the coven’s athame. Colleen ordered it from a shop in England.” “An athame is a sword?” “A sword, dagger, or knife. A solitary witch would probably use a dagger. A sword is better for directing the energies of a coven. It’s not
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a weapon. The blade doesn’t have to be sharp. The athame is used for drawing the circle. The boline is used for cutting herbs and things.” “I see Skye has started your lessons already.” Lynn turned. Colleen stood behind them. She wore something dark and flowing, but still looked more like a fashion model than a Wiccan priestess. “We’re glad you could come.” “Anthea sends her regrets.” Colleen laughed. “No, she doesn’t. I still haven’t proven my worth to Anthea and don’t pretend otherwise. Come meet the others.” There were five of them, mostly young. They wore jeans and Tshirts printed with ancient and curving Celtic designs. A couple of girls had cropped their shirts to end a few inches above the waist, and Lynn couldn’t help but notice the glitter of silver in their bellybuttons. Silver pentacle pendants adorned every throat. One young Wiccan closed her eyes and swayed to a Loreena McKennit song. Blond hair, streaked green and purple caressed her shoulders. She raised her arms as the music soared and her cropped T-shirt teased the bottom of her full, braless breasts. Lynn couldn’t imagine a vision further from the old crone of fairy tales. Another looked at Lynn. “Will she take part tonight?” “I’m just watching,” Lynn said. The Wiccans exchanged glances. Colleen smoothed over the awkwardness. “Lynn’s just arrived, so she needs time to become better acquainted with us.” “Watching us perform for a group of cowans should convince her,” Skye said. “She’ll see us establish the right to practice our religion.” Colleen said, and the others nodded in response. “If we let the Society discriminate against us, where will it end?” “Why should those who have no respect for Wicca be privileged to take part?” Skye protested, but her voice dropped as if she already knew she had lost the argument. The other young women shifted nervously, but didn’t speak. “There’s more than one way to get someone’s respect,” Colleen said. “And tonight we show them our way.” ALEX WATCHED THE women file along the sandy road toward the lake. Colleen held a candle high, its flame wavering as she made her way over the uneven ground. Society members hovered on one side of the unlit bonfire, while groups of locals leaned against pickup trucks and shared six-packs of beer. Skye followed Colleen, and a line of young women came after
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her. Each carried a bundle of dark cloth and a candle. When Lynn, unencumbered by bundle or candle, broke away from the line, Alex slipped through the darkness toward her. Then George emerged from the Society crowd. “Damn,” Alex muttered and lengthened his stride across the sand. He reached Lynn first. “I see you made it.” He heard George’s feet scuff the sand in frustration. “I’m not feeling very good about this,” Lynn said. “In what way?” Alex asked. George pushed forward. “Of course, you wouldn’t understand. Lynn will feel better when she’s with us. Won’t you, Lynn?” “Shh.” Pointing toward Colleen, Alex edged between George and Lynn. “They’re starting.” The distraction worked. George turned to watch as Colleen touched her candle to the pile of wood. Earlier, Alex had discovered a rolled wick of newspaper at the spot. Now flame ran along the wick, and tongues of fire spurted from the center of the bonfire. George moved toward the action, and Alex urged Lynn further along the sand. Lynn nodded toward the Wiccans. “Is that bonfire legal?” “Probably not,” he said. “It’s also not strictly needed for the Esbat, but I’m guessing Colleen goes in for the theatrical.” Alex took Lynn’s arm and edged them closer to the women. Dark cloths were draped over a picnic table, turning it into an altar. Colleen held up an athame, its blade flashing in the bonfire’s glow. “My God,” Alex breathed. “Silver and quartz crystal,” Lynn said. “Ordered from England.” “It must cost a fortune.” “Yep. And the chalice is silver and rose quartz. Skye says not all Wiccans have such expensive tools.” “I would imagine not.” Alex wanted to ask more, but let the conversation drop as Colleen, holding the athame aloft, moved to the front of the bonfire. “Spirits of the East, come and be welcome.” She walked to the south, west, and north, repeating the phrase. “What’s she doing?” Lynn whispered. “She’s casting the circle. Then they’ll do the rest of the ritual.” Colleen walked to the altar and the rest of the group from a loose circle around it. She lit the three candles on the altar, then opened a small silver container. “We purify this area with salt, gift of the Earth, and ask the goddess to bless this rite.”
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She tossed a pinch of salt in each direction. Then she produced a bottle of wine from under the table. She poured some into the chalice. “Goddess, we thank you for this water the blessing of your sweet rain.” She took a sip from the chalice then passed it to the others. Alex watched intently. From what he’d read, rituals could vary from coven to coven or even from witch to witch. Colleen was definitely on the theatrical side. He wasn’t surprised when Skye lifted a flaming branch from the fire and carried it to the altar. Colleen took it and waved it in a wide arc over the chalice. “Goddess, we thank you for this fire, the blessing of your fierce heart.” Then Skye held the branch again while Colleen used it to light a few sticks of incense. “Goddess, accept this sweet-scented smoke and let it bless the air around us.” “All that fire seems dangerous,” Lynn whispered. “Maybe the Society has a reason for being worried about Colleen using their building.” “I’m sure an inside ritual would be more controlled.” So Lynn, too, had heard about Colleen wanting to use the Society’s buildings. Carl had chosen the wrong spy. But then Lynn had much better access to information. “Who said they wanted to use the Society buildings?” “Skye. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned it.” “No, I think it’s common knowledge.” “We’re back to the athame part,” Lynn said, nodding toward the altar. Alex looked. Colleen held the athame in both hands. She raised it over her head and looked upward. “Goddess, we come tonight to give you thanks and to ask for your blessing and assistance in our future workings.” She lowered the sword, so it was pointing outward toward the watchers. “We ask you to bless those who see and follow your path.” She paused. “We ask you to sweep away obstacles and to thwart those who would do us harm. We ask you to surround us with the light of your protection. So mote it be.” “So mote it be,” the Wiccans repeated and lowered their heads. A sudden burst of cheers and whistles from the pickup trucks shattered any attempt at a meditative silence. Colleen ignored them. Holding the sword in front of her, she walked to the edge of the circle. “Spirits of the North, we thank you for your presence.” “Taking down the circle,” Alex whispered to Lynn. “That should be the end. Are you walking back with them?” “No,” she said. “I’ll just go to Anthea’s. I hope Skye doesn’t
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mind. “She’ll have enough to keep her occupied tonight.” The Wiccans gathered their tools. Someone from the pickup crowd had pulled out a stereo. “Black Magic Woman” boomed from its speakers. Alex watched as one of the younger Wiccans whirled and swayed in the bonfire light. Then she crooked her finger at one of young males watching her dance. His buddies pushed him forward. “Hey, honey, want to sacrifice a virgin? He might still qualify.” The girl danced around the guy and Alex guessed it would take about five minutes for the event to turn into a party. Then he noticed Myra and George striding purposefully toward him. What he didn’t overhear, he couldn’t report to Carl. “Don’t mention Colleen wanting to use the Society buildings to Myra,” he whispered to Lynn, who nodded. “And don’t walk back alone.” He only needed a few steps to disappear into the darkness. “I TOLD YOU THERE was something strange about him,” George said. Lynn looked around for Alex. He’d vanished. Then she remembered her half-agreement to walk back with George. “You came down with the witches,” Myra accused. “Was this bonfire really necessary? It’s dangerous.” “The smoke dispels the Angelic ones so that others may enter,” Lisle said, joining them. The rest of the Society members followed close behind her, and Lynn gave up any hope of escaping. “Someone needs to put it out,” Myra said. “We’ve already had one disastrous fire.” “I’m sure Colleen made arrangements—” Lynn said. “Hey, did anybody bring the marshmallows?” someone yelled. “Over here.” A man tossed a cooler out of the back of his truck and it hit the sandy ground with a thud. “Hotdogs, marshmallows, and beer. Party time.” “Lynn, are you coming with me?” George asked. “I’m surprised she’s not going with them.” Myra nodded to Colleen and Skye, who were leaving with their ritual tools. “No, she’s walking back with me.” Joshua stepped to her side. “I promised Anthea I’d get her home safely.” “I thought we were going to the inn,” George said.
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“Might as well,” Joshua said. “Lynn, do you mind? Rafael, here,” he waved in the direction of the pony-tailed man, “makes a mean cup of coffee.” “Cookies, too,” Patrick chimed in. “We have chocolate chip. Where’d Alex go?” Lynn shrugged. “He left.” “You shouldn’t hang out with him,” warned George. “Or the witches,” Myra added. “I haven’t been hanging out with anyone,” Lynn said. “Except maybe Anthea and Joshua.” Joshua chuckled. “Guilty as charged. Come on, kiddies, time to leave.” He took Lynn’s arm and started up the road. “Why were you looking for Carl?” George asked, falling in stride with them. “How did you know?” Lynn asked, then wondered if she’d just given him a perfect chance to claim psychic ability. “June told me. She said you stopped by her place. I could have helped. You didn’t need to get Alex.” So that was the problem. “I didn’t get Alex. I just bumped into him on my way there. It’s no big deal. I was just dropping off some tea from Anthea.” “Carl,” Myra said, “is selling out the Society. I hope you all know that.” Lynn waited for the others to react. “How is he doing so?” Rafael asked, his deep voice carrying a hint of an accent. “This seminar business,” Myra said. “He told us all that it was to further the goals of the Society, but he’s willing to take money from anyone. All he’s about is money. We should have an emergency election to get rid of him.” “That would be a rather drastic measure,” Joshua said. Myra waved toward the lake. “You saw this demonstration. Do you know what it was really about? It’s part of his campaign to get us all used to the witches so we won’t mind when he moves them into our buildings.” “They aren’t gonna move in,” Patrick said. “They just want to use the community space sometimes.” Myra whirled on him. “You’ve already shown that you have no respect for Society rules. Membership can be revoked, you know.” “Good! We can revoke yours,” Patrick shot back.
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Lynn saw Rafael grab Patrick and pull him to the side of the road. Joshua let go of Lynn’s arm and stepped up to Myra. “By the time you’re through impeaching and revoking, there won’t be anyone left in town but the Wiccans. Now, do you think we can walk the rest of the way in peace?” “Go to the inn and drink your coffee,” Myra snarled. “There are other members in this Society, and I’m sure when I tell them what’s been going on, they’ll want action.” Patrick and Rafe rejoined the group. “Can Myra really make us have an emergency election?” Patrick asked. Joshua shrugged. “You’re the psychic. What do you see in the future?” Patrick frowned. Then he looked at Joshua. “You’re going to be president.” “Oh, no,” Joshua said, laughing. “I’ve already served my time.” “Then you better fix things,” Patrick said. “’Cause Carl and Myra won’t.” At the inn, Lynn found herself sipping coffee flavored with chocolate and something stronger. Patrick lounged in a nearby chair with a glass of milk in one hand and a chocolate chip cookie in the other. “So, do you like Alex?” he asked. “I barely know him.” “Everyone barely knows him,” George said. “What was he saying to you tonight?” “He just told me a couple of details about the Esbat.” Lynn kept her tone neutral. “He said he’d read about them.” “Yeah, he’s read about a lot of things,” George said. “Did he tell you what they meant?” Lynn gave him a confused look. “The spell,” George said. “The part about cursing those in their way.” “There was no spell,” Rafael said. “It was just a game.” “It was not a game,” George said. “They were calling on real forces.” He assumed a lecturer’s tone. “Those forces could affect the whole town, but I think the spirits here will protect anyone who follows the right path. Carl is probably in danger because Myra says he’s trying to deceive everyone.” “The spirits don’t just do what Myra says,” Patrick said. “I think Myra is the one who got cursed.” “No, the spirits know who belongs in the Society,” George said.
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“If Carl is tricking people, they’ll want him out.” Patrick shook his head. “Now you’ve got the good spirits and the evil ones after Carl. That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.” “All I’m saying is that the good spirits won’t protect Carl,” George’s voice raised in exasperation, “just like they protected the rest of us from getting caught in the fire in the community building.” Patrick shot out of his seat. “Now you’re saying the spirits don’t like me.” Rafael moved between Patrick and George. “No, he is not saying that.” “Then what’s he saying?” Everyone looked at George, who looked confused. He was losing supporters fast. “The spirits protected Patrick, too,” Lynn said. “That’s why he wasn’t seriously injured in the fire.” George nodded. “That’s true. And Myra’s bookstore wasn’t burned, so the spirits are protecting her, too.” Lynn sighed. Why couldn’t George leave Myra out of the conversation? Joshua set down his coffee cup and rose. “I think I’ve had enough of spirits and spells for one day.” He held out his hand to Lynn. “It’s time I took you back to Anthea’s.” ALEX RUSHED TO Carl’s house in the early morning light. The answering machine had been blinking when he’d gotten back from the Esbat. He’d ignored it. It wasn’t until after he’d said his morning prayers that he’d hit the play button. “I hope this damn machine means you’re not in because you’re taking care of our business,” Carl’s first message said. “Come by my place early tomorrow. I want to hear your report before I run into anyone else.” He’d grimaced at Carl’s commanding tone and made up his mind to let Carl come to him if he wanted to hear about the Esbat. Then he heard the second message. “They know,” Carl’s voice whispered. “They know and they hate me for it. Did you tell them?” The message had ended, but Carl hadn’t hung up the phone. Alex heard Carl’s footsteps and a few thumps before the message ran to an end. The strangeness of the second call alarmed him. He ran all the way to Carl’s house and rang the bell. The bell hung on the front porch
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with a rope that swung it back and forth, and it clanked dully. He rapped on the door. “Carl!” He tried the knob, but it was locked. He leaned against the windows and listened for any sounds from inside. Nothing. He made his way to the back of the house. Carl’s Honda was parked in the carport. Alex tried the back door and found it unlocked. He yelled Carl’s name as he opened the sliding glass door. He pushed through the vertical blinds and stepped into the kitchen. The room was empty. The refrigerator door was open and a carton of milk lay on the floor. Alex stepped over the milk puddle and looked into Carl’s office. Papers were strewn across the desk and the chair lay on its side. The room looked like it had been ransacked. “Carl?” Alex called as he made his way to the living room. “Are you all right?” In the living room, cushions had been stripped from the sofa and chairs and the coffee table upended. Alex spotted Carl huddled in a corner behind a wall of cushions. He took a step forward. “Carl?” He didn’t move. The hairs on Alex’s neck prickled. He stopped and stared the toostill figure. Carl’s open eyes stared back in blank horror.
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Chapter Seven “DETECTIVE GAUST.” Alex nodded and glanced at the badge held by the large, dark hand. He’d been expecting more questions. The first cops on the scene had determined Carl was dead and escorted Alex to his apartment. He’d paced the apartment and the porch, but he couldn’t see Carl’s house. He’d seen more cars and a forensics van arrive, and known Carl’s death wasn’t something as simple as a heart attack. Now, he waved the detective to a chair and took a seat facing him. A uniformed officer remained standing by the door. Wondering if he was considered a witness or a suspect, Alex tried to look relaxed. He’d made enough home visits to know that the detective taking in every detail of the apartment. “Mr. Janick,” the detective said with a nod. “I’m told you found the body.” “I found Carl.” “Of course.” The detective pulled a notebook out of his pocket and flipped it open. “Tell me about this morning.” Alex looked at the pen, motionless in the large black fingers, and struggled to find a way to describe the morning’s horror in objective tones. “Carl left a message.” He stood and moved to the answering machine. He hit the play button, and they all listened to Carl’s paranoid fearful whispers. When it was done, he opened the machine and took out the tape. “I’m not eager to listen to it again,” he said, handing it to Gaust. “What did you think it meant?” Gaust asked. Alex dropped into a chair. “I’m not—” A sharp crack interrupted him. Alex’s mind signaled danger faster than his muscles could react. His seat dropped a foot and his hands tightened on the arms of the chair. He stopped inches from the floor and stared up at the knot of Gaust’s tie. Then Gaust and the uniformed officer loomed over him. Each took an arm and heaved him out of the broken chair. “The apartment came furnished,” Alex said, running his hands over the back of his jeans. Yes, the tearing sound had been the cushion. “You should complain,” Gaust said.
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“To Carl?” “He owned the place?” “He managed it for the Society.” Gaust made a note in his book, but the officer chuckled. “How long is your lease? This place could be a motive for murder.” Alex grimaced. “Only if he was killed with a broken chair.” Gaust didn’t echo the officer’s smile. “Perhaps we can start again. First, what business was Carl referring to in his first message?” Alex sat, carefully, in one of the remaining chairs. “Just an update on some local activities. Carl was unable to attend an event last night, and he wanted me to tell him how everything went.” “And this event was?” Alex sighed. “An Esbat.” Gaust looked down at his notebook. “S bat?” “E-s-b-a-t,” Alex spelled. “It’s a Wiccan ritual.” Gaust blinked, then wrote the explanation in his notebook. The uniformed officer leaned over, looking at the detective’s notes then at Alex. “What’s Wicca?” “It’s the modern term for witchcraft.” The officer straightened. “Witchcraft? I didn’t know they were into that here.” “They’re not,” Alex said. “That’s the problem.” “How did Carl feel about this?” Gaust asked. “Carl was trying to play both sides. I thought that was what Carl’s second message was about.” Alex paused. He took a breath. “Until I found him. Was he murdered?” “I haven’t received an autopsy report yet. Why do you think he was murdered?” “It looked like he’d been chased through the house,” Alex said. “But that doesn’t make sense because no one would try to hide from an invader behind a bunch of cushions. I didn’t see any blood or wounds.” Alex remembered Carl’s horrified stare. “Is it possible for someone to be frightened to death?” “You mean by a ghost or something?” the uniformed officer asked. The detective looked up at him. “A ghost?” “That’s what this place is all about—ghosts and spirits.” The officer nodded toward Alex. “He has to believe in it or they wouldn’t let him live here.” “I’m here to do research,” Alex said. “But you are essentially correct, Officer—” He waited. He disliked speaking to someone whose
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name he didn’t know. “Harrison,” the officer supplied. “If I’m correct, how can you live here and not believe?” “I’m not a permanent resident or a practicing psychic. They make exceptions for temporary residency.” “Was Mr. Hansel a psychic?” Gaust asked. “He claimed to be.” “Didn’t help him much, did it?” Harrison asked in a bemused voice. Gaust shot a look over his shoulder at the officer who closed his mouth on whatever he was going to say next. Gaust turned back to Alex. “How did Mr. Hansel feel about your research?” “He never expressed an academic interest,” Alex said, relieved when Gaust made another note and went on to his next question. “How much longer will you be staying here?” “A couple of months.” “I assume you paid rent to Mr. Hansel.” Alex shrugged. “A nominal one. This is the slow season for the Society.” Gaust looked around the room. “Nice computer.” Alex wasn’t going to be taken in by the conversational tone. “It’s a necessity for research and writing.” “Still, a fair amount of money. I’d be interested in knowing, Mr. Janick, how you can afford to spend a few months here, paying even a nominal rent to Mr. Hansel. Do you have a job?” “I have a grant.” The pen scratched unpleasantly against the paper. “The government is paying for this research?” “No, the Catholic University in Washington, D.C. is paying for it.” The pen tapped suspiciously. “I’m a good Southern Baptist myself, but I don’t see a Catholic University sponsoring work in favor of this ghost stuff.” “No, not in favor of, Detective.” Gaust lowered his pen. “I’m sensing a conflict here. How much did Carl know about your research?” “Are you saying I’m a suspect?” “Sir, right now I don’t know if there’s any crime to suspect you of. Let’s just say I’m the curious type. What did Carl think about your research?” “When Carl agreed to my staying here, he expected my research
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would reveal the wonders of Cassadaga.” “Did anything happen to change his view?” “I’m not that difficult to check up on. Carl did his own research and found out about Catholic University.” He was treading on tricky ground now. He could hardly admit that Carl used that knowledge to blackmail him to spy. He shrugged. “Carl was a realist. He could easily have kicked me out of this apartment and therefore out of Cassadaga, but he couldn’t have stopped my writing. Perhaps he felt that by keeping me here, he had a better chance of influencing my work.” “Did he inform anyone else about your background?” “Not that I know of.” “I see.” More scribbles in the notebook. Gaust stood. Alex hoped that it indicated that the interrogation was at an end, but Gaust was only shifting gears. “You have a good view of the street. Know if anyone else paid Carl a visit recently?” “No one. He was out of town part of the day.” “When did he leave?” “I’m not sure. He was gone when Patrick took the tea to his house.” “Patrick? I thought you said no one visited Mr. Hansel.” “He didn’t visit. As I said, Carl had already left. Patrick simply dropped off a package from Anthea.” The detective made notes. “So this Anthea asked Patrick to take the tea to Carl?” Alex shook his head. “No, Lynn was taking the tea, but Patrick was jogging and offered to take it instead.” The detective wrote more notes. “So Patrick went to the house, but three, no, four, of you knew about the tea?” Alex smiled, for the first time he was enjoying his answer. “Detective, this is Cassadaga. The entire town probably knew about the tea.” “I’m sure we’ll be able to ascertain that in our other interviews.” The notebook closed. “Thank you, Mr. Janick. We’ll be in touch.” LYNN HEARD ANTHEA open the front door. “I’m sorry. I don’t give readings.” “Yes, ma’am, I realize that,” came the deep-voiced reply. “I’m Detective Ghost.” Lynn raised her head. She couldn’t have heard that right. “Ah,” Anthea said, as if she’d heard the same thing. “Would that be the French or German spelling?”
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The other voice hesitated. “I’m not certain. G-a-u-s-t?” Lynn put the letters together in her mind, Gaust not ghost. “The French, I believe,” Anthea said, smoothly. “I guess so. I understand your niece is visiting. Could I ask both of you a few questions?” The tall, black man who followed Anthea into the kitchen wasn’t wearing a uniform. “Detective Gaust, Volusia County Sheriffs Department.” Lynn reached forward before she realized he wasn’t offering a handshake but his badge. She glanced at it then stared up into his dark eyes. She searched them for some sign of why he had come, but all she saw was mild curiosity. “Have a seat, Officer,” Anthea said. “Detective, ma’am,” he corrected, his gaze shifting momentarily away from Lynn. She released her grip on the mug, but then didn’t know what to do with her hands. She dropped them to her lap so that the table would hide her nervous fidgeting. Gaust sat down and flipped open a notebook. “Tell me about the tea that was delivered to Carl Hansel yesterday.” Lynn frowned. Certainly the detective wasn’t here because someone had walked off with a package of herb tea. “I’m not sure what you want to know. Carl forgot some tea when he was here. I was taking it up to his house when I bumped into Patrick. He said he’d drop it off for me.” “Tell me about the tea,” the detective said. “It was a special herbal blend I made,” Anthea said. “Horehound, chamomile, and mint. It helps soothe the throat.” “Do you make this, umm, blend, often?” “During the winter cold season,” Anthea said. “Not as often in the summer. I made some for Patrick yesterday after he got trapped in the fire.” “The same Patrick who delivered the tea to Mr. Hansel?” Lynn nodded. “He wouldn’t have stolen it. He could have easily asked Anthea for more.” Surely Carl wouldn’t rouse the police for so petty a crime. The detective reached into his pocket and pulled out a white envelope and a handkerchief. He opened the envelope and a small plastic bag tumbled onto the handkerchief. “That looks like mine,” Anthea said reaching for the bag. Gaust held out his hand. “Please don’t touch anything. I need to
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know if either of you can say for certain if this is the tea that was made for Mr. Hansel.” How could the tea cause such a fuss? Carl would have known it came from Anthea. Her aunt seemed unfazed by the detective’s questions. She leaned close to the bag, then with a shake of her head, rose and went to a kitchen cabinet. She placed a clean, white saucer on the table. “Could you empty some of that onto this, Mr. Gaust?” “Detective.” He picked up the bag by the edges and shook the contents onto the saucer. Anthea bent over the leaves for a long moment, then she reached out and picked one up. Lynn waited for the detective to object, but he simply watched. Anthea crumpled the bit of leaf between her fingers and smelled it. Then she sat back in her chair. “Carl’s dead isn’t he?”
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Chapter Eight “DON’T BE SILLY,” Lynn said. The detective nodded at Anthea. “Yes ma’am, he is, but I’d be interested in hearing how you know that.” “The herbs I used to make the tea were dry, but you’ll notice there are lots of fresher bits of leaf in the mix now.” Anthea dropped the crumpled leaf onto the plate. “This is from a Devil’s Trumpet bush. Devil’s Trumpet has a distinctive odor, rather like old coffee grounds. It’s also poisonous. If Carl drank this tea—” She left off with a shrug. Gaust tapped his pen on the table. “What exactly would happen to someone who drank this mixture?” Anthea settled into her chair. She frowned, like a lecturer gathering her thoughts. “A doctor would be better able to provide medical details, but one effect of the Datura or Brugmansia family is hallucinations.” Lynn noticed the detective straighten, but he kept his expression neutral. “What kind of hallucinations?” “Well, I don’t know,” Anthea said. “I rather think it would depend on the person. Native Americans used it for divination and other spiritual purposes. Others use it to make or break hexes and it is said that witches of old included it in flying ointments. It isn’t always fatal, but I doubt Carl was looking for his totem animal or seeking a replacement for his Honda. Someone put the Devil’s Trumpet in the tea.” “Are you certain the leaves couldn’t have been included unintentionally?” Gaust asked. Lynn tensed. His tone was calm, even reassuring, but he was asking if Anthea had thrown them in by mistake. The detective’s gaze hadn’t moved from the saucer, but Lynn was acutely aware of the various bundles of flowers and herbs strewn about the house. How easy would it be to confuse one with another? Anthea dismissed the accusation with a shake of her head. “I don’t grow Devil’s Trumpet, and it’s not the type of plant I would easily mistake for something else. I’m afraid the simple solution, crazy old lady poisons neighbor, isn’t going to work. We must face
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unpleasant facts. Whoever added those leaves to Carl’s tea knew exactly what they were doing.” “How do you know that?” “Because I told them.” Lynn drew in a sharp breath. Anthea needed a lawyer, and quickly. Did the Society have one? Carl was business-like enough to have a standing relationship. No, that wouldn’t work very well. Perhaps she could find one by looking in the phone book. “Anthea, don’t say anything else.” Anthea waved away the warning. “Carl asked me to talk about herbs at the Society seminar last weekend. One of the points I stressed was our need for a greater knowledge of the plants around us. I won’t treat you to the whole lecture, but I talked about how many ornamental plants are poisonous. I remember speaking specifically about Devil’s Trumpet and angel’s trumpet because they are popular and particularly attractive to those who want a more Gothic effect in their garden.” “Gothic? Do you mean that witches,” the detective looked down at his notes, “Wiccans grow these plants?” “They might,” Anthea said. “So might a lot of gardeners who simply like the flowers. They are very striking. A handful of leaves wouldn’t be difficult for anyone to obtain.” “Who attended the lecture?” Gaust asked. “Good heavens, there must have been nearly a hundred people. Carl advertised it well. I know everyone from Cassadaga was there. Carl has a copy of the guest registration. Oh, no, perhaps not. Check with June. She’s very good at keeping track of that sort of thing, but let me think.” Anthea paused. Her fingers moved up and down as if she were counting things off. “Carl and Myra gave lectures because I remember Colleen asking them all sorts of annoying questions afterwards. She didn’t bother Luke much. Then again not much bothers Luke. Who else? Joshua signed some books. Rafael gave an interesting lecture on running an inn. A bit outside the usual topics, but people seemed interested. Of course, Patrick was there. He didn’t speak, but I remember him giving some private readings afterwards.” Gaust consulted his notebook. “Alex Janick.” “Yes, I saw him. He came late. Myra was worried because she thought the seminar would be helpful for his research.” Lynn detected a faint smile on Gaust’s lips. He finished scribbling in his notebook. “What you’re telling me,” he said, “is that everybody in the general vicinity knows about Devil’s Trumpet.” Anthea nodded. “Everyone paid close attention. I didn’t notice if
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anyone paid more attention than was normal. Someone in the audience might have noticed. Lynn has only just arrived, so she missed the lecture.” “Have the two of you discussed the lecture since she arrived? You might have mentioned something to her in passing. Any little detail could be important.” “Sorry,” Lynn said. “This is the first I’ve heard of it. I’m one of those people who needs to learn more about plants. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Devil’s Trumpet.” “The flowers are purple on the outside, white inside, trumpet shaped and about six inches long,” Anthea said. Gaust took notes. “No doubt your Aunt has reference books on plants,” he said. “You could have looked up the information after you arrived.” “Then what?” Lynn asked. “I read that Devil’s Trumpet was poisonous and decided to test it on Carl just to make sure? I suppose your theory is that if he’d lived, I would have returned the book and demanded Anthea’s money back.” Gaust scratched his chin with his pen. “I have no theories at this point. Help me narrow this down. Who knew you took the tea to Carl’s?” “I’m not going to be much more help than Anthea at eliminating suspects,” Lynn said. “Just about everyone in town knew. I ran into June and Alex on my way there. Patrick was out jogging and offered to run the tea up the street to Carl’s. Then last night George was asking about it loudly enough for everyone to hear.” She saw the gleam of interest in Gaust’s eyes. “It wasn’t the tea George was interested in,” she added, then hesitated, uncertain of how to explain the situation. Gaust wasn’t likely to let the remark go, but he didn’t say anything. He just tapped his pen and waited. “He wanted to know why I hadn’t come to him for help finding Carl’s house.” “Did you need help finding the house?” “Not really. George can be overly helpful. He’s harmless but a bit of a pest.” “Mr. Janick told me about last night,” he said. “I’d like to hear your view.” “Oh, last night.” Lynn stood and walked to the sink. She could feel Gaust’s gaze on her. She filled a mug with water while she tried to sort the night’s events into something fit for Gaust’s ears. “Would you like some coffee, Detective?” She reached for another mug and opened
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two coffee bags without waiting for his answer. She put the cups in the microwave oven and set the timer. Gaust’s pen hovered over the notepad. “Well, everyone gathered at the lake,” she said tentatively. “How did they arrive? Alone or in groups?” She shrugged. “Most were already there by the time I arrived.” “Did you go alone?” “No. I walked down with Colleen’s group. A friend of hers, Skye, met me here and showed me the way to her house.” Gaust raised a hand. “Wait, I need you to be more clear. Colleen and Skye would be?” “Local Wiccans,” Lynn replied. The microwave beeped and she took the mugs out. She put one on the table by Gaust and added sugar and cream to the other. Anthea responded to Gaust’s quizzical look. “Colleen Kierns and Skye Cloude, with and ‘e’ on the end.” One corner of her mouth twitched, but she managed not to smile. Gaust sighed. “Of course. Ms.” Another sigh. “Cloude came here, before the ceremony and took you to whose house, hers or Colleen’s?” “Colleen’s,” Lynn said. “Actually,” Anthea interrupted, “Skye rooms with Colleen.” Gaust jotted a note. “Then you walked down to the lake with Colleen and who else?” Lynn shrugged. “Skye and a handful of women who are friends of Colleen. I don’t know their names, but I can provide you with descriptions of their navel rings.” Gaust rubbed his brow and dragged his fingers down the side of his face. “That won’t be necessary.” Lynn smiled. “Perhaps you can get their names from Colleen. I didn’t really say much to them, and I split off from the group once we reached the lake. I watched the ceremony with Alex, but he left as soon as it was over.” She wondered if Gaust would ask her about the ceremony, but the navel rings seemed to have thrown him off. Or perhaps Alex had already treated him to a full description. He simply nodded for her to continue. “That’s when George came over. He wanted to know why I’d gone to Carl’s house, and I told him that I’d been delivering Anthea’s tea.” “Why would George care about your visit to Mr. Hansel’s house?” “Because he wants to join the Cassadaga Society and he’s worried
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that everything anyone does could affect his admission.” “Was Mr. Hansel going to decided if George was admitted?” “It doesn’t work that way,” Anthea said. “To be admitted, applicants must receive a sign from the spirit world which must then be accepted by the admissions committee.” “Was Mr. Hansel on this committee?” “Yes, as am I, Joshua Sands, Luke and June Kirby, and Myra Nottingham. I take it the rest of us are healthy today?” “As far as I’ve heard,” Gaust said. Anthea spread her hands in a ‘there you have it’ gesture. “George is, as my niece accurately described, a bit of a pest, but I don’t think he would suddenly decide that killing off members of the admissions committee would improve his chances.” Gaust shifted his gaze to Lynn. “Who else was around when you mentioned taking the tea to Mr. Hansel’s?” Lynn ran a hand through her curls, trying to remember the names. “Lisle and the other guy staying at the inn.” “Edward David Wallingford.” Anthea addressed the remark directly to Gaust’s notebook. “They are also applying for admission to the Society.” “And Rafael and Patrick,” Lynn continued. “Joshua Sands. At least that’s who came back with us. Myra walked part way back with us but went on to her house. It was dark, and people were wandering around, so anyone may have overheard.” “Any of these people have a reason to harm Mr. Hansel?” “I have no idea,” Lynn said. “I didn’t know Mr. Hansel, and I really don’t know any of the others.” “Except George.” “Except George. And he was the only one who was worried.” She stopped short, that didn’t sound right. If the detective had only talked to Alex, he wouldn’t have heard about George’s pronouncement at the end of the night. Predicting the victim’s death prior to the murder wasn’t good. But someone would tell Gaust about it. Better her than George. “He was worried? Why?” “Colleen asked, well...prayed, for protection for her group. George felt that it was a curse directed against the Society. You have to understand, George believes in this sort of thing.” Gaust rubbed his forehead again. “What happened after George expressed his concerns? How did the others react?” “Everyone just seemed surprised, then I came home.”
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“What time was it? Did you come home alone?” “Joshua Sands walked with me. Sorry, but I didn’t really notice the time.” “Did you see anyone else on your way back?” Lynn shook her head. “Not a soul.” Gaust closed his notebook. “I will be speaking to both of you again.” “I guess that was a hint not to leave town,” Lynn said once the detective was safely out the door. She turned to see her aunt standing with the unplugged phone cord in her hands. “What are you doing?” “Going into hiding. Everyone will be calling or stopping by to talk about this, and I need some time to sort things out in my mind before I bump into what’s in anyone else’s mind.” “But maybe they’ll know something that will help.” Anthea locked the kitchen door. “They may, but remember, one of them is a murderer.” ALEX EDGED INTO the street and looked toward Carl’s house. A police car blocked the road, and a small crowd had gathered around it. Lisle and Myra were talking to Harrison, who leaned against the car. Alex didn’t need to see the future to know that once the two women finished with Harrison, they’d come looking for him. He headed for the inn. Rafael was dusting the lobby while Patrick swept. “Are you alone?” Alex asked. “No, I’m with him,” Patrick said, waving the broom toward Rafael. “And that’s a really bad pick-up line. You gotta think of a better one. Girls are fussy about that sort of thing.” “I’m not looking for a girl.” “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you won’t find one. Why aren’t you down looking at the cops? Everyone else is. I wanted to go, but I have a group coming for a reading.” “I’ve seen enough of the cops,” Alex said. “They’re here because I found Carl this morning. He’s dead.” Patrick stared. “For real?” Alex nodded. “An accident?” Rafael asked. “If so, the police are investigating it very thoroughly.” “Let’s go into the kitchen,” Rafael said. “We can talk more privately there.” “So what?” Patrick said. “The others already know. They’re down
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talking to the cops.” “Kitchen,” Rafael growled, gathering up the cleaning supplies. Alex waited until they were all seated. “Carl left a very strange message on my answering machine. He said they knew and they hated him. No, he whispered it, like someone might overhear. He sounded so strange I ran over there. He didn’t answer the door, so I went around to the back. I found him in the living room hiding behind the sofa cushions.” Rafael frowned. “A break-in? Someone who did not expect Carl to come back last night?” “So he tried to hide behind the sofa cushions? It doesn’t make much sense. It looked like someone had chased him through the house, but I didn’t see any signs of violence. No blood.” Alex tapped the table, mustering his thoughts. “Carl looked more like a kid trying to run from an imaginary monster than a man trying to escape a dangerous invader.” “Bet it was Colleen’s curse,” Patrick said. “George was right and Carl was trying to escape from an evil spirit.” “Patrick,” Rafael cautioned. “Well, I don’t care that he’s dead. He didn’t believe in psychic stuff.” “You don’t know that.” “Yes, I do.” “How?” “I’m psychic. I told Joshua he’d be president.” Patrick closed his eyes. “Except now Myra will want to have an emergency election. Maybe she killed Carl.” “Not Colleen?” Alex asked. Patrick shrugged. “Maybe her curse made Myra do it. Myra thinks everyone will elect her president if we have an election. Joshua wouldn’t impeach Carl, so Myra had to kill him.” Alex struggled to follow this line of logic. “But you said Joshua would be president.” “He is now,” Rafael said. “He was president last year, and Anthea was the year before that. They both wanted a chance to step away from it. Joshua only agreed to be vice-president because Carl felt his name would look good on the brochures. He may agree to Myra’s suggestion for an election.” “He’s gonna stay president,” Patrick insisted. With a shake of his head, Rafael picked up the coffee pot and poured two cups of coffee. “We will see.”
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Alex was reaching for one cup when the door flew open. “Did you hear what happened to Carl?” George asked. Then his gaze fell on the coffee in Rafael’s hand. “Do you know what kind of poison is in that?” Alex looked at his cup and gave it a cautious sniff. Rafael grabbed the cup. His dark eyes fierce, he drank deeply. “I do not poison my friends or my guests.” “Caffeine is poison.” George picked up the bag of French Roast. “This stuff isn’t even organically grown. Do you know what conditions it was harvested under or how many rain forests were sacrificed for this bag? This town is full of hypocrisy.” “George, be calm,” Rafael said. George’s gaze swept over the three of them. “Carl didn’t take anything seriously, either, and look what happened to him.” He dropped the coffee bag on the floor and left. Patrick picked up the coffee bag and tossed it on the table. “I like rain forests.” “You have never seen a rain forest,” Rafael said. “Poison,” Alex said. “No wounds, no blood. Carl was poisoned. George probably overheard the cops talking about it.” “Probably,” Patrick said. “But he won’t want to admit it because it’s not as much fun as a curse. Hey, you don’t think George will show up and weird out during my reading?” “Considering what’s happened, wouldn’t it be better to cancel?” Alex asked. Patrick shook his head. “Six ladies, thirty bucks each. I don’t cancel ’less I’m dead. I have to go change. Rafe, will you keep them busy if they get here early?” “No problem,” Rafael said. “You’re not the only attractive man around here.” “Oh, I’m not worried about Alex. He’s not looking for girlfriends right now.” He was out the door before the coffee bag thumped against it. “You must be faster than that to hit him,” Rafael said. Alex retrieved the bag and dropped it onto the table. “Is there any way to make him stop going on about girls?” Rafael chuckled. “That is not usually a problem I have.” Alex smiled, too, then he had a sudden vision of Gaust interviewing Patrick. “Rafe, there’s something you need to know. Yesterday I ran into Lynn on her way up to Carl’s. She was taking some of Anthea’s tea to him. The police know that, but they’re going to
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want to talk to Patrick. He saw us by the church and offered to take the tea the rest of the way up.” “Patrick would not harm anyone.” “There is the age limit issue,” Alex said. “And Patrick was in the building where the fire started. The same building that houses Myra’s bookstore. Then Patrick visited Carl’s house yesterday. Myra and Carl are the only Society members I’ve heard pushing for age limitation.” Rafael sighed. “I will talk to Patrick before the police do. He will not mention the age issue.” Alex wasn’t sure that would solve the problem, but the sound of feet and soft laughter from the lobby made a reply unnecessary. Rafael ran a hand over his hair smoothing down the ponytail and stepped through the kitchen door. Alex followed. Patrick wouldn’t let him sit in on the reading, but he planned to watch as much as possible. Rafael smiled. “Ladies, welcome to the Cassadaga Inn. I am Rafael Cruz. Patrick is in meditation in preparation for your arrival, and he has asked me to show you into his favorite room.” Rafael opened the door to a small meeting room off the lobby. “Please make yourselves comfortable. May I bring you some coffee while you wait?” “It won’t interfere with the reading?” a small bird-like woman asked nervously. “An excellent concern. Patrick’s sensitivities prevent him from enjoying the beverage, but he will not object if you have some. For those of you who prefer to avoid caffeine, I can provide a selection of excellent herbal teas including a special blend grown by one of our locals.” “That’s the one I had,” one of the ladies said. “It’s wonderfully uplifting.” “Then you shall have it again.” Rafael bowed out of the room, and gave Alex a wink as he strode into the kitchen. Alex took a chair near the room. “Isn’t he marvelous?” one of the women trilled. “So European.” “Wait until you see Patrick,” the herbal tea woman said. There was a breathlessness to her voice that almost made Alex blush for Patrick. “This is much better than those dinky rooms at the bookstore,” the bird voice chirped. “I think you can tell a lot about a psychic by the atmosphere around them,” another said. “This is so peaceful and away from the world.” “Just wait,” herbal tea woman said. “When we’re through here,
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we’ll go for a walk so you can see the old woman who grows the tea. Ancient and wise, just like an old village witch.” “Is she?” “They say the old ways are coming back.” This was whispered in a knowing tone. Patrick had stopped to listen in the hallway. He had changed his T-shirt for one of Rafael’s button down shirts and pulled his hair back in a short ponytail. Alex smiled. Patrick was trying very hard to look older. Still his expression was one of absolute calm. The patter in the room continued. Rafael came from the kitchen carrying a tray with a silver coffee pot, a china teapot, and a basket of freshly baked cookies. He gave Patrick a quick wink and walked into the room. Patrick waited until he heard Rafael put down the coffee tray then followed. The ladies came to a respectful hush. Alex couldn’t resist. He moved for a better view. Patrick sat in a chair placed just in front of the window so his face was shadowed. With his eyes almost closed, he rested his hands lightly on his knees with his thumbs and forefingers touching. Rafael passed delicate cups to the women. He took requests in a hushed voice, then silently left the room. Alex was so involved with his spying that he nearly missed Detective Gaust’s entrance. Rafael didn’t. Without altering his pace, he closed the door and motioned them away from it. “Kindly step this way gentlemen.” “Detective Gaust.” Gaust didn’t move from his position. “I need to interview you and your guests.” “Of course,” Rafael said. “Perhaps you can start with Alex. You won’t want to interrupt Patrick and his clients.” “I’ve already spoken to Mr. Janick. Why wouldn’t I want to interrupt Patrick and his clients?” “Detective,” Rafael said, softly. “We have heard about Carl, and we are anxious to give you any help we can. But this is a place of business.” “I’ll need the names of everyone staying here. Including Patrick’s clients.” Alex saw Rafael’s shoulders tighten. He held up a hand. “Detective, Patrick’s clients are half-a-dozen women from Orlando who just drove in for a psychic reading. I doubt they’d be much help to your investigation, but I’m sure,” Alex pushed on, “that they’d be thrilled to speak with you. They could share their impressions of the town.”
