Son of a Witch

by K E O'Connor

Trixie extended a ring covered hand to me. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She had a strong Eastern European accent.

  “Likewise. I’ve not seen you around here before.”

  “We met online,” Mannie said. “It was an unexpected treat. I made a trip out of Willow Tree Falls, and while I was there, a friend of mine suggested an online dating site for magic users. There’s no point in trying that here because of our dubious internet signal. I was away for a few days and thought it sounded fun, so I signed up.”

  “And he found me.” Trixie splayed her fingers across her chest. “True love.”

  Trixie looked at least fifteen-years Mannie’s junior. I wondered what she saw in the wealthy, social climbing dwarf who just happened to be mayor. “Are you enjoying your time in Willow Tree Falls?”

  “Very much. I have a job looking after cute animals. And I’ve been out with Mannie drinking and eating. And, of course, we make lots of boom boom.” She winked at me.

  Wiggles’ head appeared from under the table. “Boom boom?”

  Mannie cleared his throat. “We shouldn’t talk about that, my dear. But since you’re here, you won’t mind telling Tempest what you were doing yesterday afternoon.”

  Trixie grinned. “Of course not. Making boom boom with Mannie all afternoon. He’s a strong, lusty dwarf.”

  I grimaced. I needed no more information. “Great! Good to know. I’m happy for you both.” I spotted a book under Trixie’s arm. “What are you reading?”

  “A copy of the dead witch’s book.” Trixie held it out. “It’s signed. See?”

  I went to take the book, but she pulled it back. “No, that’s not for you to touch. No sausage grease finger marks on my nest egg.”

  Nest egg? “I just want to take a look.”

  Trixie shook her head and clutched the book to her chest. “I’m keeping this. It will be worth a lot of money now the witch is dead.”

  Mannie tutted and shook his head. “There’s no need to talk about things like that in public. Remember to use your inside voice when appropriate.”

  Trixie scowled at him. “You said to keep all the signed books safe. Worth a lot of money.”

  Mannie glanced at me. “We need to wait awhile to see if Isadora’s book appreciates in value following her untimely demise.”

  I saw a hungry glint in Mannie’s gaze. He was hoping Isadora’s fame would grow after her murder, and he’d be able to sell off her signed books for a fortune. It wasn’t a bad motive for wanting Isadora dead, but he had a good alibi with Trixie.

  “I’ll be careful with the book.” I took a few seconds to wipe my fingers clean. “I have a theory about the killings. I think there are more to come.”

  Trixie gasped. “More murders. This is such a small place. Why so much death? Mannie, you said this place is a haven.”

  Mannie glanced around as her shrill voice carried around the café. “Remember, inside voice, my sweet. Give Tempest the book.”

  “It’s mine.”

  “It’s ours.” He tugged on the book. “There are other copies in the house.”

  Trixie pouted but handed over the book. “I get a treat for behaving?”

  I ducked my head and bit hard on my lip.

  “Of course. Why not treat yourself to an afternoon at the thermal spa? You can try that new bikini I bought you.”

  “You’ll come with me? We can make boom boom in the water.”

  I tried not to gag as I studied the contents page of the book.

  Mannie patted Trixie’s hand. “That sounds delightful but another time. I have to finish my business with Tempest.”

  Trixie poked my arm. “No stealing my man.”

  I masked my snort of laughter with a weird sounding cough. “I wouldn’t dare. He’s all yours.”

  Trixie narrowed her eyes at me before kissing Mannie’s cheek and flouncing out of the café.

  “She seems nice,” I said to Mannie.

  He tilted his head. “She’s a beautiful young woman with a lot of energy. I’m not sure I’ll make her the next Mrs. Mannie Winter, but she makes me feel young again.”

  “I bet she does with all that boom boom.” I turned to the description of the ducking stool in the book and handed it to Mannie. “This is what I’m worried about. Isadora described the ducking stool and being stoned to death as two popular ways to kill a witch.”

  Mannie nodded. “I’ve seen the book. I know the contents.”

  “Turn the page to the next method of murder. It’s being burned at the stake.”

