Captive Magic (Mystic's End Mysteries Book 8)

by Leanne Leeds

  “Would someone keep evidence of that in their office, though?” I asked Clutterbuck.

  The chief chuckled. “Most men keep things in their office they don’t want their wife to find.”

  “You don’t have a lot of faith in men, do you?” I asked without thinking.

  A dark cloud passed in front of the older man’s face. “Considering I was one of those men that betrayed their wives, I suppose I have reason to think most people aren’t honest. I wasn’t honest.” Clutterbuck thought a moment. “You’re supposedly the psychic. Do you find that what most people say matches up to what they think?”

  “That’s not the easiest question to answer.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because people speak to…make an impression, get a point across. They’re attempting to present themselves in a certain way, to organize their thoughts so they can influence others. What they say and what they think are seldom going to match, not completely. It’s not usually out of a desire to lie to someone, though.”

  The more time I spent with Chief Clutterbuck, the more I found I liked him. I liked his bluntness, the way he went straight to the point of a matter. Well, when he wasn’t trying to hide something.

  Lying, though, didn’t seem his natural state. He struck me as someone who knew what he wanted, and he didn’t want to compromise. Despite all the things I’d seen him do that were ethically gray (to be polite about it), I could feel in him a profound respect for right and wrong.

  Seeing all this, feeling it…

  It made what my mother did to him even worse.

  My mother made Terrance Clutterbuck cynical. He’d loved his wife, adored her, and he blew up his life for a mistake I suspect he had no control over making. Because he couldn’t understand how he did what he did, he went through life assuming the worst of everyone—because he had believed he was a good man. Once.

  And then he made a mistake and destroyed the woman he loved.

  “Well, you have a cotton candy way of looking at people, Ms. Delphi. Toughen up for the next few days,” Clutterbuck said, pointing at the folder. “Because those items were in this office when we came to get Mr. Noble and take him. Someone came in after and took a crystal ball and some church papers.” He looked me in the eye. “I also suspect that Clarissa woman just lied to our face about those papers. And if I’m worth my salt as a lawman, she’s probably not going to be the last person to lie to our face.”

  “She seemed defensive. Like she was hiding something. Not at first, though. As we talked, it got worse. I know she lied about Bond being shattered,” I agreed. “He didn’t seem bothered by his brother dying.”

  “No, he didn’t, did he?” Chief Clutterbuck contemplated the situation as he stared up at the ceiling. “Clarissa helped us out in one respect.”

  “Oh?” I asked.

  “She let us know that Bond and Prunella may be together. Bond said as much himself,” Clutterbuck mused as he looked down at me. “If Clarissa went straight over there, well…” He smiled mischievously. “That’d be an interesting get-together to have, wouldn’t you say?”

  Interesting is one way to put it.

  The chief snapped a few pictures of the crime scene with the tablet to document the folder on the desk and the missing knick-knacks on the shelves. “Okay, let’s lock it up and see if the widow Noble is expressing any level of remorse over her husband’s untimely demise.”

  Seven

  In the car with Chief Clutterbuck, I sat with my arms crossed. Spring in Arkansas was beautiful, but there were days the chill in the air would insinuate itself, reminding everyone that winter wasn’t that far gone.

  On the one hand, Chris’s observation this could be a bad idea might be right. I was going through an awful lot of trouble to cajole my way into the evidence room when it would be faster and easier to simply break into the evidence room. Sure, okay, highly illegal—but infinitely easier. The only time Clutterbuck and I had worked together was when the town was magically poisoned—long story—and he didn’t exactly appreciate my talents.

  On the other hand, he knew about this town’s history from a side I’d never had access to.

  The historically corrupt side.

  “What do you know about the Holy Grove Church?” I asked him as we drove through town toward Conrad Noble’s home.

  “Are you asking me about the church’s beliefs or about Reverend Dexter Kane?”

  “Both, I guess,” I told him after thinking about it. “Between the gambling and owning racing dogs and stuff, he just doesn’t really strike me like a man of God, you know?”