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Gaust lowered the notebook. “Do you think I want to spend the afternoon chatting with curious housewives? Mr. Janick, I’ve finished with you for the day. Mr. Cruz, could you provide me with your guests’ registration records and a room to conduct interviews in?” Rafael moved to the desk and Alex tiptoed across the lobby floor to the meeting room door. He couldn’t hear more that a murmur from Patrick’s group. An opportunity lost. George, Myra, and Lisle were still on the loose, and he suspected Gaust would have Harrison or another office herding them to the inn. He peeked outside and hoped he could slip across the street without being seen. THE SOUND OF knocking made Lynn’s fingers jerk as she touched the brush to the paper. She sighed. She’d given up creating anything worth keeping five minutes after she’d started. She put the watercolor pad down and opened the bedroom door. Whoever was banging on the front door had moved to the back. Lynn tiptoed into the bathroom and peeked out of the window. George stepped away from the kitchen door and walked into the yard. Then he turned to look at the house. He tilted his head back, and Lynn ducked under the window ledge before his gaze reached the second story. She slipped into her bedroom. She dabbed her brush into the aquamarine. Maybe she should work on grays and shadows. Today wasn’t a day for bright colors. Suddenly, she regretted leaving George standing in the backyard. By now the detective must have interviewed him, and he might even have found out something about the murder investigation. She tossed the brush into the cup of rinse water and rushed down the stairs. She checked the back then the front door, but George was nowhere in sight. The cop was back. Not Gaust, but a uniformed officer she’d spotted earlier. He had a camera. He snapped shots of Anthea’s yard and continued up the street. Lynn slipped back into the house. “He’s checking for Devil’s Trumpet.” Anthea’s soft voice made her jump. Her aunt was sitting about halfway down the stairs, her arms wrapped about her knees like a forlorn child. “How do you know?” “I watched him from upstairs. He’s taking pictures of plants. He seems capable of recognizing flora in general terms.” She shrugged. “He spent quite a lot of time photographing my Mexican bush sage. The flowers are purple, so maybe he knows his colors, too. I have no idea what anyone expects the pictures to prove. Does that detective think he’s going to spot a telltale ripped leaf that exactly matches a
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piece of leaf from the tea? Besides sage is edible. How are you doing?” Lynn laughed. “I just ran out to see if I could to talk to George. I wanted to find out if he knew anything.” “I’ll admit I would like more information,” Anthea said. “But George?” “I know, not a likely source,” Lynn said. “He probably stopped by to complain that the police aren’t paying attention to his psychic intuition.” “I don’t think our sensible detective is going to be very comfortable with this investigation,” Anthea said. “I’m going to pack some wreaths for the next delivery to Orlando. Can’t sit around doing nothing or all this will get to me.” “I’ll help,” Lynn volunteered. Would Anthea be able to make her next delivery, Lynn wondered, or would Gaust choose a quick and comfortable solution to this uncomfortable murder? The activity proved to be a good cure for a restless mind. Each wreath had to be carefully wrapped in tissue and separated by a piece of cardboard from the others in the box. By the time the packing was done, Lynn’s arms were covered with bits of flowers, and her T-shirt was sticking to her back. She no longer felt the urge to run down to the inn and question George. Instead, she wanted to relax in Anthea’s big, old tub. Still, questions lingered. Who had killed Carl? And why?
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Chapter Nine ALEX HESITATED ON the inn’s porch. Were Myra and Lisle still down by Carl’s or were they going to materialize when he was halfway across the street? Maybe helping the police solve a murder would be more enticing than the thought of helping with his research. This was one of the days he felt like packing in the whole project and going home. Of course Gaust might find him leaving town suspicious. He stepped off the porch. “Alex.” He stopped. The voice was male, but deeper than George’s. Joshua stepped out of the deep shade between the bookstore and the meditation garden. He waved to Alex and crossed the street. “I thought I was the only one who hid behind bushes around here.” Joshua nodded toward Carl’s. “What gives?” “Carl is dead,” Alex said. He needed to come up with a less blunt way of putting it. “Possibly murdered.” Joshua frowned and looked down at the scene. “Lots of cops,” he said. “Random violence in the course of a burglary?” Not a lot of sympathy there. “It looked more like Carl was hunted down by some evil spirit.” Joshua drew back. “I’d expect that from George. Not you.” “You didn’t see the place. Carl was hiding behind a bunch of cushions and staring into nothingness with a look of horror on his face. And don’t say I’m exaggerating. The man looked like he’d been frightened to death.” “I see,” Joshua said, coolly. “And have you communicated this to anyone?” “A rather unhappy police detective,” Alex said, then he guessed where Joshua’s thoughts were going. “I haven’t called the local press if that’s what you mean.” “My apologies.” Joshua let out his breath in a huff and ran a hand though his hair. “Perhaps we can keep the damage to a minimum. I guess that’s my job now.” “But—”
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“Yes?” He shrugged. “I was under the impression that your duties with the Society were nominal and that everyone is expecting you to insist on a new president.” Joshua seemed to take longer to digest this information than the news about Carl’s death. Then he pointed across the street to the meditation garden. “Do you know how long they debated over what material a bench should be made out of to be most conducive to meditation?” Alex surveyed the bench in question. Made of straight slats of weathered wood, it sat on a bed of white pebbles and faced a trio of pink rose bushes. “Wood seems like a natural choice.” “Sure, but have you ever thought that granite might provide a more solid foundation for centering yourself? Or how about an aggregate of energy-enhancing crystals? They’d still be debating benches if an anonymous donor hadn’t dropped that off.” Alex smiled. Joshua apparently dealt with the Society’s difficulties in his own way. “How fortunate.” “Umm. Then they argued what color to paint it.” He shrugged. “I may lack the patience for the Society’s normal matters of business, but this is different. Someone has to make sure that the police don’t impulsively arrest anyone for oh, say, casting spells. Or that the Society doesn’t hit the TV news shows as the Witch Hunt for the new millennium. Does that sound like a job for Myra or any of the other wonderful and unworldly crew around here?” “That depends. Did they finally vote to let the bench weather naturally like that or are they still trying to choose a color?” “The answer would scare you.” Joshua turned toward Carl’s house. “I should get down there and talk to whoever’s in charge.” “The detective in charge is at the inn. I just finished convincing him that he doesn’t need to interrogate Patrick’s clients.” “See what I mean? I imagine he’ll find talking to Patrick challenging enough. Who have they interviewed so far?” “Me. I found Carl. They’ve probably talked to Anthea and Lynn. Lynn was delivering some of Anthea’s herb tea to Carl yesterday.” “Yes, I heard about that,” Joshua said. “But I don’t think Lynn is a very good suspect.” “Patrick is,” Alex said. “He dropped off the tea.” Joshua looked down the street toward Carl’s then back at the inn. “We can hope Patrick’s activities during the night can be accounted for. Has anyone mentioned Patrick’s current difficulties to the detective?”
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“I don’t know,” Alex said. “Everyone’s been down to the scene. I don’t know if they’ve been officially interviewed, but you can bet they’ve given their input.” “And psychic impressions.” Joshua sighed. “Perhaps those will hold off the detective. Well, let’s go in and confront the enemy.” Before Alex could explain he was trying to avoid doing just that, the door opened and Patrick’s ladies spilled out onto the porch. “I’ve been telling John we should get a new van,” one said. “Now the spirits agree with me.” She glanced at Alex and Joshua, her gaze passing over them. She looked down the road. “Why are the police here?” Every head turned. Joshua stepped forward. “How very insightful of you to notice that.” He smiled, and the women smiled back. “We’re working with the local authorities to help them develop better understanding of psychics and the roles they may play in a crime scene investigation.” “Like those psychic detectives on TV?” the herbal tea woman asked, and Joshua nodded. “How exciting.” This from bird voice. “Do you think we could go down and take a look?” Detective Gaust stepped out to the porch. “I’m afraid my men might find that distracting.” “Oh, do you work for the police?” Gaust nodded. “Detective Gaust, ma’am.” The look on the faces of the women told Alex he was going to enjoy what came next. “The police have detectives who look for ghosts?” chirped bird voice. Gaust’s smile looked somewhat weary. “No, ma’am. My name is Gaust, G-A-U-S-T. I work for homicide.” “The ghosts were murdered?” “So many of them are, aren’t they?” Joshua stepped between the detective and the ladies. “Unable to rest until we bring their killers to justice.” He motioned across the street. “If you step across to the bookstore, you’ll find a number of books on the subject. I’d recommend those written by Joshua Sands. He’s an expert in the field.” Watching the women surge across the street toward the shop, Alex wondered if it was open. Then he saw Myra, heading back at full speed. “Don’t know how she manages that every time,” Joshua muttered. “Your men will probably be thankful for the break,” he said, turning to Gaust. The detective looked impatient and irritable. “I’d like to know
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who you are.” Joshua held out his hand. “Detective Gaust, I am the ghost detective.” “Oh, God, not another one,” Gaust said and pulled out his notebook. “Name?” “I think I’ve already earned a demerit,” Joshua said. “Joshua Sands, author, consultant for hauntings and other supernatural phenomena, and president of the True Cassadaga Unified Psychic Society.” “I thought Mr. Hansel was the president.” “If you are here investigating his death then, was, is the correct tense. If you are not, then it is not, which would suit me just as well.” Gaust met Joshua’s gaze. “Sir, I assure you that would be more agreeable to me than you can imagine. Unfortunately, Mr. Hansel is dead, and I will not be calling on anyone’s powers to solve his murder. I allowed you to mislead the ladies because I have no desire to deal with them in addition to the residents of this place.” He turned to Alex. “I assume Patrick is now available for an interview?” “He hasn’t met Patrick yet, has he?” Joshua asked. Alex shrugged. “There has to be a first time.” “For what? And can I join in?” Patrick said, from the inn’s porch. Alex couldn’t resist. “The answer to the second question is yes, but that may teach you to wait for an answer to the first question in the future. Detective Gaust is asking all of us some questions about Carl. He wants to interrogate you.” “Cool.” Patrick turned to Gaust. “I didn’t kill him, but I’m sure there must be some legal loophole that makes it, like, not a crime if someone did.” “I’m afraid I’ll need a bit more detail than that.” Gaust motioned Patrick into the inn and followed him through the door. Once again, Alex found himself heading back inside. Rafael was waiting, looking considerably more worried than Patrick. Gaust stopped in the middle of the room. “Mr. Janick, I’ve already spoken to you, so you can go home. If the rest of you will wait here I’ll call you in turn.” He gestured for Patrick to return to the room where he’d been giving his reading, then followed him in, closing the door. Rafael hesitated at the edge of the doorway. Alex put a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go into the kitchen. It’s worse if it looks like you’re trying to protect him.”
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PATRICK TOOK A SEAT. The detective sat across from him and leafed through his notebook like he was getting his thoughts in order. Trying to decide if Gaust was wasting time to make him nervous or more relaxed, Patrick studied the detective. Good suit, short hair, wedding band. Probably very conservative. The detective looked up. Patrick smiled at him and said nothing. The detective flipped to a new page in his notebook. “Name?” “Patrick Brian Kulhane. Would you like a business card?” He pulled one out of his wallet and passed it to the detective. “Thank you.” The detective glanced at the card, then paused and looked again. “You are an intuitive psychic reader?” “Yep.” The detective wrote something in his notebook, then tucked the card into the back. “Why do you think killing Mr. Hansel shouldn’t be a crime?” “Because he was a fake. He just pretended to be a psychic.” “How do you know that?” “Because I’m a psychic.” “I see. Did the other psychics around here know that Mr. Hansel was a fake?” “Don’t know. Myra will probably say she did. Luke will say something like ‘Carl’s powers were waning.’ Everybody will say he had good business sense. Is it good business sense to make money from being psychic when you aren’t?” Instead of answering his question, the detective made more notes. “You delivered some tea to Mr. Hansel yesterday. Is there a reason you offered to take the tea up for Ms. Yates?” Patrick stared at the detective for a moment, trying to figure out who Ms. Yates was. “Oh, you mean Lynn. I took the tea so she could talk to Alex more. They’re supposed to fall in love, but Alex is being really stubborn about it.” This time the detective smiled. “Maybe he has his reasons.” “Yeah, he says it’s his work. But everyone works. You work, and you’re married.” “You know I’m married because you’re psychic?” Patrick held up his left hand and wiggled his ring finger. “You have a wedding ring on. But see, that’s the kinda psychic Carl was. He’d say you were married ’cause he could see the ring. Or if you didn’t have a ring but he could see the tan line from one, he’d sense
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that you had some trouble with marriage. Or he might tell you that you’re very organized because you take lots of notes. Only he’d say it like it was some sort of psychic thing he sensed. He was really good at faking.” The detective leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin. “What did you do last night after the Esbat?” “Had milk and cookies with everyone then went to bed.” “Alone?” Patrick thought for a moment. People were supposed to tell cops the truth. “With Rafe.” The detective blinked. “Mr. Rafael Cruz?” Patrick nodded and watched him make another note. “I am required to check that statement,” he said. “It’s okay. Everyone knows.” “Then perhaps you should send Mr. Cruz in to talk to me.” “I HAVE NOT HAD a chance to warn him yet,” Rafael said, as the kitchen door closed behind them. “That may be best,” Joshua said. “He’s less likely to act suspiciously if he doesn’t know any one has a reason to suspect him.” “The detective will talk to Myra,” Rafael said. “He will know.” “Then perhaps it’s best if he gets to know Patrick first,” Joshua said. He turned to Alex. “You’ve spent more time with our friendly detective than the rest of us. What do you think?” “I don’t think psychics and Wiccans rate high with him,” Alex said, “and he hasn’t even met George yet.” “George.” Joshua sat upright in his chair. “Good lord, we’ve got to keep him away from reporters.” “How do you plan to do that?” Rafael asked. “Tell him his admission depends on his silence,” Alex suggested. “It might work,” Joshua said. “Unless he gets a sign telling him otherwise.” “Perhaps we should make sure he gets a sign telling him not to first,” Rafael said. Joshua gave him a surprised look, then relaxed. “I wouldn’t necessarily object to arranging a sign for a good cause,” he said, “but you do realize then we’d have to admit George to the Society.” “Look, even if he babbles, will anyone take him seriously?” Alex asked. Joshua shrugged. “The reporters will think he’s too good to be true.”
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Patrick opened the kitchen door. “I heard that. Are you talking about me?” “No,” Alex said. “We were talking about George.” “George? Too good to be true? I’m much more interesting. Rafe, the cop wants you next. He wants to check that you’re my boyfriend.” Rafael stood, his eyes meeting Patrick’s. “He asked you that?” “He asked what I did after the Esbat. I said I went to bed with you.” Rafael groaned and walked out of the room. Patrick threw himself into a chair. “What were you saying about George?” “We were wondering if we could keep him from talking to reporters,” Joshua said. “Why?” Patrick gave them a wide smile. “Do you think he’s going to say anything worse than what Myra might say? Or Lisle? Or me? Do you think if we don’t talk, the reporters will stay away? They’ll be banging on everybody’s door looking for an interview. How’s Anthea going to take something like that?” Joshua laughed. “She won’t take it at all. She’ll probably squirt them with her garden hose.” “And how would that look on TV?” Patrick asked. “Crazy old witch attacks reporter. Who’s going to know she’s not the crazy one? When you see my smiling face on the TV, just remember, I’m doing it for the good of the Society.” “And because you think it will attract clients,” Alex added. “Hey, do you think they would put my name and phone number at the bottom of the screen?” Patrick turned as the front door slammed and a rush of voices came from the lobby. “Sounds like everyone’s back. Guess I should go organize them so Gaust can interrogate everyone in an orderly fashion. What about you two?” Joshua stood. “Tell Gaust that when he’s through here, he can come by my place. I’d prefer my conversation with him to take place in more privacy.” Alex stood, too. The police would probably spend the rest of the day interviewing everyone and if he wanted keep up the appearance of an objective researcher with Gaust, sitting here all day wouldn’t help. “I’m going to go back to my apartment and try to forget about this for a little while.” Joshua smiled. “Good luck.” TATTERED DREAM FRAGMENTS evaporated in the morning light, and Lynn lay staring up at the ceiling. Someone she’d known had been
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murdered yesterday. Barely known. She pushed out of bed. If Carl had been poisoned by Anthea’s tea, her aunt would need her help. Lynn dressed and headed downstairs. Anthea was sitting at the kitchen table. She nodded toward the stove. “There’s hot water in the kettle.” A basket of fresh herbs sat on the counter and Lynn noticed that the phone had been plugged in. At the table, Anthea’s fingers deftly twisted long stems into bundles. “Figure I might as well get something done, although no one around here may dare drink my tea anymore,” Anthea said. “I’m sure they know what happened wasn’t your fault,” Lynn said, making a cup of coffee. “Do you really dry your herbs in those quaint bundles?” Anthea laughed. “These are mainly for show. Florida’s too humid for good air-drying. I have a good electric drier. Some herbs I just pop into the microwave.” “You’ve destroyed my vision of the quaint country life.” “The quaint life had its disadvantages. I’m keeping the microwave. Want to help bundle herbs?” Lynn shook her head. “I’m feeling cooped up. I was thinking of taking a walk.” She paused. Someone out there was a murderer. “Do you think it’s safe?” Anthea sighed. “We can’t lock ourselves in the house forever.” She fiddled with a bundle of rosemary. “All right, I admit it, I’m sitting here wishing someone would tell me what’s going on. Go for your walk and find out what the latest gossip is.” As soon as she came within sight of the inn, George leapt from the porch chair and rushed towards her. George’s information would be vividly colored, but at least she could count on him to tell her everything he knew. From there she could decide where to go next. “Where have you been?” George demanded. “I went by the house yesterday, but nobody answered the door.” “Anthea didn’t want to be disturbed,” Lynn said. “I wanted to make sure you were all right.” “We’re fine. Anthea’s upset.” “The evil released by the witches must be affecting her,” George said. “We’re all being affected even if we don’t know it. Lisle is going to channel the angels tonight so we can ask them about Carl.” “I see,” Lynn said slowly. She should have expected something like a séance. “Does she think they know what happened?” “She’s not sure they’ll tell. She says that sometimes they feel
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things are better left unclear. Could that be?” “I’d hate to second guess an angel,” Lynn said. “Perhaps they feel we should solve our problems on our own.” “You mean if Carl’s death serves a higher purpose.” Lynn frowned. “I’m not sure I’m able to see the higher purpose in someone’s murder.” “I can,” George said. “And so will you when you know more about the Society. We’ll all be admitted; you, me, Lisle. We’re the first step toward making the Society stronger. Don’t you understand? The spirits drew us here at the same time because we’re going to form the foundation of the new Society. Myra said so. We’re here to help her.” “I don’t see how Carl’s death fits into that plan.” “Don’t you know?” George leaned closer and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Alex told Patrick that Carl looked like he had been chased by evil spirits. Colleen’s curse killed him because the spirits that protect the Society didn’t protect him.” “I doubt Alex said that,” Lynn replied. Apparently Detective Gaust hadn’t shared the information about Devil’s Trumpet and hallucinations. “Of course Alex didn’t say that,” George said. “I told you he doesn’t really belong here. But he described what he saw to Patrick, and Patrick told us. That was when Lisle decided to channel the angels, but she wants to invite the witches. She’s been over there for ages. We’ve got to make her come back. Myra doesn’t like her being with the witches. She wasn’t happy about you being with them last night, but I explained that.” “Explained what?” “That it was Anthea’s plan. A way to find out what the witches are really up to.” Lynn looked at George in surprise. If he had figured that out, why hadn’t Colleen? No, Colleen had known. Colleen simply hadn’t cared. “Lisle,” George pleaded. “We’ve got to get her away from the witches or everything will be ruined.” Including Myra’s plan to make sure she, George, and Lisle were admitted to the Society. With admission to the Society at stake, George wasn’t likely to give up on his plans. “Okay, okay, we’ll go get her,” she said. George babbled about the police not understanding psychics or the higher aims of Cassadaga as they walked to Colleen’s. Lynn paid enough attention to know when to throw out a word of agreement, but she found herself trying to figure out who she would name as the
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murderer if she were Lisle. She doubted Colleen would poison Carl. Myra, on the other hand, might have no objection to using Colleen’s Esbat as a smokescreen. Of course, accusing Myra would damage Lisle’s chances of getting into the Society. As she followed George up Colleen’s walk, Lynn wondered how big of an obstacle to Myra’s plans had been eliminated with Carl’s death. Colleen didn’t seem surprised to see them when she opened the door. “Lynn, welcome, and I see you brought a friend.” “Where’s Lisle?” George demanded. Colleen smiled at him. “In the living room.” She turned to lead the way. Lit by the morning light, the living room was no less strange than it had been in the flickering candlelight. Crystal drops on chains scattered the sunlight about the room where polished surfaces caught it and flung it into what should have been shadows. Lisle, comfortably curled on the couch, sipped tea while prisms played a light show in her long hair. Skye sat on a cushion with her chubby legs stretched out in front of her. George strode across the room and grabbed the tea from Lisle’s hands. She gaped at him in surprise, hands still outstretched as if holding the cup. “What are you doing? They could have put anything in this.” Lisle lowered her hands and folded them in her lap. “I am protected, and you are behaving badly.” “We serve nothing harmful here,” Skye said. “You cast curses,” George spat. “It was a protective spell,” Skye said. “Not a curse.” “Then why is Carl dead?” “That has nothing to do with us. We harm no one.” “You should listen to her,” Colleen said. “You know very little about our religion.” “Religion,” George scoffed. “You’re a bunch of murderous harpies. This was a wonderful place before you came. Why don’t you just get out?” He waved wildly, and the teacup slipped from his grasp. It flew towards Lynn splattering its contents on the way. Lynn grabbed the flying cup. As her hands wrapped around it, her foot slipped on the well-waxed, tea-splattered floor. She slid and landed on top of Skye, the cup still cradled in her hands. She felt a sharp, tight pain in her back and knew something was wrong. “Skye, don’t move.” Lynn pushed the whisper through clenched teeth and sat the cup on the floor. Then she slowly pushed herself to a sitting position. The muscles along the right side of her spine screamed in protest.
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George stared down at her, his mouth moving slowly up and down. “This is what the evil they bring does,” he muttered. Colleen pushed him out of the way. “Lynn, stay there. I’ll get some help.” “We don’t need your kind of help,” George said. Colleen’s hands clenched, but Lisle flowed from her seat. She pointed at the door. “George, go back to the inn before you do any more harm.” George stared at her, angry, not embarrassed. “You don’t know what danger you’re in, but stay here if you want. Come on, Lynn, let’s leave.” “What?” “She’s not walking anywhere,” Skye said. “She’s not safe here. You probably cast a spell to make this happen so that you could keep her here.” Lynn sighed. “George, this was not caused by a spell. It’s a muscle spasm. I’ve had them before.” On and off since the car accident with Mark. Though it was more likely to happen when she was stressed. She wondered if the source of stress was the murder investigation or just being around George. Colleen stepped forward. “Lynn, what do you need us to do right now? Should we take you to the hospital?” “No. What I need is to go home and rest. The muscles will unknot themselves in a day or two.” “Kava kava,” Skye said. “It’s good for muscle spasms.” “You’re not giving her anything.” “George, I promise not to take anything except a nice, long bath when I get back to Anthea’s.” “I’ll drive you back,” Colleen said. “My car is a two-seater so I won’t have room for other passengers.” She gave George a pointed look. “Lynn, are you sure you can’t walk? Do you want me to go get help?” “Yes, I’m sure Alex is strong enough to lift you,” Lisle said. George glared and Lynn was sure Lisle had made the suggestion just to irritate him. For a moment, she was afraid George would counter it by offering to carry her home himself. “We should get her home as soon as possible,” George said, abruptly changing tactics. “Having Colleen drive her will be faster, but I’m checking to make sure she gets home. Are you going to stay here or come back with me?” That was for Lisle.
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“Skye and I haven’t finished our conversation,” Lisle said. With a final glare around the room, George turned and left. Just the sound of the front door shutting behind him made Lynn relax. “Are you better off standing on your own or do you want us to lift you?” Skye asked. “If I have something to hold onto, I can pull myself up.” “Then let’s try this.” Colleen stood in front of her, arms extended. “Hold on to me and try to lift yourself. Skye will hold you so you don’t fall back down.” She bent and took Lynn’s hands. “Come on. I’m stronger than I look.” In a few minutes, they had Lynn standing in a semi-erect position. “You still look awfully crooked,” Skye said, moving around to face Lynn. “Are you sure you can walk?” “The muscles on my right side seem to be the stubborn ones this time. Walking usually helps loosen them up a bit.” “Make sure Anthea gives you some kava kava. It will help.” As she spoke, Skye seemed to be bending her own body in an echo of Lynn’s. “Are you sure we shouldn’t take you to the emergency room?” Lynn laughed. “I can just see the medical report. Cause of injury—flying teacup. Really, I’ll be fine.” “Yoga,” Colleen suggested. “It helps balance both sides of the body.” Lynn nodded. “I do some of the exercises regularly.” A small lie. She meant to do them regularly. But right now she needed less advice and more rest. “How far is it to the car?” “I’ll bring it around to the front,” Colleen said. “We’ll just have to get you down the front walk.” “I might as well start now and meet you there. This could take a few minutes.” Lynn took a couple of tentative steps. They didn’t hurt, but her stride was limited. Colleen watched her, then with a nod, hurried out of the room. Lisle and Skye escorted Lynn down the hall, out the front door and down the walk. Lynn was too busy concentrating on the simple act of walking to pay much attention to conversation, but she did hear George’s name muttered once or twice. She sensed that any comradeship Lisle felt with him had worn thin. The three women tucked her into Colleen’s Miata. It wasn’t an easy maneuver, but she managed to sit gingerly on the edge of the car’s low seat and grip the door handle to support herself. Relaxing into the seat might feel better, but she knew she’d pay for it when she tried to get out. George was probably already back at the inn spreading
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tales about the evil witches. She hoped he didn’t try any more rescue attempts, because she didn’t think she was in any shape to rescue him from them.
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Chapter Ten COLLEEN DID HER best to make the short ride painless. After Lynn’s sharp inhalation at the first bump, she touched the gas pedal so seldom the car almost coasted to Anthea’s. Colleen pulled as close as possible to Anthea’s door and honked the horn. As Lynn pushed her crooked body out of the seat, Anthea emerged, followed by Myra. “My God, she’s trying to kill off another one,” Myra screamed. Anthea ignored her as she hurried down the steps. “What happened?” Lynn’s pained eased a little as Anthea wrapped a sturdy arm around her waist. “I slipped and hurt my back.” She didn’t want to volunteer more information in front of Myra. “Colleen was kind enough to drive me home.” Colleen had no reason to be as circumspect. “George threw a teacup at her, so this was the work of one of your lot. If you want to saddle yourselves with the likes of George, so be it, but keep him out of my way.” “Better him than you,” Myra spat. “They should tie you to a stake and burn you.” “Be warned.” Colleen waggled her finger. “Evil comes back threefold, even evil thoughts. Lynn, I’ll call later to see how you’re doing.” With that, she climbed into her car. Her tires squealed on the asphalt and threw up a few stray pebbles. Lynn hoped she didn’t run down any innocent tourists on her way home. “You heard her, Anthea,” Myra said. “She’s threatening members of the Society.” Anthea raised an eyebrow. “You suggested burning her at the stake. Lynn, can you manage the stairs?” Fortunately there were only three, so with Anthea on one side and a good grip on the railing, Lynn reached the top. Myra hovered nearby, showing no signs of leaving. Anthea soon had Lynn settled with an ice pack under her back. Lynn hated the ice, but her doctor insisted on its use. “Tell me why George threw a teacup at you.” Lynn couldn’t resist a giggle. “He didn’t actually throw it. He was
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gesturing, and it went flying out of his hand. For some reason, I thought I should catch it. I slipped and ended up with muscle spasms in my back.” “This happened at Colleen’s?” Myra asked, knowingly. “It seems an odd place for George to go,” Anthea said in response to Lynn’s nod. “He dragged me over there to help him rescue Lisle. She plans to solve Carl’s murder tonight by channeling her angels.” “Lisle’s channeling must be stopped,” Myra said, surprising Lynn. “She didn’t bother to consult me or get the Society’s official permission before planning this event. This flagrant violation of Society rules has gone on long enough. It seems your aunt doesn’t agree with me.” “But what if Lisle really can solve the murder?” Lynn asked. Perhaps Lisle’s friendship with the Wiccans had changed Myra’s mind about the likelihood of gaining Lisle’s support if she let her in the Society. “No one is going to accept the ramblings of an unapproved channeler,” Myra said. “The least I can do is make the police understand that they should only work with approved Society members to solve the murder.” “I’m sure Detective Gaust doesn’t fully understand the Society’s position on such things,” Anthea said. “You should explain it.” Myra stood and brushed fussily at her skirt. “You’re right. I’ll let him know right away and tell him that if Lisle does say anything of verifiable importance, we’ll notify him. Anthea, I’ll see you tonight.” “If she disapproves, why is she going?” Lynn asked as soon as she heard the door close. “Because she can’t stand to let anything happen without being there. If she can’t stop it, she has to be a part of it.” “So when she says ‘anything of verifiable importance’ she means anything she determines to be of importance.” Lynn shifted to get the ice into a more comfortable position. “Anthea, do you think Lisle’s in any danger? “ “It’s possible,” Anthea said draping a knitted afghan over Lynn’s feet, “if the murderer believes in Lisle’s abilities.” Lynn sighed. “Around here, that’s not a very reassuring thought. So George may be right. Things never did go very well when George was right.” She grimaced as a muscle twinged. “Perhaps we should do something.” “You’ve already done something,” Anthea scolded. “You’re going to spend the rest of the day on the couch, and if you’re a good
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girl, you can go to the séance tonight.” Lynn laughed then grabbed her side. “Ouch. That hurts. Anthea, do you know you live in a strange place?” Before Anthea could agree, someone knocked on the front door. “If that’s George, tell him I’m alive and well, but don’t let him in.” “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Anthea said, tucking in the corner of the afghan. “I prefer my china untossed.” Then she went to answer the door. She returned shortly followed by Detective Gaust and a couple of uniformed officers. “The detective wants to search the house, dear,” Anthea announced. “You don’t mind if he looks through your things?” “I have a warrant,” Gaust said bluntly, as if to remind the women that whether or not they minded didn’t matter. “I guess this was bound to happen,” Lynn said. “Anthea, are you sure you don’t want to get a lawyer?” “It would be a waste of time and money,” Anthea replied. “I’m sure once the detective has satisfied protocol by checking our house, he’ll start looking for Carl’s killer.” Gaust scowled in response to her comment, and the search was long and thorough. Anthea fumed when the carefully packed wreaths were unpacked and examined, and fussed when Gaust insisted Lynn get off the couch so that it could be searched. A couple of pennies and a small pair of scissors were pulled from between the seat cushions. Gaust placed them on the coffee table and let Lynn get resettled. Anthea made a point of readjusting the afghan. “Will this take much longer?” she demanded. “Only as long as necessary,” Gaust said and moved on to the next room. Anthea winked at Lynn. “I called Myra to let her know where the detective was. She’s so eager to talk to him about Lisle, that she said she was going to wait by his car until he left.” As soon as the search was done and Gaust walked out the door, Lynn threw the afghan aside. “Anthea, help me off this damn couch. After everything that man just put us through, I want to enjoy our revenge.” With a chuckle, Anthea pulled her up and helped her to the window. Myra had Gaust backed up against his car and was talking rapidly. Uniformed men stood close enough to hear everything she said, but far enough behind her so that she couldn’t see the smirks on their faces. “Poor Gaust,” Lynn said. “This whole place is one big mystery to
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him.” ALEX FOLLOWED PATRICK as he dragged a peacock chair with a flaring back and lots of curling canes into the inn’s dining room. He placed it throne-like in the middle of a half-circle of cafe chairs. “How’s that?” Patrick asked brushing his hands on his jeans. “It looks very regal.” Patrick nodded. “I stole it from one of the back rooms. Rafe shoved it there when he took over, but Lisle will like it.” He stopped to listen to a clap of thunder. “Hey, do you think it’ll storm during the séance?” “Isn’t that taking atmosphere a little too far?” Alex asked. “Atmosphere is good.” Patrick turned to yell at the open door. “Lisle, do angels like storms?” Lisle stepped into the room. “God’s rain nourishes the earth.” She looked around and smiled. “Did you set up all this for me?” Patrick nodded. “This is a first class inn. We can accommodate all psychic needs. Do you need candles or tarot cards?” Lisle smiled. “Perhaps a few candles and some flowers? The angels appreciate beauty.” “I cut some roses from the meditation garden,” Patrick said. “But don’t tell Myra. I have them hidden in the kitchen.” Lisle frowned. “No, she’s not very happy with me. She doesn’t seem to understand that I’m trying to help. Then George and Lynn tried to drag me away from Colleen’s.” “Lynn?” Alex asked. “Hmm, she was with George. Though she really didn’t seem that worried about me. In fact, I sensed that he had dragged her to Colleen’s with him. Perhaps you should let her know you’re interested.” “Why do you think I’m interested?” Alex asked. “Patrick said so.” She shrugged. “I’m going upstairs to meditate.” Alex glared at Patrick. “Who else did you tell—” Then he heard George’s surprised greeting from the lobby and Lisle’s cheerful reply. “See, Lynn isn’t with George,” Patrick said. “I am not—” Then George came into the room. “Shouldn’t somebody be watching Lisle? She just went upstairs and Wallingford is up there.” “So?” Patrick asked. “Carl wasn’t bored to death.” “Carl told him he wasn’t right for the Society,” George said. That comment caught Alex’s attention. “When was this?”
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“Before Carl went to Orlando. They were talking in the meditation garden, and I was in Myra’s bookshop. The windows were open, so I couldn’t help but hear them.” Alex remembered seeing that conversation. It had looked intense. “What did Carl say?” George shifted his feet uneasily. “Just that the spirits couldn’t be forced, and they didn’t give a damn about all of Wallingford’s certifications.” “And Wallingford?” “He said something about he was sure he’d get a sign that even Carl could agree on. Carl said ‘we’ll see’ and walked away.” “Hmmm.” Wallingford had money and was obviously hoping to use it to influence Carl. If so, there were two possibilities. If Carl objected to a bribe, Wallingford might have eliminated Carl to ensure he wouldn’t be denounced. If Carl hadn’t objected, his death meant Wallingford had just lost the security of an approved sign—and that meant Wallingford wasn’t Carl’s killer. “I don’t think we should leave him up there alone with Lisle,” George said. “So make him come down,” Patrick said, plainly becoming bored with the discussion. George barged up the stairs and in a moment they heard him pounding on a door. They heard muffled words then more door banging. After a few moments, George came about halfway down the stairs. “Wallingford won’t come down and Lisle won’t let me in her room, so I’m going to stand guard in the hallway.” A clap of thunder echoed his remark. “Good idea,” Alex said. Patrick snickered. That sound of amusement reminded Alex of Patrick’s attempt at a love connection, Alex turned to him. “You and I are going to have a chat in the kitchen.” Patrick shrugged. “I always get dragged to the kitchen for scoldings.” Alex led the way without responding to that comment. When they reached the kitchen, he pointed to a chair. “Sit.” Patrick did and looked up innocently at him. Rafael turned from the sink. “What has he done?” Alex crossed his arms and gave Patrick a stern glare. “Why did you have to tell everyone I like Lynn? You’ve embarrassed her.” “Me?” Patrick said. “You were the one who came on to her in front of everyone, like you were interested. Then you just walked away
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and left her. Don’t you think you embarrassed her?” “When did I do that?” Alex demanded. “At the witch thing. You dragged her away from George like you were all interested. Which you are! Then you dumped her and left her to walk back with the rest of us. Everyone noticed. Lisle noticed.” “He is right,” Rafael said. “We were just talking.” Rafael shook his head. “Alex, you do not pull a woman away from another man unless you are interested.” “Even I know that,” Patrick said. “I don’t know why you’re worried. She’s interested back. I’ll prove it.” He jumped up and ran out of the kitchen. “Where is he going?” Rafael smiled. “Just wait.” Alex heard footsteps then Patrick swung through the door. He held a gray silk pouch of a suspicious size. “Okay, sit down and I’ll give you a reading.” “You can’t prove I’m interested or that she is with tarot cards,” Alex objected. “I’m going to prove you’re supposed to be interested, ’cause for some reason that worries you.” He slipped the deck out of its bag. “Here you shuffle them, but don’t peek.” Alex did, keeping the cards face down. The back had an abstract design against soft gray. He held out the cards to Patrick. “Nope. You’re going to do this ’cause you’ll think I’m cheating. Put the first card here. It’s the one that tells where your love life is now.” Alex turned over the top card. He blinked in surprise. A couple entwined suggestively on a purple background with Cupid hovering overhead. Rafael chuckled. “Two of Cups!” Patrick gloated. “See, you’re starting a new romance. Now, here and here.” He pointed to the side of the first card. “A card for you and another to represent your new love.” Alex turned over the Hermit. The name was at the bottom of the card, but the figure was an ancient angel leaning on a gnarled staff with his wings bound in colorful tatters. The next card was another angel, a female holding a sphere of fire. “This isn’t the standard tarot deck.” “It’s my Winged Spirit deck. It has angels. See, the hermit—that’s you. Isolated and withdrawn from the world. Right? And that is Lynn, the Queen of Wands.” “Somehow, I imagine Lynn as less fiery,” Alex said, hiding his
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surprise at Patrick’s descriptions of the cards. “Fiery is not a bad thing,” Rafael said. “Lynn is the Queen of Wands ’cause she’s warm and artistic,” Patrick said. “Below those, you put the challenge card. It tells you what obstacles you might have.” Alex dealt the cards. This time a winged angel hovered over a scantily draped woman. The angel reached down while the woman reached up, but their hands didn’t touch. “The Lovers again?” Rafael asked. Patrick nodded. “It means a choice. See, that’s the angel Samiasa trying to decide between his love of heaven and his love of a woman.” Alex blinked. “The woman would be Noah’s daughter.” “See, Alex knows the story. Now, the last card. It’s the future, if you make the right choice.” Alex turned over the last card. The couple from the first card was back. This time they embraced surrounded by goblets while Cupid tied a ribbon around them. “Cool. You’re gonna marry Lynn.” “Patrick, you are leaping,” Rafael said. “Well, he should. That’s the Ten of Cups. It’s, like, true love.” Alex put down the rest of the deck. Letting Patrick do a reading had been a mistake. He wasn’t ready for marriage or even a relationship. He couldn’t drag someone else into the uncertainty of his life. Patrick sat there smiling at him. “I hope you don’t plan on announcing the upcoming nuptials to the entire town,” he snarled. “Because these cards are wrong.” Patrick was still smiling when he stalked out of the kitchen. That worried him more than the cards had. BY SÉANCE TIME, the worst of the thunderstorm had passed, but a thick layer of clouds still drizzled. Lynn perched on the edge of the sofa and peered out the window. “It’s very wet.” “I’ll call someone to drive us,” Anthea said. She laid a loosefitting dress across the arm the couch. “Not Colleen. I’m not climbing back into that Miata.” She limped to the downstairs bathroom and pulled the dress over her head. The soft material fell to just below her knees. Long enough so that her lack of panty hose wouldn’t be terribly noticeable. Comfortable but presentable. “Joshua’s coming,” Anthea said from the doorway. “He has a station wagon.” Lynn started to settle on the couch, then stopped at the sound of the front door opening.