  He nodded again. “What does your belief that there will be more murders have to do with this book?”

  “If I’m right, the killer is re-creating the different methods of killing outlined by Isadora. The way Gretel’s body was staged on the ducking stool looks exactly like that picture, even down to the placement of the hands.”

  Mannie’s eyebrows rose as he flicked back through the pages and studied the picture. “It’s hard to say for certain, and I didn’t look at her body for long. It does look similar, but maybe that’s a coincidence.”

  I shook my head. “What if it isn’t? Look at the picture of the stoning. See the hand poking out? That’s how Isadora was found. Just a hand visible. The palm up.”

  Mannie tugged on his beard. “That’s concerning.”

  “What’s more concerning is that there are five methods of killing detailed. The ducking stool was first, then the stoning—”

  “Then burning at the stake, hanging, and being bricked behind a wall.” He looked up at me, his eyes wide. “Someone’s planning to re-enact all of these methods of murder?”

  “I believe so.”

  “What can we do about that?” Mannie asked. “We don’t know who it is, and we don’t know who they’re targeting next.”

  “We have to find out,” I said. “This killer is just getting started. They’ve already killed two witches, and they’ll be looking for their third victim. They might even have her by now.”

  Mannie turned the pages. His face paled as he read the description of a witch burning. “This can’t be allowed to happen in Willow Tree Falls. Think of the bad publicity. It could ruin the museum.”

  I snatched the book from him. “More importantly, think about the dead witch.”

  “Yes, of course!” Mannie stared at me. “Tempest, what are you going to do to stop this?”

  I didn’t know. But I’d make sure no more witches lost their lives.

  Chapter 17

  After finishing breakfast with Mannie, I headed out of Unicorn’s Trough with Wiggles. We needed as many eyes as possible looking for this killer to make sure they didn’t snatch another witch.

  I walked into the reception and found Sablo behind the desk.

  “Not playing Angel Ball today?” I asked.

  “We only play Angel Ball in the afternoon,” Sablo said. The lack of sarcasm in her tone made me think she was being truthful.

  “Did you get anything useful from Isadora’s body?”

  “There was nothing helpful from the study of her body or clothing,” Sablo said. “Her chest was crushed. That’s what killed her. She was most likely unconscious before that happened. She had several nasty wounds on her head.”

  I grimaced and held up a hand. “I’ve got an idea to share.” I handed her the book I’d borrowed from Mannie and explained my theory about the killer’s behavior.

  Sablo’s nose wrinkled. “Dominic mentioned your theory when we were having coffee. It’s interesting, but I don’t think it’s right.” She handed me back the book.

  “Why not? Have you got evidence suggesting who’s involved and why they’re doing this?”

  “We have a note,” Sablo said.

  “From whom? The killer?”

  “From Isadora. As you suggested, I went to the house and took a look around. She left the note in her bedroom. It said she was sorry for her lies and betrayal and that she didn’t mean to deceive anybody.”

  I rubbed the back of my nec
k. “What did she mean by that?”

  “Isadora didn’t mention any names in the note, but it sounds like she’s been dishonest in her work.”

  “Dishonest about what?”

  “Something that drove her to suicide,” Sablo said.

  My mouth dropped open. “You think Isadora crushed herself to death with rocks?”

  “I didn’t say it was an easy way to kill yourself, but she had magic. What’s to say she didn’t lie down and move the rocks herself?”

  “Logic? Common sense?” I shook my head. “There are much less painful ways to do yourself in.”

  “Not if you’re full of regret and feeling guilty,” Sablo said. “Maybe Isadora felt she deserved a painful death because she’d lied.”

  “Let me see the note.”

  Sablo’s mouth twisted. “It’s evidence.”

  “And I’m leading on this investigation. Mayor’s orders. I get access to all the evidence.”

  Sablo sighed. “Wait here.” She returned a moment later and passed me a clear evidence bag with the note in it. It was typed, no signature.

  “Anyone could have typed this,” I said. “The killer included. Whoever it is, they want to push us in the wrong direction.”