  “Your mother—”

  “She’s not my mother,” I responded automatically.

  “Okay, your birth mother,” Clutterbuck corrected apologetically. “She and Reverend Kane were real close years ago. I always used to see the two of them—thick as thieves—after the services. Later, when Martin showed up to wash the town in his father’s money, I figured they had sent her forward to lay the groundwork.”

  I frowned. “I thought they only built the track five years ago.”

  “It takes a long time to pull a project like that together,” he said. “Land was being bought, surveying was being done.” He paused. “Politicians being purchased. Palms greased. You know, the usual.”

  “What would the Reverend of a local church have to do with any of that?”

  “You’d have to ask them. All I know is they seemed pretty close—maybe too close—for a preacher and a mobster’s girlfriend. Not a pair you would normally see chumming around with one another.” He paused. “The town definitely noticed.”

  I had a few interactions with Dexter Kane since I’d moved to Mystic’s End. Some routine—he owned Gideon, my greyhound, before I bought him (and put an end to his racing career). I paid well over the going rate thanks to my attachment to the hound, and Dexter Kane was pleased with his profit.

  Which was so substantial, I winced at the memory.

  But other interactions left me with questions. I hadn’t been open more than a few months when Dexter Kane visited my shop to commission a picture for a funeral, a portrait of the recently deceased Hugh Maddox. Despite his parishioner passing away, the Reverend made exceedingly skeevy comments during the transaction.

  Going over the memory in my mind, though, his misogynistic comments were not what stood out.

  What stood out was Reverend Dexter Kane’s shock when he came face to face with my selenite crystal ball. I kept it on the display table at the front of the shop. Patrons walking in could miss it, but when stepping out of the store? It was impossible not to see. At first, it seemed to unnerve him. He stopped stock-still and stared at it.

  Then he whirled on me to ask if it was for sale. When I refused to sell it, a flash of ferocious anger crossed his face. It was such a brief moment I remember questioning whether I saw it at all.

  He’d never mentioned it again, and so I’d forgotten about it until now.

  “Why would Dexter Kane be interested in a selenite crystal ball?” I murmured.

  “Kane was interested in Conrad Noble’s missing crystal ball?” Clutterbuck asked.

  “No. I have one at the shop. They’re not exactly uncommon. Since my shop’s name is the Mystic Moon Gallery, I keep it upfront as a representation of the moon.” I related the interaction I had with Reverend Kane from a year ago. “It just seems weird to me he would have such an intense reaction to seeing mine. Here we are a year later, and another crystal ball is missing from a crime scene where papers on the Holy Grove Church are gone, too. That seems…odd, don’t you think?”

  Chief Clutterbuck looked uncomfortable as he pulled in to a house I didn’t recognize. “Your questions are making this sound like a conspiracy, Ms. Delphi.” He turned off the car and shifted his body to face me. “You’re the psychic. Are you getting any impressions that there is more going on here?”

  “More than what?” I asked him with a sarcastic chuckle. “They shot a City Councilman point b
lank in the head. A witch bottle, and a selenite crystal ball were at the crime scene. The crystal ball has disappeared from the secured crime scene. Paper referencing the local church has also disappeared from that same scene, but the witch bottle is locked up in evidence. I don’t think I need to get impressions, Chief Clutterbuck. Something’s clearly going on here.”

  The chief’s dark eyes stared at me with unnerving intensity. “What, pray tell, is a witch bottle?”

  Just as I realized I’d stupidly said too much, there was a knock on the driver’s window.

  “What are you two doing here?” Detective Conroe asked as we stepped out of the car.

  “I venture a guess we’re doing the same thing as you,” Clutterbuck answered. “Investigating a murder.”

  “Am I being taken off the case, sir?” Conroe asked his boss stiffly.

  “Did I say that?” the chief deadpanned in response. Detective Beau Conroe, son of the Holy Grove Church’s own Grace Gang member Beulah Conroe, gave Clutterbuck a fierce glare. Chief Clutterbuck stared down that glare without even flinching. “Did you have something else you wanted to say, Detective?”