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“Well, girl, what did you do to yourself?” Joshua called. “Just a little fall,” Lynn said, making her way slowly across the room. “Humph,” Joshua said. “I’d avoid these little falls in the future. If you’ll permit some help?” She nodded and reached out to take his arm. Instead, he reached under her arm and lifted her off the ground. “Don’t fuss. This makes me feel manly.” Outside, Lynn noted with relief that no one was around to watch as Joshua placed her on the back seat of the station wagon. She settled as best she could while Joshua and Anthea took their places in the front. Joshua backed out of the drive, and Lynn relaxed a little more. The car glided like an ocean liner rather than bouncing like a dingy in a storm as Colleen’s convertible had. Joshua parked on the road in front of the inn’s main entrance, and Lynn wiggled out of the seat. She was determined to walk into the inn, so when Joshua headed her way, she held up her hand. “I think I can do this on my own.” He offered her his arm. “Lisle would never forgive either of us for stealing her show, but I can at least help you up the stairs.” Fortunately there were only four steps. If she leaned too heavily on Joshua’s arm, he didn’t show it. Then he opened the door and bowed her and Anthea through. Patrick was stretched out on one of the inn’s sofas. “Oh, good, you’re here,” he said, pushing up to a sitting position. He wore tight jeans and a half-buttoned shirt that looked like it belonged to Rafael. “Nothing exciting is happening. Lisle is still getting ready, and George is camped out in the hallway upstairs protecting her from all harm, also known as Wallingford.” “Why Wallingford?” Lynn asked. “’Cause he’s the only one up there and George needs something to guard against,” Patrick said. His eyes seemed to study her. “You look good in a dress. Alex is here somewhere.” Lynn groaned. “Patrick, now isn’t a good time.” “You sound just like Alex. You two are perfect for each other. You can sit around and be serious together all the time.” “I am not serious all the time,” Lynn objected, and heard Joshua chuckle. She whirled. “You’re as bad as he is.” “Come to enjoy your downfall, witch?” came a yell from outside. Colleen’s reply was clear and challenging. “If your seer has any ability, I’ll see my name cleared and one of your precious Society members checking into the nearest penitentiary.”
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Joshua turned and looked out the door. “Ah, the unholy trio.” “Good, now things will get interesting,” Patrick said, as the others entered. Colleen led the pack. She greeted Anthea and Lynn with a quick smile then swirled off a light cape and draped it over Patrick’s suddenly waiting arms. Lynn had to admit that Colleen had dressed for the occasion. A loose, flowing black dress covered her almost from neck to ankle. A deep red scarf decorated with glittering stars and moons was tied around her shoulders. Colleen held herself tall, head and shoulders back, knowing that the look demanded attention. Attention that Skye didn’t want. She had swathed herself in darkness, layering a large shirt over a dull gray skirt and collarless blouse. Then she’d draped herself in a large fringed shawl. The effect looked very much as if Skye were trying to create a shadow and crawl into it. Colleen put a hand out, dragging Skye into the light with her. “We’re here,” Colleen said. “Where is the rest of the precious Society? Afraid to show?” “No one from the Society is afraid,” Myra spat. “We didn’t kill Carl.” Myra’s outfit of thin, shiny blue material with an oversized top over loose-fitting pants made her look like an overripe blueberry. A couple of gold chains flowed over her breasts to let their pendants jangle together at bellybutton level. One was a fairy with jeweled wings and the other, a gold-horned unicorn. Colleen met Myra’s venom with a smooth smile. “Don’t pretend you didn’t have reasons for wanting him dead.” At that moment, Rafael threw open the double doors to the meeting room. “Welcome, I am glad you could come tonight.” His voice was pitched to gain everyone’s attention, and Lynn noticed that Myra and Colleen left off arguing to turn in his direction. “Lisle is involved in meditation and preparation. She has asked me to seat everyone prior to her arrival,” Rafael continued, smoothly. “This is to prevent too much movement and discord,” he gave Myra and Colleen a glance, “from disturbing her surroundings. If you would be so kind as to enter.” He stepped away from the door and gestured into the room. Lynn moved forward. Her back would feel better if she found a seat and stayed put. In the room, a circle of plain chairs had been arranged in a circle. A single ornate chair marked the spot where Lisle would sit. Tables on either side of the rattan chair had been decorated with vases of roses and scented candles. Lynn headed toward a chair a
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safe distance from Lisle’s throne. Patrick upset her plans. Moving with youthful speed, he made it to the chairs before her. “We all have assigned places. We’re sitting boy, girl, boy, girl, to help with the energy.” “It’s not going to work,” Lynn said, suspecting what he had in mind. He winked at her. “I really don’t see how that will help,” Myra said, entering the room. “Later you will,” Patrick said. He pointed to a chair. “You sit there. Luke and June should be here any moment. Luke sits beside you and June beside him. Just in time,” he grabbed Wallingford, who’d just walked into the room. “You sit beside Myra. Next, Lynn. Over here.” Lynn found herself sitting beside Wallingford. “And we’ll have Alex beside the lovely Lynn.” Alex stood in the doorway, looking confused. Lynn noticed that his jeans were less snug than Patrick’s and his shirt properly buttoned. “Anthea might want to sit beside Lynn.” “Nope, you have to sit boy-girl,” Patrick said. “For the energy,” Rafael added, with a smile. “Anthea can sit next to you,” Patrick said. Lynn found herself trapped with Wallingford glaring on one side, and Alex, who had deserted her after Colleen’s coven, on the other. Anthea took her seat beside Alex. Then Patrick seated Joshua, Skye, Rafael, and Colleen. The two chairs beside Lisle were empty. Lynn calculated that Patrick had left one for himself and the other for George, perhaps in honor of his standing guard. When June and Luke entered from the lobby, Patrick escorted them to their seats. “Good, everybody’s ready,” he said with a satisfied nod. “No moving around while I’m gone.” With that admonition, he left the room. Lynn looked at Alex, who glanced back and gave her a brief nod. The warmth of a blush rushed to her cheeks. She shifted in Wallingford’s direction. He crossed his arms and glared at her, as if daring her to say anything. Lynn sighed and looked down at the floor, which seemed to be what the rest of the group was doing. She didn’t have to study the polished wood for long. After a few minutes, Patrick returned leading Lisle. George followed close on her heels. Lisle arranged herself on the rattan chair. She wore a white dress with wide flowing sleeves. She calmly surveyed her group. Lynn saw her smile as she looked at Myra, but her gaze passed on. When she’d completed the circle, she took a breath and spoke.
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“Some among you have brought unholy symbols into this room. You must remove these worldly idols before the angels will consent to appear.” Everyone turned to Colleen who met the challenge with a laugh. She removed a pair of silver earrings, moons holding diamonds in their curves. Then she slipped a chain over her head. Lynne expected a pentacle, but instead the pendant was a length of crystal held in a swirl of silver. As Colleen held it by the chain, Lynn realized it was a small crystal wand. “Do you mean these?” Colleen said. “The angels must be very sensitive indeed.” Springing from her chair, Lisle took the jewelry from her. “And your scarf. It glitters with Pagan signs.” Colleen surrendered the red scarf, and Lisle turned to Rafael. He pulled a gold cross from beneath his shirt. “No, that you can wear,” Lisle said. She turned to Patrick whose half-buttoned shirt revealed a chest bare of jewelry. “Do you think your body is of interest to the angels? Button your shirt.” Patrick blushed and fumbled with his buttons. Joshua was next. He met Lisle’s gaze, and spread his arms. “Child, at my age, I’m happy if anyone is interested in my body.” She shook her head and moved on to Skye. “You can’t hide your beliefs from the heavens.” Skye flushed red and dropped a pentagram on a sliver chain into Colleen’s scarf. Anthea received no more than a glance but Lisle stopped in front of Alex. “And what have we here?” She reached inside his collar to pull out a silver chain. Alex’s hand went up to stop her, and for a moment they held each other. Then with a smile, Lisle tucked the chain back inside his collar. Since Lynn was sitting next to Alex, she too had glimpsed the silver crucifix. Then it was her turn, but she rated only a glance since she was wearing no jewelry. “I have nothing for you,” Wallingford said, keeping his arms crossed. Lisle didn’t challenge him. Lynn noticed that Luke and June were solemnly tying a handful of items in a handkerchief. George looked on with a disappointed frown, as if he almost wished he had something to renounce. Lisle stopped in front of Myra. She eyed the dangling pendants. “What are those toys you wear? The witches can be excused for their ignorance, but you claim the knowledge to lead.” She stretched her hand out demandingly. Myra turned an angry red and tugged the chains over her head.
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Wordlessly, she dropped them in Lisle’s hands. Lisle turned and handed the collection over to Rafael. “Take these from this room.” “I will put them under the desk,” Rafael said. “They will be safe there.” He left the room and was back in a moment. “Now, we will begin,” Lisle said when Rafael returned to his seat. George, nearest to her, hovered like a protective spirit. He kept giving Wallingford suspicious looks, which Wallingford ignored. Lisle closed her eyes and placed her hands loosely on her lap. She took a few deep breaths. After a moment, her head nodded forward. She held that position. Her breathing stilled. Then slowly she raised her head. “We are here.” The voice was Lisle’s, but matured with a deeper, slower tone. “And we know all that has happened.” Lisle looked at each of them in turn. Lynn blinked as the eyes focused on her. They didn’t hold Lisle’s familiar lightness but a deeper, stronger gaze. “You each have secrets,” the deep Lisle voice said when her gaze had passed each of them. “Things you do not want the others to know.” Particularly the murderer. Lynn remained unimpressed. “Secret fears, secret hopes, secret dreams. They seem so important to you in this existence. But we understand that you have felt the touch of evil.” She paused long enough for a couple of people to shift nervously in their chairs. “We know all of this. We know the evil that is here, great and small. We warn all of you that you must turn away from evil. The true path is one of love and light. It is the path you must seek. Some of you have set your feet on that path. We applaud you.” Another long pause. “What about Carl’s death?” Joshua asked. “We didn’t come here for standard lecture number nine.” Lisle drew herself erect. Her gaze shifted to Joshua. “What hides behind your sarcasm?” She tilted her head as if listening, then smiled. “The Captain sends his greetings. But fire is not your danger.” Lynn took a moment to enjoy the surprised expression on Joshua’s face before following Lisle’s gaze to Colleen. “You, you are the one who calls with fire. Be careful lest the burning comes too close. Now, the choice and the danger are yours. Later that may change.” As usual, Skye followed Colleen. The angels seemed to take their time considering Skye. Was Lisle struggling to come up with an effective statement? Joshua probably told that tale about the Captain all around town. And her remark to Colleen had been a thinly disguised warning about witchcraft. Was Skye in for a similar beratement?
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Lisle spoke softly. “You, child, are not a shadow.” She turned. Wallingford was next. The statement was nearly as short, but not as kind. “How much are your beliefs worth? What paper holds your soul?” Lisle was on to another victim. But Lynn continued to watch Wallingford. He glared and hovered on the edge of his chair for a moment, then he relaxed. The angels seemed to be prepared to wait for everyone to settle down. Or perhaps Lisle was deciding who to go after next. Lynn was betting on Myra, but she should have remembered a good showman wouldn’t lump all the best acts together. “Patrick, we know you, Loki’s disciple. Take care in your actions. Rafael, named for an angel. Do you not know why you belong here? And belonging, do you think we would cause you to leave?” Lynn watched. Patrick seemed unfazed, but Rafael looked surprised. Still no one had been accused of murder. “Anthea, if not the beginning, the end. Know that we are with you and be at ease.” Next Lisle turned toward her, and Lynn held her breath. Would this be a message from Mark? It was a common, but effective, séance manifestation, but she wasn’t eager to experience it in front of this audience. Lisle’s voice became higher. “Signs, signs, everywhere there’s signs,” she sang. Then the voice dropped. “Can you see them through the fog?” The gaze left her. Startled, Lynn remembered singing the song. She knew that Lisle hadn’t heard her. But she had no idea what the message meant. Lisle turned to Luke. He leaned forward and their gazes met. “The teacher will shield the student.” Luke sat back. He frowned and his gaze drifted as he seemed to lose himself in thought. June’s message was simple. “Close the circle.” Lynn wondered if Lisle were losing speed, though June seemed pleased. Still, no murderer had been revealed. Only Alex, George and Myra were left. Lisle turned next to George and Lynn turned to watch. George nearly fell forward in his eagerness. “You will receive what you need.” Lynn wasn’t surprised when George’s face brightened. No doubt he would interpret the message to mean he would receive a sign. Alex was next. “Alex. What you fear is what you most need. Will you open that door?”
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Lynn’s heart beat faster. Myra was the only one left. “Myra,” Lisle said, “you seek to improve that around you. A commendable goal. But take care, not every move is a forward one.” Lisle sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. Lynn looked around the circle. Everyone was doing the same. No murderer. Chairs squeaked across the floor. “Stay.” Lisle said, opening her eyes again. “We have more to say to all and to one. You have all come here tonight, even those who disbelieve, to see if we will reveal to you the one among you who has killed. You seek to condemn another and release your own guilt. You test us to see if we can show what none of you can know. It is your curiosity, not justice, you seek to satisfy with these motives. Our aims are higher.” She, or they, paused. “One of you, one of you here tonight, is guilty. One has broken the sixth commandment and committed the sin of Cain. We speak to that one. We will not reveal you.” There was a shuffling of chairs and people glanced at one another. “A higher soul must lead you. You have the strength within you to do what must be done. From suffering comes greater good.” “Humph,” Wallingford said. “Didn’t think she’d know.” Lisle didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes closed and her head dropped heavily forward. She seemed ready to slip from her chair. George leapt toward her. Lynn noticed that her forward movement seemed to stop quickly at the touch of his hands. In a moment she opened her eyes and hugged herself. “I always know when they have been present.” The lightness was back in her voice. “Did they say who killed Carl?” “Don’t you remember?” Patrick asked. She shook her head. “It’s like being asleep and dreaming a wonderful dream. I always spend the time wandering in the most beautiful gardens. What about Carl?” “They refused to tell us.” Patrick sounded disappointed. “They said the murderer knows what must be done, and they are giving him time to do it.” “She didn’t say ‘he,’” Wallingford objected. “They.” Patrick’s response was quick. “Lisle wasn’t the one speaking, it was the angels.” “Whatever,” Wallingford said. “They, whoever they are, didn’t give us anything to go on. They, this mysterious they, certainly didn’t narrow the field down to a single sex. Are you surprised?” “Why should I be surprised?” Lisle responded happily. “They are perfect in their wisdom. Don’t you see?” For the first time, she seemed
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to notice the disbelieving faces around her. “For them to reveal the murderer would prevent him or her from taking the steps that could free the soul from eternal torture.” The sense of excitement left, deflating the room. Everyone had been hoping for a resolution, not a chance for the murderer to save his immortal soul. Lynn had to admit that she’d been caught up the sense of expectation. At least Lisle had shown that she and her angels couldn’t identify the murderer. That should make the channeler safe.
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Chapter Eleven MUSCLE SPASMS KEPT Lynn up most of the night. She knew it was her back’s way of working out the tension, but every time she drifted off, her body roused her so she could shift to another position. By 5:30 a.m., she gave in to the pain. Climbing out of bed, she made her way down to the kitchen and put on the kettle. She’d come to see Anthea and to spend some time thinking about her future. Using Carl’s murder and the surrounding events as an excuse not to think wasn’t going to get her very far. When all the hoopla was over, the future would still be there. Perhaps selling her paintings was an impractical way to make a living. So far her attempts had yielded more promise than production. She finished her coffee and limped up the stairs to gather her paints, brushes, and a good size block of paper. She’d go to the little pond next to the church. The sun had barely begun to rise. Lynn wasn’t sure if the rain clouds from the day before were gone or not because a veil of fog hugged the town. She set up in the gazebo, spreading her paints and brushes out on one of the picnic tables. Looking out over the pond, she saw a ghostly fog was sandwiched between the cool black of the water and the thick darkness of the pines. An uneasy picture, dark and brooding. The fog reminded her of Lisle’s angels’ messages from the night before. Could she see through the fog? Barely, but the vague, shifting patterns of the fog might free her painting muscles. She dipped her brush in the water and began her first layer of glazes. She diluted the aurolein yellow until it imparted only a barely perceptible glow to the paper. She drew her brush across the width of the paper and moved downward covering everything except the area she had reserved for the fog. Lisle could easily have checked the weather report and known about the fog before the séance, but how did she know Lynn would be out in it? Lynn’s thoughts wandered through the messages as she followed with a glaze of rose madder and another of cobalt blue. The slow building of the layers lent an inner glow to the painting. While they dried, she mixed the darker colors for the trees and water. The messages had not been astounding, but they had struck a cord with each recipient. Something kept nagging at her. As the colors in the sky slowly lightened, she shaped the trees and
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pond with careful dark strokes. She paused frequently to stretch, fighting the pain in her back. Dawn had fully broken by the time she stepped back from the table. She propped up the watercolor block and studied it. The painting had a dreamy quality, but realism had never been her strong point. Lisle had a dreamy quality, but somehow they’d all wanted to believe she could lift the fog on the cold, hard reality of murder. Lynn folded her arms and stared into the painting. The room last night. Thirteen attendees. Thirteen messages. But they hadn’t been thirteen. There had been fourteen people in that room, and one hadn’t received a message from the angels. Lisle. No one had thought of it, because Lisle, acting as the medium, wasn’t expected to receive a message. What better way to control the situation if she had poisoned Carl? But why would Lisle murder Carl? Her gaze drifted back to the painting and she noticed that she’d left a lightly glazed area that didn’t quite blend with the whiteness of the fog in what should have been deep, black water. She needed to either darken the area to match the water or to try and lift the glaze to blend it with the fog. She looked out at the pond wondering which step would work better. The fog was burning off now, revealing the pale splotch spreading across the water. She’d been so involved with her work, she’d painted it without realizing it. Lynn pushed herself up from the bench and walked to the edge of the shallow, weedy water. The pale hair and the white gown spread over the pond like angel’s wings. Something dark twisted and flowed down between the shoulder blades. Lynn rushed forward. Too quickly. Two steps into the chilly water, her back spasmed so tightly she could barely breath through the pain. She stood frozen in the muck, drawing her breath in ragged, tear-filled gasps and staring at the figure in the water. She wasn’t sure she could reach her and if she did, she doubted she could pull her to land. Slowly, she realized speed didn’t matter. Lisle had been floating there, face down, the entire time she’d been painting and probably much longer. She wasn’t going to be able to rescue the girl. Lisle had gone to join her heavenly hosts some time ago. But someone would have to pull her earthly remains from the pond. Someone had to call the police. Someone had to bring Detective Gaust back to Cassadaga because Lisle certainly hadn’t poisoned Carl. But whoever had was making sure the angels wouldn’t speak again. ALEX TURNED OFF the computer monitor when he heard the
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footsteps echo off the old, wooden stairs. They would stop at his door since no one else was staying in the apartments. He opened the door before a knock sounded. Lynn stood there. That surprised him. Lisle or Myra he would have expected, or Gaust back for another round of questioning. He started to ask Lynn why she was there, but noticed her breath came in short gasps, and her face was far too pale. When she swayed against the doorway, he grabbed her and lifted her off the porch. Water dripped from her sneakers. What had she been up to, and what was he going to do with her? “Would you put me down?” He looked around the apartment and decided to put her on the sofa. After all, the soggy sneakers couldn’t do much more damage to the furniture. He lowered her to the cushions. Her hand seemed grab his shoulder more tightly for a moment, before she pushed herself to sitting position. “Are you all right?” he asked. “I just came from the gazebo,” she said with a strange urgency. “Lisle’s in the pond.” That explained the sneakers. Alex picked up a cushion off one of the chairs and wondered if he should put it behind her shoulders. “What have you two been up to? It’s not the best place to go swimming.” Lynn grabbed his arm. “She’s not swimming.” Alex sat and held her. She shivered in his embrace. “Why did either of you decide to go down there so early?” “She’s not swimming,” Lynn repeated. “She’s just floating there. In the same gown she wore last night. She was there the whole time. I just didn’t see her.” “The whole time?” “I was painting, and she was there. She’s in the painting, and I didn’t even know what it, what she, was.” Alex responded with what he hoped was a reassuring pat and tried to fit the sentences together. Lisle was in the painting. Lisle was in the pond, and she’d been there for quite a while. Lynn suddenly whirled, frantically looking around the room. “Phone,” she demanded. “Have to call police.” He grabbed the phone and handed it to her. She punched three buttons, nine-one-one. Lisle was in the pond...and he was an idiot. He’d run down the stairs and halfway to the pond before the feeling of grass against his feet reminded him that all he had on was a T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts.
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Lisle floated in the stale, weedy water, and Alex waded in just past his knees to pull her out. The weeds clung to her, and her slim body seemed to struggle to remain in the water. He bent down and put his hands under her arms and tugged her toward shore. The cold water soaked his T-shirt and boxers. She was beyond saving, but he still wanted to get her to land. He couldn’t leave her floating there like a discarded dishrag. He pulled her onto the bank and turned her over. Long hair and a handful of waterweeds draped her face. He reached out to brush them away, but stopped when he realized he had nothing with him to cover her. He didn’t want to confront the once beautiful face. Perhaps, the weeds were better than nothing. He could still do one thing for her. “May the soul of the departed through the mercy of God rest in peace. Amen.” He sketched the sign of the cross. Lisle may have been Catholic at one time. Either way, the angels would understand. He heard the wail of sirens and knew Lynn had reached the police. He knelt over Lisle’s body. He recognized the scarf wound tightly around her neck and trailing down her back. It was the same scarf Colleen had removed during Lisle’s séance. The police arrived followed by the paramedics. An officer escorted Alex away from Lisle’s body while the paramedics shook their heads. An officer handed Alex a blanket but refused to let him go home and change. Alex sat on a bench halfway up the slope and watched. Another car pulled up and Gaust jumped out. “Did you find her?” Gaust called. Alex kept his seat and waited for the detective to reach him. “Well?” Gaust sounded impatient. He dug his notebook out of his pocket. “Are you making this a habit?” “I pulled her out of the water,” Alex said wondering if the detective really imagined that he’d been wandering around town in his underwear. “But Lynn was here first. She’s back at my apartment, where I’d like to go put on some clothes.” “I see.” The pen scratched a note. “Wait here.” Gaust walked down to the pond. Alex realized that the detective might have reached the conclusion that he and Lynn spent the night together. He wondered if he should clear up the misconception, then decided everything would be cleared up when Gaust checked alibis. How many would be able to produce them? Lynn and Anthea lived in the same house, but hardly the same room. The same held true for Colleen and Skye. One could have slipped out without the other noticing. Luke and June would probably
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be able to vouch for each other, and so would Patrick and Rafael. He doubted anyone else could produce an alibi. This killer worked during the dead of night, camouflaging his lack of an alibi with everyone else’s. Alex watched Gaust question the paramedics and examine Lisle’s body. Then he moved to the edge of the pond and shook his head. In a moment, he was back beside Alex. “Did enough tramping around on your way in.” He pointed at the weeds. “Remember if there were signs of anyone going in before you?” Alex shook his head. “Sorry, I was distracted by the sight of someone I knew floating in the water.” “So you pulled her out?” “And turned her over,” Alex said. “I wanted to be sure.” Perhaps Gaust had forgotten that bodies were once living souls. Gaust’s pen made noncommittal scratches on the note pad “Anything else?” Alex thought a moment. His answer would make no difference to the investigation, but he was finding it more and more difficult to hover between two worlds. “I performed the last rites.” Gaust raised an eyebrow. “You allowed to do that?” “Yes. I’m not completely separated from the church.” He hesitated. “Yet.” A small word that forced its way into the uncertainty he felt. “How do you know she was Catholic?” He shrugged. “She may not be.” “Looks like she was strangled with a scarf. Recognize it?” “Colleen was wearing it last night. Lisle made her take it off. I don’t remember if she ever got it back.” “Last night?” Gaust’s voice was heavy with the question. “Last night,” Alex said with a sigh, “Lisle channeled her angelic contacts. I believe you were informed about the blessed event.” “Damn,” Gaust cursed. “That Myra woman. I told her not to go ahead with the idiotic idea.” “Did you really think that would stop them?” “I thought maybe if I wasn’t there to witness... All right, I was a damn fool. Why won’t these people believe you can’t go around threatening to reveal murderers? Tell me what happened.” Alex told him. “So the murderer must be someone who believed she could identify him. Someone who believed in her abilities,” he concluded. “Way I see it, our murderer felt she was a danger, psychically or
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otherwise. Perhaps she did know who it was and was trying to blackmail him. Maybe the channeling bit was a warning.” Gaust scratched his head with his pen. “Why not kill her before last night’s séance? If he believed she could do it, why give her the chance?” “She was with people most of the day,” Alex said. “He probably didn’t have an opportunity.” “Who was she with?” “Skye and Colleen, and she mentioned seeing Lynn and George. Do you think this was done by a man?” Gaust finished scribbling the names down then glanced toward the body. “Frail girl like that, not necessarily. Got someone in mind?” “Not really. Lisle sort of fluttered around, getting along with everyone.” He paused. “I did notice a bit of tension between her and Myra last night. Not anything you’d imagine leading to murder.” “What kind of tension?” “Myra was upset that Lisle hadn’t checked with her before arranging to channel, and Lisle made an obvious point of collecting some jewelry from Myra last night. Of course, she collected stuff from more than half the group, but she seemed to be making a special point of embarrassing Myra.” Gaust tapped the pen eagerly against the notepad. “Myra, plump and middle-aged. It wouldn’t take much strength to hold that scarf tight. What did she,” he pointed toward the pond, “collect from the others?” “I don’t remember. I know when she took Colleen’s scarf she was going on about Pagan symbolism and Colleen and Skye were the only ones there who openly claim to belong to a Pagan religion. Rafael might be able to help you out. He put the stuff out by the front desk for safekeeping.” “Take anything from you?” “No. I wasn’t wearing anything that interested her. She left a couple of people, like Anthea and Joshua, pretty much alone.” “Didn’t want to antagonize them?” His tone almost made it a leading question. “I doubt they would have cared,” Alex said, hoping he disappointed him. “Most of the others didn’t seem to mind, either. It fit into the ‘if there are any unbelievers here, let them leave now’ atmosphere. In a place like this, who’s going to challenge that?” “Myra was upset.” Alex nodded. “Myra makes a great deal of her spiritual knowledge. Lisle implied that she should have known better than to
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wear Pagan ornaments. The rest of us were just innocent fools.” He shivered inside the blanket. “More fools than innocents thinking nothing would come of last night.” “I’m going to ask you not to talk to any of the other innocent fools until I’ve had a chance to interview them. Go back to your place and stay put for a while.” “Lynn’s probably still there,” Alex said. “I’ll send an officer to escort her home. You two get together?” The casualness of the question surprised Alex. He shook his head. “If you’re looking for an alibi, I was alone all night. Lynn ran to my apartment when she found the body. Don’t know why. June and Luke are closer.” The look the detective gave him suggested he should know why. Maybe Gaust was right, but where would any of it lead? That was the problem with living between two worlds. Before he’d come down, his advisor had told him it was time to decide which one he belonged to. He wasn’t sure he was ready to choose. LYNN FACED DETECTIVE Gaust nervously over the kitchen table. This interview would be worse. This time she’d found the body. “We found your painting supplies,” Gaust said. “Tell me exactly what happened this morning.” Lynn explained how she had gone down to the pond to paint and how she’d discovered Lisle’s body in the lake. “You are saying that you were there for how long?” He made it sound more like an accusation than a question. “Thirty, maybe forty-five minutes,” Lynn guessed. “And that whole time, you didn’t notice a body floating in the water? The pond isn’t that big, Ms. Yates.” Lynn sighed. “Have you ever painted, Detective?” “Not since grade school.” “Sometimes painting is more a matter of light and color than shapes. I couldn’t see the body at first because the morning was too foggy. While I painted I was concentrating on the colors and tones. I painted Lisle in without realizing it.” She searched his face. There was no softness in his dark eyes. Obviously he didn’t believe or understand her. “I don’t know how to explain it any better than that. Except to point out that if I’d murdered her, I’d hardly sit down and paint a picture of the scene.” She folded her arms and settled into the chair. “I don’t know,” Gaust said slowly. “I’ve known murderers to do some mighty strange things. Lots of them like souvenirs.” He trailed off
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suggestively. “Photos, parts of the body, things like that. I’d like to see this painting you keep referring to.” “I left it at the lake.” Gaust shook his head. “My men found your paints and stuff, but no painting.” Lynn stared at him. “I left it there. Did you ask Alex?” “Are you suggesting Mr. Janick hid it? Or did you take it away and hide it before you ran to get his help?” “I am not a murderer!” “An artist,” Gaust continued as if he hadn’t heard her, “might want a painting of the crime. Of course, you don’t strike me as being stupid enough to run off and leave the painting on the table.” “I didn’t run off. I went to call the police. And if I strike you as the murdering type, I’m not surprised you haven’t found the killer yet.” Her voice rose and she struggled to control it. She knew Gaust was trying to goad her into giving away information. She didn’t care. She didn’t have any more information to give. “Odd thing about murderers is that they try not to look like murderers. Makes it harder to find them,” Gaust said. “But we do. And we will this time.” “Maybe he’ll make it easy for you,” Lynn said, rising from the table. “Maybe he’ll kill all of us off and when he’s done, you can arrest him because he’ll be the only one left.” She stomped out of the room. If Gaust wanted to interview her further, let him arrest her. Hiding at the top of the stairs, she heard Gaust close the front door as he left.
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Chapter Twelve LYNN FINISHED WASHING the lunch dishes and gave a startled look out the kitchen window. Anthea stood in the garden flapping her hands and making shooing noises as if to scare off crows. The crow, wearing blue jeans and an over-sized video camera on his shoulder, tried to reason with her. “Lady, I’m just looking for the woman who found the body in the lake.” Anthea advanced on the reporter. “Trample one herb and I’ll put a curse on you that’ll shrivel you up like a walnut.” The man stopped and teetered dangerously with his right foot hovering just above the ground. It went down on a clump of parsley. Anthea pointed a finger at her and let loose a stream of strange words. The reporter lowered the camera. “I’m going lady. Don’t get your broom in a tizzy.” He rushed out of the yard. Anthea turned and stomped back into the house. “Could you have tried a little harder to convince him that you were crazy?” Lynn asked. “Only thing that’ll keep him away,” Anthea said. “Reporters think ‘no comment’ means ‘come back and bother me later.’ There are only three things that scare them—small children, adorable animals, and raving lunatics.” “He might have understood you,” Lynn said, and Anthea gave her a disbelieving look. Lynn tossed down the dishtowel. “‘Hail Mary full of grace’ is hardly considered a curse, even in Greek.” “You recognized it?” Anthea sounded pleased. “It was the first thing I thought of. I’m surprised I remembered it after all these years.” Lynn smiled. “I couldn’t have been more than eight when you taught it to me.” Anthea chuckled. “Drove your mother nuts. I never understood why.” “She was worried the neighbors would think I was a babbling idiot. French would have impressed them, but nobody recognized Greek.” “I’d already taught it to you in French. And Spanish and Latin, if I
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remember correctly. I wanted you to learn to make the sounds while you were young.” “Mom never knew why you thought I’d need to speak Greek.” She pointed toward the garden, which was now being explored by a man who dressed like Indiana Jones and carried a digital camera. “Guess she didn’t count on this.” Anthea grabbed her broom before she headed out the door. “I hope we run out of reporters before I run out of Greek.” This time Joshua didn’t bother banging on the front door. Instead he made his way around to the back and stood staring forlornly through the kitchen door until Lynn let him in. “No hoards of reporters?” he asked. “Anthea keeps shouting at them in Greek and scaring them away.” “An excellent technique. I’d use it myself, but I doubt I can remember any of my Iliad. How are you holding up?” He gave her a measuring look. “Not the most pleasant way to start your day. You’ll probably want to lay low for a while. Reporters are asking for you. So far no one has told them where you are. Of course, Myra’s decreed that no one should give interviews but her. She wants to be sure we’re sending out a consistent message. I told her I’d drop by and give you the news.” “And exactly who’s listening to her?” Anthea asked as she reentered the kitchen. Joshua shrugged. “June and Luke, I think. At least I haven’t seen them giving any interviews. Patrick has already offered to appear on every local channel. He’s creating quite a bit of interest.” “Yes, I imagine he would,” she said. “I’ll bet he looks good on camera.” “Startlingly so. In any other circumstance, I’d say we’ve been under-utilizing that young man. Wallingford is handing out leaflets on Past Life Regression, but so far no one seems to have figured out what to do with him. Unfortunately, Lisle was killed very much during this life.” “What about George?” Lynn asked. “He’s staying out of trouble. Poor guy doesn’t seem to be taking it well. I guess it’s good that someone is mourning her. Can’t say I’d be very impressed by the rest of us. Rafe’s hiked up the price of coffee and sandwiches. Eagle’s doing a great business on beer and hotdogs.” “What about Colleen?” Anthea asked. “That one.” Joshua gave a short bark of laughter. “She’s claiming this is all related to the discrimination against Wiccans. No one’s
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paying much attention. So far the Wiccans are the only ones who haven’t been having any trouble. I came by to suggest that we get Lynn away from here for a while.” “What about Gaust?” Lynn asked. “Did he tell you not to leave town?” “No.” she shook her head. “Not specifically.” “Then he can’t complain if I take you out for a while. How about Daytona Beach? I’ll sneak across the road and get my car.” “Why do you have to sneak?” “Be quiet and let me have some fun,” Joshua scolded. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.” FOLLOWING JOSHUA’S ORDERS, Lynn scrunched down in the back of the station wagon with one of Anthea’s quilts tossed over her while Joshua drove them out of town. When she felt the car pick up speed, she tossed off the quilt and sat up. “Have we escaped?” “Didn’t you feel the crash when I rammed through that last set of barricades?” Lynn laughed and stretched out on the seat. “I’ll remember to call you whenever I need rescuing.” “Pleased to be of use. We’ve got plenty of time before dinner. Want to see the old sea captain’s house?” “The ghost who dropped in to say hi last night?” Lynn repressed a shiver. “Had you already told that story to Lisle?” Joshua shook his head. “Not that I can remember. I don’t think I’ve told it to anyone but you and Anthea, and that book hasn’t been published yet.” “I told you that girl had abilities,” Anthea said. “Then you’d think the angels would have taken better care of her,” Lynn said. “Does the Captain appear during the day?” “The Captain is heard, not seen,” Joshua said. “At least as far as the tale goes. But who knows, perhaps today is a good day for ghostspotting.” They passed the large oval of the Daytona Speedway and few miles later, Joshua slowed and turned down a narrow side street. Huge oaks overhung the road and modern businesses struggled to oust the scattered older homes. “This area’s not doing well. Too close to the main roads.” Lynn studied the street and realized that in Joshua’s mind an area was doing well if it had a lot of old houses and poorly if it was filled with thriving businesses. Perhaps houses were more often haunted than
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businesses. Joshua parked beside a large oak so bent that a good eight feet of its lower trunk ran along the ground. Lynn scooted out of the car and walked up to the tree. “It looks like a giraffe.” “Easiest way to find the house,” Joshua said. “Just look for the giraffe tree. And right over there is where the Captain lives, or should I say resides.” The two-story house sat on a large tree-filled lot. Twin palms flanked the walkway leading up to the spacious front porch. Joshua pointed at the large square posts supporting the porch roof. “The lower part is cochina rock. You don’t see it used in building anymore.” As Joshua rang the bell, Lynn ran her hand across the sandcolored stones that looked like bits of tiny shells pressed together. They felt cool and scratchy against her fingers. The woman who answered the door had white hair as soft as a child’s curls and a no-nonsense set to her mouth. “Good afternoon, Miss Eula,” Joshua said. “You’re that writer fella,” she said, putting him in his place. “Still looking for ghosts? We just got the one, but come on in.” “I just wanted to show my friends the house,” Joshua said, as they stepped into a house so tightly packed with knickknacks that Lynn thought even a ghost would be in danger of knocking over a few. She stood carefully beside a glass-fronted case topped by a trio of ceramic cats. “Y’all ghost hunters, too?” Eula’s blue eyes caught Lynn’s with surprising strength. “Never seen one,” Lynn said. “Good girl. Ain’t seen one myself.” She nodded satisfactorily. “It’s the young ’uns. Been claiming to hear the Captain walk for years. I told ’em. If he don’t mess with me, I won’t mess with him.” “Miss Eula’s young ’uns have young ’uns and grand young ’uns,” Joshua said with a smile. “Most of them have heard the ghost. Come on Miss Eula, show us where the Captain walks.” Eula seemed amused by his impudence. “You ain’t gonna see him.” She sounded serious, but her eyes sparkled. “Because he ain’t there. Don’t see how you make a livin’ in this world writin’ books ’bout things that ain’t there.” “They’re bought by people who aren’t all there,” Lynn said. Eula chuckled. “Then he ought to be richer than he ’pears to be.” She motioned them forward. “These here are the stairs the ghost walks on. I go up and down ’em a hundred times a day and nobody writes a
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book about that.” Five wooden steps rose to a landing then curved sharply upward to the second floor. From where she stood, Lynn could see the railing of the second floor hall so the steps were visible from both floors. “It certainly doesn’t look like there’s any place for someone to hide and make ghostly noises.” “Ah, but the Captain’s an authentic ghost,” Joshua said. “He doesn’t need any help making noise.” “Have you ever heard him?” Lynn asked. “Of course. Miss Eula was kind enough to let me spend a couple of nights here, and I heard the Captain both times.” “He heard some creaky old stairs poppin’ and cracklin’. Even tape-recorded ’em and made me listen in the morning. Yup, he was right. Darned if they didn’t sound just like creaky stairs.” Eula shook her head in mock astonishment. “Well, come on up and have a looksee.” Lynn climbed the creaky stairs with the others. At the top, she leaned over the handrail, and looked down. She could still see nothing unusual about the stairs. “I slept in that room there,” Joshua nodded to a door. “It’s closest to the stairs.” “Be too crowded in there.” Eula opened another door. “We can all go in here and give a listen.” They stepped into the master bedroom. Up here, Lynn could smell the age of the house. A slight mustiness that came from things too long stored. Eula sat on the edge of her bed and smiled as if she were indulging a bunch of enthusiastic children. Joshua hovered near the door, poised for action. The minutes passed. Anthea sat down beside Eula, and the two women gave each other knowing smiles. Lynn grew tired of staring at the door. She wondered how long Joshua would make them wait. She glanced around the room, spotting doors on either side, which led to the other bedrooms. Another door led to the roof. It was opened to let the breeze in through a screen door. The arrangement fascinated Lynn. Her gaze wandered over the flat roof to the quiet street. She saw a flutter of color beside the giraffe tree. A slim girl, barefoot and seemingly wearing nothing but a long T-shirt, spread her arms wide and placed her foot on the lowest part of the trunk. She walked up the horizontal trunk like a gymnast on a balance beam. When she’d reached the halfway point of the flat trunk, she twirled sending pale red hair floating cloud-like around her face. She stopped
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suddenly, facing the house. Her arms stretched up uncertainly as if she had lost her balance. She reached towards Lynn. Her hair clung to her face in wet strands, and her dress molded to her slim body. Entranced, Lynn lifted the hook on the screen door and stepped out on the roof. She moved forward, her gaze not leaving the figure poised on the trunk. An arm circled her waist. “Whoa, we don’t want you sliding down the roof.” Lynn looked down at her feet. She stood on the gritty shingles of the flat platform. The roof sloped dangerously downward only a few steps away. There was no railing to keep the unwary walker from stepping off the safe, flat surface. She looked at the tree. The figure had vanished. She shivered. “Someone was climbing the tree. For a moment, I thought it was Lisle.” “Probably one of the neighborhood kids,” Eula said. “They love to play by that tree.” Lynn looked back out the window. No children were in sight and the street was empty of bikes, skateboards, or any other toys. “You should be a mite more careful,” Eula said. “Sorry,” Lynn said. “I’m not usually so distracted.” Eula nodded, but her lips were set in a thin line that indicated she considered the visit over. Before she got in the car, Lynn walked around the giraffe tree. “What are you looking for?” Joshua asked. “Footprints. Signs of someone jumping or falling. The girl, or whoever I saw, had just lost her balance. There’s more sand than grass around here, so we should be able to tell if she fell.” Lynn found some sneaker prints, including her own, and a selection of dog and cat paw prints, but no barefooted human prints. “Maybe she didn’t fall,” Joshua said. “Maybe she jumped back to the sidewalk and left.” “Or it was Lisle,” Lynn said, not believing her own words. “Maybe she’s visiting the Captain.” “My dear,” Joshua said, leading her away from the tree. “You’ve been through a trying experience today, and I’ve tried to help by bringing you on a ghost hunt. I’m not surprised your imagination is working overtime.” His serious expression made Lynn laugh. “You hypocrite. You’re supposed to believe in ghosts.” He shook his head. “I prefer them to be people I didn’t know. When people I saw alive the day before start popping back from the
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afterlife for a visit, that’s just plain weird. Come on, I’m taking you two down to the beach so we can shake this mood.” Joshua pulled off A1A into a restaurant parking lot. “If you don’t mind, we’ll walk across to the beach.” He patted the steering wheel. “This old girl will give up on me if I expose her to the trauma of salt water.” They had to cross the road and walk through a parking lot before they caught sight of the ocean. Looking down at the beach, Lynn shook her head in amazement. “There are more cars down there than on the Washington beltway at rush hour.” “Beach driving is an old Daytona tradition,” Joshua said. “Years ago, they used to hold drag races on the sand. Now instead of cautioning their kids not to swim out to far, parents have to warn them to look both ways before crossing the beach.” They made their way down the stairs and strolled along the sand. Noise from the cars, and from the competing radios, threatened to drowned out the sound of the ocean and the squawks of the seagulls. Watching a tiny girl in a pink bathing suit run back and forth chasing waves in the shallows, Lynn felt her mood lift and the tension melt out of her muscles. “Better?” Joshua draped an arm over her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “Lots, thank you. I guess the atmosphere around Cassadaga was getting to me.” “It’s not a bad place,” he said. “Don’t give up on us yet.” She shook her head. “No, I won’t. I was starting to like the place before the murders started.” Anthea had fallen behind, examining some shells scattered at the water’s edge. “Your aunt needs you to stay,” Joshua said, keeping his voice low. “I wasn’t planning on leaving yet.” “No, I mean stay on permanently. She needs your help.” “Anthea? She’s stronger than I am. And mentally, my God, the woman can memorize herbal remedies and recite Greek.” “True,” Joshua said. “She’s a strong, intelligent woman who wants to pass on her knowledge.” Lynn stopped and Joshua stumbled. “Are you saying Anthea needs me as an apprentice? I thought Colleen was the witch?” “Wiccan, dear,” Anthea said catching up to them. “You should really try to use the correct term.”