  “You said yourself that Isadora was the main suspect in Gretel’s murder. You had us looking for her to bring her in for questioning.”

  “When I met Isadora, she was stressed about her work but wasn’t suicidal.” My thoughts drifted to Jonah and how concerned he’d been about her. Was that what he’d been so worried about? He’d sensed she was close to the edge and might hurt herself?

  “Those stones are full of ancient magic,” Sablo said. “They could have sensed the darkness or deceit in Isadora and destroyed her.”

  My eyes bugged as my opinion of Sablo’s detective skills plummeted to a new low. “You think the stone circle killed Isadora?”

  “There’s powerful magic there.” Sablo sniffed and examined her nails. “If the stones didn’t activate when they sensed Isadora’s guilt, she could have encouraged them, activated them with magic, so they sought retribution against her deceit.”

  “The circle doesn’t work like that. Isadora’s death wasn’t suicide. And the stone circle has never killed anyone before.”

  “It’s alive, though. Maybe the stones were biding their time, waiting for the right amount of evil to step inside.”

  “Stop with this crazy stone theory!” I shook my head. The circle sometimes ejected people if they were trying to do harm to the stones, but that was about it. “The magic in the stone circle has nothing to do with what happened to Isadora.”

  “Then why the note?”

  “The killer is playing with us. Whoever it is, they want us arguing.” I gestured to Sablo. “They want to halt our painfully slow progress, so they can grab another victim while we’re distracted.”

  Sablo tilted her chin. “Your idea about Isadora’s book is as good as my theory about the stones.”

  “No, we’re in different leagues when it comes to theories. We have to consider this a serious option.” I tapped the book. “More witches will die if we don’t find the actual killer.”

  Sablo shook her head. “The note means something.”

  “It means a big waste of time,” I muttered. “There’s someone out there hunting witches. We have to stop them.”

  “I’m right on this. I always follow my gut instinct, and it’s telling me that there’s a clue in this note.”

  I blew out a breath, seeing the stubborn glint in Sablo’s eyes. She wasn’t budging from her flawed idea. “Okay. Going with the crazy suicide theory for a moment, why choose that method?”

  “Isadora knew that was what happened to witches,” Sablo said. “She picked that method because she knew it was effective.”

  “And painful. There’s no way she’d have been able to lie still and let that happen to her.”

  “I think she did,” Sablo said. “We’ve solved this. Isadora killed Gretel then, full of remorse, she decided to end her own life.”

  “I’m not supporting this theory.”

  “You don’t need to. Don’t worry, Tempest. We’ve got this. I’ll speak to Mannie and tell him the conclusion we’ve drawn. You’ll get the thanks you deserve.”

  “Thanks?” Anger mingled with my frustration. “That’s it? Murder solved? I’m guessing all those hours playing Angel Ball helped figure this out.”

  Sablo shrugged. “A fit body creates a fit mind. Exercise gets the blood flowing to the brain and makes new connections to help solve puzzles like this.”

  “Yes, but you need a brain for that to work. You follow that theory if you like, but I’m not giving up on this.” I turned, my fists clenched, as I stomped out of the building toward the museum with Wiggles.

  “Easy, Tempest,” Wiggles said. “You look like you’re about to blow.”

  “The angels are dumb at times, but this is beyond ridiculous.” My anger made my voice sound growly.

  “There’s more time for fun if the angels aren’t doing any real work,” Wiggles said.

  “And what are a few less witches in Willow Tree Falls?” I snarled. “They’d act differently if the killer was hunting angels to drown, stone, and burn.”

  “Not to mention hang and bury behind a wall.”

  “Every witch in Willow Tree Falls is vulnerable, even more so now the angels think they’ve solved this. They won’t lift a finger to do any work. Our killer could be out there right this second, hunting for the next victim.” I sucked in a deep breath to try to cool my anger as we walked into the quiet air of the museum.

  I flinched as the peace was shattered by an ear-splitting squeal.

  Cleo raced across the foyer and grabbed Wiggles, wrapping both arms around him and lifting him off the ground. “Puppy! You’ve come home. I knew I’d convince you to come and stay.”