  “I don’t enjoy having my work questioned.”

  “Did I ask you questions? Seems to me you’re the one that started off with questions, son.”

  I couldn’t understand the intense hostility I sensed between the two men. Beau Conroe stared at Terrance Clutterbuck with a towering fury and startling resentment. It was just barely staying contained below the surface.

  Clutterbuck was cool as a cucumber as he stared the younger man in the eye, but his dislike was extreme.

  A younger man, by the way, immensely distressed the two of us were here.

  The detective glanced at me. “What is she doing here?”

  “I sent out a memo that Fortuna was going to be consulting on this case. In that memo, I also mentioned that I’d be taking a more active role because Conrad Noble was a City Councilman. Maybe you should read alert information a little more often, Conroe.” Clutterbuck gestured toward Beau Conroe’s cell phone. “You seem to be a bit out of the loop.”

  Conroe wanted to sneer, but I sensed him swallowing anger. “Sorry, boss,” he said in a tone that didn’t sound sorry at all. “I’m well aware that the murder of a local politician is a bit higher profile. Been working hard to uncover leads.” He was talking to himself in his head, telling himself to stay calm. Not to attack the chief. “Wouldn’t want the mayor to get her panties in a twist.”

  I hated that expression.

  “Do you have any leads?” Clutterbuck asked politely.

  “Not yet.”

  He was lying.

  “Well, Fortuna and I found something at Noble’s office.” Clutterbuck didn’t elaborate.

  “You planning on sharing it?”

  Chief Clutterbuck wasn’t particularly fond of Beau Conroe, and Beau wasn’t exactly a fan of the chief. Even so, Beau Conroe’s anger and fury seemed vastly out of proportion to the situation. I’d never been impressed with Conroe, but I’d sensed nothing in him like what I was sensing now.

  “It’ll be in the next memo,” Clutterbuck told him. “Why don’t you go visit the coroner and see if he’s got any more information? Fortuna and I will handle interviewing these folks again.”

  “Again?” the detective asked, startled.

  “Well, I assume you’ve interviewed them already.” The chief looked at him oddly. “Conrad Noble’s been dead for a full day. It would practically be a dereliction of duty if you hadn’t spoken to them yet.” Chief Clutterbuck crossed his arms. “Speaking of which, after you talk to the coroner, maybe you should head up to your desk and catch up on your paperwork. I didn’t find any notes on those interviews in the case room.”

  He thinks he’s so smart, Conroe thought to himself. He has no clue what’s going on here. He better be helping her get her mother to pony up with the cash for the church. If he’s not, the same thing will happen to him.

  “Absolutely, sir, I’ll get right on that,” Conroe said, nodding once and turning to head back to his car. At least she can’t read my mind, he thought to himself. I barely looked her in the eye. Nope, as long as I don’t look her in the eye, I’m fine.

  I smiled. Whoever’s giving him advice on how to deal with a telepath has it super wrong.

  Which might be useful.

  Since I was now sure Beau Conroe was square in the middle of the conspiracy we were trying to unravel.

  If not the actual murderer.

  “Hold up,” I said as Clutterbuck turned toward the front door. He stopped and turned back toward me, his eyebrow raised. “Do you normally have that much animosity between you and the officers that work for you?”

  “Beau Conroe is not an officer; he’s a detective,” Clutterbuck corrected me.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, you guys and your titles,” I snapped. “You know exactly what I mean.”

  “Yes, but I was hoping to avoid this conversation standing in front of a dead man’s house. No, Ms. Delphi, I rarely have that much animosity between the detectives on the police force and me. I also don’t normally ask psychics to consult on cases, and a City Councilman doesn’t normally get shot in the head.” His gaze was steady and never shifted. “Whatever you may think of this town, what’s happening here is not normal. And I well know it.”

  “You think Beau Conroe might’ve had something to do with Conrad Noble’s murder?” I asked.