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“Sorry,” Lynn apologized, wondering how much her aunt had overheard. ALEX STOOD FOR a few minutes on the fringe of the crowd by the bookstore, watching Myra give an interview. “Our members are moral, law-abiding citizens who believe in justice in this world and the next,” Myra stated with conviction. “We are certain that the murderer will be found when the police turn their attention from Society members and to those who mean us harm.” “Who are they?” someone called. Myra shook her head. “We do not wish to point fingers or make any remarks that might hinder police investigations.” She also didn’t want to give away any of the Society’s publicity. He moved to the inn where three or four photographers clustered on the porch. “Hey, when do you think the cops will be done at the scene?” one of them asked. He pointed his camera at a painting leaning against the wall. “I want to take this down there to photograph it.” “They’re still piddlin’ around,” another said. “Can we move this to some better light?” Alex pushed past them and grabbed the watercolor. “Hey, we’re not done with that!” “Evidence,” he said. “Damn cop.” He heard someone mutter behind him as he strode into the inn. He stood in the lobby holding the painting against his side. He’d seen enough of it to know it was the one Lynn had been working on when she found Lisle. Later, he’d ask Gaust why he’d thought it would be a good idea to put it on display. Right now, he needed someplace to hide it. Keeping his stride purposeful, he walked across the room and through the kitchen door. George was sitting at the kitchen table looking depressed. “Rafael’s too busy to talk, and Patrick and Myra are always with reporters.” “What about Wallingford?” Alex asked, looking for somewhere safe to put the painting. “He’s got flyers. Lisle’s dead, and he’s handing out flyers.” Alex stopped and gave George a closer look. His eyes were puffy and darkly circled. “You two were good friends.” George shrugged, defeated. “I guess not good enough, or she’d have listened to me and she’d still be alive.” Then he noticed the
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watercolor. “Lynn painted that.” “I know.” Alex turned the painting face down. “I’m trying to get it back to the police.” “You can’t give it to the police,” George said, reaching for it. “I may not if Gaust can’t explain why he let the reporters have it.” He let George pull it out of his grip and turn it over. Alex took a longer look at it and realized there was nothing to overly suggest a body—just a bit of paleness in what looked like the beginning of a landscape. “The reporters? How did they get it?” Alex shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.” “What about the others? Have they seen it? This could be a sign.” “A sign?” “That Lynn belongs in Cassadaga. I know she doesn’t want to admit it, but she is one of us. We need to put this somewhere safe until the others can verify it. If the cops get it, we may never see it again.” Alex refrained from mentioning that George hadn’t been admitted to the Cassadaga Society yet. Still, it might serve Gaust right if he had to ask George for it back. “Well,” he said as if he were thinking it over. “There are a lot of reporters out there. Maybe I should leave it here for now.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” George said. “Someone might spill food on it. I’ll put it in my room.” He grabbed the painting. “Don’t just walk out with it like that. You don’t want the reporters to see it.” George looked around, then he opened a door to a storage closet and pulled out a green garbage bag. Placing the painting in the bag, he twisted the top and swaggered out of the room. Before the door swung closed, Alex saw Rafael pass him in the lobby. “What is he attempting to smuggle out of here?” Rafael asked, entering the kitchen. “A painting,” Alex said. “The reporters had it. George wants to hide it until the Society can evaluate it as a sign. I didn’t know he’d look so obvious.” “Not to worry,” Rafael dropped into the chair George had just left. “They have seen him coming and going enough to be immune to him. Is that detective still around?” “I haven’t seen him, but I imagine he’ll want to interview everyone again.” “He has already started,” Rafael sighed. “I really do not enjoy having to reveal details of my private life.”
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“At least you and Patrick could alibi each other,” Alex said. “The rest of us are still suspects.” Rafael shook his head. “No, we also are suspects. I sent Patrick home last night after the séance.” “Oh, I thought you two...” Worried that he was treading in personal territory, Alex let the statement drift off. Rafael chuckled. “We do. But Patrick kept babbling about the séance, and I needed to get some sleep. Since I didn’t know we were going to need an alibi, I told him to go home.” “Did he want to go?” “Excuse me?” Rafael’s tone was suddenly cold. “What I meant,” Alex said quickly, “was that if he was planning to murderer Lisle, he wouldn’t have wanted to stay.” Rafael’s expression lightened. “Yes, I can see how that would work.” He smiled. “No, he did not want to go. Now, tell me how I am to explain that alibi to Detective Gaust.” “There is a problem. You asked Patrick to go, so Gaust might think you had a reason for wanting to be alone.” They sat for a moment in silence. Did Patrick’s reluctance to leave Rafe clear him, or if he were the murderer, would he have put up a token resistance in order to divert suspicion? Or could Rafael be lying to protect his lover? The sounds of heavy objects hitting the floor and chairs scraping across wood came from the lobby. Rafael leapt from his chair. “Damn, what are they doing?” He headed to the lobby. Alex peered out the door. The reporters had gathered again, though this time they appeared to be packing up their equipment and preparing to leave. Alex decided he could probably slip safely out the kitchen door and down to the lake. Or maybe over to Anthea’s. He wondered if he should warn Lynn about George having her painting. Especially if he was going to start showing it off to everyone. Though, certainly the painting didn’t reveal anything that would place her in danger.
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Chapter Thirteen DETECTIVE GAUST WAS still at the lake. Alex lifted the yellow police tape and ducked under it. A couple of uniformed men glanced his way then ignored him. Gaust raised a finger, signaling him to wait. Alex paused, changed his mind about waiting, and marched angrily across the grass. “What in the hell made you put Lynn’s painting on display at the inn?” The detective’s irritated look faded. “The painting’s been found?” “Found, photographed, and fondled by the press.” He watched Gaust’s expression grow more perplexed. “You didn’t know?” Gaust shook his head. “Ms. Yates claimed to have no idea where it had ended up. How did the press get hold of it?” “I didn’t ask. I figured that was your job.” “Of course,” Gaust said stiffly. “The name of the person who had the painting?” Alex shrugged. “I didn’t ask that, either. He had a camera, if that helps. The whole group did. They might still be in town. One of them mentioned wanting to photograph the lake.” Gaust sighed, deep and long. “Harrison!” he bellowed. The uniformed officer who’d accompanied Gaust to his first interview with Alex came running from the edge of the lake. “Remember those photographers who were bugging us a while back?” Gaust said before Harrison reached them. “Take some men and start interviewing them about the painting they’ve been photographing. I want to know who was first to lay his hands on it and how.” “Yes, sir,” Harrison said. “Want me to confiscate their film?” “Nah, they’d only start fussing about the constitution and their rights. Get their names and tell them I want copies of everything they shot today.” Harrison nodded and started to leave. “Hang on,” Gaust said. “Get the name of the papers they work for then have someone call their editors and tell them I want copies of those photos. If I see one shot in the papers that I haven’t seen on my desk, their information will dry up like a jellyfish stranded on the beach. Alex, where is the painting now?” “George has it.”
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Gaust moaned. “Harrison, have someone stop by the inn and get the painting from that George guy.” Harrison nodded again and ran off. Gaust shook his head. “I’ve got two dead psychics, a town full of nuts, and now evidence wandering around in full view of the press. And one of my suspects took the time to paint the latest murder.” “Lynn’s a suspect?” “As much as anyone else around here.” “Just because she found Lisle—” “She handled the tea that killed Mr. Hansel and found Miss Smith’s body.” “She didn’t know Carl or Lisle. She doesn’t have any motive for wanting them dead.” He paused. “Miss Smith? Was that Lisle’s last name? You found that out quickly.” “Found that out days ago. I get nervous when I’m working on a murder investigation and one of the involved parties tells me she has no last name.” He flipped open his notebook. “Lisle Smith from Wisconsin. I’ve already called the parents. Nice folks, own a dairy farm. Seemed resigned to their daughter’s fate. Said it was only to be expected since she left junior college and ran off to be in one of them cults.” “Cassadaga isn’t a cult.” “Might look a lot like one if you’re a dairy farmer in Wisconsin. Miss Smith had a little bit of a history before she landed in Florida.” “Do you think Lisle’s murder might be unrelated to Cassadaga?” “Doubt it,” Gaust said. “But I’m checking into everyone’s background.” “Including Lynn’s,” Alex said. “Sounds like you’re doing a lot of work that will turn out to be wasted effort.” “Everyone tells me checking their background is a waste of time.” Gaust closed his notebook and tucked it in his pocket. “All this trouble began after Lynn’s arrival and everywhere I turn she’s there. How am I supposed to eliminate her as a suspect?” “She didn’t do it.” “Prove it,” Gaust said. “Fine,” Alex said. “I will.” Gaust raised his hand. “Whoa, hold on. I didn’t mean that literally. Leave the investigating up to the police.” “Detective, I know these people better than you. I can move around them more freely—” “And get killed more freely,” Gaust added. “You think the girl’s innocent. You like the girl. Fine, ask her out, but don’t interfere in my
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investigation. I don’t want to send your body to the coroner next.” Alex stubbornly held the detective’s gaze. “I can take care of myself.” “That’s probably what the victims thought, too,” Gaust said harshly. “When Carl was killed, I figured our killer was someone with a personal grudge against the guy. Now I’ve got another murder on my hands. Maybe we’re dealing with someone who has a grudge against psychics, I don’t know if it’s the same killer, but if it is, maybe he—or she—isn’t done yet. I don’t want to collect any more bodies, Mr. Janick. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a murderer to find.” He turned and walked down toward the lake. Dismissed, Alex walked away. He’d miscalculated with Gaust. He shouldn’t have challenged the detective, but he wasn’t going to let Lynn become the most convenient suspect. His problem was that he had no idea where to begin. He’d told the detective the truth, he knew these people. But he didn’t know which of them was likely to turn to murder. But he was trained to observe, to listen, to analyze, and from what he’d seen so far, he had as much chance of finding the killer as Gaust and his crew. He stared down the street toward the bookstore and the community meeting room. That was where the trouble had begun, he realized. And the first place he’d seen Lynn. But she’d arrived after the fire. He headed toward the building. Myra was standing behind the counter of the bookstore sorting crystals when Alex walked in. “Reporters,” she said in a tone that suggested she was talking about small children. “They stick their hands into everything.” “I saw your interview. You handled them well.” She smiled and flipped a strand of blond hair away from her face. “Of course no one listened to me when I told them not to give their own interviews.” “I saw George a little while ago, and he wasn’t giving any interviews.” Alex tried to sound encouraging. “He shouldn’t,” Myra said. “He hasn’t been accepted into the Society. Neither has Wallingford, but look at what he left on my counter.” She reached under the counter and came up with a glossy leaflet. Wallingford’s picture was on the front and underneath, big, blue print proclaimed him as a certified hypnotist specializing in Past Life Regression Therapy. A short biography listed his education and degrees. A roster of services took up the back of the brochure. Alex read the list of illness, phobias, and bad habits Wallingford claimed to
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help cure. Myra waved a brochure. “This implies that he is already recognized by the Society.” Alex nodded and slipped the brochure into his pocket before Myra could reclaim it. She wasn’t through complaining. “If I don’t keep an eye on all of them, they get into trouble. Look at what happened to poor Lisle. Would she listen when I tried to warn her? Those witches lured her out and strangled her.” “You think Colleen did it?” Her blue eyes narrowed to tight slits. “She did, and I’m not going near the woman. I don’t want to be next on her list.” “Are you worried about being alone in your house? I’m sure Rafe could find you room at the inn until this blows over.” “Lisle was staying at the inn, and it didn’t do her much good.” Alex had to agree with that, but Carl had lived alone. If Lisle had stayed in the inn, she would only have been a few feet from help. Maybe that was why she was strangled instead of poisoned. “You were at home alone during both murders, weren’t you?” Myra didn’t seem surprised by his question. “I wish I hadn’t been. I went home right after Lisle’s channeling. Maybe I could have helped her if I’d stayed.” “And the day Carl died?” he prodded. Pudgy hands nervously sorted rocks, dropping them into sections of a divided wooden box. “I couldn’t sleep. First the fire, then that fiasco of Colleen’s. Carl was supposed to have a report from the insurance company about the building, and I was going to go over first thing in the morning and demand to see it.” “But you didn’t?” He kept the question gentle. “No. I fell asleep around four and didn’t wake up until ten. By then the police were already there.” She pushed away the box. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to mop the store. I still can’t get the smell of smoke out.” He left her attacking the old wooden floors with a broom. JUNE OPENED HER door with a smile and a bob of her smoothly brushed head. “Hello, Alex. We’re sitting in the back. Those reporters have been around constantly.” She ushered Alex through the house to the back room with bamboo-slatted blinds on the windows and big, white cotton pillows on the floor. “Have a seat, and I’ll get you some tea.”
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Gandhi would have felt at home. Alex lowered himself to a pillow. Luke was already sitting with his eyes closed and his hands resting lightly on his knees. Worried about disturbing his meditation, Alex waited quietly, but June bustled in without ceasing her chatter. “It’ll be tea bags, I’m afraid,” she said setting down a teapot and mug and handing him a basket of plastic-wrapped tea bags. “Everybody has been so upset since Carl’s death, and no one wants to risk facing the same accusations Anthea has.” “Have people been accusing her?” Alex asked, choosing a peppermint tea bag. “I haven’t heard anything.” “No, not from any of us. We know Anthea. It’s those cops. They just won’t listen.” “They’re doing their best,” Alex said. June settled on a pillow and tucked her legs into the lotus position so she looked like a gray mushroom sprouting from a soft, spongy base. “Well, yes, if their best means Lisle’s dead.” “I have been visualizing a protective dome of light around the Society. I will maintain this protection until the murders cease.” Luke spoke without changing his position or opening his eyes. “Do you think there will be more?” Alex asked. “The evil will strike again if not held in check.” “Luke has a deep mind,” June said. “But if something isn’t done soon, I’m worried the evil may work its way past him.” “He wasn’t meditating when Carl or Lisle were killed?” “No. Dear, perhaps you should have started right after Lisle channeled the angels’ messages.” June shook her head regretfully. “We didn’t know how great the danger was then. Well, we worried about Colleen and her group, but I didn’t think they were powerful enough to cause any real harm. Hopefully, Luke can at least keep the evil from entering the Society again.” “But you were both at home those nights?” June seemed unfazed by his questions. “We always sit together to review the events of the day before we go to bed. That detective asked if we’d seen anyone, either going to Carl’s house or down at the gazebo with Lisle. I had to tell him that here in the back we were unable to observe anything of use.” She turned to Luke. “Dear, do you think we should move our meditation room to the front? We do seem to be missing a lot.” Luke raised his eyebrows slightly to indicate that he had heard and was considering the question. After a moment, he spoke. “In meditation, one is uninvolved in the doings of the world.”
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June nodded. “See, the police really shouldn’t depend on us for information. I do wish they would clear this up. It is disheartening to keep losing Society members. Well, Lisle wasn’t a member, not yet, but we feel certain she would have been accepted.” “Do you have any idea who might want Carl or Lisle dead?” Alex asked. “Colleen,” June said. “She opened the door to the evil.” “You think she’s committing the murders?” “She brought the evil in, but we don’t know who it’s working through. When that person is gone, the evil may go, too. Or perhaps not. We may have to cleanse the area before we are safe again.” An exorcism. Expulsion of evil. Rites and rituals existed for it in almost every culture. He knew evil was a very real force, but he also knew that the greatest damage was done by very real people. He put down his cup and rose from the pillow. “Thank you for the tea. I don’t want to stay too long. I might interfere with Luke’s defense.” “You’re welcome here anytime,” June said, taking the cup. “Good vibrations help strengthen the defense.” Alex left the pair, wondering how Gaust had interviewed a continuously meditating suspect. Not that meditation seemed to interfere with Luke’s conversational abilities. Perhaps Luke had studied somewhere in the remote Himalayas with a group of monks who specialized in chatting instead of chanting. Maybe a continuous stream of inane drivel could free the mind and allow it to soar to great heights. He was so busy inventing an order of chatting monks that he didn’t notice Wallingford until the man was in front of him. “I’m glad I brought these with me,” he said waving a handful of flyers. “I’d hate to have missed the opportunity to reach so many people.” “Isn’t that cold?” Alex didn’t try to keep the disapproval out of his voice. “After all, Lisle has just died.” “I’m not handing them out to grieving relatives. These are reporters. They make their living by poking into the grubby details of people’s lives.” Alex tried to shrug off the mercenary comment. After all, he wanted information from this man. “Are you expecting reporters to sign up for your programs?” “If I’m lucky, a few of them might call to set up interviews. The medical establishment may not recognize the true scope of hypnotism yet, but the public does.”
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Alex decided to play a hunch. “Recognition is always difficult. Look at what they’re making you go through here.” Wallingford laughed. “They take their little Society very seriously. No wonder they’re in financial trouble. A man can’t be expected to run a business while sitting around waiting for signs from beyond.” “I didn’t know they were having financial difficulties.” “I don’t think they know it. Carl sold them on all these grandiose plans for a seminars and a conference center. As if they have the money to pull that off. Fools, all of them.” With a chuckle, he hurried down the street. “Alex.” Alex turned to see George barreling toward him. Damn. Obviously, Wallingford had spotted him and bolted. Alex would have to find another opportunity to talk to the hypnotist about the Society’s financial shortcomings. Now he had George and his obsession with signs to contend with. “It’s not in my room, and they think I’m hiding it,” George panted as he reached Alex. “Who are they, and what do they think you’re hiding.” “Lynn’s painting. One of the cops came to get it. I tried to explain how important it was to the Society, but he was very insistent. I could sense that he had closed his mind to our needs, but I said I’d give him the painting provided he promised to return it to the Society. But when I went up to my room, it was gone.” “Did anyone else know it was in your room?” “Of course not. I didn’t tell a soul.” Listening to the protest, Alex wondered how many people had already heard hints about Lynn’s sign. “Did you lock your room?” George shook his head. “People don’t steal here. You’ve got to do something. They think I’m hiding it.” Alex remembered his recent conversation with Gaust and made a decision. “Why should we worry about returning the painting to the police? Gaust wants it because it links Lynn to Lisle’s murder. You don’t think Lynn killed her do you?” George shook his head. “Of course not. Obviously the police can’t really see the painting. It won’t help them solve this.” “Right,” Alex said, heartily. He was feeling better about obstructing justice. “I’ll stop by and tell Gaust that we think one of the reporters stole the painting. That should take the heat off you. Of course, Gaust might want to search your room.”
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George stepped back suddenly. “Then I’d better go back and...I’d better go back.” He hurried off at a speed that made Alex wonder if the painting was really missing at all.
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Chapter Fourteen LYNN STABBED A BIT of lettuce with her fork. She hadn’t been impressed with the restaurant so far. Since the ocean was hidden behind a curtain of condos, windows had been dispensed with. Brass rails and plastic plants did little to lighten the dark interior, but Joshua seemed not to notice. Lynn pushed a tomato wedge to the side of her plate. “Do you think the murderer is someone from Cassadaga?” “One of us?” Joshua considered the question. “I think it has to be. We’re not a saintly crew.” “Are you including both sides of the street in that observation?” He chuckled. “Yes, but remember, authorized murderers live only on the right side of the street.” “Joshua,” Anthea scolded. Lynn shivered at his dark humor. “She was strangled with Colleen’s scarf.” “Doesn’t mean anything,” Joshua said. “She called me,” Anthea said. “Colleen, I mean. The police asked her about the scarf. She told them she left it behind after the séance, but she doesn’t think they believed her. She wondered if we could help.” “Not likely,” Lynn said, her last interview with Gaust fresh in her mind. “We’re suspects ourselves.” “Colleen thinks she’s at the top of the list now.”Joshua leaned back in his chair as the waitress removed his half-eaten salad. “She walked out with the rest of us last night. I don’t remember anybody asking for their stuff. Do you?” Lynn shook her head. “Since none of us handed anything over, I guess we didn’t think about it.” “Colleen called Rafael right after the police interrogated her,” Anthea said. “He said the only thing missing was her scarf. He did tell the police that everyone was anxious to begin the séance so he just stuck everything on a shelf under the desk. Then he forgot about it until he was ready for bed. He figured everything was safe, and we’d all pick up our things in the morning.” “Watch the plate honey, it’s hot,” the waitress said, setting down Lynn’s filet mignon. The conversation faded while Anthea and Joshua
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were served. “Safe, hell,” Joshua said, cutting into his prime rib. “Anyone could have gotten to the scarf.” “Anyone at the séance,” Lynn said. “We were the only ones who knew about the scarf.” She took a bite of her filet. It was so tender it nearly melted on her tongue. Joshua just might have been right about the restaurant. Anthea shook her head. “You’ve missed a possibility. Lisle must have decided to go out to the gazebo at some point last night, and she might have taken the scarf with her.” Lynn remembered the scarf, dark with glittering stars and moons. “Last night Lisle was worried about the Pagan symbols on that scarf. Why would she take it? And it was raining. Why would she go outside?” Anthea shrugged “It didn’t rain all night. Besides, the rain might be the reason she picked up the scarf. Maybe she just wanted to keep her hair dry. It’s a possibility.” “She wrapped the scarf around her neck and strolled out to the gazebo where a wandering vagrant strangled her?” Joshua snorted in disbelief. “I doubt you’ll convince your detective of that. The murderer was one of us at the séance last night. Who had a motive for murdering Lisle?” “And Carl,” Lynn reminded him. “Dear heart,” Joshua said. “Everyone had motives for doing in Carl, even if it was just to put him out of our misery. Lisle is a different matter. I can’t think of any reason to harm her.” “Unless you’d murdered Carl and thought she could reveal you.” He raised his eyebrows. “You’re suggesting she was killed by someone who believed she could channel angels.” “Joshua,” Anthea warned. “I’d like to remind you that you live in a community where people tend to believe that kind of thing.” “So we can narrow the list down to the true believers.” His voice was still tinged with humor. “Which eliminates you,” Lynn said dryly. “And the two of you,” Joshua said. “You didn’t believe Lisle’s little act, and Anthea would simply take on the angels without bothering with a go-between. Let’s see, we need a list of the gullible if not guilty.” He put his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. “Where to start. Luke?” “He had no reason to kill Carl,” Anthea said. “Not everyone had trouble getting along with the man.”
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“I’m not sure about that,” Joshua said. “Did you ever watch the two of them together? Luke wasn’t very comfortable around Carl.” “You don’t kill someone because you’re uncomfortable around them,” Lynn said. Anthea nodded. “Luke’s not the murdering type. Nor is June.” “She might to protect Luke,” Joshua said. “And she might very well have believed in Lisle’s abilities.” “June is not a murderer,” Anthea repeated. “Well, if you don’t like Luke or June as suspects, how about Myra?” He picked up his glass and swirled it so that the red wine crept up the sides. “I’d like it to be Myra. In prison, she won’t pester me to fix up the house.” “You can’t convict someone for murder because they don’t like the way you take care of your house,” Lynn said. “Besides, I’ve seen your house. You’d have to work your way through a very long list.” Joshua raised his glass. “Touché.” “Did Carl ever tell you to fix up your house?” Anthea spoke slowly. “Ah, my motive,” Joshua said. “Yes, he did and frequently. I told him I didn’t own the house, the Society did, and when they provided me with the money, I’d pay someone to fix it.” “You old miser,” Anthea said. “You make more than all of us put together.” “But all of you put together don’t make enough to keep a hamster alive. Besides, you’re forgetting that I don’t believe Lisle had any ability to reveal the murderer. I wouldn’t have minded if she channeled her little heart out.” “True, if you were only worried about her channeling.” Anthea held up a hand as he leaned forward to object. “Joshua, I don’t for a moment think you killed either of them, but if we’re going to sit here and play detective, we need to consider all the possibilities. Someone strangled Lisle in the wee hours of the night. We don’t know why she was out by the gazebo. What if she’d been in the habit of meditating there late at night? What if she saw Carl’s murderer on his or her way to Carl’s house? It’s dark down by the lake. The murderer might not have noticed her.” Lynn thought about it. Anthea’s explanation seemed more sensible than the idea that the murderer was trying to keep the angels at bay. “Then why wouldn’t she have revealed his name last night?” she asked. Joshua laughed. “That’s an easy one. She wanted to build up the
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tension. Pull us along for a while.” Anthea shook her head in disagreement, but Joshua continued. “And let us think she’s failed before she amazed us with her talent.” Anthea was still shaking her head. “You dismiss her too easily.” “Oh, come on, Anthea,” Joshua said. “If her abilities were real, it’s too bad the angels didn’t tell her to avoid the gazebo late at night.” “Could the murderer have led her there?” Lynn asked. “Maybe she wasn’t doing a late-night meditation session, but went out with the killer. But how would he or she know Lisle could identify him?” “Perhaps she said something that gave her away,” Anthea suggested. “Or she attempted blackmail.” Joshua said. “We’re still left with the group at the séance. So far, we’ve considered Luke and June and even me. And Anthea has decided we’re not likely suspects. We still haven’t finished with Myra. She certainly didn’t get along with Carl.” “She doesn’t get along with Patrick or Colleen, either, and they’re both alive,” Anthea said. “So what’s Myra’s problem?” Lynn asked, then took a bite of steak. She had a feeling the question would take a while to answer. “She wants to redo Cassadaga in her own image,” Joshua said. “Joshua,” Anthea scolded again, then shrugged. “That is a good way of putting it. Myra’s client list is low. She thinks giving the Society a more professional image will bring more people. Unfortunately, her idea of professional seems to grate on everyone. The age limit—” Joshua laughed. “She just wants to slow Patrick down. Still, it isn’t a good idea. Rafael is threatening to make things difficult if anyone even tries to push Patrick out.” “Could he do it?” Lynn asked. “Rafael doesn’t make threats lightly,” Anthea said. “But he knows we wouldn’t revoke Patrick’s membership, so he had no motive for killing Carl or Lisle.” “Didn’t he?” Joshua leaned back in his chair. “What if Rafael thought Carl was somehow responsible for a fire that nearly killed Patrick? Would that give him a motive? And if Lisle saw him leave the inn that night, he would have had a reason for doing away with her. Don’t forget, he knew exactly where the scarf was.” “Was Carl responsible for that fire?” Lynn asked. “An accident with a coffee pot,” Joshua said. “That’s all it looks like so far, but Rafael might have felt differently.” Lynn pushed a bit of filet around her plate. Her mind filled with
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the image of Rafael pulling a scarf tight around Lisle’s neck while she struggled against him. She pushed away the image. “This isn’t fun. I like Rafael and Patrick, and I don’t want to think of either of them as murderers.” “Wrong method anyway,” Anthea said. “I can’t imagine Rafael sneaking around in the middle of the night to poison Carl. He’s far too direct for that.” “Wallingford?” Joshua offered the name up in hopeful voice. “I don’t have a damn thing on him, but I don’t think any of us have grown attached to him. Or how about George?” “Lynn knew George at school,” Anthea said, and Joshua gave her a questioning look. “Guilty by association,” Lynn said. “And since you’re wondering, George was just as strange then as he is now. Still, that doesn’t give him a reason to kill Carl. Unless Carl really could prevent his admission to the Society.” Anthea shook her head. “Carl wasn’t that powerful, though he seemed to think he was. Any sign George received would have been considered by the board.” “Did y’all save room for dessert?” the waitress asked as she collected plates. “Got some real Florida Key lime pie and some fresh coffee, just made.” Joshua gave an absent wave. “Fine, fine, three coffees, three pies.” The waitress glanced at Lynn and Anthea, catching nods, then she whisked away their plates. “Coffee?” Lynn asked Anthea in surprise. “I’m indulging,” Anthea said. “After the last few days, I need it.” “Back to the murders,” Joshua said tapping the table with his spoon. “Who haven’t we considered yet? Alex?” “He doesn’t quite belong,” Anthea said. “It’s the strong undercurrent of common sense,” Joshua said. “I’ve noticed it has a tendency to make certain psychics nervous.” “Oh, really Joshua.” Anthea waved away the comment. “I’d scold if I didn’t suspect you might have a point. Still, I don’t think he’s telling the truth about what he’s really doing in Cassadaga.” “But Anthea,” Joshua said, “consider our little group and the astonishing regularity with which we appear to be dropping off these days. Who with common sense would admit to anything? He’s hiding something, but do we know of any reason why he’d want to do in Carl or Lisle?” The waitress arrived with dessert and coffee. Lynn took a bite of
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creamy pie just tart enough to prickle her tongue. “Lynn has spent some time with him,” Anthea said. Lynn sipped her coffee. Anthea raised an eyebrow and watched. Lynn set down her cup. “I was just thinking that he acted oddly at the end of Colleen’s gathering. He sort of vanished into the woods and that was the night that Carl’s tea was poisoned.” Joshua seemed disappointed by the revelation. “Is that all? I’d noticed he vanished, and thought he was just trying to escape Myra. We still don’t have a reason for him to do in Carl.” “Frankly, he has less of a reason than the rest of us,” Anthea said. “I’m afraid that this was the work of someone very much involved with the Society.” “Are you eliminating our Wiccan friends?” Joshua asked. “Oh no. I said involved with, not belonging to. Colleen and her group are very much involved.” Lynn remembered the night she’d gone to Colleen’s. “Could it have been a member of the Coven? Five or six of them were around the town the night of the gathering.” “But they wouldn’t have been at Lisle’s séance,” Joshua said. “And that would also eliminate Eagle and the locals. We’re looking for someone who was there the night of the séance. And that’s a very small group.” He looked down at his empty plate. “Ladies, I’m afraid our day out is at an end. I want to get back home before it’s too late. And I want the two of you to lock your doors and windows and not to go wandering around alone at night. This tragedy is not yet played out.” Lynn dozed in the back seat as the car swayed along the curving road to Cassadaga. Then Joshua cursed and the brakes shrieked. She gasped hard and tensed every muscle from her shoulder to her calves as she flew forward, grabbing the back of Anthea’s seat. “What in the hell’s that?” Joshua demanded rolling down his window. “Colleen’s house,” Anthea said in a resigned voice. By leaning halfway into the front seat, Lynn could see a dim glow in the sky ahead of them. “They can’t be burning the house.” “Don’t think the fire’s big enough for that,” Joshua said. “Hang on, we’ll go check it out.” Lynn held onto the front seat as they bounced toward Colleen’s. She forced herself to ignore the twinges of pain from her back and the fear twisting in her stomach. Lisle had warned Colleen about fire and, despite Joshua’s reassurance, her mind filled with images of Colleen and Skye trapped in a burning house.
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Chapter Fifteen THE FRONT OF Colleen’s house looked fine, but Lynn could see the glow of flames and smell the tangy scent of burning wood. “It’s around back,” Joshua said, swinging sharply down a street, then pulling the car to the side of the road. “Now that took planning.” Anthea opened her door and climbed out of the car. “I tried to warn her.” Lynn stopped half out of the car and studied the scene. Colleen’s backyard stretched in a soft roll of grass from the pine trees to the street. A tall stake, with a Halloween-style witch tied to the top, had been erected in the grassy area. Wood had been piled around the stake to form a bonfire. Lynn pushed out of the car and moved closer. Everything had been designed to keep the witch from burning too quickly. The pole was metal, and the pile of wood broad rather than high. Once the pyre had been lit, the flames had plenty of time to gather a crowd. The cape and pointed hat fluttered against the sky. A group of locals chattered and poked each other while staying on the edge of the light. Sirens screeched over the cheers of the crowd as the flames reached up and licked at the witch’s cape. As the flames danced around the edges of the cape, the stuffing, which must have been rags or straw, flamed brightly. The black cape gave a final flutter, then wrapped itself around the figure and melted. Firefighters pulled hoses from the trucks and pointed them at the pyre. The flames hissed and flared. As the fire was subdued, the crowd laughed and jeered. Lynn caught sight of Colleen standing nearer the house and slipped over to her. “I’m sorry.” Colleen’s lips twitched into a smile. “I told that detective that we weren’t safe, but he wouldn’t listen. I expect he will now.” Lynn looked toward the stake. The bonfire had been welldesigned, just like the fire at the Esbat. Nothing had been damaged, and no one had been hurt. A Nissan Xterra pulled up behind the fire truck, and a man holding a video camera climbed out. “Reporters,” Colleen said. “Excuse me, I want to make sure they get their facts right.”
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Lynn backed away. Finding Lisle’s body still made her worth interviewing. Then, almost lost in the darkness, she found Skye. The younger Wiccan had her arms wrapped around herself and her head bowed. Thick hair fell down over her face. Lynn walked over and touched her on the arm. Skye nodded toward the pyre with its tattered remnants of the Halloween witch. “That’s how they see us. We tried to open ourselves up. To show them our ways, and this is what happens. It’s not safe here for us anymore.” Lynn agreed silently. She almost suggested Skye move into the inn, but then she realized the girl might feel even less comfortable there. “Come back to Anthea’s with me.” Shaking her head, Skye moved away. The light from the fire engines touched streaks of wetness running down her cheeks. For a moment she stood caught between the light and the darkness. “They shouldn’t have done this,” she said. Then she turned and fled through the side yard. “Skye!” Lynn started after the girl. Skye was faster than she’d expected, and Lynn slowed when she heard the girl’s sandals slapping against asphalt. The fading slaps told her she’d been outdistanced. She collapsed in the middle of the front yard. Then she heard more steps. Not Skye returning. These steps were coming from the wrong direction, and they had a deliberate, male stride to them. Suddenly Lynn realized how alone she was. Her breath quickened. She could scream, but doubted she would be heard. She scrambled to her feet and turned to face her approacher. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.” “Alex,” she said, recognizing the voice. Alex who probably wasn’t the murderer. She prayed that he wasn’t, since she knew she couldn’t outrun those long legs. “I was trying to catch Skye.” “Why would you want to do that?” “She was upset by the fire, and I didn’t think she should be alone.” Lynn looked around the darkness. She didn’t think she should be alone, either, but there was no help for that now. “Do you want me to help you look for her?” “No. She’s probably better off being left to herself right now.” Alex waved toward Colleen’s. “You couldn’t resist coming out to see the show?” “We were on our way back from dinner when we saw the fire. We thought we might help. Now that everything is under control, Joshua and Anthea will probably want to go home. I know I do.”
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“I should have remembered that Anthea is a friend of Colleen’s. I think Joshua’s car is blocked in by the fire truck.” His voice sounded apologetic in the darkness. “Do you want me to walk you home?” “Umm.” Lynn didn’t believe Alex was the killer, but she didn’t really know him, either. “George is looking for you.” “Oh.” She couldn’t deal with George on top of everything else tonight. “Is George with Anthea?” Alex nodded. “I saw you heading in this direction and didn’t think you should be alone.” “So you decided to follow me? You could have just told my aunt where I was.” He didn’t respond. In the dark, she couldn’t see his expression. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “I’ll escort you to George, if you want.” “No,” Lynn decided. “I’ll go home. Could you find Anthea and tell her?” “I’m not letting you walk alone. I’ll escort you home, then I’ll tell Anthea. I’ll even tell George, if you want.” “No, not George. He’d just follow me to the house.” She looked from the road to the beckoning light of the backyard. George might be there, but so were other people. “Lynn?” She turned. “How do I know you’re not the murderer trying to get me alone in the dark?” He didn’t answer. Suddenly one arm was around her waist and the other clapped over her mouth. He held her at least a foot off the ground. His voice sounded softly in her ear. “I already have you alone. And I am strong enough to take you anywhere I want and do what I want with you.” Just as suddenly, she was back on the ground. “Good lord, girl.” The exasperation in his voice made her hold back her scream. “I’m trying to keep you out of danger. Now, I will either escort you back to your Aunt or to your house. If you choose the latter, I suggest you lock the doors and windows once you get there.” Lynn hoped her heart would eventually settle back to a normal beat. She had a sudden understanding of how easily any of the men could have killed Lisle. She started toward Anthea’s house. “I don’t think I can face the others right now. I’m not sure that Colleen wasn’t involved in this prank.” “Why would she do something like this?” He sounded curious,
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maybe somewhat doubtful, but he wasn’t dismissing the idea. “I’m not sure why but I can guess. She wants the attention and publicity.” “An interesting idea. Develop it some more.” The tone reminded her of a college professor. “Where do you teach?” she asked. “Why do you think I teach? Don’t tell me, you’re psychic.” “Everyone else is,” she teased, surprised at his reaction. “Why shouldn’t I join the crowd?” “Which crowd are you going to join? Myra’s or Colleen’s?” She laughed. “Not much of a choice is it?” “George?” he asked, lightly. “Still not much of a choice,” she said. “Poor, George. People don’t take him seriously.” “He has your painting.” She stopped in the middle of the street. “What? How?” “I handed it over to him.” “Why would you do that?” she asked, not bothering to keep the anger from her voice. “It seemed better than leaving it in the hands of the reporters. They photographed it. The pictures will probably be in the paper tomorrow.” “Anthea doesn’t get the paper,” Lynn replied absently. “Why don’t the police have the painting? They were looking for it.” “George doesn’t want to turn it over to the police because he thinks it’s your sign.” “Sign?” Lynn struggled with the thought. She started walking again. “I didn’t predict Lisle’s death or prevent it. I just painted it. How is that a sign?” “I don’t know,” Alex said. “But George is ready to make a case for it. And I’m not sure the rest of the Society won’t find a reason to agree with him. Anyway, Gaust knows you don’t have the painting. You don’t have any idea how the reporters got hold of it?” “Good heavens, no. I wouldn’t have given it to them, and I certainly wouldn’t let George wander around with it.” “I’m sorry,” he said. “I really couldn’t think of a way to keep it out of his hands. I’m not happy about all the attention he keeps showing you.” “Why?” Lynn knew why she wasn’t happy with George’s attention, but she couldn’t see why it should bother Alex. Alex shrugged. “You should be careful and try to stay out of the
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way.” “Out of the way? Whose way am I in?” “I meant you shouldn’t get too close. After all, two people have died, and you were, well, sorta involved.” “Involved?” She struggled to keep her voice level. “I was just unlucky enough to find Lisle.” “And you helped deliver Carl’s tea. It would just be better if you stayed out of the way, so that if anything else happens, you aren’t, well, there.” They’d reached Anthea’s front porch. The light was off but a soft, fuzzy glow spilled from the living room window. Lynn whirled to face Alex. The light fell on that carefully controlled expression he always seemed to have. “Do you think I had something to do with this?” she demanded. “No.” He stood looking at her, uncertainty in his blue eyes. “Forget about the painting and signs for now, and keep yourself out of it.” “You scared me half to death at Colleen’s when you grabbed me. You’ve given my painting to George. You’re suggesting I’m somehow involved in two murders.” She glared at him. “Maybe you should keep out of it. I’m not going into hiding, and I will help my aunt in any way I can. Even if it involves George.” He took a half step towards her, then shifted his weight and backed down the steps. “Be angry with me if you want, but take my advice. I’ll let your aunt know you’re home.” Lynn fumed as she watched him go. Who was he to tell her what to do? Take his advice? Hah! She stomped into the house. ALEX LEFT LYNN and headed toward Colleen’s. He’d messed up completely. What had ever possessed him to grab Lynn? On the other hand, what had possessed her to go wandering around alone? She didn’t seem to realize how vulnerable she was. He’d wanted to show her that, maybe scare some sense into her, but it had backfired. She was mad at him and likely to stubbornly place herself in the murderer’s way just to prove she could take care of herself. He had to go back to Anthea’s and explain things better. He started to turn, then spotted Officer Harrison walking toward him, shining a flashlight along the side of the road. “Looking for something?” Alex asked. “Evidence. Not that I’m expectin’ to find any,” he said in an unhappy drawl. “Gaust asked that witch who might have a grudge
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against her. She said the woman who lives here threatened her.” He shrugged. “Myra has said some unfriendly things, but I doubt she started the fire.” Alex wouldn’t mind drawing suspicion away from the Society crowd, since Lynn was so closely associated with them. “Colleen might have had something to do with the fire herself.” Harrison shrugged and gave a slow smile. “Now, why would we expect the lady to do something like that? Just because the fire was about as far away from her house as it could be and still be in her yard? Because she’s been tryin’ awfully hard to get the press to pay her some attention? Because she’s alive right now, and that’s even suspicious?” “Does Gaust think she might be responsible for the two murders?” “That’s a different matter. Her scarf was used to strangle the second victim, but she doesn’t seem like the kind of lady who’d be dumb enough to do that.” Harrison scratched his head with the flashlight, sending the light wandering. “You’ve been here a while. What type of money do these folks have?” “They haven’t established their own currency, if that’s what you mean. If any of them are wealthy, they hide it well.” “To make people think they’re more spiritual?” Harrison asked. “Or because they don’t come by it honestly?” “Be careful when you say that. You may not believe in what they do, but that doesn’t make it dishonest.” “Gaust is looking into that,” Harrison said. “I took a gander at some of the deceased’s records. He charged an awful lot for his consultations. And before you go lecturin’ me again, tell me why his own Society would pay him big consultation fees.” “Consultation fees?” Alex asked, then suddenly realized what Harrison was hinting at. “Are you suggesting he embezzled Society funds?” Harrison chuckled. “I can’t say that. Not without more evidence, but the guy wrote the checks and signed them himself. Don’t it just show you? All this talk about being spiritual, and the guy is funneling the funds into his own bank account. Not that anyone else seems to know it. This bunch is so useless, Gaust can’t come up with a good suspect.” Since he had Harrison chatting in a friendly fashion, Alex decided to risk a question. “What has Gaust come up with for Lisle’s murder?” Harrison shrugged. “A bunch of nuthin’. From the way she was strangled looks like the killer was taller than her, but forensics found some wood fibers on the back of her dress that match the picnic table.”