  Wiggles struggled in her grip as she spun him around. “You’ve got it wrong, sister. I’m not moving in.”

  Cleo’s gaze went to me as she continued to squish Wiggles. “Hey, Tempest. I heard about Isadora.”

  “That’s what I’m here to talk about,” I said.

  “It’s so sad. She was a nice lady. We had lovely chats about the past.”

  “It’s a shame she’s gone,” I said, shoving down the last of my anger as the calming feel of the museum slid over me.

  “I hope the museum won’t remain shut for much longer,” Cleo said. “All this beautiful history needs to be shown off.”

  “Mannie plans to open it by the end of the week,” I said. “And the angels think they have everything sorted.”

  Cleo lowered Wiggles to the ground. She gave him one final squeeze before letting him go. “He’s such a beautiful puppy.”

  Wiggles bounded away, his red-eyed glare fixed on Cleo as he disappeared into an exhibit room.

  “He is that. Do you mind me asking where you were yesterday afternoon?” I asked Cleo. “I’m checking everybody’s alibi, given what happened with Isadora.”

  “Of course. You must find out who did this. I was here with Jonah. I think he likes me. He was being very flirty.” Cleo giggled. “He’s cute, as well. Do you know if he’s single?”

  Cleo’s alibi would be easy enough to check with Jonah. “He seems committed to his work. I’m not sure he has much time for love.”

  “Being committed to work is a good thing,” Cleo said. “It’s good to be involved with someone who has ambition. I dated a history professor once. He was cute in a nerdy kind of way. He had an interesting fetish for ancient Greek statues. Do you know the ones I mean, the ones with the women whose togas have slid down revealing their figures?”

  “I think I know what you mean.” I tilted my head. “What was his fetish?”

  “Well, he never confessed anything to me.” Cleo glanced around and leaned closer. “One evening, I found him standing by a statue with his pants around his ankles. He was—”

  An enraged squeak was followed by
the sound of hissing.

  I spun on my heel to see Wiggles racing across the foyer. He was followed by three black fluffy blurs.

  “Oh, look! Wiggles is making friends with my familiars.” Cleo clapped her hands. “That’s so lovely. I want them to be lifelong friends, so he can visit all the time.”

  Wiggles’ paws skidded on the shiny floor as he rounded the corner and bolted toward a back room, the cats in hot pursuit. It didn’t look like they were trying to make friends. Cleo’s familiars wanted blood.

  “Are you sure you can’t loan him to me for a few days?” Cleo asked. “He’s such a cute little thing.”

  “I’m not sure Wiggles is up for being loaned,” I said. “And between you and me, he can be difficult to live with. He’s got a problem with gas and doesn’t understand boundaries when it comes to looting your trash. He’s also obsessed with pillows.”

  “But he’s such a sweetie. I can’t imagine he’d be any problem,” Cleo said. “I’ve even got him an outfit. It comes with a hat and boots.”

  “Wiggles will love that.” I repressed a smile. Wiggles would rather shave off his fur than be seen dead in any item of clothing, other than his bow ties.

  I winced as there were several loud crashes from the room Wiggles and the cats had raced into.

  Cleo bit her lip. “I hope everything’s okay. Does your puppy know how to play with familiars?”

  “He’s not a big fan of cats,” I said.

  “Get off me, you mangy beasts.” Wiggles yelped, and more things crashed to the floor.

  “My familiars are three hundred years old,” Cleo said. “They’ve seen it all.”

  “Three hundred years old!”

  “They’re my eternal familiars. I got them from my granny when she passed. Old power from the Far East runs through their veins. They can tell you a story or two, when they decide to speak, in your head and usually when you’re asleep. It gave me a fright the first time they all spoke to me. They talk about mice a lot and good places to use as a bathroom. And they often debate the merits of puddle water over tap water.”

  “That sounds intense.” I hurried to the back room as something smashed on the floor. I poked my head inside.

  The three cats sat at the bottom of a display of witches’ hats. Somehow, Wiggles had gotten wedged on top of the tall display case, his butt hanging out and his back legs flailing.