  “No, I don’t think he killed Noble.” Clutterbuck tilted his head. “But I don’t think it’s outside the realm of possibility, either. Something strange has been going on since your mother wound up in jail. Secret meetings at the church, strange looks as people come and go from the police station. Things I…things I can’t explain.”

  That piqued my interest. “What things?”

  The chief looked around—I assume to make sure no one was within hearing distance—and then leaned closer. “Beau Conroe and your birth mother were seen leaving the church at two o’clock in the morning. Monday night, Tuesday morning. The day before someone shot Conrad Noble.”

  I blinked. “But she’s in jail.”

  “I’m well aware of that, Ms. Delphi. That’s what makes it so odd.” He gave me a look that suggested a complicated emotional response to my observation. “I checked the security footage. She appeared to be sleeping in her cell at two o’clock in the morning. I saw no one take her out of her cell, never saw her in the hallway. Didn’t see her go through any door. There are cameras all over the Mystic’s End Police Department. There’s not a single corner of that place uncovered.”

  “Who saw them there?” I asked him. “At the church, I mean.”

  Clutterbuck tensed. “It’s not important.”

  “Maybe it is.” His reaction suggested it could be Angie, but I talked to her last night. If she’d seen our birth mother out walking the town, she absolutely would have mentioned it to all of us. There’s no way she would keep something like that to herself. Besides, Angie Laroux going to a church? Not likely. She couldn’t run fast enough in her high heels to avoid the lightning bolts.

  “I’m not ready to tell you,” he said, his discomfort clear. “Like I said, things are going on I can’t explain. You’re the only one I know…” He crossed his arms and frowned. “Look, like I said, something tells me I could trust you. But I’m not sure I trust myself right now. And so I’m not going to tell you. Not yet.”

  Whoever told him about my birth mother and Beau Conroe…It was like the person rattled him.

  I pressed psychically, but he was practiced at hiding his emotions and thoughts. Disciplined. I fought the desire to dive headlong into his third eye like it was a summer’s day, and he was a swimming hole. I wasn’t entirely sure someone as observant as he wouldn’t notice. Especially since he knew what I was.

  He already didn’t trust me. If I made that mistrust worse…

  No, I had to play it the way he wanted to play it.

  “Okay, so let�
��s take this a different way—did you talk to Beau Conroe about someone seeing him? Did you ask if he took Karen White out of her jail cell and to church for some weird small town reason?”

  “I did not,” he responded, relieved that I had stopped asking about his informant.

  “Then why is he so angry at you?”

  He thought about it for a moment, trying to figure it out. Finally, he shrugged. “My suspicion as that he is some part of whatever this conspiracy is, and he doesn’t like that I’m sticking my nose in. I have done nothing to him at work that would cause him to be so angry at me. It makes little sense. There has to be something he’s not saying.”

  “Oh, there was a lot he wasn’t saying,” I muttered.

  “You heard his thoughts.” It was a question more than a statement.

  “I did. For some reason, Beau thought if he didn’t look me in the eye, I wouldn’t be able to do it.” I smirked. “He was wrong. He also thought that you had no clue what was going on here. He’s angry that my mother isn’t supporting the church financially. He’s hoping that you’re with me to help me do what she wants to do, I think. But he’s also worried we’ll find out something he doesn’t want us to know. What, though, I’m not sure.”

  “Karen donates money to the church? So she has something to do with this.” Clutterbuck sounded more resigned than surprised.

  “I don’t know. I wish I could tell you definitively, but I don’t know. I think it’s probably time for me to share something with you, though.” I told him about Beulah Conroe’s visit. His eyes widened with shock. “So, you see, you may not be wrong about Beau Conroe being involved with this. Though there’s nothing right now that unambiguously, for sure, ties Conrad Noble’s death in with whatever is going on with the church. Not for sure.” I shrugged again. “But if the two things aren’t tied together? That would be an enormous coincidence. The last thought I picked up on was that if you’re not helping me, the same thing will happen to you.”

  “The same thing? That happened to Conrad?” Clutterbuck asked.