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A note of sarcasm crept into Harrison’s voice. “So now we know either the killer was taller or she was sittin’ down. They tried to get some prints off the scarf. No go. Gaust had us walk round the pond checkin’ for footprints, but the killer probably came out by the gazebo, where that painter girl walked down to the water. Then you went in after the body. Then the medics tromped around a while.” “Not much to go on.” Harrison shook his head. “We’ve got prints from the gazebo. The deceased’s, but we know she was there. That painter girl. Hers were all over her paintin’ stuff. And we got, oh, a zillion other prints.” “It’s a nice place to sit,” Alex said. “Everyone’s probably been down there at one time or another.” “Like I said—a bunch of nuthin’,” Harrison concluded. “I better get back. You let me know if you hear anythin’, you hear?” “I hear.” Alex watched the man’s jaunty stride as Harrison headed down the street. He wondered how interested the police were in “that painter girl.” Then again, how interested was he?
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Chapter Sixteen GEORGE BANGED ON the kitchen door as Lynn made her first cup of coffee. “I was looking for you last night,” he accused as she let him in. “Good morning to you, too.” She dropped into a chair and ran a hand through her hair, wincing as her fingers caught on the tangled curls. “I can still smell the smoke.” She’d shampooed her hair three times before she felt clean enough to go to bed. Now she regretted sleeping with wet hair. “Where were you yesterday?” George asked. “We went out for dinner.” George’s eyebrows pushed together. “We?” “Joshua, Anthea, and me.” Lynn leaned back and put her feet on the chair beside her. “We made it back just in time for that absurd witch burning.” George nodded, knowingly. “I was there. We have to go back. I need to search the area.” “That’s a job for the police. Or is it the arson squad?” “They won’t find the type of clues I’m talking about,” George insisted. Lynn raised her eyebrows and waited. What did George have planned this time? “Psychometry. It’s one of my stronger talents.” “Yes, of course.” She should have sounded more enthusiastic, but George’s forays into all things psychic had been unsuccessful. Left to his own devices, he would probably manage to get himself killed, and not necessarily by the murderer. George was looking at her feet as if he wanted to push them off the chair. “I want to check the site before anyone else gets there, and I thought you might want to come with me.” Lynn looked outside. The sky was clouding. “It’s going to rain.” “That’s why we’ve got to hurry.” Lynn tried to remember if water was supposed to interfere with psychic vibrations. If she could just delay George until everything was good and wet. No, it was no use. George would just want to try something else. “I’ll come. Just let me finish my coffee.”
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“We’ve got to go now before everything has been touched.” Lynn sipped her coffee. “What if the police are there? They won’t like us messing around.” “They won’t be there,” George said conspiratorially. “I waited around last night, and they rounded up a gang of teenagers. I bet they consider the case closed. Leave it to the cops to choose an easy out.” “Did the kids admit to it?” George shrugged. “Who cares? If they deny it, no one will believe them. If they admit to it, the cops will slap them on the wrist and let them go.” This time George might be right. Of course, Lynn wasn’t going to tell him that. George was even more annoying when he was right. She set the coffee cup on the table. “Give me a moment to run upstairs and change, and I’ll go with you.” “COULDN’T YOU HAVE done this last night?” Lynn asked as George set a trying pace for Colleen’s. “Too many people around. I couldn’t get the right vibrations. It’s harder to work in a crowd. Everyone’s thoughts keep banging together. That’s what I kept telling Carl. He was big on group readings, you know, at lectures and things. I don’t think that’s the right way to work. I told him, but I don’t think he listened.” “No,” Lynn said. Keeping up with George’s pace wasn’t leaving her enough breath for speaking. George continued with his catalogue of worries. “A lot of the others here are as shallow as Carl was. It’s a shame. Oh, not your aunt, she’s different. But Patrick treats readings like they’re a party. Why was Rafael allowed to join the Society? He’s only a hotel manager. Myra has a much more professional grasp of things.” Lynn “uh-huhed” in response. They’d reached Eagle’s shop, and she could almost taste the doughnuts. “George, I have to stop.” He turned concerned. “What’s wrong?” “I’m going to get some coffee and an aspirin.” “Caffeine will kill you.” “No,” she reassured him, “the fat from the doughnut will beat it to the job. Go ahead, I’ll catch up with you.” “I’ll wait.” He crossed his arms and stood a few feet from the store. Lynn pushed open the door. Eagle already had the coffee poured and was taking a chocolate glazed doughnut out of the case. He handed them over with a nod in George’s direction.
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“Friend?” Lynn shrugged. “Got any aspirin?” “Bottle or a couple?” “Just enough to help me survive George.” Eagle gave a short grunt of laughter and reached under the counter. He held up a huge bottle. Lynn laughed. “I’ll need more coffee if I have swallow them all.” Eagle shook two aspirin out and handed them to her. “Seen him around. Nature nut. Told me I should only offer natural products.” Lynn gulped the aspirin down with the coffee and grimaced as the taste of the two mixed. “They say they’re better for you.” Eagle smiled. “I’ve been in organic up to my ass, and it didn’t do me much good. Eat your doughnut.” Surprised, Lynn took a bite. As she chewed she mulled over the thought that Eagle probably knew enough about plants to poison Carl. She didn’t like it, but she couldn’t dismiss it. Of course, he hadn’t been at the séance. In fact, she couldn’t remember seeing him at any recent events. “Did you hear what happened at Colleen’s last night?” “Kids.” “You think so?” “Know so. Heard ’em talkin’ about it.” “You should tell—” She could tell from his expression that he’d wouldn’t contact the authorities. “I think the police are questioning a group that was hanging around last night.” “Same kids. Kids not killers.” Eagle straightened, his eyes serious. “Carl, good riddance, I figure. That angel girl?” He shook his head. “You take care.” George stuck his head in. “Come on. Let’s go.” Lynn set the doughnut on the counter and stuck her hand in her jeans. Then she realized she had no money. Eagle must have read her expression. “Go. Pay later.” “I can’t believe you go in there,” George said after they were on their way. “Relax. It’s only a doughnut.” “Sugar and white flour.” George snorted. “And you saw all the stuff he had advertised.” “Deli sandwiches?” “No, the other stuff.” “Readings and past-life regressions?” George nodded.
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“Isn’t that what the Society does?” “But none of those readers are approved.” His tone indicated that any sane person would shudder at the very thought of having a reading done by an unapproved psychic. “Does Eagle do readings?” “Him? Probably can’t read a newspaper.” They reached Colleen’s yard. George headed for a large patch of burned grass. “Look for clues before anyone comes.” Staring at the ground, he walked in circles. “What am I looking for?” Lynn asked. “Something that belonged to the murderer.” “How will I know it belonged to the murderer?” George turned to her. “Just look. I thought you came to help me.” Lynn turned her attention to the ground. She should have stayed at Anthea’s. They weren’t going to find anything because the murderer hadn’t started the fire. She noticed a few gum wrappers and an empty chewing tobacco can near the road. She doubted the gum wrappers would yield any results, and she certainly wasn’t going to pick up the tobacco can. She’d look closer to the house. Maybe she’d find an earring or something that might have belonged to Colleen. It wouldn’t solve the murder, but it would make George feel better. But George was ahead of her, sitting on the patio with his eyes closed and his hands cupped around something. Lynn walked over and waited. After a few minutes, he exhaled deeply and opened his eyes. “Nothing.” He unclasped his hands. Lynn studied the single large leaf. “That wasn’t used in the fire.” “It killed Carl.” “Leaves crumbled into his tea,” Lynn said. “I doubt the murderer is carrying around a fresh selection to scatter as clues.” George let the leaf drop to the ground. “Do you know why Colleen grows that?” he asked, pointing to a plant in a large pot. “For spells. It’s evil.” Lynn studied the plant. Large, dark leaves hung from purpletinged stems. Long purple and white flowers flared into trumpets. “Anyone could have come up here and taken some leaves.” “The fire.” George ignored her comment. “Do you think she was burning evidence?” “No.” Lynn folded her arms. “The fire was started by the kids the police picked up. I know it sounds simple, but this whole set-up was too showy to be the work of the murderer.” “Maybe you’re right,” George said. “Colleen wouldn’t want to
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burn down her own house.” Lynn gave up. She’d never convince him that Colleen wasn’t the murderer. George gazed thoughtfully at the house. “If I could get my hands on something of hers,” he muttered. “The police would never believe evidence obtained through psychometry,” Lynn said in her best no-nonsense voice. “But it could lead us to a real clue. I need something personal, something she uses in her rituals.” He shifted his position. “Maybe she’s not home.” Lynn knew where his thoughts were leading. “We are not breaking into her house. Besides, this early she’s bound to be there.” “How do we get her out?” “George, we are not breaking into the house. If she’s the murderer, it’s too dangerous, and if she’s not, we have no business being in there.” “Maybe you could get Anthea to invite her over.” Arguing was useless. Lynn began walking away from Colleen’s. George bounced along beside her. “Come on. We’ll just be in there a minute or two. It’s not like we’re going to take anything. No one will know.” Lynn shook her head and kept walking. “At least get Anthea to invite her over. You don’t have to come with me.” “How am I supposed to behave normally around Colleen after I’ve broken into her house?” “How do you behave around her now knowing she might be a murderer?” “I don’t think she’s a murderer.” She knew from the set of his shoulders that George was going to go through with his plans. He always tackled these decisions like an eight-year-old afraid to back down from a dare. “All right,” she said. “I’ll see what I can do, but I’m not asking Anthea to invite a friend over so I can break into her house. Wait for me at the inn.” George smiled. “You’ll see, it will work out. Haven’t you noticed that when you really need to do something, things arrange themselves so you can? That’s because a higher power is helping you.” Lynn nodded. “May the force be with you.” The force, it appeared, was with George. Lynn walked into the kitchen just in time to hear Anthea slam down the phone. “That woman!” her aunt fumed. “Which one?”
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“Colleen. She’s on her way to Orlando so she can be interviewed on one of those news shows. I tried to tell her that we need to keep things quiet, but she won’t listen. You’d think she hasn’t noticed people are dying around here.” Anthea grabbed her shears and stuffed them in her pocket so forcefully Lynn was surprised they didn’t rip through the material. “I’ll be in the garden if you need me. Maybe I can pull a few weeds before the next crisis erupts.” Silently damning Colleen for making George’s plan so easy, Lynn left for the inn. She noticed a police van parked by the pond and a couple of men walking along the water’s edge. Wonderful. She was about to break into a house while the police were on the prowl. George rushed from the lobby as she stepped on the porch. Alex and Rafael were chatting in the chairs at one end, so George tugged her to the other. Alex looked up and gave a disapproving shake of his head. Lynn turned away and refused to look back in his direction. Until that moment, Lynn had been half-hoping for something to interfere with George’s plans and rescue her. Now, after seeing Alex and his stubborn disapproval, she felt determined to help George. “Well?” George asked impatiently. “She’s on her way to Orlando.” “Great! That means we’ve got hours. If she’d gone to Anthea’s we’d have to worry about her leaving too soon.” “We’ll still need to be careful,” Lynn said. “I don’t know where Skye is or when she’ll come home. When we get to Colleen’s, I’ll ring the doorbell, just to make sure that no one’s there.” “I forgot about Skye. If she’s there, you can tell her Anthea wants to talk to her or something.” “Hey, you two,” Rafael called. “Come sit and talk.” Lynn stiffened. Alex had probably told him to ask them, but George was ahead of her. “Not right now,” George said. “I’ve got something I want to show Lynn. We’ll be back later.” “Where are you going?” Alex asked. “You shouldn’t wander off alone.” “Oh, Lynn will be fine with me. But you guys stay on the porch where you’re nice and safe.” She glanced at Alex. He leaned forward in his chair, almost as if he wanted to stop her. But he didn’t. He sat back in his chair and watched her leave with George. When they reached the street, Lynn said, “George that was a terrible thing to say.”
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“Have you noticed the way Alex is always watching people?” George asked. “There’s something very suspicious about him.” “Do you think he’s the murderer?” George considered the possibility. “Maybe. If I can’t get any impressions from Colleen’s things, we can check him out next.” Lynn sighed. What had she gotten herself into? She wasn’t going to break into every house in town so George could practice his psychic talents. ALEX RESETTLED INTO the chair and watched Lynn and George walk down the road. “I don’t like the look of that.” “You let her go,” Rafael said. “He would not be much competition, if you would only try.” “That’s not what I mean. Someone around here is a murderer. How do we know it’s not George?” Rafael shrugged. “Or Lynn?” “I don’t consider her much of a possibility.” “Why not? Because you like her? That does not drop someone from the list of suspects. Consider the evidence. She gave the tea to Patrick, so she had perfect opportunity to poison it and to use Patrick to draw attention away from herself. She found Lisle’s body.” So Rafael would sacrifice Lynn to shield Patrick? “She couldn’t have strangled Lisle. She’s not tall enough.” “She’s shorter, but I don’t think Lisle was very strong.” “I’m not buying it,” Alex said. “There is no way she could have carried Lisle’s body to the pond. Besides, what motives would she have had?” “I am not saying I believe Lynn is the murderer, but there is no logical reason for excluding her from the list of suspects.” “There’s no logical reason for excluding most of us,” Alex said harshly. “Including me. After all, I found Carl’s body.” “Alex, a lot of people haven’t excluded you.” He was surprised. “Including you?” “You are new here.” Rafael hesitated. “I’m sorry Alex, but something about your story just doesn’t ring true.” Alex met the doubt with a challenge. “Is there something I haven’t explained?” “You have explained everything. But the people around here, they are of a certain type, and you are not.” “You don’t give me much to defend myself against. I had no reason to murder Carl and certainly none to harm Lisle.”
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Rafael shook his head. “Didn’t you?” “Of course not.” “Myra says Carl visited you before he left.” “He had something to discuss with me.” “May I ask what it was?” “It wasn’t anything serious.” “It is easy to say that now.” “You’ll have to trust me,” Alex said, uncomfortable in the struggle to show proof he wasn’t a killer. “I had no reason to murder Lisle. I certainly didn’t believe she was capable of naming the murderer.” “She was angry because you didn’t return her interest.” “She was jealous and behaving childishly. Everyone knew that. What do you expect me to do next? Knock off George, so I can have Lynn all to myself?” “Ah, so you do admit your desire. Although I don’t think you will need to kill George. I don’t believe she returns his interest. Have you told Lynn how you feel?” “Wait a minute,” Alex said, holding up both hands. “A moment ago you were accusing me of murder. Now you want to discuss my love life?” Rafael shrugged. “Talk to the girl.” “There are personal complications.” “These personal complications, perhaps it is time to start discussing them.” “I can’t Rafe. Not yet anyway.” He forced himself to sit back calmly in his chair. He could only hope that George wouldn’t be found dead next. Or Lynn.
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Chapter Seventeen LYNN SCRAMBLED BEHIND the overgrown junipers shading Colleen’s side windows. “I think this one’s locked, too,” she said, testing the window. No one had answered the door, so it appeared Skye wasn’t home. The deadbolts on the front and kitchen doors had been engaged, and George couldn’t get the sliding glass doors to even wiggle. However, they’d seen no signs of a security system. “We could break the window,” George suggested. “We are not breaking anything. We are not taking anything. We are playing detective, not thief.” Playing being the operative word. If she didn’t get him into the house, George just might come back later and break a window. She stood in front of a window whose panes slid from side to side instead of up and down. The lock was a simple arrangement where a piece of metal on the outer pane hooked over another piece of metal on the inner pane. Pushing on the outer pane, Lynn felt a satisfying jiggle. Prying off the screen, she handed it to George. “Tuck this out of sight somewhere.” “But you said the window’s locked.” Lynn grabbed the outer pane and shook it. “I think this will work.” She put her fist against the frame where the lock was and gave it a sharp bang. The window rattled and the catch on the lock slipped down. “Child’s play,” she said sliding open the window. “How’d you know to do that?” George asked, pushing close. She motioned for him to be quiet while she listened for any sounds from the house. She reached in and moved the metal candle stand that stood in front of the window. The clink of the glass candleholder against the iron frame seemed to ring as clear as a church bell. Lynn waited, but everything in the house was still. “You learn a lot about windows when you work with an interior design firm.” She stepped over the low sill. George climbed through after her and stood uncertainly at the edge of the living room. “Now what?” Lynn asked him. “We don’t want to stay too long.” “We need to find something personal.”
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“Can’t you just use one of the candlesticks?” George shook his head. “I need something she handles everyday. Besides, we should search the house.” “For what? Do you think she’s left a pamphlet titled ‘Ten Poisonous Plants and Ways to Use Them’ lying around?” “We need her witch stuff. The stuff she used when she cast the spell on Carl. The essence of her aura will be strongly attached to it. Where does she keep it?” “I don’t know,” Lynn said. “But you’ve been in here before.” “So have you. In the living room. I didn’t get a tour of the house.” “We’ll just have to search.” He sounded pleased. “It’ll go faster if we split up.” “Fine. I’ll start in here.” She headed for a door. The faster they did this, the sooner they’d be out. “I’ll be checking down the hall. Yell if you find anything.” “George, what if someone’s walking by?” “Oh, well, don’t yell. We’ll meet back here.” He slunk down the hall, tiptoeing and hugging the wall. Lynn shook her head at the sight, then opened the door and stepped into a surprisingly functional office. Four large metal filing cabinets stood against one wall, and a large desk held a computer. The atmosphere felt too business-like for Colleen. Maybe Colleen filed her spells for future use. Lynn reached for the top drawer but stopped just before her hand touched the metal handle. Fingerprints. Why hadn’t she brought gloves? Of course, she’d already left her fingerprints all over the window. Well, if they didn’t take anything, she doubted Colleen would find any reason to call the police. She pulled a tissue from the box on the desk and used it to grab the file cabinet handle. It was locked. She tried a few more drawers, but they were all locked. She looked at the computer. She might be able to check it out, unless Colleen password protected her computer. She used a tissue to turn it on and draped another over the mouse. She’d have to wipe off the keyboard when she was done. The machine hummed and Microsoft Windows loaded on to the screen. Good, no password. Lynn wasn’t sure where to start so she opened Word and went through the files. “Spells” was what it claimed to be, a file containing spells and curses for any occasion. Though tempted to read the spells and find one to deflect George, she closed the file and searched again. The files under the “Income” directory were all women’s names. Each showed a single large sum. Some were followed by smaller monthly sums. Lynn
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skipped down the list and discovered that Colleen had received a large payment only a month ago. Investments? She kept opening files. Suddenly, she had an answer. Stepping into the hallway, she called George’s name as loudly as she dared. After a moment, he slipped around the corner. She saw the silvery glint in his outstretched hands. “The dagger,” he said, holding the athame out to her. Lynn sighed. “No one’s been stabbed. Put it back.” “I will, but I want to use it for my psychometry.” “We don’t have a lot of time. Why didn’t you try already?” He let the athame drop to his side. “I need a witness. Besides, what if I go into a trance and don’t remember what I say?” “Is that likely to happen?” “Sometimes—when I get very strong vibrations,” George said happily. “But don’t get nervous. I always come out of it.” “That could be debated,” Lynn muttered, very softly. She imagined herself trapped in the house with an entranced George on her hands. Was he desperate enough to try that tactic to get her attention? He was on his own if he did. “Come on, I want to show you the witch room. I’m going to try there.” The “witch room” as George had called it was a small room at the back of the house. Trees shadowed the two corner windows, giving the place a forest-like feel. As with most of the rooms in the house, candles were everywhere, but in here a small brazier sat in the corner. “I wonder if she ever has trouble with her smoke alarms going off?” Lynn asked. George glanced around the room. “I don’t see any in here. She must use that.” He pointed to the brazier. “For spells. And look at all the stuff. I haven’t found any eye of newt yet.” He nodded toward an Oriental cabinet. “Open it.” Lynn still had one of the tissues so she used it to pull the door open. Small bottles filled with liquid stood inside. “Essential oils. She probably uses them for aromatherapy.” “Spells.” George plopped down in the center of a small rug. “Notice the rug. Pentagram-shaped.” The six-sided rug with its Oriental floral pattern could be found in just about any home furnishings catalog, and even George should have noticed that it had one too many sides for a pentagram. But she didn’t correct him. She wanted him to get on with his game, so they could get out of here.
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George placed the athame across his knees and closed his eyes. After a moment, he swayed slightly. “Dark, night gathering. Cold moonlight, hatred,” he said in a stiff whisper. “Package. A box with bags. Plastic and dry rustling leaves.” His eyes squeezed tighter. “Danger, someone’s coming.” Lynn was so busy watching George’s performance that it took her a moment to realize she heard the front door opening. She grabbed George by the shoulder. He looked up, shaking his head as if disoriented. “You shouldn’t—” She hissed at him to be quiet and grabbed athame. “This is supposed to be in the living room.” She looked around desperately and decided to put it on top of the cabinet. With any luck, Colleen would think Skye moved it and Skye would think Colleen had. It was a slim chance, but it was all they had. She positioned the athame carefully so that anyone entering the room would see it, then ran to the window. In the house, she heard footsteps moving toward the kitchen. Opening one of the windows, she popped off the screen and lowered it to the ground. She didn’t have to wait for George. He was right behind her as she climbed out. She grabbed his shirt before he could scramble out of the bushes. “Put the screen back on the other window,” she hissed. “Then go back to the inn and stay there.” She let go of his shirt, and he darted away. Lynn closed the window. The hall light had been turned on. They’d moved the candlestick climbing in, and the athame. She’d turned off Colleen’s computer, but had she closed the office door? She sighed. If the murderer had left this many clues, he or she would have been arrested already. She ducked under the bushes and found herself staring at a pair of brown docksiders. “Don’t you think this is going too far?” a stern voice asked. ALEX LEFT RAFAEL and strolled toward Colleen’s house. George and Lynn had gone in this direction, and anything that would drag the two of them this way worried him. Colleen’s house looked quiet and empty. Suspicion heightened his senses, and he soon spotted a window screen leaning against the bushes on the side of the house. He stepped back into the shadow of the trees and waited. After a while George emerged from the back of the house and busied himself putting on the screen. If they’d gone in through the front, why was George coming from the back? Fighting a vision of
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Lynn’s body left lying somewhere in Colleen’s house, Alex slipped past George and around to the backyard. More bushes. Before he could begin searching, Lynn’s curly head appeared from a leafy clump. “Don’t you think this is going too far?” he asked. She jumped at the sound of his voice then straightened and faced him. “Following me is going too far,” she snapped, keeping her voice near a whisper. “I didn’t think it was a good idea to leave you alone.” “I haven’t been alone. I’ve been with George.” “That’s worse than being alone.” He grasped her shoulder, and she pulled away. He folded his arms and stared down at her. “Perhaps it would be best not to be found standing beside the house you’ve just broken into.” She stalked down the slope of the backyard to the road. She stopped in the middle of the asphalt. “There, I’m safe. Now you can go away.” Alex ignored the suggestion. “I’m assuming this little escapade was George’s idea and not yours. I don’t find your choice of friends very reassuring.” Her face flushed, and he waited for her snippy response. “That’s all he is, you know.” “What?” “A friend.” “Good.” “So you can stop mooning around like a love-sick puppy.” “I’m not! Now is not the best time—” “I think we can both agree that your timing is horrendous. I could be a murderer. You could be a murderer. Always a good question to cover when you’re interested in someone. Are you married? Are you involved with someone? Have you recently killed anyone?” “No to all of the above.” “Same here. See how easy that was? Much easier than you and George following me around everywhere. Couldn’t either of you just ask me if I’m interested?” “I have no reason to check up on your romantic interests.” He shook his head. He wasn’t going to admit his interest...was he? “All I’m interested in is keeping you out of jail,” he said in his sternest tone. He nodded at Colleen’s house to still her protest. “That’s different.” “Let’s go someplace quiet, and you can explain.” She glared at him. “Fine. Where are we going?”
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They couldn’t go back to the inn, and the Meditation Garden was too public. The gazebo would have been perfect, except that Lisle had been killed there. The lake. They wouldn’t be likely to run into Society members there. He led the way with Lynn stubbornly silent beside him. They entered the privacy of the tree-sheltered road. “I don’t know why I should explain anything to you.” she blurted. “Because I don’t play games where people’s lives are concerned, and running around with George is only going to get you into trouble,” he said. “But if you need another reason, try this—because I could tell Detective Gaust what you’ve just done.” He expected her to look frightened or worried. Instead, she glared at him. “Tell him.” She whirled away and started toward town. Alex wanted to grab her again. To make her listen to him and stay safe. She was walking with a determined stride that dared him to stop her. Fine. He took three long strides to catch up to her then gave her a swift swat on the rear. She turned, looking both furious and surprised. “You—” she sputtered. No going back now. Alex grabbed her, cupped her chin with his hand and kissed her. The stubborn firmness of her lips gave way. He’d forgotten the feeling of warmth, of yielding softness as her lips parted beneath his. He pulled her closer, tasting desire. Then he released her and took a step back. His lips could still feel hers, and his body screamed at him for more, much more. He struggled for control. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” She stared at him for a long moment. “I thought,” she spoke slowly and carefully, “that type of move went out of style with Gothic romances.” He managed a small laugh. “I may be a few centuries behind in this sort of thing.” “I’ll take that into consideration,” she said. “Perhaps you should schedule for a refresher course with Colleen.” Refresher course? He didn’t think the kiss had been that bad. “Colleen? She’s hardly my type, besides she doesn’t strike me as being very romantic.” “Oh, you’d be surprised.” He scowled. “I’m sorry I stepped out of line, but I resent the implication that I need a refresher course.” Lynn’s hands went to her hips. “You were the one who said he was a few centuries out of practice. I don’t suppose you want to explain that remark. What are you, a vampire?” She was mad at him again. He should have stayed on the porch
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with Rafael and avoided this confrontation. “No, I’m not a vampire. It’s just that it’s been a while since I’ve kissed a girl.” She raised her eyebrows. “I haven’t been dallying with Patrick or Rafe in the kitchen. I like girls exclusively.” “You are going to great lengths to avoid explaining your earlier remark. Fine. Don’t. And I won’t tell you why you could consult Colleen for romantic instruction.” “I don’t need to consult Colleen. Would you like proof?” He reached for her. She moved closer and her lips parted beneath his. His mind screamed at him not to go too far, but he knew he already had. When he finished, he forced himself to put a good three feet between them. A public road, even a quiet one, was hardly the best place to rediscover his desires. “What were you saying about Colleen?” “You do that quite well for an out-of-practice vampire,” Lynn said after taking a moment to catch her breath. “But if you ever do that again, you’re going to explain why you’re out-of-practice.” “Fair enough.” He needed to turn her thoughts in another direction. “Tell me about Colleen.” “Have you ever heard of Claudette Keirns?” He shook his head. “She’s a well-known romance novelist...” she trailed off, leaving him to complete the puzzle. “Claude...Colleen,” he muttered. “No, it’s got to be a coincidence.” “Then explain why Colleen has Claudette’s newest literary efforts on her computer.” “You’re kidding.” He tried to imagine Colleen penning scenes of steamy passion. “See? House-breaking does have its uses.” “No more of that,” he scolded. “Just tell my why in heaven’s name you went along with George.” “I’ll admit George is an idiot, but he’s also a friend. Or he was years ago. He wanted to find something in the house that would prove Colleen was the murderer, and I couldn’t let him go alone. He’d trip over the windowsill climbing in and knock himself out. Then he’d claim it was Colleen’s fault and she’d be arrested for assault.” “What evidence did George expect to find?” Lynn hesitated. “Oh, damn, George is difficult to explain. He still thinks that Colleen was the murderer because she put an evil spell on Carl.” “That appears to be a common belief around here,” he admitted.
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“But Carl wasn’t killed by an evil spell.” “George isn’t giving up on that yet. He wants to prove that Colleen added the Devil’s Trumpet leaves to the tea.” “And left the evidence in her house for George to find? Colleen may be a murderer, but I doubt she’s a stupid murderer.” She smiled. “You’re having a hard time keeping that serious expression.” “On the contrary, I find murder very serious.” “Try this,” she said. “George isn’t looking for physical evidence. He’s looking for psychic evidence.” “Um-hmm.” He wasn’t surprised. “How did he do that?” “Do you know what psychometry is?” “Simply put—the ability to sense things about a person through objects that belong to them. Is that what George does?” “He does that as well as he does anything else. His performance has improved very little since college. George held Colleen’s athame and swayed back and forth. Then he claimed to see someone gathering leaves by moonlight.” Alex envisioned the scene. “The gatherer was Colleen, I presume.” “Oh, he didn’t mention her name, but the athame was hers.” “How long do you think George will keep this a secret?” “Why should he want to tell anyone?” she asked. “He didn’t find any proof.” Alex shook his head. “To George, that was proof. He’s going to want everyone to know what he’s discovered, and he’s going to let them know that you were there to witness that discovery.” A look of realization spread across her face, and Alex knew he’d gotten through to her about breaking into Colleen’s house. “Damn,” she said. She whirled and marched up the road. Two steps brought him beside her. “Where are you going?” “To make sure George understands no one is to know what we did today.” Alex didn’t think she could convince George to stay quiet, but the tone of her voice kept him from mentioning it. George was standing on the inn’s porch and ran toward them as soon as he spotted Lynn. Alex stepped in his way. “So, George, what’s going on?” George’s face flushed. “Wallingford had a sign.”
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Chapter Eighteen ALEX STARED AT George as the words sunk in. “Who witnessed it?” “All of us,” George said. “Why weren’t you here?” The question was directed at Lynn. “I wish I had been,” she said. “I hate missing something as important as a sign.” “It was only Wallingford,” George said, somewhat mollified. “Where were you?” “Just walking.” Lynn replied stalling Alex’s chance to tell George that it was none of his business. “Tell us about the sign.” “Well, Myra came stomping across from the bookstore in a rage.” “Wait,” Alex said. “Where was everyone?” “At the inn.” “Outside on the porch?” “No, inside. Otherwise it couldn’t have happened, could it?” “Then we should go inside,” Alex suggested. “I may need this for my research,” he added when George looked like he was about to object. “I’m not sure Wallingford’s the best person to use,” George grumbled. “I’m surprised he even got a sign.” “Alex will research everyone’s signs,” Lynn said. “That way there will be an official record.” She led George up the porch stairs and into the inn. “Tell us exactly who was here.” “Rafael,” George said, “and of course Patrick was helping him. Anthea and Joshua came down to chat, but June was already here. Myra arrived when it happened.” Alex had been mentally ticking off names. “Where was Luke?” “June said he couldn’t disturb his meditations. Everyone else was here. We were all sort of talking when Myra came stomping over with one of those flyers Wallingford’s been handing out. She was very angry. I could tell because of her aura. She stomped over to Wallingford and waved the flyer at him. Then she said that he hadn’t been admitted to the Society yet and had no right to be advertising on Society grounds.” George paused to check their reactions. “Myra fussing at people is hardly a sign,” Lynn said. “She was right,” George said. “What he was doing implied that
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the Society had accepted him. After all, Myra didn’t know he was going to get a sign. She was so mad, she slammed the flyer down on the table.” George’s voice dropped and he emphasized each word like a kid telling a ghost story. “Everyone stared at it for a moment then all the lights went out.” “That was the sign?” Lynn sounded disappointed. “Don’t you see?” George demanded. “It shows that the spirits are with him.” “Why doesn’t it show that they’re with Myra and that Wallingford doesn’t belong in the Society?” Lynn asked. “It all seems to be a matter of interpretation.” George shook his head. “It shows that the spirits are active around Wallingford. Try to understand Lynn. After all, you’re going to be one of us.” “Did the lights go out just at the inn or all over town?” she asked. “I don’t know,” George said. “We were all inside. Did they go out where you were?” “We were on the road to the lake,” Alex said. “There aren’t many lights around there. How long were they out?” “Oh, only out a second or so. Just enough for us to notice.” Alex, who’d noticed plenty of flickering lights during Florida thunderstorms, kept quiet, but Lynn didn’t. “George, look at how overcast it is today. Was there any thunder or lightning when this happened?” “Of course not. You weren’t that far away. Did you see any?” “There was a lot of electricity in the air,” Lynn replied. “I do remember a tingling sensation.” “Really?” Alex watched a blush creep into her cheeks. “Hmm, I think I noticed it, too.” “There wasn’t any lightning here,” George said. “No, I don’t suppose there was,” Alex said. “Tell me exactly where everyone was when this happened.” “Why?” George’s tone indicated what he thought of Alex’s investigation. “I need to document everything as carefully as possible. I’ll be doing this for everyone’s sign of course,” he said picking up on Lynn’s earlier hint. “So you must be careful to be as accurate as possible. Why don’t we sit down?” He ushered George and Lynn over to one of the tables. He sat across from George and leaned across the table. “You’re going to have to focus. Close your eyes and I’ll walk you through it.” George nodded. This was a game with rules he understood.
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“Let’s start with Wallingford. Where was he?” George scrunched his eyes. “He was sitting in one of the chairs back by the stairs.” “One of the chairs beside the small table?” Alex asked and George nodded. Alex found Wallingford’s choice interesting. Two chairs flanked a table just big enough to hold a few coffee cups. The table, a wooden three-legged type sold in most chain stores, was covered by a floorlength cloth. Alex had noticed it when he first arrived because lightweight tables draped to the floor were excellent for table-tipping and other less-legitimate tricks of the fortune-telling trade. But Wallingford could hardly have made the lights go off while sitting there. “Was anyone else sitting with him?” “With Wallingford? No. He was alone until Myra came in.” “Which door did Myra come through?” “The front. She’d walked from the bookstore.” “Did you see her cross the street?” “No, but I watched her from the moment she came in.” “Good.” Again he wondered about Wallingford’s choice of seat. Myra, or anyone else, would have had to walk the length of the inn to reach him. “Where were you?” “Over by the other door. I was with Patrick, but he went to go get something from the kitchen so he didn’t see the sign.” George made it sound like a dereliction of duty. To Alex, it meant that Patrick was unaccounted for during the crucial moment and could have flipped the inn’s circuit breaker. “Was Rafael in the kitchen with Patrick?” Lynn asked. “No, he’d just brought a tray of cookies out and was giving some to Joshua and Anthea. They were sitting on the sofa by the window.” So Patrick was alone in the kitchen. But Anthea, Joshua, and Rafael were all accounted for. That left one person. “Where was June?” “She was standing in the middle of the room watching Myra.” That meant that everyone was accounted for except Patrick and Luke. “What happened when the lights went out?” “Wallingford sat back like he was afraid to touch the flyer, and Rafael said something about checking the fuses. Then the lights came back on.” “Who first suggested that it might have been a sign?” Lynn asked. “Oh, that was June. She’s very attuned to this sort of thing,” George said. “Then Anthea said the lights always flicker during thunderstorms, and June pointed out that it wasn’t raining. Joshua said
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it was probably just an ill-timed act of God. He always says things like that. Myra was still angry. She said that all signs must be authenticated by the board. So that’s what they’re doing now, having the meeting while everything is fresh in their minds.” “But where are they?” Lynn asked gesturing to the empty lobby. Cups and saucers were scattered on the tables and a plate of cookies still waited on the coffee table in front of the sofa. “At the church,” George said. “Joshua called an official meeting.” “Did Wallingford go with them?” Lynn asked. “Oh, no, candidates aren’t allowed. Wallingford is upstairs in his room. They took Rafael as a witness, but Myra wouldn’t let Patrick go. Rafael told him to clean up, but he disappeared somewhere. He’s probably trying to spy on the meeting to see if they let Wallingford in.” “Perhaps they’ll let Alex observe,” Lynn suggested. “For his research.” “It’s against the rules,” George said. “I can still ask Anthea.” Lynn stood. “Come on, Alex. Let’s go find out.” “What about me?” George looked confused. “Oh, no, you can’t come,” Lynn said firmly. “You’re a candidate, and we don’t want to do anything that could endanger your acceptance.” “Is there any place along this route where we’re out of sight of both the inn and the church?” Alex asked, as they walked. He looked around even though he knew the answer. “Nope. All too open.” “We’re out of earshot,” Lynn said. “We can talk.” “Yes, but I wanted to run another check for electricity in the air. I have a lot of lost time to make up.” “You’re supposed to explain those kinds of comments before you get to make anymore electricity checks,” Lynn said. “That will require more privacy. For now, what do you think of Wallingford’s sign?” “It wasn’t very impressive,” Lynn said. “Two people were unaccounted for,” Alex said. “Patrick and Luke. One of them could have flipped the circuit breaker.” “Two problems,” Lynn said. “First, Patrick doesn’t like Wallingford, so I’m not sure he’d set up a sign for the man. Second, Luke would have to be able to recognize and operate a circuit breaker.” Alex shrugged. “He’d be more likely to stay home and try to meditate the lights off. Who does Patrick like even less than Wallingford?”
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Lynn sighed. “Myra. She fussed at him about leaving business cards at Eagle’s and now Wallingford has a sign just when she’s fussing at him about brochures. Alex, should we tell someone?” “No,” Alex said, as they reached the church. “Two problems. First, we aren’t sure that’s what happened. And second, Myra would probably use it to get Patrick kicked out of the Society.” The church door opened, and the members of the Society jumbled out. Lynn grabbed Alex’s hand and dragged him to Anthea and Joshua. “What happened?” she asked. “Are you letting Wallingford join the Society?” “Oh, we are indeed,” Joshua said. “Today is turning out to be full of amazing events.” He gave Alex a questioning look followed by a glance at his and Lynn’s joined hands. Alex relaxed his grip and this action earned him a hurt look from Lynn. Damn, nearly a decade of training was too much to let go of all at once. “Joshua, I think we should go inside before it rains.” Anthea’s tone drew their attention to the heavy gray sky. “To your house then,” he said taking her arm. “We can fill Lynn and Alex in on the latest in Society news, and they can fill us in on other things.” Alex put an arm around Lynn’s shoulder and tried to smile a silent apology for pulling his hand away. She still looked hurt, but she let him keep his arm around her. “Did Wallingford tell you about the sign?” Anthea asked. “George,” Lynn said. “He seemed very impressed by it all.” “He wasn’t alone,” Anthea said with a sigh. “Though maybe it’s all for the best.” Large raindrops started to fall, and there was no time for further conversation as they rushed to Anthea’s house. They exchanged stories about the sign while Lynn made coffee, and Anthea warmed up a pot of vegetable soup. Alex noted that George’s account seemed to be accurate, but Anthea and Joshua seemed equally uncertain about the sign’s authenticity. They also avoided naming Patrick as the possible culprit. “Why did you agree to let him in if you don’t think it was a real sign?” Lynn asked. Anthea shrugged. “I think it is best if we consider it a real sign. Don’t you agree, Joshua?” “What’s a real sign?” Joshua asked. “Wallingford’s credentials are all in order, and he might bring a little money into the Society. The man’s a complete bore, but I shouldn’t fuss.” This last remark was said
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with a wink at Anthea. “Was Myra in favor of the sign?” Alex asked. “Yes, that was odd,” Anthea said. “At the inn, I got the feeling that she was going to oppose it, but once we started to debate, she was all in favor. Said it was about time we had some real professionals around.” Joshua turned to Alex. “Speaking of professions, I’ve been meaning to ask you about the research. How’s it coming along?” Alex shook his head. “After everything that’s happened over the last few days, I’m wondering if it’s even worth finishing.” “Things often look different when you’re more involved.” Joshua’s eyes darted toward Lynn, and he raised an eyebrow. “If so, you should think about staying here for a while.” Alex caught the hint. Joshua was going to make sure he didn’t take advantage of Lynn, and jaunt off somewhere else. “Tempting as that might sound,” he said, “I’m not a psychic. Even if I were, I’m not prepared to eke a living out of the local tourist trade.” “I’m sure we can find you some way to eke out a living,” Joshua said. “And if you need a sign, I’ll be glad to flick a couple of light switches.” “I’m not sure that will work a second time,” Alex said. “If you’ll all excuse me, I really should go make some notes on today’s events.” He gave Lynn what he hoped was a reassuring smile and left. PATRICK SAT ON a beanbag chair in his living room. Rafe had looked angry when he’d walked out of the inn. Really angry. Patrick flopped back on the beanbag chair and closed his eyes. How could he be so stupid? His front door opened. Rafe. He knew those footsteps. Patrick didn’t bother opening his eyes. “I wish you were the murderer sneaking in to kill me.” “Why?” “’Cause then I’d be dead and you’d have to feel sorry for me instead of being pissed at me.” He heard Rafe sit down. “You threw the circuit breaker when Myra was yelling at Wallingford.” Patrick shrugged, his shoulders scrunching against the beanbag. “I screwed up. Really screwed up.” He opened his eyes. “You’re pissed at me?” Rafe nodded. “I’m pissed at me, too.” “Angel, it was a foolish, childish thing. If Myra knew—” “She’d tell the others and they’d all kick me out,” Patrick finished.
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“The others know.” Patrick sat up. “You told?” “No, of course not. But if I can figure it out, so can Joshua. He knows and so does Anthea. Luke agreed to support Wallingford’s sign, but he did not look happy. No one said anything to Myra.” “But they let Wallingford in?” “Yes. Angel.” Patrick looked at Rafe and knew something was wrong. “What? What more could go wrong?” Rafe sighed. “I think Wallingford will support Myra on the age limit issue. I am not sure anyone will disagree with her.” “You can stop them. Say you won’t let them use the inn—” Rafe shook his head. “No. If I tried to go against them now, they could use Wallingford’s sign against you.” Patrick dropped back to the beanbag. “How old will they make the limit?” “Myra said twenty-five.” That meant four years. “Angel, no one has agreed to it yet.” He nodded. His throat was too tight to talk. Everything he’d wanted. Everything he’d worked for and he screwed it up himself. He turned so that Rafe couldn’t see his face. “I’m sorry,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Can I still work at the inn?” “Oh, Angel.” Rafe’s arms went around his shoulders and held him. “I am not that angry.” ALEX OPENED THE door. Joshua stood there. They eyed each other silently for a moment. “Thought I’d stop by to ask how the research was going.” “We already had that conversation.” Joshua stepped into the apartment and closed to door behind him. “I’m not sure I liked the answer. You see, when people start dropping dead, I get suspicious.” Alex sighed. “You want to know if I murdered Carl and Lisle.” Joshua surprised him by shaking his head. “No. I made a few phone calls and did some checking up on you. Tell me if I have all of this correct. Ilya Alexei Janick. Ilya? Russian heritage?” Alex frowned at the use of his full first name. “My grandfather. I use Alex.” “Amazingly, what else I found out was more surprising than your real name. You entered the Franciscan order in college. While in the
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order, you’ve collected a couple of master’s degrees, Theology and Anthropology, to be specific, and the omnipresent Master of Divinity. You are currently working on your doctorate in Theology. Though, according to your advisor, you have been reluctant to follow his advice to be ordained as a priest.” “Perhaps I’m happier as a simple brother,” Alex said wearily. “No doubt you want to know if I’m going to write a favorable account of Cassadaga.” “Don’t give a damn about that,” Joshua said. “You’re a bit slow on the uptake, son. What I want to know is why I came out of that church to find a simple Franciscan brother holding Lynn’s hand?” “Oh.” Alex stopped because it was all he could think of to say. He sank into one of the chairs. “Poverty, obedience and chastity, isn’t it? I don’t remember hearing about any changes in those rules. I want to know just what you’re up to.” “I think that’s my business.” “Wrong answer. Want to try again?” Shaking his head, he could feel Joshua watching him. “Have you done anything with the girl besides hold hands?” “I am on leave from the monastery,” Alex said. “I’ll take that as a yes. Care to elaborate?” Alex rose, angry. “You are not my confessor.” Joshua grabbed his shoulder with surprising strength. His eyes were dark and his jaw tense. “No, but right now, I am your day of reckoning. What have you done to Lynn?” “I have been trying to keep her safe.” “And?” He met Joshua gaze. “I kissed her.” “Let me guess, she tempted you. You’re no stronger than the rest of us weak males,” Joshua rumbled in a deep, sarcastic tone. “She threw herself at you, and you couldn’t resist. Am I getting this right?” “No,” Alex shot back. “She was angry at me. She was standing there so stubborn and angry. I just wanted her to stop being angry, so I kissed her.” “Is that all?” Joshua’s grip tightened on his shoulder. “You’re not very good at lying. Out with it. What else happened?” “Last night, when everyone was watching Colleen’s fire,” he began. “Lynn wandered off by herself. As I said, I’ve been trying to keep her safe.” Joshua raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps we have different definitions
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of safe.” Alex ignored the jibe. “I followed her. She wanted to walk back to Anthea’s by herself. She accused me of being the murderer and trying to get her alone. So I grabbed her. I told her that was strong enough to take her wherever I wanted.” He winced under Joshua’s tightening grip. “And?” He couldn’t shrug, so he raised his hands. “And that’s when she got so angry.” “Which led to kissing her?” Alex nodded. “It seems to have worked. She didn’t look angry last time I saw her. But that leaves us with the big question: What are you going to do now?” “I feel like my world is crumbling, and I don’t know what to do. I am on sabbatical from the order. I was already considering whether or not to leave. If I did, I knew I might eventually meet someone. It would be a sensible, well-considered, decision. A rational man does not lose control the first time he’s alone with a woman.” Joshua suddenly released the grip on his shoulder and began laughing. “Oh, Alex. You really have been away for a long time, haven’t you? That is often exactly how it does happen. Have you explained the difficulties to Lynn yet?” Alex rubbed his shoulder. “I haven’t had a chance. Wallingford’s sign interrupted us.” “If you’re going to retreat back to your monastery, go now. If you think you and Lynn have a future, then go after it. But don’t toy with her affections while you waver between decisions. Because if I find out you’ve done that,” his voice dropped again, “I’ll have your hide.” Alex drew himself up to his full height. “You would need help with that.” Joshua looked him up and down. “No, probably not. Oh, you’re strong enough and younger than me. So why did you let me rough you up a minute ago? You know I’m right. Which is why I’m walking out of here feeling less concerned than I did when I walked in.” Alex watched him leave then rubbed his shoulder. He suspected he was going to have a bruise there.
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Chapter Nineteen LYNN STRETCHED OUT on the couch with a sketchpad in her lap. She’d darkened three sheets with sketches of the witch burning. The stark black charcoal made them look like scenes of medieval horror. She flipped the page and began making random marks. Her mind was on Alex. One moment he kissed her, the next he made it clear he wasn’t interested in staying in Cassadaga. Mixed signals. Men seemed to specialize in them. The pencil moved up and down on the paper. But was she interested in staying in Cassadaga? Or in a long-term relationship with Alex? She wasn’t sure of her answer to either question. Anthea wandered in with a telephone in one hand and the cord trailing behind her. “Colleen, do you think it’s a good idea to make so much of this? No, I don’t think that’s going to do any good,” her aunt insisted, giving Lynn an expressive shrug. “When you get back I think you should meet with the Society.” She sighed, listening. “Colleen, no. Giving a demonstration of Wicca out here is not a good idea under current circumstances.” She hung up the phone and dropped into a chair. “A demonstration?” Lynn asked. Anthea nodded. “She’s convinced one of the news stations it would be a good human interest story. She’s driving back from Orlando to discuss it.” Rough lines now formed a dagger. If it hadn’t been Colleen she heard entering the house, who had it been? Skye, who’d been so upset by the witch’s pyre? The curving lines of the brazier formed on the sketchpad. What if it hadn’t been Skye she heard? Lynn imagined the murderer, a faceless gray figure, waiting inside the house for his next victim. What if Skye came back while he was there? Lynn put the pad aside. “I think I’ll stroll over to Colleen’s and see if Skye is there. She might know more about this demonstration.” Anthea nodded. “I wish Skye had more influence over Colleen. She might be able to keep her out of trouble.” Lynn gave her aunt a pat on the shoulder. “If you can’t keep Colleen out of trouble, it must be beyond the powers of mere mortals.” Anthea responded with a tired smile. “I’m feeling very mere right
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now, but don’t worry, it should pass.” RINGING COLLEEN’S DOORBELL brought no answer. Lynn tried to peer through the front window, but the curtains were drawn. Under normal circumstances, she would have decided that Skye was home or that if she was home, she didn’t want to come to the door. With a murderer on the loose, she wasn’t willing to leave just yet. She made her way around the house to the window that led to the witch room. If she had to, she’d break in again. The curtains were open, so she peered inside. Skye lay by the brazier, curled up with her hands wrapped around her legs. As Lynn watched, her body jerked convulsively. Lynn yanked open the window and climbed through. A curl of smoke drifted up from the brazier, but Lynn barely had time to register its sweet scent before the over-powering odor of vomit hit her. Holding her breath, she bent over Skye. The girl seemed barely aware that Lynn was there as she retched again. Lynn’s first thought was to get them both away from the smoke. She wrapped her arms around Skye’s shoulders. “Come on, Skye, let’s get you out of here.” She got the girl up and they stumbled toward the door. Light from the kitchen poured into the hallway. Skye looked worse than Lynn had expected. Please let there be a phone in the kitchen. She steered Skye into the kitchen. Lynn grabbed the phone and dialed nine-one-one, and Skye collapsed beside the fridge. She gave Skye’s symptoms to the operator but couldn’t answer the woman’s questions about what might have caused them. The woman asked about drugs. “I don’t know,” Lynn said. “I don’t think so.” Plants. “Devil’s Trumpet—does it make a person vomit?” “Devil’s Trumpet?” The woman trailed off for a moment. “My God, you’re not one of those people?” Her voice had lost all trace of its professional tone. “What are you doing to each other out there? I’m sending the police.” “Send anyone you want,” Lynn said. “Just check on Devil’s Trumpet.” “I’ll see if you should induce vomiting.” “I don’t have to induce it,” Lynn snapped. “She hasn’t been able to stop since I found her.” “Calm down, honey. I’ll let the paramedics know. They should be there any minute.” Lynn held the phone with one hand and groped for a roll of paper
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towels with the other. She dampened a handful and wiped Skye’s face. The wait seemed to go on forever. Did the ambulance have to negotiate the curving road into town? Then she heard the scream of the sirens and realized she was shaking as she went to open the front door. Gaust arrived just as the paramedics rolled Skye to the ambulance. Lynn watched from the doorway as he exchanged a few words with the medics and straightened as he approached the house. “Tell me why you think Ms. Cloude was poisoned.” He wore jeans, an Orlando Magic T-shirt, and a look that suggested he’d been called out to Cassadaga once too often. Lynn wondered what would happen if it turned out that she’d panicked and Skye was suffering from nothing more than a bad bout of flu. Gaust would arrest them both for wasting police time. “She was vomiting violently,” Lynn said. “And after Carl—” Gaust nodded. “Under the circumstances, I can understand your reaction. However, I’d recommend waiting for the medical results before making any announcements to the press.” It took Lynn a moment to realize what he was implying. “I am not planning to call the press,” she snapped. He regarded her for a moment. “No, perhaps you’re not. But I do find it a curious coincidence that Ms. Cloude’s illness occurred the same day that her friend went on television to complain about attacks on herself and other Wiccans.” “Colleen wouldn’t harm Skye for publicity,” Lynn said, outraged. “And Skye certainly wouldn’t do this to herself.” “Perhaps,” Gaust said. “But I’m not dismissing any possibilities. How has Ms. Cloude been acting lately? Any signs of unusual stress?” “We’ve all been showing signs of unusual stress,” Lynn said. “But if you’re trying to suggest this was a suicide attempt—” “I’m not suggesting anything,” Gaust said coolly. “I’m exploring a suggestion that you brought up.” “I did not,” Lynn said. “Or at least that wasn’t what I meant.” “You said Ms. Cloude was showing signs of stress?” “I said we were all showing signs of stress. For all I know, Skye has the flu.” Gaust wasn’t going to be deterred. “Just how upset was Ms. Cloude? And what was she upset about?” “What was she upset about? Two people are dead and last night someone burned a witch in effigy. Skye feels very strongly about her beliefs and it’s hard for her to see them degraded. Perhaps you don’t understand that because her beliefs are a little unorthodox.”
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“Ms. Yates, it is my duty to protect the citizens of this county, regardless of their beliefs.” “Detective, if that had been a Baptist church burning last night, every spare officer within a hundred miles would be investigating it. Skye is as upset as you’d be if someone burned a cross on your front lawn. But I doubt you’d commit suicide.” She thought she’d gone too far. Instead he smiled at her. “A point well taken. Let me give you something to consider. What if something put a crack in those beliefs you say Ms. Cloude holds so dear? Most people would be devastated to find out they’ve devoted their lives to a mistake.” “The presumption you’re making is that Skye’s beliefs are a mistake.” He shook his head. “I don’t have time to debate religious principles. I need you to answer my questions and tell me exactly what happened.” Lynn stared at him for a long moment. Anger wouldn’t help Skye. “Anthea mentioned that Colleen was still in Orlando,” she said slowly. “I was worried that Skye might be nervous being here all alone. When she didn’t answer the front door, I walked around the house to check the back.” “Why?” “I was concerned. I thought Skye might not be answering the door because she didn’t want to deal with the Cassadaga crowd right now.” “But she would open the door to you?” “I thought she might. When I saw her, it was obvious that she was in no condition to debate the issue. Fortunately one of the windows was open. I was able to climb in and help her.” “What was she doing when you found her?” Lynn wanted to say vomiting, but she’d probably annoyed Gaust enough already. “I think she’d been meditating. She was burning incense.” “We’ll have the stuff tested,” Gaust said. “Did you notice anything out of place in the room?” Lynn stiffened, wondering if this were a trick question, then scolded herself for letting her guilt get the best of her. Gaust had no way of knowing how often she’d been in the house—or under what circumstances. “I’ve only been here a couple of times, so I really can’t say. All I was thinking about was getting help for Skye.” “Did Ms. Cloude say anything that might have indicated her state of mind? Please answer the question truthfully.”
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“She wasn’t able to say anything,” Lynn said. “I gather Ms. Cloude wasn’t expecting you today. Would she have been expecting Ms. Keirns to come home soon?” “I don’t know. Does it matter?” Gaust shrugged. “It might. People have been known to stage suicide attempts when they know someone will be around to rescue them.” “Then she choose a rather unpleasant way to go about it,” Lynn said, as Colleen’s red Miata squealed to a stop in front of the house. Colleen leapt from the car and stormed up the lawn. “What the hell’s going on? Why are you in my house? You—” she pointed to Gaust, “need a search warrant to be here.” “It’s Skye,” Lynn said. “They had to take her to the hospital.” Colleen dropped her arm, and the color fled from her face. “Why?” “It might be the flu,” Lynn said. “She was throwing up.” “It might be something more,” Gaust said. “I’d like to search the house.” “No,” Colleen said bluntly. “Get a search warrant. Until then, get out. I’m going to the hospital.” She spun around and stalked to her car, leaving Gaust stranded on the doorstep. “If you don’t mind, I think maybe Anthea and I should go to the hospital, too,” Lynn said. “Colleen might need help.” Gaust nodded. “Perhaps you could convince her that it would be in her best interest to cooperate with us.”
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Chapter Twenty LYNN SQUIRMED, TRYING to find a comfortable position on the hospital’s plastic chair. It didn’t help that her feet didn’t quite reach the floor. She pushed the small of her back against the vinyl and crossed her legs Indian-style on the seat of the chair. She envied Joshua, who had fallen asleep in his chair. His head rested against the wall, and he hadn’t moved since he’d closed his eyes half an hour ago. Colleen wasn’t moving, either. She sat stiffly upright, staring at the pale green wall across the hall. Anthea perched on the edge of her chair, her head turning as she watched the nurses. At first they’d ignored the little group as they passed, but now they scuttled past with nervous glances. “Anthea, I think you’re frightening them,” Lynn whispered. “I’m just making sure they don’t forget we’re here.” Anthea didn’t bother to whisper. “I don’t trust hospitals. They’re too big. They treat illnesses, not people.” “I’m sure they’re doing their best for Skye,” Lynn said, trying to be optimistic. Certainly they’d had time to pump out or neutralize any poisons. Anthea had tried to find out, but the nurses couldn’t say and the doctor wasn’t available. “They’d better be,” Colleen hissed. “If I find out who did this—” The unfinished threat lingered as if she were trying to think of a punishment horrible enough. “Could she have taken something accidentally?” Lynn asked. Colleen shook her head. “Not Skye. She knew what she was doing. She was always studying herbs.” “She was very upset last night,” Lynn said, as gently as she could. “Gaust wants to know if she might have tried to take her own life.” “He already asked me. Well, one of his minions did. They were here just before you arrived. I told them to go to hell.” She snapped the sentence out so harshly that Lynn was uneasy about asking her anything else. A small Asian woman in a lab coat stepped up to them. “Ms. Kierns?” Colleen glared at her. “Where’s the doctor? I want to know how my friend is, and I want to know now.” “I am the doctor,” the woman said, calmly. “And your friend is
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very lucky. You’ll be able to visit her shortly, but first I want to ask some questions. You told the police you suspected poison?” “No, I did not,” Colleen said. “That was me,” Lynn said. “I’m sorry, but I may have panicked.” Standing brought her eye-to-eye with the doctor. This was disconcerting since she was used to most people, especially doctors, being taller than her. “We still have some tests to run, but you may have been right depending on one’s view of poisons. Were any of you aware that Skye was using an herbal diet tea?” “She drink lots of herbal tea,” Colleen said. “We both do.” “This would have been something stronger. Probably not one of the commercial brands.” Colleen shook her head. “Nothing she got from me,” Anthea said. The doctor sighed. “She won’t tell me where she got it. I believe she mentioned it only because I am Korean, and my people have a history of herbal medicine. When I warned her that some herbs can be dangerous, I’m afraid she became defensive. She tried to tell me that this one was for purification. It may have contained a strong purgative. That might account for the vomiting. We’ll have to run some tests before we know more, but she admits to drinking a number of cups this afternoon.” “I told Gaust he was a fool,” Colleen said. “When can she leave?” “Tomorrow, if she can keep down solid foods. Call the nurse’s station after breakfast. If she won’t consider counseling, I suggest that you keep her from attempting to medicate herself with herbs.” She gave them all one last disapproving glance and walked briskly down the hallway. Colleen scoffed. “Her people may have a history of herbal use, but she’s been brainwashed by the medical establishment.” “I thought you Earth-mother Wiccan types didn’t worry about your weight,” Joshua said from his chair. His eyes were still closed, and his head tilted back. “Shut up,” Colleen snapped. “I’m going to see Skye. The rest of you can go home if you want.” “I’ll go with you,” Anthea said. “Joshua will take Lynn home.” It was an order, and Lynn was happy to comply. Skye was going to be fine, and Anthea could deal with Colleen better than she could. Colleen gave Joshua a sharp look. “God, yes, take him home before someone accidentally wheels him off to the morgue.” Her heels
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clacked on the linoleum as she strode away. Joshua opened an eye. “Not that I mind a little cuddliness in a woman.” “Let’s get out of here,” Lynn said. “I hate hospitals.” “I heartily agree.” Joshua pushed himself out of the chair. “I told myself the last time I’d do this was when my wife died.” “Oh, I’m sorry,” Lynn said surprised. “If Anthea had known....” “She would have gotten someone else?” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Why are you here?” “I wanted to come,” Lynn said. “I wanted to make sure Skye was okay.” Joshua nodded. “Sometimes it’s just easier to do what Anthea asks. Come on, I’ll race you to the car.” Lynn worried about Skye as they drove to Cassadaga. Had Skye been the victim of an overdose of diet tea? It seemed too simple an explanation after Carl and Lisle’s murders, but even the doctor seemed to think it likely. Besides, so far the murderer had been successful. Carl’s poisoning had been risky, but Lisle’s strangling had been a “hands-on” murder. Why would the murderer go back to something as unpredictable as poison? And why Skye? Was this a poisoning attempt aimed at Colleen? But the doctor hadn’t suggested the tea was poisoned, just dangerous. Joshua stopped in front of Anthea’s house. Lynn looked at the dark shape shadowed against the pines and hesitated. Joshua must have sensed it. “You’re welcome to stay with me if you don’t want to be alone. I do have a spare room.” Shaking her head, Lynn opened the door. “I’ll be fine. Besides, I want to be here when Anthea gets back.” “Do you want me to stay with you?” “No. I don’t mind being alone for a while,” she said. After the ordeal of the hospital, Joshua probably needed some time alone, too. He nodded. “I’ll wait here while you get settled inside. Check for monsters under all the beds, and remember I’m just down the road if you need anything.” Lynn laughed. “Thanks. I’m sure I’ll be safe. I’m too unconnected to anything to interest the murderer.” Still, she felt a twinge of fear as she climbed out of the car. She forced herself to walk steadily to the front door and open it. Holding her breath, she flipped the switch and turned on the entry light. Next she went into the living room and turned on the lights and the TV. She peeked out the front window. Joshua’s car was still there,
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so she made her way to the dining room and kitchen, turning on lights. The house seemed less frightening. When she looked up the dark staircase, she was glad Joshua was outside. Why hadn’t someone re-wired the house over the years so that the upstairs hall light could be turned on from below? She paused every few steps to listen for sounds from above. At the top, she rushed to turn on the hall light. Then she turned on every bedroom light. From Anthea’s room, she could see Joshua’s car, still waiting. Feeling silly but relieved, she waved and went downstairs. She settled in front of the TV with a cup of Anthea’s chamomile tea. The chatter calmed her, and when she peeked during a commercial, the car was gone. Leaving the lights on, she went upstairs. What she needed as a relaxing bath. She turned on the faucets and threw one of Anthea’s herbal bags into the big claw-footed tub. She undressed in her room and wrapped herself in an old terrycloth robe while the tub filled. Then she turned out the bathroom light and left the door open so she could hear Anthea come in. Light spilled in from the hallway as she sank into the warm water. She relaxed. In the water, eyes closed, the tension that had been hovering around her since finding Skye began to fade. She thought the first footstep was just the house settling. Then every muscle in her body tensed when the steps crossed to the kitchen. Not Anthea. The steps were too heavy. She knew she’d locked the doors and windows, but Anthea’s house was even older than Colleen’s. How secure could it be? She heard the steps beneath her curving towards the dining room. She pushed herself out of the water and climbed out of the tub. Wrapping herself in the bathrobe, she regretted leaving her clothes in the bedroom. Too late to fix that now. She wasn’t going to sacrifice safety to modesty. She edged the bathroom door closed. The bathroom was dark, but enough light came in from the window for her to find her way around. She considered her options. She couldn’t risk running down the stairs. The intruder would hear her on the steps, and the house was too small for her to make it out the front door before he caught her. Too bad this house didn’t have an upstairs door like the Captain’s in Daytona. But whoever had built Anthea’s house hadn’t been fearful of emergencies. The footsteps moved toward the front of the house. Soon the intruder would come upstairs, and if she didn’t think fast, Lynn might be meeting the Captain in person. She tiptoed to the window and looked out. The back porch sloped low over the ground,
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and she could see the leaves of an old oak brushing the roof. I can do it. Sliding open the window, she popped out the screen and settled it gently on the porch roof. Although the window ledge was only a few inches above the porch roof, it was a good three feet off the bathroom floor. Quietly, she moved the hamper under the window. She climbed onto it, then wiggled her way on to the roof. Her back twinged, and she paused. Footsteps sounded on the stairs and she wiggled faster. She was out! She stood and padded barefoot across the rough shingles. At first the trees branches seemed too high and too far away, but by standing on the edge of the roof and leaning forward, she was able to grab one. She managed not to scream as she swung out over the yard. She dropped a few inches to the soft grass. Now, she regretted leaving all the house lights on. Every window threw a square of yellow light across the yard. Enough light to help the intruder see her. Of course, the lights had probably mislead the intruder. If just the bathroom light had been on when he broke in, he would have known exactly where she was. With the cool night area teasing her skin, she ran across the yard to the trees. When she reached the shelter of the pines, she turned back to look at the house. Now the bathroom window shone bright, but empty. Had he seen her? If she could just circle around to the front and make it to Joshua’s, she’d be safe. Twigs crackled like firecrackers when she moved. She put each foot down slowly to minimize the sound and had progressed three heart-pounding pine trees to the left when the porch light came on. She almost sank to the ground in relief when George stepped out of the kitchen door. “Lynn, are you there?” he called. “I saw the front door open and wanted to make sure you were okay.” Did that mean the intruder was still in the house? If he was, George was a perfect target silhouetted in the light of the door. Before Lynn could warn him, a hand clamped firmly over her mouth, and an arm wrapped tightly around her body.
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Chapter Twenty-One THIS TIME HER captor wasn’t Alex making a point. Lynn wiggled and kicked, and her heels thudded softly against a leg. She heard a soft grunt, but the arms didn’t loosen their hold. “Lynn? Are you there? Are you okay?” George called, as he walked out into the middle of the yard. Lynn struggled harder, hoping to make enough noise to attract his attention. She kicked a foot outward trying to find some branches to rustle or even a tree trunk to thump against. She must have made a little noise, because George turned her way. “Lynn? Is that you?” “Hush.” The whisper melded with the breeze but it sounded harsh in her ears. She wasn’t about to obey, but her kicking feet flailed futilely in the air. “Lynn?” George turned toward the side of the house. “Wait. Don’t run off.” Lynn twisted violently in an attempt to make her captor lose his grip. The muscles in her back sang in agony. “Lynn?” George took a step away from her. Lynn caught a glimpse of something white near the corner of the house. Whatever it was, it was moving away with George in pursuit. Lynn watched her hopes vanish and a moan formed, only to be silenced by the rough skin pressed over her mouth. “Let him go,” the voice whispered and lowered her to the ground. The hands loosened, and she was free. She lurched from the trees to the open safety of the yard. Her bare feet slid across damp pine needles, and she landed on her knees. She twisted to look behind her. The house threw out just enough light for her to make out the slim figure of Eagle, as still as one of the trees. She pushed herself to her feet and took a couple of steps towards the house. He didn’t move. She looked at the open kitchen door. If she ran inside, she would be trapped again. Maybe she could catch up with George. Wrapping her bathrobe tight, she bolted in the direction he’d taken. When she reached the street, she was already panting. She glanced back toward the house and saw Eagle standing silently a few yards away. Pushing away the pain, she jogged down the road. George
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couldn’t have gone that far. She reached the end of the street to find herself staring at the shadowy silhouette of the gazebo, dark against the darker pond. She’d chosen the wrong way. She should have headed straight to Joshua’s. Now that would mean turning back up the road and passing Eagle. George was probably at the inn by now. She’d be safe if she could make it there. She started that way. A window threw light down to the street. Alex. She ran toward his apartment calling his name with ragged breaths. ALEX HAD PRINTOUTS from his thesis spread out on the living room floor. He needed to decide if he could pull the threads together into a submittable work. Someone called his name. Stepping over the scattered papers, he walked to the door. A figure in white floated down the road towards him. He stepped out onto the balcony, and the White Lady called his name. Lynn? He stared into the darkness. The ghost did have a familiar—and rather unwraith like—curviness. He ran down the steps, and met her in the middle of the road. He wrapped his arms around the soft terrycloth of her bathrobe. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.” “Eagle scared me,” she gasped into his chest. Alex scanned the surrounding darkness but saw no one. “He’s gone now. Come upstairs.” She was shaking so hard, he practically had to carry her. He made soothing noises until he had her seated on the couch. “Why did Eagle scare you?” Lynn wrapped her arms around her knees and dropped her head down. Alex waited, giving her time to catch her breath. “He grabbed me in the woods behind Anthea’s,” she said. He gave her robe a quizzical look. “You were in the woods wearing nothing except a bathrobe?” He’d caught a glimpse of bare skin underneath the robe. “I was taking a bath. Someone broke into the house, so I climbed out the window.” “From the second floor?” When she nodded, he decided she must really have been frightened. “Is Anthea still there?” “No. She’s at the hospital with Skye.” “I heard about that,” Alex said. “You were alone?” He saw muscles tense as she tightened the grip around her knees. “I heard footsteps downstairs, so I climbed out the window and down a tree.” She looked at the robe. “This was all I had to put on.”
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“Did you call nine-one-one?” He kept his voice steady. He wanted to wrap her in his arms, but he needed her to start thinking clearly. “Are you kidding? By the time they got here, I could have been murdered and buried in the back garden.” “You could have called one of us. I would have come over.” “Sure,” she smirked. “All I had to do was go downstairs to the kitchen and ask the intruder if he knew where Anthea kept her address book. Then I could look up your name—” “I get the idea.” He picked up the phone. “What are you doing?” “Calling the police.” “Why? Whoever was in the house has gotten away by now.” “At least they can pick up Eagle for questioning.” “No, don’t,” Lynn said, with a shake of her head. “He grabbed me outside. He wasn’t inside. I think he was trying to help me. He moves like a ghost. If he’d been in the house, I wouldn’t have heard the footsteps.” “Even if it wasn’t Eagle, the police should at least check for fingerprints,” he said, without putting down the phone. “What good would that do? Everyone’s in and out of Anthea’s all the time. You, Joshua, George.” She bolted from the couch. “Oh no, George. I forgot about him.” “That’s not easily done,” Alex said. “He was there. He saw the door open and came in to check on me. I was going to call to him when Eagle grabbed me. You don’t think he’s in any danger?” “Who George or Eagle?” “I don’t think the intruder saw Eagle.” She looked anxiously at the door. “We have to go check on George.” “You realize if he was poking around he was hoping you’d help him in another of his idiotic schemes.” “He’s probably back at the inn,” she said. “It’ll only take a couple of minutes to make sure.” She stepped toward the door. Alex wrapped an arm around her and drew her back to the couch. “I’ll run across the street and make sure George is alive and breathing. And if he isn’t there,” he gave her a stern look to make his point clear, “We will call the police. We’re not going to search for him on our own.” She nodded. “I wasn’t going to suggest—” “Good. Then stay here. Lock the door and don’t open it until I get back.”
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ALEX CROSSED THE street. The last thing he wanted to do was drop in on George in the middle of the night, but someone had to make sure the fool was all right. He stepped onto the creaking wooden porch, wondering just how to explain himself. He was saved from thinking up a credible tale by George himself. “Oh, it’s you,” he said, bounding out of the lobby. He hesitated, then seemed to make up his mind. “Lynn’s missing. I’ve been looking for her.” “She’s fine,” Alex said. “She sent me to check on you.” George’s gaze wandered toward the dark street. “I need to talk to her. I should make sure she’s safe.” “You can see her in the morning.” George drew back. “She should come stay at the inn.” “Yes, Lisle was very safe here,” Alex said. George’s mouth popped open as if he were searching for a reply. “George, you know Lynn is with me, so if anything happens to her, you’ll know I was the murderer, right?” George nodded. “So, even if I were the murderer, I wouldn’t do anything tonight because I’d give myself away, right?” “Yes,” George said, doubtfully. “The safest place for her to be tonight is with me. Right?” George looked as if he knew he’d just walked into a trap that he couldn’t escape. Alex gave him a reassuring smile. “Go to bed and don’t worry about a thing.” Then he turned and walked toward the apartment. Lynn didn’t open the door until she heard his voice. “Did you find George?” “Yes,” Alex said, moving to shield her from the street. “He wanted to check on you personally, but you know what he’s like. We’ll never get anything done if he’s around.” “What are we going to do?” “First, we’re going over to Anthea’s to make sure everything is all right. I’m going to search the house. Particularly the kitchen. Poison keeps popping up like weeds around this place.” Lynn groaned. “Anthea has so many loose teas. We’ll have to throw them all out to be on the safe side.” “Then we’ll throw them out.” He checked the street. “No George. We’re safe.” THEY STOOD IN front of the house. Lights blazed from every window.
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“What if someone is still in there?” Lynn asked. “We can always call the police and let them investigate.” “No. Let’s just get it over with.” She stomped up the porch steps and pulled open the front door. “Let me go first.” Alex stepped in front of her. The house was quiet. “Wait.” He moved quickly down the hall, checking the living room, kitchen and dining room. The house was empty and nothing appeared to have been disturbed. When he returned, Lynn was standing in the hall. “We need to check upstairs,” she said. He nodded and led the way. The bedrooms were empty and in the bathroom, lukewarm water still sat in the tub. Lynn pulled the plug. “We know he’s gone,” Alex said. “But did he leave anything behind?” “We’ll need Anthea to answer that,” Lynn said. “I don’t want to touch anything until she gets home.” Alex looked around the room and ran her story through his mind. “I have an experiment I’d like to try.” “Yes, professor?” Lynn gave the word a little twist. Alex regarded her warily. “You keep calling the intruder he. Why?” After a moment, she said, “The footsteps. They were heavy. Anthea’s are much softer. I guess I just thought of them as being a man’s.” “I imagine a lot of women might have heavier footsteps than Anthea,” he said. “Colleen, for example.” Lynn shook her head. “Her heels make tapping sounds. Besides she’s still at the hospital.” “Are you sure about that?” “Since Joshua drove me home, Anthea would need to ride with Colleen.” “Could the footsteps have been George’s? Would you have recognized his?” Lynn shook her head. “I don’t know think so. All I can remember is breaking into Colleen’s with George walking around on tiptoe.” “Tiptoe?” Alex chuckled. “We won’t eliminate him just yet. You already said you didn’t think it was Eagle. Do you know his footsteps?” “Nope. That’s why it’s not him. Even in his store nothing creaks when he walks.” “He knows his store better than he knows Anthea’s house.” She shook her head. “If Eagle had wanted to kill me, I’d be dead
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by now.” Alex knew she was probably right. “It’s an interesting alibi. What about Joshua? He knew you were here alone.” “It couldn’t have been him,” Lynn said firmly. “He waited to make sure I was all right.” “Okay,” Alex agreed, without eliminating Joshua from his own list. Joshua was strong enough to have strangled Lisle and dumped her in the pond. “But we’re running low on suspects. Here’s what I want to try.” He grabbed a large towel and spread it in the now drained tub. “Climb in.” Lynn gave him a doubtful look but she clambered over the edge of the tub. “Now, where did the intruder go when he came in?” “Through the front hall to the kitchen, then around the dining room to the living room,” Lynn said. “After that, I think he came upstairs, but I was already climbing out the window.” “Don’t do that this time. I’m going downstairs. I want you to stay here and listen.” He waited while she settled herself then ran down the stairs. Starting at the front door, he walked slowly to the kitchen then around to the living room and back to the foot of the stairs. “Did the footsteps sound like that?” he called up. “No,” she said. “You’re walking too slowly.” He made the circuit again, more quickly. “It’s still not right.” Lynn called down. “There’s something different. I can’t quite place it.” He walked around, varying his steps. “They’re all too far apart,” Lynn yelled. “Okay, let’s see if this works.” He took half steps along the hallway. Laughter bubbled down the stairs. “That just sounds weird.” The laughter drifted away. “No wait. It sort of works. Anthea takes short steps. The intruder’s were longer, but not as long as your footsteps.” “Good,” Alex called out as he headed up the stairs. “Whoever it was is taller than Anthea but shorter than me.” “Oh, wonderful,” Lynn said, as he entered the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub. “Everyone’s taller than Anthea, except me. On the other hand, the only people as tall as you are Gaust and Patrick. That helps a lot.” “Rafael and Luke are shorter,” he suggested. She shook her head. “I can’t tell height by footstep sounds. I don’t
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think it could have been June. She’d probably just float over the floor. So,” she said with a sigh. “We’ve managed to eliminate Gaust, Patrick, and June.” “We’ve also eliminated me,” Alex said. “Just in case you were thinking about it.” She gave him a surprised look. “Oh, I’ve been thinking quite a bit, but not about that. You left your research on the floor when you went out to check on George.” “And you had to read it.” “Not the whole thing. You weren’t gone that long.” “Perhaps I should have stayed out longer,” he snapped. “Damn, I’m sorry.” He started to reach for her but instead let his hands move up to rub the back of his neck. He couldn’t argue with her when she was sitting in a tub wearing nothing but a bathrobe. “It really isn’t what it looks like—” The front door clicked open, and he heard footsteps in the front hall. “Lynn?” Anthea called in a worried voice. “Up here,” Lynn called. Anthea appeared at the top of the stairs with Colleen close behind. The two women looked from Lynn, still in the tub, to Alex. He’d managed to move to the far side of the bathroom, not that it helped much. “What have you two been up to?” Anthea asked.
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Chapter Twenty-Two “SO WE’RE EXPERIMENTING to see whose footsteps they might have been,” Lynn said, finishing her explanation. She was still feeling embarrassed. She’d had to climb out of the tub, still wearing nothing but her robe, while Alex, Colleen, and her aunt looked on. She’d pushed past them and left them hovering anxiously in the hall while she dressed. She’d grabbed the first things at hand. Now, sitting at the kitchen table in her sweats, she felt warm. “In the bathtub?” Colleen asked. “I wanted to match the acoustics as closely as possible,” Alex explained. “Lynn was in the tub when she heard the intruder.” Anthea shook her head. “Until we find out who it was and why he was after Lynn, I don’t think she should stay here.” “Wait a minute,” Lynn protested. “We don’t know he was after me. He might have thought Anthea and I were both still at the hospital and,” she rushed on, “planned to plant some poison so that the police would arrest Anthea.” “The police have already searched the house,” Anthea said. “Maybe the murderer doesn’t know that,” Lynn said. “We didn’t tell everyone.” Alex leaned forward, touching her arm. “You might be right,” he said. “But none of us should be take any chances. So far all the victims, and I’m counting Skye as victim unless we hear otherwise, have been alone. Even Carl might have survived if someone had been there to call for help.” “Like Skye,” Lynn said, wondering how close the girl had come to meeting Carl’s fate. “Skye was very lucky,” Alex said. “But we can’t rely on luck. I think that Colleen and I should move in here. I don’t mind a sleeping bag on the floor if necessary.” He looked at Anthea. “That is if you agree.” Anthea nodded. “We’ll find room for you.” She reached out to Colleen. “As soon as Skye is out of the hospital, we’ll bring her here, too.” “What about the others, like Joshua?” Lynn asked, then after a moment of guilty hesitation, “and Myra?”
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“I’ll talk to them,” Alex said. “I’ll suggest they move into the inn for the time being.” “But...” Lynn hesitated. She wanted to point out that the inn hadn’t been safe for Lisle. Alex stopped her with a shake of his head. “I know, you want to suggest they move in here. I want everyone here to understand something.” Lynn saw his jaw tighten with determination. “We know Anthea and Colleen were together with Skye in the hospital all night, and Lynn has ruled me out as the intruder.” “Has she?” Colleen asked, her tone cynical. “You’ll just have to trust her,” Alex said. “But someone out there has killed twice, and I’m not willing to lock the four of us in with a potential murderer.” “Agreed,” Anthea said before anyone could object. “But I’ll speak to Joshua. I’m sure he’s already taking precautions.” Lynn decided Anthea would approach Joshua with a bit more tact than Alex might. She wasn’t sure how Joshua would react to the news that Alex thought he might be the murderer. Would Alex really be surprised if Anthea moved Joshua in, too? Anthea smiled at Alex. “I’ll leave Myra up to you. Perhaps you could suggest she move in with Luke and June, but don’t be surprised if no one follows your advice. We can be a stubborn lot around here.” Alex ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it. “So I’ve noticed.” Lynn held back yawn. “We really should check the house,” she said. “Just in case the intruder left something behind. We don’t want to take any chances.” She looked around the kitchen with its bundles of drying leaves and flowers and jars of loose herbs. “This will take forever.” “Then we’d better get started.” Anthea pulled a box of plastic garbage bags from under the counter and tossed it on the table. “Everybody take one. Dump anything that could have been tampered with.” “What about the police?” Alex asked, although without much emphasis. Anthea shrugged. “Do you think we can fit them in a garbage bag? Sorry, bad joke. I don’t think we should let our little problems confuse them.” “Where should we start?” Lynn asked. “I’ll check my workroom. You and Colleen can do the upstairs, and Alex can start with the kitchen. Whoever finishes first can start on the living and dining rooms.”
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Lynn tackled the bathroom first. She tossed toothpaste, mouthwash, hand cream, calamine lotion and a half-empty bottle of aspirin into her bag. Then she looked at the bath soaks and oils prettily arranged on the wicker stand beside the tub. Some poisons could be absorbed through the skin. She added them to the bag. Next she considered the soap. The liquid stuff had to go, but after a little debate, she decided that it would have taken too much time and effort to poison the half-used bar sitting on the shelf beside the tub. Feeling paranoid, she carried her bag into the hall. She’d do her room and give the studio a quick check. She wasn’t going to toss all her paints. After all, no one was likely to eat them. Colleen stood in the hall, her bag limp and empty in her hand. “Are you okay?” Lynn asked. Colleen slowly turned. “It couldn’t have been her,” she said. “She’s still in the hospital.” “Skye?” Lynn asked. Colleen’s only response was a slow nod. “I’m sure it wasn’t her,” Lynn said, reassuringly. “Why don’t we go downstairs? We can finish up here later.” Colleen followed without protest. Alex looked up curiously as they walked into the kitchen. Lynn shrugged and gave a slight shake of her head to silence any questions. “Anthea,” she called. “I think Colleen might like something warm to drink. If we can find something safe.” She let the last word trail off. Anthea dragged a heavy garbage bag out of her workroom and dropped it on the floor then she gave Colleen a long look. “We could probably all use something. Why don’t you put the kettle on, and I’ll go pick some mint from the garden. If it’s fresh, I know it’s okay.” Ten minutes later, they were seated around the table with cups of minty tea. Alex stirred his and studied the liquid. “It’s greenish.” “That’s because the leaves are fresh,” Anthea said. “You don’t get the same color if you use dried mint.” “No, I guess not,” Alex said. He lifted the mug and took a deep swallow. “Not bad.” Colleen stared at the steaming mug in front of her and said nothing. The others waited, and the silence deepened until Lynn felt she had to break it. “Colleen,” she said slowly, working her way through the maze of the woman’s earlier comments, “did you think Skye was the murderer?” Colleen nodded. Then she looked up, her eyes bright and reproachful. “But this time she was at the hospital.”
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“Yes,” Lynn said. “We know that.” Anthea put a hand on Colleen’s arm. “How long have you suspected Skye?” Lynn could see the tendons tighten along Colleen’s forearm as her hand clenched into a fist. “I don’t know. It just seemed...well, Skye is very sensitive. She takes it all seriously. Very seriously.” “You weren’t prepared for that, were you?” Anthea asked. “I tried to protect her,” Colleen said angrily. “I didn’t think she’d react this way.” “Protect her?” Lynn asked. “That ridiculous pyre and the burning witch were supposed to protect Skye?” Colleen gave her a hard look. “How did you...?” “It was too well-planned,” Lynn said. “It drew attention without causing any real damage. The murderer has always worked very quietly without drawing attention to himself, but the pyre was meant to draw attention. Like your spell-casting at the lake. Skye told me she was worried. She said the attention would be dangerous.” “Do you think I expected all of this?” Colleen demanded. Lynn shook her head. “Two people have died, Colleen. Skye is in the hospital.” The tally was cruel, but necessary. “How much were you responsible for?” “The Esbat and the fire behind my house. That’s all. I didn’t poison Carl or murder Lisle.” “Why did you think Skye was the murderer?” “She went out again that night,” Colleen said, “after the ceremony at the lake. I thought she only wanted to meditate. She often did that late at night. She’d sit in that little grove of trees behind the house. Then, the night after Lisle’s séance, Skye went out again. I worried about her—after all, one person had already been murdered—so I went to the grove to check up on her, but she wasn’t there. The next morning you found Lisle dead, and I knew it had to be Skye.” “So you arranged the bonfire to make it look like you and she were victims, too,” Lynn said. “It worked.” “What you’ve done,” Alex said sharply, “is to convict her without benefit of trial. You don’t know she committed the murders.” “But she didn’t.” Colleen looked frantically around the table. “Don’t you see? She was at the hospital when Lynn was attacked, so it couldn’t have been her.”
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Chapter Twenty-Three LYNN LAY STARING up at the ceiling of her bedroom. She kept running through the list of suspects and victims but nothing seemed to fit together. Then there was Alex. She wasn’t sure where he fit at all. She heard the soft squeak of footsteps on stairs. Colleen or Alex heading for the bathroom. Except the house had a bathroom downstairs. She sat up comparing the sounds to the footsteps she’d heard when she was in the tub. These were more hesitant as they stopped and started. This must be how the footsteps of the Captain’s ghost would sound, slipping just to the edge of identity and back. The footsteps reached the top of the stairs, and she waited for the sound of the bathroom door. Instead, she heard a few soft steps, and the soft click of her own doorknob being turned. She leapt out of bed and threw her whole weight against the door, halting its inward swing. “It’s me,” Alex whispered. Lynn slumped against the door. “What are you doing?” “Why aren’t you asleep?” he whispered back. “I may never sleep again.” She opened the door. “Why were you sneaking up to my room?” “We need to talk.” She tensed. We need to talk. That phrase always suggested the worst. This didn’t seem the time or place for a relationship ending speech. Of course, the relationship had barely begun. “What did you want to talk about?” Alex laughed softly. “Murder, mayhem, witchcraft, the papers you saw in my room. Pick one.” “The papers. They’re not—” she searched for the right term. “What everyone thinks.” “You might as well sit down. This isn’t going to be a short explanation.” “No, I imagine it isn’t.” Lynn climbed back into the bed and sat back against the headboard. Alex sat on the edge of the bed. She ran her hand through a tangle of curls, searching her thoughts. “You’re deceiving everyone. I’ve heard Myra and the others talking. They expect you to write something extolling the virtues of spiritualism and Cassadaga. What I saw was...”
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“A more honest view?” His tone challenged her. “A more Catholic view. Couldn’t you have just told them what you were doing?” “Sometimes a little dishonesty is necessary.” Alex leaned back against the bed’s footboard. “I’m not trying to hurt anyone. I doubt anyone will even read my work. It’ll be buried in some university library while Joshua’s latest pops up in all the supermarket book racks.” He held his hands out beseechingly. “All I’m trying to do is complete a thesis on life in spiritual and religious communities. A boring, academic study.” “I don’t think any study of Cassadaga would be boring,” Lynn said. “Although I will admit you probably wouldn’t attract the audience Joshua does. But why the act?” “A researcher is not supposed to get involved with his subjects,” he said. “And I should have been even more careful about involvement. Especially with you.” She fell back against the pillow. “There you go again, making vague, suggestive comments. I’m getting tired of them. Since you’ve come creeping into my bedroom in the middle of the night, I think you owe me an explanation.” Alex’s chuckle was low and soft. “It’s not the middle of the night. It’s nearly dawn. But you’re right. You do deserve an explanation. Lynn, the problem is that I am currently on leave from a monastery.” Lynn shook her head to clear it. But then this was Cassadaga. “Buddist?” she asked, trying to picture Alex in a saffron robe. “Franciscan.” His eyes seemed to be begging her to understand. “I told myself I’d requested leave simply to do research for the dissertation.” “Franciscans are Catholic,” Lynn said, struggling with her thoughts. Monks belonged in the middle ages, not wandering the streets of Cassadaga. And certainly not stretched out on her bed. “But you kissed me!” she blurted. “Twice.” “That is part of the problem.” Lynn stared at the unmoving form beside her. She searched for something to say. “So that’s why you said you were out of practice. You kiss very well for a monk.” Alex pushed himself to one elbow. “What? Have you been kissing other monks?” “Of course not.” “Then how do you know what they kiss like, wench?” His free arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her close.
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For a few moments, she watched the struggle in his soft blue eyes. Then he moved toward her. Lynn reached up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He pulled her closer, lifting her to him. This kiss was fierce and aggressive, as if he were seeking to find the answers to his uncertainty in it. He let her slip back to the bed, and his hand drifted from her lips to her waist. “It’s a good thing I’m too tired to break anymore vows tonight,” he said softly. “It’s not night,” she said. “It’s dawn, and if Anthea catches you here, you’ll have a lot of explaining to do. Alex, how many sins have we racked up so far?” He kissed her. Lightly. “I’ll worry about that. I asked for leave because I needed to reconsider the monastic life. I am reconsidering. And you didn’t know I was a monk when I kissed you. For now, try to get a couple of hours sleep before everyone wakes up.” He kissed her again and left the room. WHEN LYNN CAME downstairs an hour later, Alex knew she hadn’t been able to sleep, either. “You should be in bed,” he whispered. “I feel fine,” she insisted. “Let’s go outside.” She tiptoed to the porch, and he followed her. Alex closed the door behind him. “It’ll hit you later this afternoon. I’ve had previous experience with all-night vigils.” “Do monks still do matins and lauds and all that?” “All that plus poverty, obedience, and celibacy.” “Ah, you’re on leave because you’re having trouble with one of those?” He shrugged. “Yes, but according to my spiritual advisor, it was obedience. I’m not fond of poverty, either.” She leaned against the porch rail and looked up at him. “So what am I? Strike three?” He ran a hand through her hair. “You are a complication I hadn’t planned on.” She looked upset at that, so he leaned over and kissed her. “You are a lot more appealing than most of the complications in my life.” “Perhaps it’s a sign?” she suggested. “Though I’m not sure it will get you into the Society.” She looked thoughtful. “Do you realize that if you’d told everyone that you were a monk, they would have fought to keep you here?” He gave her a rueful grin. “I seem to have miscalculated.” “Does Gaust know you’re a monk?” The question came so
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quickly he knew she’d just thought of it. He nodded. “So he doesn’t think you murdered Carl?” “I wouldn’t go that far,” he said. “Gaust doesn’t consider any of us innocent.” “And Joshua? He was giving you strange looks yesterday.” Alex nodded. “Josh and I discussed it yesterday after I left here.” “How many people know about this? Am I the last to find out? What did Joshua say?” Alex noticed the anger was back in her voice. He probably deserved it. Still, he could always go for the sympathy approach. He unbuttoned his shirt. “It wasn’t so much what Joshua said.” He pushed back the cloth until she could see his shoulder. The bruise was coloring nicely. “Alex,” she gasped, and he thought he’d won. Then she glared at him. “What is it with you? Next you’ll be fighting duals over my virtue. Did either of you think I might want to be involved in this decision?” Alex re-buttoned his shirt. “I’m sorry. Damn it, Lynn. I haven’t been involved with a woman since college. I know I’m bumbling through this, but I can’t do any better. You’re just going to have to put up with me.” Surprisingly, she smiled at him. “I don’t mind if you bumble every so often. Just let me know what’s going on. Now, I think we need break. We can sneak to Eagle’s for coffee and doughnuts before anyone else wakes up.” He could use the coffee. “I can go and bring breakfast back if you’re afraid to see him after last night.” “I’m not going to stop being afraid until we find out who’s behind all of this,” Lynn said. “And we might as well start with Eagle because that’s where the coffee is.” Alex wanted to insist she return to bed, but he was losing that battle to his desire her near. “I guess we’ll be safer together,” he said. “If you’re sure.” “I’m sure,” she said. PATRICK CARRIED A TRAY of cups across the lobby and handed them out. Coffee for Joshua, tea for Luke and June. He set Myra’s cup on the table beside her because she wouldn’t take it out of his hand. “It’s not proper for him to be here. He’s not a member of the board.” “He is my waiter,” Rafe said. “If Joshua wants to host breakfast
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meetings in my inn, then Patrick will be here.” Patrick put down the last cup and backed up until he was against the wall. Rafe could serve coffee and pastries without help. Or Joshua could say they’d go to the church to discuss business. This was his only chance to hear them talk, and he wasn’t going to mess it up. “I don’t see a problem,” Joshua said. “As long as Patrick doesn’t interfere with the discussions. Luke?” Patrick felt Luke’s gaze on him. He kept his head down. “He’ll be fine in here with us,” Luke said. Patrick felt the warmth rising in his cheeks. Luke knew. They all knew. They’d probably kick him out of the Society. “Fine,” Myra said. “Why don’t we start off by discussing the proposed age limit? I think we have been letting members into the Society at far too young an age. We must consider what sort of professional image that presents. I will tell you that when I arrived here, I was surprised to find a teenage reader practicing with the Society’s blessing.” “He was eighteen when we admitted him,” Joshua said. “Perhaps you don’t understand the responsibilities a reader has,” Myra said. “We are advising people about life choices. It takes maturity to do that. Would you ask Patrick for advice? What frame of reference has he developed?” “True,” Luke said, and Patrick’s stomach contracted. “We must take care with the young who are sent to us.” “Perhaps Myra is right,” June said. “To expect young people in their teens or even their early twenties to handle readings and clients on their own is irresponsible of us.” “We need an age limit,” Myra said. Patrick saw Luke nod. If Luke and June supported Myra then he’d already lost. “Twenty-five,” Myra said. “That seems too high,” Joshua said. “Not if we consider it the age for full membership,” June said. “Including the right to run for office on the board.” Joshua frowned. “So a member must be twenty-five to sit on the board.” “Twenty-five for membership,” Myra insisted. Luke nodded. “Full membership with full rights and responsibilities.” “We will have to write out the proposal and send it to the general membership to be voted on,” June said.
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Like that would help. Most members were probably more than twenty-five years old. It wouldn’t mean anything to them, but he’d be out for years. “Until then I suggest we follow the rules we mean to propose,” Myra said. Patrick bit his lip and fought the urge to say something, anything. Rafe was moving around the room offering pastries as if nothing was happening. Only Luke looked at him. “Yes,” Luke said. “After all, we cannot say that they are not responsible for their actions today if we hold them responsible for them yesterday. Can we?” “Of course not,” Myra said. “It’s what I’ve been saying all along.” “Senior members,” Luke said. June nodded. “What we need is a level of senior membership to evaluate and mentor these young psychics.” “Yes.” Myra jumped at the suggestion. “Before they are granted full rights and responsibilities.” Myra nodded. Patrick frowned. Luke and June were doing something. He didn’t understand it yet, but then, he didn’t think Myra did, either. “Means extra responsibility,” Luke said. “Of course,” June said, “senior membership would only be granted to full-time residents who are able and willing to take the time to provide one-on-one mentoring to young intuitives. I propose we begin by opening up this level to the board members present today. Myra?” “I’d be glad to accept.” “Joshua?” He shook his head. “Sorry, sounds more like Luke’s work.” June nodded “Luke and I already mentor younger members and I’m sure Anthea will accept.” June turned to Luke. “Is that all or am I forgetting something?” “Brochures.” “Right. We should reprint the brochures to indicate senior membership.” “We’ll have to reprint them anyway to drop Carl’s name,” Joshua said. “And Patrick’s,” Myra said, shooting him a gloating look. Luke shook his head. “No, we should list our apprenticing members.” Myra’s triumphant expression faded. “Our what?”
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THE DOOR TO Eagle’s shop creaked and the smell of fresh coffee wafted out to greet them. Eagle peered out from the back room and made his way across the room to the counter. He and Lynn exchanged a long look, and then he began pouring coffee. Alex watched the man’s every move. “You were out late last night.” He didn’t bother to make it sound casual. “Yep,” Eagle said, handing Lynn a cup of coffee. “What were you doing?” Eagle set the second cup of coffee in front of Alex then reached inside the glass display case for two chocolate-glazed doughnuts. He wrapped them in wax paper and dropped them into a paper sack. “Watching.” “Were you in Anthea’s house?” Eagle raised his head. His gaze was unflinching as he answered. “Wasn’t me. Wasn’t you.” He handed the sack of doughnuts to Lynn. “Inn porch would be a good place to eat these.” “Thanks.” Lynn took the bag and headed out of the store. Alex followed her. “I know you’re nervous,” he whispered. “But wait here a moment. I’m not through questioning him.” “I’m not nervous, he was giving us a hint.” “A hint to leave the store. Are you sure it wasn’t him?” She took a sip of coffee. “Did you hear footsteps when he walked to the counter?” Alex thought a moment. “I wasn’t listening.” “You wouldn’t have heard them if you had been. That floor creaked and groaned like an orchestra tuning up every time we took a step, but it didn’t make a sound when Eagle walked across it. I told you last night, if it had been him, I wouldn’t have heard him at all.” “Okay, I’ll believe the evidence of the dog that didn’t bark in the night. What do you want to do now?” “We’re going over there to eat our doughnuts.” Lynn led Alex across the street to the inn. Alex reached for the doorknob, but Lynn motioned to some chairs just out of sight of the windows. “Eavesdropping?” he mouthed. Lynn settled into a chair and opened the bag of doughnuts. “It’s just like being there,” she whispered. “Only without having to deal with Myra directly.” “Apprenticing members,” Luke said. “Isn’t that what we just agreed on? Senior members would mentor apprentice members until
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they reached twenty-five? I’m sure that’s what we decided.” “Sounds right to me.” Joshua’s gruff voice came from near the window. “We agreed no one would be admitted—” “To full membership,” June said. “It was really a wonderful idea you had to allow our younger members to apprentice with senior members before taking on full responsibility with the Society.” Alex edged to the window. Patrick was backed up against a wall, his arms wrapped around a serving tray like it was a shield. Myra’s gaze flitted from person to person as her face turned red. “I’m glad you think so,” she finally said. “But the question is which senior member wants to take on the responsibility for mentoring Patrick? I certainly don’t.” Luke looked up. “I thought Patrick and I would just go on as usual. Patrick? You haven’t said much.” “’Cause you said I shouldn’t interfere.” Alex barely heard the response. Patrick’s expression was wary. “Oh, yes, we did, didn’t we? I don’t think it’s interfering if you say whether or not you want to accept me as your mentor. Unless you’d rather leave and practice without any of the Society’s constraints.” “I want to stay. If it’s okay after—” “After we talk later,” Luke said, cutting off Patrick. “If you’re his mentor,” Myra said, “then perhaps you’ll keep him from giving more unofficial interviews to the media. I don’t know how many of you watched the news last night...” “Fear, prejudice and murder in the spirit world,” rumbled Joshua. “They certainly made the most of it.” “They made it sound like we were trying to murder that bitch for her beliefs,” Myra said. Lynn raised her eyebrows. “Did she say witch?” “Shh,” Alex whispered back and pointed to the window. He didn’t want to be discovered now. “Whoever burned that stuffed witch at the stake helped them there,” Joshua said. “However, I doubt they can make much more of it since neither murder victim was Wiccan.” “They’ll make everything they can of the spectacle while it lasts,” June said. “I suggest we set up the Halloween barricades until things settle down.” “Halloween barricades?” Lynn mouthed. Alex shrugged. He’d have to ask someone later. “That’s a start,” Myra said. “What else?”
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“There isn’t much else to do except issue our usual plea for privacy,” Joshua said. He held up his coffee cup. “Patrick, is there any more coffee?” Patrick disappeared into the kitchen, and Myra stood. “Joshua, since you’re more interested in breakfast than running a board meeting, I think I’ll leave now.” Patrick came out of the kitchen, coffee pot in hand. Myra turned and stepped directly into his path. He pulled back, and the full pot hit his chest. Alex saw the gasp of pain as the hot liquid splashed out, darkening Patrick’s white shirt. “You don’t even make a good waiter,” Myra said, and headed for the door. Alex stood, prepared to offer an explanation for their presence, but she didn’t seem to see him. She kept walking straight up the street toward her house. Alex joined Lynn at the door. Patrick stood shirtless in the middle of the room, while Rafael dabbed at his chest with a towel. “Is it blistering?” Patrick asked, trying to peer down at his chest. “Could someone tell Myra that killing me isn’t going to be very good publicity?” “Stop fussing,” Rafael said, pushing Patrick’s head up. “I’ll get some ice,” Lynn said, heading for the kitchen. “We were just stopping by,” Alex said, trying to explain their presence. “They were on the porch, spying,” Patrick said. “We weren’t—” Rafael cut him off. “Alex, there’s a first-aid kit in the storage closet. Could you grab it?” Alex followed Lynn into the kitchen. “Patrick saw us spying,” he said, as soon as the door closed behind him. Lynn looked up from the sink where she was wrapping ice in a kitchen towel. “We weren’t spying. We were eating doughnuts. And do you honestly think anyone really cares?” He shrugged. “Guess I’m just feeling guilty.” “Because we overheard top-secret plans involving Halloween barricades?” “Well, when you put it that way...” Alex opened the door to the closet. He spotted the white and red kit on the back of the top shelf and angled into the tight space to reach it. He hit a thick stack of folded boxes that leaned against the lower shelves, and they flipped, one by one, to the floor. He bent down to pick them up and noticed the corner
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of a painting protruding from the middle of the pile. He picked up boxes lying on top of it. “So that’s where he put it,” he muttered. “How did that get here?” Lynn asked from the doorway. “George’s idea of hiding your painting.” Alex let the boxes fall back on top of the canvas. “I’ll take care of it. Right now, I think we need to help patch up Patrick.”
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Chapter Twenty-Four WHILE RAFAEL TOOK care of Patrick, Alex placed a quick call to Gaust to tell him about the discovery of the painting. “I’ll send Harrison along to pick it up.” The detective’s weary voice suggested that he’d grown tired of the little group of eccentric suspects. “I’ll be here.” Alex hung up. He heard George’s voice in the lobby. He hurried out of the kitchen to find George confronting Lynn. “I really need to talk to you alone.” Lynn shifted her weight away from him. Too polite. She needed to put the poor fool out of his misery and tell him she wasn’t interested and would never be interested. “Sorry, George.” He stepped up and put his arm around her shoulder. “If you want to talk to her, you get me, too.” “This is private. Come on, Lynn.” “Nope,” Alex said. “I’m not letting her out of my sight until these murders are solved. In fact, I don’t think I’ll let her out of my sight even then.” George looked at her beseechingly. “Lynn?” Lynn shook her head. “You can’t be serious about him.” She started to step forward as if she might attempt to comfort George. Alex tugged her shoulder so she had to move to his side instead. “You can’t be serious,” George repeated, but this time his voice held the tone of a sympathetic advisor. “This isn’t right. You know it in your soul. You need someone who can help you develop your talents. Not a doubter like him.” Alex was keenly aware that Rafael, Patrick, and Joshua were watching and that whatever he said next would amount to a public declaration. “George, you have no secret knowledge. Lynn doesn’t need your guidance, and we don’t need your blessing or approval. If you have something to say, you’ll say it to me, too.” George’s ruddy face darkened as he looked from Alex to Lynn. “You can’t do this. You know it’s wrong. Think of what we’ve done
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together. We need each other. We belong together. Joined as one, we have the power to bring others to a higher understanding. That’s what all this is about. You know it’s right. Think of the two of us living here, like June and Luke, and teaching the world.” Alex saw the color drain from Lynn face. Had George’s plea been a marriage proposal? If so, it had caught her by surprise. “George,” she whispered, “that’s not the life I want.” “What about the life you’re destined for? Would you throw it all away for him?” His finger stabbed accusingly at Alex. “Do you know how foolish you’re acting?” “I know what’s right for me. You don’t need me to succeed.” She ended on a note of forced cheerfulness. “No, but you won’t succeed without me.” Stunned by the sudden venom in his voice, Alex stepped between him and Lynn. “I think you should leave.” “You aren’t going to tell me what to do.” “Then we’ll leave,” Lynn said. “No.” Alex said. “We won’t.” Lynn tugged at his arm. “I think it would be better.” Alex was torn. The last thing he wanted to do was back down, but it wasn’t fair to subject Lynn to George’s anger. “I hate to interrupt,” Patrick called. “But a police car just pulled up out front.” Alex smiled. He’d just won the battle. “They’re here to pick up a painting I found in Rafe’s storage room. No doubt they’ll want to question everyone to find out how it got there.” “I can’t believe you’re helping them,” George snarled. Heavy footsteps sounded on the porch. George turned and ran out the back of the inn. “Where’s he going in such a hurry?” Patrick asked “Probably to see Myra,” Joshua said. “After all, those two are the only ones concerned about the true good of Cassadaga,” Patrick said. LYNN’S PAINTING LAY on the table under Rafael’s strong kitchen lights. Alex could make out the pale area of the pond that represented Lisle’s body. “I feel like another person painted it,” Lynn said. Rafael glanced at the storage closet. “I don’t know how it got there, but it’s good we found it when we did. I bundle up those boxes for recycling every couple of weeks.”
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Alex wondered if George had known that when he’d hidden the painting. If so, had he been planning on retrieving the painting before it was recycled? “I’ll be glad to deliver it to Gaust,” Harrison said. “But if you don’t mind me saying so, ma’am, I don’t see how this is gonna give us any clues, it bein’ all indistinct and blurry like.” Patrick, sitting with his chin resting on his hand, glanced up at him. “Have you ever considered a career as an art critic?” Harrison glared at him and for the first time seemed to notice Patrick’s bandaged bare chest. “Don’t tell me the murderer tried to knock you off?” “Nah, just a little lovers’ spat.” “Ah, I take it you don’t want to press charges against the gentleman?” He glanced at Rafael who raised his hands in an ‘I’m innocent’ gesture. “It wasn’t a guy,” Patrick said. “Really?” Harrison’s eyes traveled to Lynn. “Perhaps I should ask if the lady wants to press charges against you.” “Since you want to know,” Patrick said. “It was Myra. You can stop and arrest her on your way out of town.” “No, thank you,” Harrison said. “That woman gives me the willies.” He paused. “But she could be the murderer.” “And here I was thinking you didn’t care about me,” Patrick said, and laughed at the disbelieving look it earned him. “Oh, but I do,” Harrison said. “Most people don’t know this, but I’ll tell you.” He paused and Patrick reflexively moved closer. Harrison then continued in a conspiratorial voice. “Some of us have a little bet going on who the murderer does in next, and I have twenty bucks riding on you.” Patrick sat back. “You don’t think I’m the murderer?” “You don’t have the balls for it,” Harrison said. Patrick rose slowly from his chair, his fists clenched. Harrison’s eyes glinted and his cheeks turned a ruddy red that matched his hair. Alex struggled to find a way to prevent Patrick and Harrison pounding each other. “Wait a minute,” Joshua said, jumping from his chair and pulling out his wallet. Everyone turned. Joshua pulled out a twenty and held it out to Harrison. Alex wondered if Joshua thought he could bribe the police officer, and Harrison expression showed he wondered the same thing. “Can I get into this betting game?”
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“I guess so, sir.” Harrison’s shoulders relaxed, and Rafael pulled Patrick back. “Who do you want to bet on being killed next? It’s gotta be by the murderer though. If I kill that punk,” he gestured at Patrick, who strained against Rafael’s grip, “it don’t count.” “I want to bet I’m the next one killed.” Harrison gave the bill a strange look. “But sir, if you win, you can’t... I mean, you’d have to be dead to—” Lynn filled in the confused phrases. “He’s trying to say that you can’t collect the winnings unless you die.” “I know that,” Joshua said. “I’ve lost money in Vegas, Atlantic City, Biloxi and on half a dozen cruise ships. This isn’t a bet. This is life insurance.” Harrison smiled and took the money. “If you say so.” Without looking at Patrick, Harrison picked up the painting and walked to the door. Then he stopped, holding the door open with his foot and turned Alex. “Oh, Mr. Janick, I’d kinda like to see you alone for a moment.” Outside, Harrison put the painting in the trunk of his cruiser. “Want to tell me where this has been hiding?” “First, tell me what you know about Skye,” Alex countered. Harrison looked down at his shoe and scuffed a line in the dirt. “I could run you in for obstructing an investigation,” he said offhandedly. “Who’s obstructing?” Alex asked. “All I’ve done is ask about a friend.” “Strange friends you’ve got,” Harrison said. “Lab found lots of funky chemicals in the stuff your friend drank. All plant derivatives. Mostly harmless.” “Mostly harmless?” Harrison shrugged. “Do you know how many ways doctors have of saying maybe? They think there was some Devil’s Trumpet in the stuff she was burnin’. The girl claims she didn’t put it there, but I don’t think I’d use such an iffy method if I really wanted to get rid of somebody. So, who hid the painting?” “Oh,” Alex said nonchalantly. “George did. He thinks it’s a sign that Lynn belonged in Cassadaga. He didn’t want you locking it up as evidence.” “Damn,” Harrison said. “You expect me to go the Gaust with a half-assed story like that?” “It’s true,” Alex said. “Of course it is. That’s the problem with these people. If they’re not killing each other they’re just being plain stupid.” Harrison opened the car door. “You come across anything you think might help us find
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the killer, you let me know. And tell that witch woman that we don’t appreciate her goin’ on TV and sayin’ we can’t do our job.” He slammed the door and sped towards the relative sanity of the interstate. “WE CAN TALK in here,” Patrick said, opening the door to Rafe’s rooms. “Do you want more tea or anything?” Luke shook his head and took a seat on the sofa. “Sit.” Patrick sat beside him. Why was this so hard if Luke already knew? He swallowed. “I have to tell you something.” Luke nodded. “I kinda, well, turned off the lights. You know, when Myra was yelling at Wallingford.” “I know.” “Are you mad at me?” “Tell me why you did it.” Patrick hesitated. Luke’s voice was still calm, but he wasn’t sure that was good. “I wanted to get back at Myra.” Luke sighed. “You were supposed to meditate on frustration. Did you?” “I tried.” Patrick looked down at his hands. “I’m sorry.” “I should have taken time to speak with you earlier,” Luke said. “Patrick, you faked a sign. Do you understand what that means?” “I can’t—” he stopped. His throat wanted to close up on him. He swallowed and tried again. “I can’t stay in the Society. No one will let me.” “Do you think you should be allowed to stay?” He shook his head. “No. Myra wouldn’t let me, anyway.” “Myra isn’t your mentor,” Luke said. “I remember her making that point very clear.” Mentor? Patrick looked up. He couldn’t have a mentor if he was kicked out. Maybe Luke wasn’t going to tell. But that would mean Luke could get in trouble too if anyone found out. “You can’t break the rules ’cause of me.” Luke smiled. “I’m not going to break any rules. The board agreed to follow Myra’s suggestion and not allow you the responsibility of full membership.” Patrick shook his head. “I don’t get how that means anything good.” “It means that the board agreed with Myra that you shouldn’t be held responsible for your actions yesterday.” “She didn’t—” Patrick remembered the conversation from
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breakfast. “But she didn’t mean it that way.” “Perhaps you will allow your mentor to decide what the rules mean?” Luke’s voice was stern, but his eyes gleamed. Patrick rubbed his hands over his jeans. He’d given Myra the best excuse ever to have him kicked out. Luke had said the part about him not being responsible for what he did yesterday. Myra had agreed because she thought she was getting her way, but Luke must have known. He took a breath. “I get to stay?” “You get to stay. But later, we are going to review your bookings. I don’t want to hear about you giving readings to more than one client at a time. And I may limit the number of readings you give each day.” “But—” He made himself stop. Luke had just saved everything. “Yes, sir.” Luke laughed. “Come on, you young idiot, let’s go help set up the Halloween barricades.” LYNN SAT BESIDE Alex on a bench in the small meditation garden near Myra’s bookstore. She listened as Alex repeated what Harrison had told him. “Could the Devil’s Trumpet in the brazier have poisoned her?” she asked. “Harrison didn’t rule it out, but he seemed to think it wasn’t a very good way to commit murder.” “No,” she said, with a shake of her head. “But it wasn’t meant for that.” He looked surprised. “Care to explain that?” “George,” Lynn said. “That’s why he dragged me to Colleen’s with him. He put the Devil’s Trumpet in the brazier while I was searching Colleen’s office. Then he took me back to that room to do his psychometry experiment. If Skye hadn’t come home when she did, his visions would probably have become more specific and directed me to the Devil’s Trumpet in the room.” “He was trying to frame Skye and Colleen.” “Oh, he may honestly think they’re guilty,” Lynn said. “But I think he’s less worried about sending the murderer to jail than he is about having a sign.” “Would he fake a sign?” “I’m not sure he would think of it as faking. He believes in his abilities. I’m the slow one who needs help. The leaves were just, well, a visual aid.” Alex chuckled and put his arm around her shoulder. “We confused unbelievers must be a disappointment to the town.”
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“I’m certainly a disappointment to George. The rest of the town, I’m not so sure about.” She snuggled close to Alex and let her mind wander. “It all has to be connected somehow. From that first fire to whoever broke into Anthea’s last night. There has to be a thread. What changed?” “You arrived,” Alex said. “Detective Gaust made a point of that.” Lynn shook her head. “When I got here the fire was underway. Patrick was lying on the grass, and the others were arguing about signs. Signs again. Could one of them have started the fire, then convinced the others not to meditate in their usual spot? It might even have been accepted as a sign if Patrick hadn’t gotten caught in the fire.” “Do you remember who first claimed a sign?” Alex asked. “I think it was George, but Lisle and Wallingford weren’t far behind. Lisle tried to get Patrick to help her. It might have worked with a different male. Would you have gone along with her?” He ruffled her hair. “You are taking this conversation down an unfair path. What about Wallingford?” “Nope, I haven’t the slightest interest in him,” Lynn joked. “You know, Wallingford was the most angry. Not when George or Lisle tried to claim a sign. He was his usual superior self, putting down their claims. It was when Joshua said he wouldn’t consider any of the signs. Wallingford took off to demand Carl’s help. George said that Wallingford wasn’t staying as long as he and Lisle, so he was more desperate for a sign. Maybe Carl wouldn’t help, and Wallingford killed him for revenge.” “I don’t see what he’d gain.” “Okay,” Lynn said, thinking through the options. “Maybe it wasn’t revenge. Carl was going to talk to the insurance rep about the fire. What if he found something in the report that showed Wallingford had started it?” “If the police knew Wallingford started the fire, they’d have arrested him by now. Wallingford just doesn’t strike me as the type who’d be desperate enough to resort to arson and murder.” “Well, then who do you think—” A loud sneeze made Lynn look toward the window of the bookshop. She saw Myra inside, dust rag in hand. She nodded toward the window and dropped her voice. “Do you think she heard us?” “Do you think she’d have let us hear her sneeze if she had?” “We can’t talk here,” Lynn said. “Necessity suggests my place.” “Yes, I suspected it might.” She wondered if he was always as
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serious as he sounded. “Hey, lovebirds!” The yell was followed by the blare of a car horn. “You two aren’t planning on going anywhere are you?” Patrick sat on the tailgate of Joshua’s car beside a bunch of orange and white highway barricades. Behind the station wagon, Luke and June waited in their SUV. More barricades stuck out the back. Alex and Lynn strode to the cars. “What are you doing?” Alex asked. “Putting out the Halloween barricades,” Patrick said. “So if you need to leave make sure you move them back into place.” “Couldn’t anyone just move them to get in?” Patrick shrugged. “You want to tell Myra that?” “Don’t you need permission to block the road? It’s a state highway, isn’t it?” Lynn wondered why she was bothering to ask. No one around her seemed to worry about things rules and regulations. Joshua turned from where he sat in the driver’s seat. “Do you think Gaust is going to object at this point?” “We always get a permit for Halloween,” Patrick said. “Otherwise we’d be overrun by kids looking for a good scare.” “Myra called someone official to say we were putting them out,” Joshua said. “They seemed to think it was a good idea. In fact, they seemed to think locking us all away behind some more permanent structure might be a good idea.” “Too bad she was on the phone,” Patrick said. “If she’d gone in person, maybe Harrison would have arrested her. Can I put a sign out that says ‘Beware of Myra?’ That would really keep people away.” “I just might leave him out with the barricades,” Joshua said, putting the car in gear and driving off. June waved as she and Luke rolled up. Luke didn’t wave. His eyes were closed and his hands rested on his lap. “Keeping up the meditation?” Alex asked. June nodded. “He’s closing the circle. It takes all his strength to keep the evil out.” “Don’t let us stop you.” Alex stepped back and they moved slowly forward. “At least she’s driving,” Lynn said. Alex chuckled. “Luke seems to do just about everything else while meditating. At least Patrick seems in good spirits.” He groaned. “Sorry, didn’t mean to put that way. At breakfast, he looked like his world was ending.” Lynn watched the cars drive away. June’s words brought back the
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memory of Lisle. “Do you remember what Lisle said about Patrick and Luke at the séance?” “I remember she called Patrick, Loki’s disciple. A good observation, but not a particularly unworldly one.” Lynn smiled. “Yes, but a disciple is a student. Right?” Alex nodded. “Or an apprentice,” she continued. “And a teacher is a mentor. She told Luke the teacher would shield the student, and that’s just what he did.” Alex stared at her. “Interesting,” he finally said. “But couldn’t she have just told us who the murderer was? Let’s go to my place. I have some ideas I need to think about in private.” LYNN DROPPED ONTO Alex’s sofa and let her eyes close. She didn’t want to think about murders or Devils’ Trumpet or anything else. She wanted to sleep. It would be so easy to drift off... “Something to drink?” Alex asked from the kitchen. “Beer? Wine?” “I’m barely coherent as it is. Do you have any soda?” “Diet okay?” “Of course.” She slipped off her sneakers and put her feet up on the couch. If she just stretched out for a few minutes, she’d feel better. She moved one of the cushions so she could lay her head on it. The caffeine in the soda would wake her up. She woke to the smell of bacon frying. She must have dozed off for a moment. Maybe a few moments. She sniffed the bacon. “How long have I been asleep?” Alex popped out of the kitchen holding a spatula in one hand. “I’m making omelets. They work for breakfast or lunch. Besides, the kitchen here is limited.” “Thanks. I’m starving,” she said and realized how much she meant it. “What time is it?” “Nearly noon. Don’t worry, I took a nap, too. Probably the best thing for both of us. I also called Anthea to tell her you were all right. She said Colleen was going to pick up Skye at the hospital. They may be back by now.” “Were they going to Anthea’s?” “Apparently. Anthea sounded annoyed, though. It seems Colleen has some TV demonstration planned.” “Even after last night?” Alex shrugged. He looked thoughtful for a moment then wrinkled his nose. “The omelets! Hold on for a moment, I’ll be right back.”
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Lynn didn’t dare close her eyes again, so she stared out at the street. It was quiet and peaceful. Deceptively so. Alex appeared with two plates of omelets, bacon, and toast. He handed her one of the plates and a fork. “Here, try it.” She cut into the omelet, which oozed cheese, and took a bite. She could taste oregano and basil. “Delicious. Did you learn to cook in the monastery?” He shrugged. “I’ve picked up a few things over the years. Wait till you get a chance to try my meatloaf.” He balanced his plate on his knees and cut into his own omelet. “Now, what do we do about Colleen? We don’t think she had anything to do with the fire or the murders, do we?” Lynn swallowed. “Maybe we’re supposed to. Colleen’s scarf was used to strangle Lisle. I feel like there are two separate things happening here—signs and an attempt to blame the Wiccans for the murder. Maybe someone decided to go after me because I walked down to the lake with Colleen and Skye on the night of the Esbat.” “So who around here is crazy enough to do that?” Lynn laughed and nearly choked on her bacon. “Talk about a way to narrow down the suspects. Let’s see. Luke is meditating to protect us all from evil. Colleen’s gathering the News at Nine team for a stunning presentation about her life as a witch. George stole one of my paintings because he thought it was a sign. And I just spent last night with a monk. I may have them all beat.” Alex kissed her on the cheek. “You’re not crazy. A little overwrought maybe, but not crazy.” “I came down for a vacation because I was feeling a little overwrought,” she said. “Instead I’ve gotten involved in a double homicide, fallen in love with monk and been proposed to by George. I think it may be the last one that’s pushed me over the edge.” This time she turned her head so that the kiss landed more appropriately. “You taste like bacon and eggs,” she said a few minutes later. “So do you, but I’ve always loved my own cooking.” “Really.” “I’ll prove it.” He managed to move both plates out of the way mid-kiss and pulled her tighter. She let herself relax into his arms as feelings she’d tried to keep down since Mark’s death rose up again. She wanted to cry, to laugh, to love. But mostly she wanted to hold onto Alex and make sure he never went away. Then he pulled away with a suddenness that tugged at her heart.
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“Why would...” he muttered into the space over her head. She knew why he hesitated. She saw the battle in his eyes every time he looked at her. “Why would we think this could work?” She started to stand, to give herself some distance, but gasped as he pulled her back down. “What are you talking about?” “What are you talking about?” she demanded. “It better be something important enough to interrupt what we were just doing.” “I think I just figured out who the murderer is.” “What? How? Who?” She grabbed his shoulders as if she could shake the information out of him. “You’re the one who gave me the final clue,” he said. “We’re all doing crazy things, but the murderer’s actions don’t look crazy to the murderer. It all makes sense. The problem is how to prove it.” “Tell Gaust and let him prove it. And tell me.” “No.” “What?” She drew back in outrage then stopped herself. “Wait, no to telling me or no to explaining to Gaust.” “Both” “I can’t believe—” Alex’s lips met hers. “That’s cheating,” she protested. “Yes,” Alex said solemnly. “It is. However, back to the problem at hand. You, my dear, are much too easy to read. If I tell you who it is, you’ll give it away the instant you see the murderer. As far as explaining to Gaust, it may be so crazy that he won’t buy it. It really only makes sense if you understand the members of this group. Gaust hasn’t been having much luck with that.” “I don’t get it,” Lynn said. “No one else understands these people as well as you?” “You’re just frustrated because I won’t tell you who the murderer is.” “Yes! I want to know who it is. I need to know who it is. What if I’m on the victim list?” “I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he said. “You’re asking me to trust you with an awful lot.” “I know,” he said. “But you have become too involved to see these people clearly, and that puts you in danger.” “And you aren’t involved?” she challenged. “To an extent,” he admitted. “But I’ve been trained to keep my objectivity. Consider this—if you were seeing everything clearly, you’d know who the murderer is.”
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“Because the murders make sense to the murderer,” she said and he nodded. “That’s too vague.” “Nope. Think about it.” Lynn couldn’t resist the challenge. She ran the list of names through her head. Who gained by Carl’s death? By Lisle’s? If Lisle’s death protected the killer’s identity did Carl’s death protect anything? To her, it all seemed like an endless maze of unanswered questions. She looked at Alex and saw his lips pressed thin with tension. He wasn’t smug, he was worried. “What are you going to do?” she asked. “I don’t know yet.” “Maybe if you told me who it is, I could help you think of something.” “Of course,” he muttered. “The murderer is—” He kissed her. “Now, what was I saying?” “I’m not going to be the only one here who’s frustrated.” She had to move quickly, but she was half on top of him when she kissed him. She ran her hand up his jeans and moved her kisses down his neck. Then she pushed herself away. “So, who is the murderer?” “You’ve miscalculated,” he said, somewhat breathlessly. “I’ve been practicing restraint for years.” “Really? Then perhaps you’d like to move that cushion you just dropped into your lap.” “Not at the moment. But thanks for asking.” “You are impossible,” she said. “What do you plan to do? Ask the murderer to confess to you so you can grant him absolution?” “Ah, but then I couldn’t tell anyone. You’ve got to think these plans through more carefully.” He smiled. “How about a confession on the local news? Do you think Colleen will object if we hijack her demonstration?” “Are you going to let her object?” “No. We’ve got to go talk to her and to Anthea.” A strained expression crossed his face, and he adjusted the pillow. “Though we shouldn’t rush off just yet. And, um, back to the murder. We’ll need the police. If Gaust won’t attend the festivities, I know Harrison will.” “What about the murderer? Are you sure he’ll be there? Is it a he?” “Don’t worry, I’m sure the whole town will be there, he’s and she’s.”
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Chapter Twenty-Five LYNN SENSED THE tension when she and Alex entered Anthea’s kitchen. Anthea sat at the table, wrapping florist wire around a wreath of dried herbs. Her fingers moved nervously, nudging the bundled herbs out of place. Joshua sat beside her, holding a coffee cup. He gave Lynn a weary smile then let his gaze travel to the other side of the kitchen where Skye sat with a blanket over her lap and Colleen leaned against the counter. “Welcome back,” Colleen said joylessly. “You’re just in time to tell me what a fool I am for wanting to hold a demonstration of true Wiccan ritual.” Lynn wanted to, but she held her tongue as Alex strode over to Skye and picked up a feathery stalk from the table. “Yarrow, for protection against evil.” Then he held up a stem of small bell-shaped purple flowers with a few long, grayish leaves at the bottom. “I’m afraid I don’t recognize this one.” “Hyssop,” Colleen said from across the room. “For spirituality.” “It’s not hyssop,” Skye said listlessly. “It’s Mexican sage,” Anthea added. “My hyssop isn’t blooming very well at the moment.” Colleen dismissed the correction with a toss of her head. “No one will know the difference. Not once it’s been woven into the wreaths. That’s if I can find anyone to help me give this demonstration.” “What about the women who helped last time?” Lynn asked. “Good lord, girl, don’t give her suggestions,” Joshua scolded. “Don’t worry,” Colleen countered. “They don’t want to come because they’re worried they’ll be associated with the murders.” Alex held the flowers out to Skye. “Would you help if we could use the ritual to show who murdered Carl and Lisle?” Skye turned toward him. “How?” Anthea pushed the half-made wreath to the center of the table. “I hope you’re not suggesting a psychic trance to rival Lisle’s. That ended badly.” “He thinks he knows who the murderer is,” Lynn said. “But he won’t tell.” She subtracted Joshua, Colleen, and Sky from her mental list. If Alex were willing to discuss the plan in front of them, they
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couldn’t be the murderers. “There’s no need for anyone else to know,” Alex said. “If this plan is to work, we’ll all have to act naturally. The more of us who know who the murderer is, the more difficult that will be. In fact, I don’t think any of us should have any contact outside this house until the ritual. Colleen, is the news team coming tonight?” She nodded, but Anthea interrupted. “Wait a minute. Why not tell the police now what you know and be done with it?” “Because I have no proof,” Alex said. “I’m making an educated guess. All the murderer would have to do is deny it, and we’d be worse off than we are right now. I want to use the ritual to force a confession.” Joshua shook his head. “Not good enough. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you can’t put these women in danger on the strength of a hunch. Even an educated hunch.” “They’re already in danger. I’m trying to put an end to it.” “I’m not willing to take that on blind faith,” Joshua said. “I’m going to need a lot more information. Like who you suspect, exactly what you want everyone to do, and why on earth you think it’s going to work.” The last told Lynn that Joshua didn’t expect Alex’s plan to work. The two men faced each other for a long moment. “Fine, I’ll explain it to you,” Alex said. He walked to the back door and opened it. Joshua rose from his seat, and Lynn took a step toward the door. She wondered why they needed to go outside. “Just Joshua,” Alex said. Lynn stopped short. “If you’re going to tell him, why not just tell all of us?” Alex sighed. Lynn crossed her arms and faced him. This time she had Anthea and Colleen to back her up. Alex seemed to realize this, too. He rubbed a hand across his jaw, suddenly looking very tired. “All right. No wait,” he said as Lynn started forward. “I’ll tell Joshua, and we’ll let him decide who else should be told. But first, all of you have to agree to abide by his decision.” “Sounds reasonable,” Anthea said before Lynn had a chance to object. “But I have a condition. Joshua is probably the most skeptical person here. If you’re able to convince him that you know what you’re doing, we’ll help you with your plan. If not, you agree to call the police and tell them what you know.” Alex looked from Anthea to Joshua as if weighing his chances.
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“Fair enough,” he said. “Let’s go, Josh.” Lynn watched them leave the room then exploded. “How could you agree to that?” she demanded turning to Anthea. “Don’t we have a right to know or do we just turn the big decisions over to the men?” “It seemed sensible to me,” Anthea said calmly. “Those two are as stubborn as dandelion roots. If they actually reach an agreement, Alex must have something behind his idea.” “I know he does,” Lynn said. “I just want him to tell us.” Anthea smiled. “Yes, I know that, dear. Here, play with a wreath.” She pushed one across the table. Lynn wanted to protest that arts and crafts weren’t likely to help, but instead she found herself reaching for the wreath. She knocked some herbs loose, releasing their soft scent. Slipping them back into place, she gave the wire a couple of clumsy twists. The uneven loops looked terrible, so she undid them and tried again. It was easier, she realized, to concentrate on this simple manual task than to worry about what was taking place outside. Alex and Joshua had walked well away from the door and stood facing the pines. Their stance and the nodding of Joshua’s head warned Lynn that Alex was making his case. When they turned back to the house, Alex had a relieved look on his face. She knew she didn’t have much chance of finding out who the murderer was—yet. “Ladies, I think we have a plan,” Joshua announced. “But we’re all going to have to work together,” Alex said. “Whether you approve of her motive or not, Colleen has given us the perfect opportunity. If our murderer is as suggestible as I suspect, then we’ll be able to rely on the atmosphere we create tonight to help us force a confession.” “Exactly what do you want us to do?” Anthea asked. Alex leaned against the edge of the table. “Here’s the basic idea. Lisle was killed to prevent her from identifying the murderer. Tonight she’s going to return to finish the job.” Anthea and Colleen’s expressions reflected their confusion. Skye looked hopeful. Lynn was afraid she knew what Alex had in mind. “Wait a minute,” she said. “You aren’t expecting me to impersonate Lisle, are you? Because I doubt even a Fairy Godmother could weave a spell that strong.” “Colleen is going to weave,” Alex said. “But you’re going to bring back Lisle.” “And you will go to the ball,” Colleen said, waving her arm at Lynn.
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“Alex, I’m a good half-foot shorter and no where near as willowy.” She held out her arms to emphasis the difference. Obviously the man had spent too long not looking at women. “I wouldn’t fool anyone.” “Your curves do have a bit more earthy appeal,” Joshua said. “I’m only worried about fooling one person,” Alex said, as if that would reassure her. “And together, we can do that. But don’t worry, I’m not planning on putting you in a long wig and having you appear mysteriously from the shadows.” “Then what are you planning?” she asked, exasperated. “Gather round and let me tell you.” BY FOUR O’CLOCK, Anthea had made the necessary phone calls. Skye had braided the last of the wreaths for participants and guests to wear, and Lynn was sweeping up flower petals, scattered seeds, crumpled pieces of white tissue paper, and bits of soft charcoal pencil. Joshua came back from the gazebo alone. “Where’s Alex?” Lynn asked, surprised at the sound of the worry in her voice. Joshua turned on the faucet and scrubbed the dirt from his hands. “He just went to Eagle’s to pick up sandwiches for everyone. He’ll be here soon.” He turned to her and raised her chin with a soapy hand. “He’s a nice boy, but if he gets out of hand, you tell me.” Looking into his eyes, Lynn knew Alex was telling the truth about the bruise. “He told me about your talk. Really, Joshua, I am old enough to take care of myself.” “Humph. Yes, perhaps I see what he meant,” Joshua said. A heavy knock at the front door interrupted Lynn’s reply. “I’ll go,” Joshua said, grabbing a towel on his way out of the kitchen. “You don’t think it’s the reporters?” Lynn asked. Anthea shook her head. “Probably Myra wanting me to do something to stop tonight’s ceremony.” “Myra,” Lynn muttered. “She’s still on the list.” “What list?” Colleen asked. “A list of the terminally annoying?” “The list of people who could have committed the murders,” Lynn said. “Or perhaps those who should just be committed.” Lynn decided not to respond. Her gaze wandered to a basket of carefully wrapped packets. Maybe if she picked them up one by one she could tell which one Alex had wrapped the Devil’s Trumpet in.
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“Leave them alone,” Anthea said, adjusting a flower on one of the wreaths. She’d added some dandelion flowers from the yard. For divination, she’d explained. “Don’t you think it would be better if we knew?” Lynn asked. “Besides, he’ll have to tell you so you can give the right packet to the murderer. Why not the rest of us?” Anthea shrugged. “Could you really act the same way around the person you knew was the killer? Because if you can’t, you’ll give away the whole plan.” “But I know someone is the murderer. I’m acting nervous around everyone. I’m always on edge.” “We’ve all grown used to living like that,” Anthea said. “The point is not to act any differently than you have for the last few days. If Alex is right, tonight will be the last night you have to worry. Now, should we change before or after we eat dinner?” “Don’t try to change the subject.” “Oh, stop being mad at Alex,” said Skye. “You don’t mind the ritual being performed in front of reporters? Or me being part of it? I’ve never been initiated. I’m not even sure I believe.” That was one of the questions that bothered her. When Alex explained his plan, Colleen had drafted Anthea and Lynn as assistants and assigned them roles without waiting for anyone else’s input. Lynn was acutely aware that to Alex, this was all in the name of unmasking the murderer, but to Skye, it was real and sacred. Skye shook her head. “The Goddess is not offended by that which has a purpose and serves the good of her children.” Joshua popped back into the kitchen. “That was a very angry Myra with Wallingford and George in tow.” He turned to Anthea. “They wanted you to join them in a protest against tonight. I said you’d be willing to make your opinion known before the ritual. I’m not sure, but I think she bought it.” Alex slipped through the back door and checked over his shoulder. “I just missed the reception committee out front. Is everything okay?” “Just the usual,” Anthea said. “What about you?” “Eagle said everything is quiet.” “Did he?” Anthea asked. Alex put the bag of subs and chips on the table. “Well, to be accurate, I said ‘seen any out-of-town cars?’ and he said ‘nope.’ Then I said ‘so it’s been pretty quiet?’ and he said ‘yep.’” “Is he going to be there tonight?” Lynn asked.
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Alex slouched against the table in a mimic of Eagle. “Might.” “He’s getting chatty. You did tell him where?” “Yep.” “He’ll be there,” Anthea said. “Now I suggest we eat. We wouldn’t want to be late to our own Esbat.” WHEN THE WOMEN walked down the stairs into the front hall, Alex and Joshua applauded. “Oh, no, not that bad,” Lynn said. “Very effective,” Joshua said. Colleen had slipped home by hiding in Joshua’s car and returned with a supply of crinkly skirts and flowing peasant blouses. The outfits were one-size-fits-all, but Lynn and Anthea had both had to fold theirs over at the waist to keep the skirts from dragging the ground. Lynn had chosen a purple skirt and blouse and looped a long lavender-colored scarf around her waist. Anthea was wearing shades of blue. Skye had chosen green and for once didn’t look like a shadow. Colleen had decked herself out in a deep red skirt and black blouse and then tied a twisted band of red, purple and green scarves around her waist. She looked strikingly fashionable. Lynn felt like a misplaced gypsy. “Do we drive or walk?” Anthea asked. “Walk,” Joshua said. “Alex and I will carry the boxes. You witches lead the way. I want everyone to get a good eyeful.” They walked to the inn where Colleen had arranged for the news crew to meet them. When they got there, Alex put the box of mysterious packets on the porch, pulled up a chair, and draped his legs over it. Patrick stepped out of the door. “Hey, the entertainment committee has arrived.” He picked one of the wreaths out of Joshua’s box and dropped it on Lynn’s head. “She wore flowers in her hair, there were flowers everywhere. Are you going to be part of tonight’s show?” “Yes,” Lynn said, taking off the wreath and putting it back in the box. “Cool. Myra will be furious.” A news van pulled up. By the time it had parked, Rafael, Wallingford and George had been drawn from the inn. “Great effect with the barricades,” one of the guys climbing out of the van said. Both men had longish dark hair and Hard Rock Cafe T-shirts. The one who had spoken had a large camera balanced on his shoulder. “Hey, should I get the building?”
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His question wasn’t directed at the group on the porch but at the young woman climbing out of the van. Her hair was cut in a shoulderlength bob and she wore khaki slacks and red shirt with the station logo. Make sure you wear a logo, so that you aren’t mistaken for one of the crazy folk. “We can use it as the background for the interviews,” the woman said. She took a couple of steps toward Colleen and held out her hand. “Hi Colleen. I’m Kristy. I’ll be taping the, umm, proceedings for you tonight. I thought maybe you and your group might like to explain what you’re going to do tonight before the actual, umm, ritual.” “We’re not all part of her group,” George barked from his place on the porch. “Oh, well, maybe I can get interviews from some of the rest of you, too. Or at least a spokesperson.” She looked over the porch, as if seeking the best candidate. Lynn didn’t like the hungry way she looked at Alex. “Perhaps you could do it?” “He is hardly a spokesperson for this community,” Myra said, coming up behind the reporter and her crew. Kristy turned toward her and extended her hand again. “Oh, could you do it?” “No member of this community will be associated with this event,” Myra said. “And we would appreciate it if you didn’t do any filming here.” “But the inn is quite pretty, and this might encourage people to visit.” Poor Kristy didn’t know who she was up against. “This whole event is calculated to mislead the public,” Myra said. “If you insist on being a part of it, I suggest you pack your equipment up and head for the lake.” Kristy looked as if she’d just been told to go jump in the lake. “But, we were told the ceremony had been moved here.” “I assure you, it has not,” Myra said. “It will be taking place in the gazebo, just down the road,” Colleen said with a wicked smile. “It will not,” Myra said. “You are not a member of this Society, and you can’t hold any functions on Society property.” “She isn’t,” Anthea said. “But I am a member of the Society, and I have every right to use Society property, provided it has been properly scheduled in advance.” Myra whirled on Anthea. “June wouldn’t approve this.” “Really?” Anthea’s smile was frosty. “She said it was fine when I called her.”
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“She wouldn’t.” “It’s on the calendar. A memorial ceremony for Lisle at the Gazebo from five to seven.” “You didn’t tell her it would involve witchcraft.” “I don’t believe she asked.” Myra whirled as if seeking support. Rafael had his head down. He was chuckling, but trying to hide it. Wallingford was nervously studying the porch roof. George looked as angry as Myra, who wasn’t ready to back down. “I’ll have the board revoke your membership,” she threatened. Joshua stepped forward. “If you’d like, I can call a vote right now. Then we can get on with this.” “You can’t bully us,” Myra said. “June and Luke will be here shortly. We’ll vote then.” Anthea strode past Myra to the sidewalk. “They can just meet us at the gazebo, because that’s where we’re going. Bring the cameras.” The last was addressed to Kristy who had retreated halfway to the van. Lynn wondered if the young reporter wished she could trade this assignment for something more peaceful, like a prison riot. Still, she fell obediently in line behind Anthea. Colleen pulled a wreath from the box. “Let’s go, ladies.” Alex pulled another wreath from the box. He started to hand it to Lynn, but Patrick took it from him and dashed down the stairs. “Hey, Myra,” he yelled, waving a wreath. “This bud’s for you.” He attempted to toss it on her head, but she ducked and stamped down the street, heading in the general direction of June’s house and the gazebo. Patrick picked up the fallen wreath and ran ahead. “He’s not going to try and chase her down, is he?” Lynn asked. “Patrick,” Rafael growled, as he headed down the steps. Patrick caught up with Anthea and Colleen and dropped the wreath on top of the unsuspecting Kristy. “She had flowers in her hair,” he sang again. Kristy reached up as if to take off the wreath, but then she got a look at Patrick. She settled it more securely on her head.
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Chapter Twenty-Six BITS OF YELLOW tape still fluttered around the pond, but Lynn’s gaze went to the bare earth around the gazebo where Alex and Joshua had done their work. The exposed soil made her think of a fresh grave, and she suppressed a shudder. The sight of Harrison, in uniform, striding toward them reassured her. “Thought y’all did this sort of thing at midnight,” he said. “A common misconception,” Alex said. “Besides, the taping would be more difficult.” “Is Gaust coming?” Lynn asked, since the others hadn’t caught up to them yet. “He didn’t want to encourage this sort of thing with an official visit,” Harrison said. “Oh.” Lynn couldn’t hide her nervousness. “I hope the cameras pick up everything he needs. It’s good you’re here in case anything happens.” The officer threw his shoulders back and smiled. “Don’t worry ma’am. The murderer won’t get away with me here. And as for Gaust, he gets off around five thirty, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he were taking a ride out this way—unofficial like.” “Here comes trouble,” Joshua said, with a nod across the street. Myra was leading Luke and June toward the gathering. “But I don’t understand,” June was saying as they approached. “This was to be a memorial service for Lisle.” Anthea stepped forward calmly to face the enemy. “It is.” “With them here?” Myra pointed to Colleen and Skye. “They knew Lisle, too,” Anthea said. “Would you deny them the right to say good-bye?” “No, no everyone should have the right,” June said. “That’s not what they’re doing,” Myra said. June looked nervously at her husband then at Anthea. “What are you doing?” Anthea smiled softly and raised her hands. “Lisle was murdered here.” She began, addressing not just Myra and June, but also the assembled group. “Her life was taken suddenly. Her spirit is unsettled. Haven’t you felt it?” She looked pointedly at Luke. “You are so close
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to the area of the disturbance.” Luke nodded sagely. “Yes, I’ve felt her presence. I’ve tried to speak to her, to let her know she is free to move on, but something seems to hold her here.” “And you.” This time Anthea singled out Wallingford. Lynn held her breath. George would have been more suggestible while Joshua or Patrick would have quickly thrown their support Anthea’s way. But surely Wallingford was a mistake. Lynn watched as his eyes darted around the group. He folded his arms, extending one hand to stroke his chin. “Yes, even science has shown that the spirits of those whose lives end suddenly or violently tend to linger behind. I’m sure we can all feel the unsettled aura of the immediate area.” Everyone nodded in agreement, even the camera guys. Lynn knew she should have trusted Anthea. Wallingford, so recent a recipient of a sign, would never have admitted to not sensing a spiritual presence. June turned to Myra. “See, I’m sure you just misunderstood,” she said in a soothing voice. “Anthea knows what she’s doing.” Myra was steaming as visibly as a pot of herbal tea, but Anthea launched her final attack. “No, Myra’s the one among us who has understood the most. She knows the goals of this community better than anyone, and she saw what damage Carl was doing to those goals. She tried to warn us all.” “And none of you would listen” “No, we wouldn’t.” Anthea shook her head sadly. “Carl wasn’t much of a spiritualist, but he had a magician’s skill when it came to distracting us from what was important. We never wondered what he was up to. We were too excited about his seminar suggestions. As a result, he was able to do anything he wanted to with the Society.” “Too damn right,” Myra said. “Let’s not be distracted anymore. Let’s extend the hand of friendship—not membership, but friendship—to Colleen and Skye. Let’s show the world we’re not close-minded and prejudice. And let’s set Lisle’s spirit at rest.” Myra blinked, her mouth half-open. Lynn knew she’d suddenly realized that Anthea had backed her into a corner. She couldn’t claim she didn’t want to put Lisle’s spirit to rest or that she thought it was a good idea to appear close-minded and prejudiced. Then she closed her mouth and thoughtfully “hmm’d” over Anthea’s suggestions. Then she nodded. “Thank you,” Anthea said, as if Myra had agreed to holding the
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ceremony. Then more loudly, “we should set up between the pond and the gazebo.” Myra looked ready to object again, but the camera guys were already moving toward a likely spot. One checked the gauges and gadgets while the other waved a large piece of reflective cardboard around. Kristy held the microphone. “Isn’t this going to be distracting?” Lynn asked. “Unsettling,” Anthea said. “But that could be to our advantage. People tend to blurt out things they would normally never say when they’re in unfamiliar circumstances. I think it’s time we started.” She put one of the wreaths on her head and picked up the basket of paperwrapped gifts. As Anthea took her place at the edge of the pond, the group began to pull together. Colleen and Skye moved smoothly to take their places, and Lynn slipped quietly into her spot. She stood near the water’s edge so she could see most of the group as they arranged themselves in a semicircle around the others. However, Alex and Joshua had both found spots near her. Kristy’s voice flowed in a smooth patter as she made some introductory remarks into her microphone. Anthea waited for her to finish. Then Kristy signaled the camera guys and stepped out of range, and Lynn realized that it was time to start the show. “Welcome to all of you,” Anthea said. “This evening will be important for all of us, but first we must create a safe space for the work we do here.” She raised her arms skyward in one swift movement, and her voice echoed over the waters of the pond. “Gabriel, Angel of the North, for one who lies stilled by the silence of death, we ask your protection.” Skye was next. “Raphael, Angel of the West, for one we loved, one whose death brings us sorrow, we call on you for protection.” Now it was Lynn’s turn. She took a breath and tried to block out the soft breathing of the watchers. She focused on Lisle. Lisle on the porch smiling at her. Lynn raised her arms. “Michael, Angel of the East, for one who sought knowledge, we call on you for protection.” She lowered her arms and Colleen raised her voice. “Ariel, Angel of the South,” she spoke with ease, “for one whose blood has been spent and whose spirit seeks rest, we call upon you for protection.” “We gather here under the protection of the heavenly spirits,” Anthea said, “to set the spirit of our sister to rest, to purify this spot where evil was done, and to bring justice to one who brings death into our midst.” The last phrase brought a soft gasp from the crowd. Out of the
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corner of her eye, Lynn could see June and Myra turn towards each other, but Anthea had planned to prevent any disruption at this point. “Justice...justice...” Colleen’s voice was smooth so that the words ran into one another. “Purify...purify...” Skye chanted softly. Lynn added her own voice to the blend, “Spirit...spirit...” She spotted Gaust at the edge of the crowd. She hoped Alex’s mysterious plan worked. “We call on all of you,” Anthea said over their chanting, “to join in our efforts. We all knew Lisle. We were her family, and she was taken from us with no chance to make her final farewells. And no chance,” Anthea’s voice dropped slightly, “to accuse her murderer.” Waving her chanters to silence, Anthea bent and picked up the basket. “You will notice that we have prepared a planting area around the gazebo. First we will purify the earth with salt and water. You will each receive a packet of wildflower and herb seeds to scatter over the earth as we plant a garden in honor of Lisle.” Anthea removed a small silver container from the basket and walked to the gazebo. “May this earth be purified of all evil.” She sprinkled a pinch of the salt on the ground and walked part way around the gazebo. “May the spirits of all who come here find rest.” More scattered salt and a few more steps around the gazebo. “May eternal justice reign here.” She flung a final offering of salt and walked back to the group. “As you sow your seeds, each of you may want to say a few words in remembrance of Lisle.” She handed the first packet to Lynn. Lynn walked to the gazebo. Alex had insisted that she go first so she could return to her place and to his and Joshua’s protection. She unwrapped the seeds and stared for a moment at the pure white of the paper. “Lisle, you greeted me with openness and friendship when I first came here. I remember you with love.” She poured the seeds into her hand and scattered them on the bared earth. She walked back to her place in the group and watched as Skye and Colleen spoke their words of friendship and scattered more seeds. This part was going according to plan. There was no way to know what order the others in the group would come forward in or whether the murderer would take the bait. Lynn watched anxiously. If Alex had confided in her, she would at least have had some idea of who to suspect. Now she had to be equally nervous for each person. The gathered Cassadagans hesitated but Anthea wasn’t about to give them time to be distracted. “Patrick, Lisle was a friend to you.” She held out packet of seeds. Lynn strained to examine the packet as Patrick strode forward to
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take it. The set of his shoulders and lift of his head radiated confidence as he unfolded the paper. “Lisle, you brought the beauty of the angels, and you deserved better than we gave you. Go with love.” He scattered the seeds and turned back to the group. He singled out Myra for a defiant look then walked back to his place. Lynn breathed a sigh of relief. She had never wanted it to be Patrick. This time June moved forward to take her package. She followed Patrick’s steps to the gazebo and unfolded the paper. Her expression didn’t change. “Go with our love to the beauty of the next plane.” More seeds fell to the earth. Luke followed his wife. His expression as serene, his words vaguely threatening. “Go into the light, into the protection. Know we will seek justice for you on this earthly plane.” Lynn managed not to relax so visibly this time. She had never really suspected June or Luke. Rafael moved forward and Lynn took a deep breath. Now there was a man of quiet passion. He unwrapped his packet and seemed to stare quizzically at the paper for a moment. Lynn felt herself stiffen. He looked up again. “I cannot think of what to say.” He took a deep breath. “Lisle, you came with love and happiness. We will miss you.” He sowed his seeds with a wide sweep of his arm and moved easily back to his place. Lynn looked at the waiting group. Wallingford, George and Myra were left. Wallingford and George started to move forward together, faltered, then Wallingford stopped. Myra held back. She still had a disapproving look on her face. What if she refused to come forward, if she didn’t take the bait? What would they do then? She heard a rustle of paper and turned. She was missing George’s moment. Had he already done his bit? No, he’d turned away from the gazebo and was staring at her with an odd expression. “You, it had to be you,” he said in a jagged voice. “No,” Lynn said. “I had no reason to hurt Lisle.” “No reason to hurt Lisle?” He laughed. It sounded odd, almost like a cry, to Lynn’s ears. “How about me? You don’t care if you hurt me.” He waved the paper at her. “Bitch.” Lynn shook at the insult, and the paper. She saw the sketch Alex had insisted she make. It showed a slim figure with its arm outstretched in accusation. The paper meant to hold the Devil’s Trumpet flower for the murderer. And the flower was there, lying accusingly at George’s feet. But his words, Lynn thought. His words had hardly been a confession. He’d only accused her of hurting him. By drawing the picture? Had Alex been wrong? Could Anthea have gotten the papers
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mixed up? “I knew she’d find a way to tell you. You’re both too much alike. Both of you gifted but without the sense to see what it means. Neither of you truly understood.” He means Lisle. “What didn’t we understand?” she asked. “It’s too late now,” George said. “I wanted to explain everything to you last night. I wanted to explain before she told you.” Lynn shivered. “George, Lisle is dead.” Was he so far gone that he didn’t realize that? “Did you try to explain to her?” “Of course I did.” George sounded as if he’d been insulted. “But she just kept repeating that the angels had given me a chance to confess. She wasn’t listening. She didn’t understand what I was trying to tell her, what the angels were trying to tell her. I thought maybe she’d see more clearly when she was on the other side. But she won’t go over. She keeps coming back.” His voice rose frantically. “If she’d just go over, they’d explain it all to her.” Lynn struggled to keep her own voice steady. “What would they explain George?” She knew the words had to come from him. He took a few steps toward her. No one else seemed to exist to him. “Explain Carl’s evil. He was destroying everything. I heard him. Wallingford accused him of starting the fire in the community hall. He offered to cut Wallingford in if he’d keep quiet about it.” Beyond George, Lynn could see head swivel toward Wallingford. She had to push forward. “But Wallingford didn’t kill him.” “Why should he kill him? He was going to get what he wanted. Not the rest of us. Just him.” “Why didn’t you tell someone?” Lynn asked. She struggled to keep her mind on what the police would want to know. “I went to Carl and told him I was going to tell. He said that no one would believe me. That they would all think I was making a fuss because I was worried that I wouldn’t be accepted. He said he would say that I had come to him asking him to arrange a sign. He said I’d never get into the Society. That was when I knew I had to get rid of him.” “So you killed him,” Lynn said. “No. I left it up to the spirits. If he was meant to die, then the tea would kill him. If he was really one of us, he would sense the danger and stop.” Lynn took another breath. It was a frightening, dangerous turn of logic. “What about Lisle?” “She wouldn’t understand. The spirits had shown their approval
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of me, and she wouldn’t understand that. She should be happier on the other side, but she won’t leave.” His gaze drifted over the pond and seemed to focus on something. “You’re dead,” he called. “I killed you. You’re dead. Why don’t you leave?” Lynn turned to the pond. The sun glimmered on the water, but that was all. “Leave, damn you,” George yelled dashing past her and toward the weedy shore. Alex and Joshua grabbed him before he splashed into the water. He hung crying in their arms then twisted toward Lynn. “You could have prevented this. If you’d married me they never could have used you against me. We would have made a difference. You’ve let the evil win. It’s all your fault.” The last came out in a frantic sob then he was in Harrison’s strong grasp and being led away. Alex was beside her in a moment. His arms went around her shoulders. “Married him?” Lynn muttered. “That’s why he broke in last night,” Alex said. “A wife can’t testify against her husband.” “Can’t be compelled to,” Gaust said, appearing at her other side. “But I doubt he’s aware of the difference. The lawyers will love this one. He’ll end up in the bin, not the pen. At least it might save the state the expense of a trial.” Lynn was only half-listening to his words. “Can’t testify,” she said. “Because he thought Lisle was going to tell me who the murderer was? How? And when I didn’t agree with him?” Alex pulled her closer. She answered for him. “He would have killed me as easily as he killed Lisle. That’s why he was there last night.” She shivered so hard she thought she could feel her teeth chatter. “I’m taking you inside,” Alex said. “Detective, I don’t suppose you need us to stand out here while you take care of things?” Gaust nodded toward Kristy, who was interviewing Patrick. “I’d prefer all of you to go somewhere and not try to attract any more attention. Well, not all of you. I think I’ll take Wallingford with me. I want to hear more about his conversations with Carl. I’ll be by tomorrow to tie up any loose ends. Just try not to let anyone else get killed off before then.” He slapped his notebook against his palm and strode toward the camera crew.
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Chapter Twenty-Seven “GEORGE?” ASKED LYNN when they reached the inn. “How did you ever come up with George?” “It was obvious if you thought about it,” Alex said. “It isn’t obvious to me,” Patrick said. Like the rest of the group, he had followed them back to the inn to hear Alex’s explanation. “Why was George so worried about Carl after the Esbat if he knew he was going to kill Carl?” “That’s what I mean,” Alex said. “He told you that Carl would be killed.” “By Colleen’s curse,” Lynn said. “True,” Alex said. “And that sounded so off the wall no one believed him. We were all at Lisle’s séance, but George was the one hanging around Colleen’s before Skye got sick.” “He was?” Colleen asked. Lynn decided she’d better be the one to answer this question. “He wanted to use his psychic powers to prove you were the murderer. At least that’s what he told me. He tried a little stunt by picking up a Devil’s Trumpet leaf and pretending to see you gathering leaves to poison Carl.” “He didn’t want to kill us?” Skye asked. “It’s more likely he was trying to plant evidence for the police to find,” Alex said. “He had every reason for wanting to keep the investigation focused outside the community. But Lynn didn’t believe his demonstration, and instead she showed up in time to help Skye. Maybe that was what convinced George that Lisle was trying to tell Lynn about him, because that part I haven’t figured out.” “That was the painting,” Anthea said. “George would have seen it as Lisle’s link to Lynn.” “But how did it disappear in the first place?” Lynn asked. Alex shrugged, but Joshua spoke up. “My guess is that it was George again. Lynn, honey, I don’t want to frighten you, but he probably watched you that morning. He might have been keeping an eye on the scene. I’m not sure he fully understood that Lisle was gone. I don’t think he’d be surprised if they called Lisle as a witness at his trial. Your painting really got to him.”
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“That or it might have been the ghost,” Lynn said. “What ghost?” Patrick asked. “The night he broke into Anthea’s house,” Lynn explained. “I was trying to attract George’s attention because I thought Eagle was attacking me. Really, he was trying to keep me from going back into the house with George. I don’t know if he knew George was the murderer.” “Eagle is inclined to be suspicious on general principles,” Joshua said. “Why would he have been out by Anthea’s at night?” Alex. asked. “Isn’t that suspicious?” “Nah,” Patrick said, “he’s always prowling around. Probably just looking for the mother ship. I want a ghost story.” “Well,” Lynn said, “there isn’t much to tell. I was trying to get George’s attention, and Eagle was holding me. Then George ran off, chasing something white and shadowy.” Alex seemed unimpressed but everyone else was looking at her with a strange expression. “Well,” Joshua finally said. “do we authenticate it?” “There were no witnesses,” Anthea said. “Except George,” Joshua noted. “What are you talking about?” Lynn demanded. “Don’t you get it?” Patrick asked. “You’ve just told us you had a sign. Lisle helped you. Or maybe one of Anthea’s nature spirits. Still, it’s a sign.” “Without witnesses,” Myra said. “There have to be witnesses.” Lynn expected Patrick to object. Instead, he shrugged. “So next time she’ll have witnesses. The spirits like Lynn. They’ll make sure we keep her around. That’s the part George didn’t understand about signs.” “Wait a minute,” she said. “Did George murder Carl because he started the fire or because he wouldn’t approve his sign? And why didn’t he murder Wallingford?” “I think,” Alex began, “that George wanted to be a part of Cassadaga desperately enough to kill for it. He may have tried to blackmail Carl and instead, Carl threatened to ruin his chances of getting in. Wallingford wasn’t a part of that, so George didn’t need to kill him. Or he perhaps wanted to and just couldn’t find an opportunity. I seem to remember finding George in the inn’s kitchen a few times.” “He would have used poison in my kitchen?” Rafael asked. “He made a suggestion about the coffee once,” Alex said. Patrick looked from Alex to Rafael, panic showing on his face.
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“He poisoned the coffee? But Rafe drank it.” “I’m sure the coffee was fine,” Lynn said. “Rafael would have shown the effects by now if it wasn’t.” “But he always gave a warning,” Patrick said. Joshua held up a hand. “Wait, before anyone else speaks, I want Patrick to have a chance to explain that observation.” Patrick looked around the room. “Well, he always did, didn’t he? He was the one who said that Carl was going to die, and he killed Carl. Then he kept saying that Lisle was in danger before she did the channeling, and he killed Lisle. So when he said about the coffee being poisoned, he was probably thinking of poisoning something. He just couldn’t find a way to kill Wallingford without killing off half the town ’cause you all drink the stuff. Gaust might have figured out the murders then.” Lynn couldn’t hold back a giggle, and everyone turned to her. Alex wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “It’s been a tense time for her.” She let herself relax into his arm. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I said something like that to Gaust.” “George did not say anything about Lynn being in danger,” Rafael said. “Perhaps he did not mean to kill you.” “No,” Lynn said. “He wanted me to help him.” “Maybe,” Alex said, pulling her closer, “he kept warning us because he wanted someone to stop him.” Lynn shook her head. “Don’t you understand? He wanted someone to know what he was doing. He’d convinced himself that the spirits were behind him. Even Lisle’s message to him during the séance helped. She told him he would get what he needed. I thought she was talking about a sign, and that’s probably what George thought. His plan to kill Carl worked, which meant the spirits supported him. Which was a sign. But he couldn’t tell anyone. He really was over the edge.” “I’d like to sympathize,” Colleen said, “but he was sane enough to strangle her with my scarf.” “He was hoping Gaust would arrest you,” Alex said. “Apparently he wasn’t far enough over the edge to want to be arrested for murder.” “Speaking of signs,” Myra said. “there is an admission that we need to reconsider.” “Can’t this wait?” Anthea said. “We’re all a little on edge.” Myra shook her head. “We need to get this out of the way before the press and the cops show up again. It’s terrible to think the spirits would give a sign to someone who would betray the Society.”
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Lynn looked at Patrick. He was a white as a spirit himself, and she knew he thought Myra was talking about him. Someone needed to say something before the poor kid blurted out an apology. “Perhaps you misinterpreted what the spirits meant.” She flushed as all eyes turned to her. “I mean, um, maybe they weren’t trying to support Wallingford but to warn you.” “Yes.” Alex jumped in. “It makes sense. Turning off the lights was to show a lack of power, meaning Wallingford didn’t have the power to be here.” Myra’s lips pulled tight as she gave them both stern looks. “Really, I think full Society members might be better able to judge this than the two of you. Luke?” Luke looked around the room, then shook his head. “No, the spirits do not support Wallingford. Events have clouded good judgment recently.” June put a hand on his arm. “I don’t think Wallingford will try to pursue his membership, and the less we speak of the past few days, the sooner we can clear the evil.” “I hate to point this out,” Joshua said. “but there is a little matter of an arson investigation. I doubt we’ll be able to collect for damages to the building.” “We paid our premiums,” Myra said. “They can’t refuse to pay.” “They can if one of our members set fire to the building,” Joshua said. “And even if Wallingford tries to find some credible excuse for his conversation with Carl, there is the matter of the invoices. As acting president, I managed to get a look at Carl’s papers yesterday. He’d supposedly ordered all new furnishings to redo the building for the seminars. Does anyone remember seeing them?” He waited while they shook their heads. “I thought not. There were boxes of old drapes and such in the room when it caught fire. My guess is he expected them to burn enough that he could use them to collect money for supplies he never ordered.” “But how would that help us?” Myra said. “We’d still need to rebuild, and I’d lose money from the bookstore.” Alex cleared his throat. “I had a conversation with Harrison the other day. I hate to be the one to break the news, but I think you’ll find Carl wasn’t completely honest with the books. The Society might be a short on funds.” “Why didn’t you tell us this?” Myra demanded. “It was part of the investigation,” Alex said. “We’ll work it out,” Joshua said. “The seminar idea isn’t a bad
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one. Give me a few days to think things through.” “Sleep on it,” Luke said, standing. “Yes,” June said. “We’ve all had a trying day.” She took Luke’s hand and together they walked out of the room. Myra surveyed the remaining members of the group. “I am going home.” She glared at Patrick. “And I better not catch you talking to the press tomorrow.” With that, she stalked out. Lynn looked around the room. Alex stared into the distance. Anthea yawned and seemed to be about to drop off to sleep. Patrick sat slumped in his chair. “Time to go home,” Anthea said to Lynn. “You look like you’re going to fall asleep where you sit.” Joshua stood. “Alex, I have a few questions about your project. Why don’t we go grab a beer at Eagle’s?” Alex nodded and stood. He gave Lynn a peck on the cheek. “Try to get some sleep. We can sort everything else out in the morning.” With that, he followed Joshua out of the room. Lynn watched them leave, then rose to walk home with Anthea. Wisely, her aunt said nothing. LYNN LEANED AGAINST the bench and studied the painting. With a careless flick of the brush, she’d just splattered a few drops of water into the middle of it. The faded brown of the gazebo streaked into the soft blue of the sky and the gentle roll of green grass. She sighed and dabbed at the area with a sponge to absorb the excess moisture. “That looks nice,” Alex said, peering over her shoulder. “Is it a tribute to Lisle?” “I think I need to put her ghost to rest,” Lynn said. “I was hoping this would help.” “Is that why you’re painting her in it?” “What?” “Isn’t that what you’re doing? Adding her by the gazebo?” He leaned close, his shirt brushing her hair. Lynn looked at the painting again. Where she’d sponged the water drops she could just make out the beginning of the image. Soft and diluted, but there. The brown of the wood had left behind a red gold that mirrored Lisle’s hair. The yellow in the green had lifted out and the blue had softened to a shadowed white. It suggested a gently flowing white gown. Lynn smiled. “I hope it’s her final farewell.” She decided to change the topic. “You’re up early.” He shrugged. “Saying morning prayers.”
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“I see. Planning to keep doing that?” He dropped on the bench beside her. “I’ve been thinking. Actually, Joshua seems to have been doing a lot of thinking. Did you know he teaches at a community college?” Lynn shook her head. She wasn’t sure what Joshua’s career had to do with the issue at hand, but she put her faith in Joshua and waited. “He does. And it seems they have an opening for fall for a humanities position.” “So,” she asked, hopefully, “are you going to apply?” “No.” “Oh.” She tried not to let the word carry the pain she felt. “It seems my application was mysteriously submitted even though I’d never heard about the position.” He smiled. “I’ve never even heard of the college. It seems I’ve been accepted. Joshua says it’s a sign.” “Are you going to accept your acceptance?” He cupped her chin and turned her face toward him. “If there is one thing this place has taught me, it’s not to fight the signs.” ~*~
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Marie Dees Inspired by a father who built meditation pyramids in the family room and a mother who checked witchcraft books out of the local library, Marie Dees couldn’t resist weaving characters who follow nontraditional spiritual paths into her books. Tea and Witchery is the first in her Cassadaga Mysteries series. A Florida native, Marie lives in Orlando, where she works in corporate communications, gardens, and channels her alternative interests into mystery novels. She loves to hear from her readers. You can e-mail her at
[email protected] or visit her web site at www.MarieDees.com.
