While the others were doffing their winter gear, Scruffy greeted me exuberantly, sniffing my pants legs and boots. Hey, Toots…you’re supposed to take me along when it’s a hunt in the woods. You might have got lost without my superior canine skills to lead the way.
“Sorry, Sport. How would you like to have a big delicious dental-aid bone in the bedroom?”
Ugh. Those things taste like plaster. Are you going to shut the door on me again?
“Not if you stay quiet and behave yourself.” I took the bone out of its wrap and sniffed it. True enough, not much of an odor.
Grumpy dog trudged into the bedroom with his bland bone. I heard him jump onto the white chenille bedspread. He’d leave a powdery mess, but I let it go this time.
Heather uncorked the excellent bottle of sherry she’d brought while I lit the logs in the fireplace and tossed in dried sprigs of anise and sage for protection and a calm, meditative mood. After we’d sipped the sherry and thawed out our bones a bit, we began.
Each of us wore a sprig of protective mistletoe in our hair as I drew the circle with my silvery athame so that we might enter into the space between the worlds, the realm of magic. Fiona, enveloped in her wisewoman glamour, touched sticks of cinnamon and sandlewood to the fire, blew out their flames, and stood them in the old black cauldron on the hearth. Heather lit the candles, one for each of the four directions, and a white “work” candle she’d made, which was embedded with tiny crystals and silver runes.
Using an incantation composed by Phillipa, I summoned the powers of the east—air, greatness—of the south—fire, brightness—of the west—water, wellness—of the north—earth, oneness. I invoked female and male forms of the divine spirit of the universe.
The full moon obligingly shone in the living room window just as I was ready to draw it down into our midst. I asked that each of us, and the Peacedales also, would be protected from the evil that had entered our lives, and for the best possible outcome to our present dilemmas from the Universe of Infinite Solutions. We thought it best to leave these requests open-ended. Who could have imagined, for instance, that our call for an endangered species would have been answered by a pair of eagles, when the best we’d been hoping for was the red-bellied turtle?
One more traditional Wolf Moon ritual was performed, for healing the planet. Never let it be said that we sidestepped the big challenges.
Deidre distributed her newly created amber amulets. Then, carrying a silver cup of consecrated salt water, she sprinkled a few drops on each of us to purify our intentions. I looked longingly at my grandmother’s old black walnut walking stick, a perfect banishing tool, but we had decided not to follow that path.
It was still early when I opened the circle, leaving plentiful time to go along with plentiful wine from Heather’s miraculous wine cellar to put the “merry” in “Merry Meet, Merry Part.” We feasted on a lentil soup I’d had simmering in the slow cooker, with garlic bread, both of which were good omens for wealth and health in the New Year. A chocolate sour cream cake (homemade and safe) stood ready for dessert—a little decadence is always welcome, too.
“Did you put chopped ginger in this lentil soup?” Phillipa demanded suspiciously..
“Great cooks are entitled to a few secrets,” I said.
“So are witches,” Fiona said. “Phil hasn’t figured out the recipe for my scones, either.”
Despite our best efforts at the Esbat of the Wolf Moon to divert evil from our circle, Deidre must have stirred the Deluca pot a tad too vigorously in her investigatory zeal. Either that or our white light had some holes in it this time. Perhaps spiritual protection can only do so much for those who persist in putting themselves in harm’s way. But all we knew at the time was that Deidre’s next lunch with Millie Murphy hit the mother lode.
“You’re going to love this!” Deidre’s excitement was palpable, even over the phone. It was good to hear a note of cheer when it had been sleety and miserable for days and my beloved was, I imagined, basking in sunshine on the Ionian Sea.
“What? What?” I asked. “I can’t wait.”
“Yes, you can. This has to be told in person, and I can’t get out today. Will’s on shift, and M&Ms is at the Mohegan Sun with her blue-haired gambling cronies. Golly, I wish my own mum hadn’t moved to that Golden Oldies Village in Florida. She loves it, too—it’s for retired music people.”
Made her escape, I thought. “Sounds like a fun place, though.”
“Oh, sure. Mum was a kind of early rock ’n roll singer, but more of a groupie, if you ask me. Maybe it’s time for me to send out a call. Do you think the universe might zing back the perfect au pair? Will’s been doing so much overtime, we could really afford it now.”
“Sure. If you want to take a chance that your Mary Poppins will turn out to be Mr. Belvedere,” I said. “Anyway, I’ll be right over. Have you called the others?”
“Fiona’s gone to Boston for the glorious reunion with her grandniece—accompanied by your daughter, as I heard it. Phillipa’s taping her show. But Heather will be here. She’s bringing a celebratory bottle.”
“When did she not? Okay if Scruffy comes with me? He’s been housebound for so long in this weather, he’s getting mighty cranky.”
“Okay. I guess he can’t help lording it over Salty and Peppy.”
“It’s a wolf pack thing. He likes to be alpha dog. We’ll be there in a half hour or so, depending on the roads.” I thought about my daughter driving back from Boston with Fiona and that most precious cargo, Laura Belle—and I said a small heartfelt spell for their safe return.
What is so dismal as a drizzly day in January? After a slippery, sliding, skidding trip to Deidre’s, I was ready for a glass of whatever Heather was uncorking in her efficient way. The big surprise, though, was that she’d brought Honeycomb, who was now looking a trifle thick through the middle.
See you later, Toots! Scruffy tried to nudge Honeycomb into the kitchen for a tête-à-tête, but the golden retriever gave him her raised lip and low-voiced growl. Then she settled herself ostentatiously at Heather’s feet.
Scruffy slunk away, overcome with canine gloom. Hey, what’s her problem? She used to be frisky, friendly, and fun.
“She’s in a family way now. It’s a moody time.”
“You’re telling me,” Heather said. “It’s been a long time since I had a preggers female under my feet. Literally. Dick built Honeycomb this most marvelous whelping box, sanded smooth as satin, and filled it with paper to shred and herbs. Just lovely. And the ungrateful bitch won’t go near it.”
“Just give her a little while, and she’ll get into her nesting mode and rip up those papers to feather her bed, don’t you worry,” Deidre said. Curled up on her blue sofa amid her embroidered pillows, she looked perfectly serene, like a woman with all the time in the world. How did she do it?
“Where are the kids?” Heather asked, pouring out an elegant muscat, a perfect antidote for the winter blahs, into the juice glasses her hostess had provided.
“Jenny and Willie are still in school. Be home in an hour or so. Bobby’s under the kitchen table with the pups, playing African safari. And Annie’s tucked up in her little bed for afternoon nap. It’s what we call around here ‘a magical moment.’”
“Okay, so let’s hear everything,” Heather said. We sat forward eagerly.
“I took Millie Murphy to lunch at The Walrus and the Carpenter, my treat. She had two Manhattans, a lobster salad plate with steak fries, and a hot fudge sundae. Don’t you think it’s about time you gals gave me an expense account like a regular P.I.?”
“Not,” we replied in unison.
“Phillipa would be appalled by that menu,” I said. “But get on with it.”
“Millie doesn’t know everything, but I think I got all she does know. The first incident was actually in grammar school. The record was sealed, but Millie heard that it had involved an attack on deer at the Plymouth Play Pals Petting Zoo. How or why Lee Deluca got involved M
illie didn’t know, but she certainly didn’t think such a sweet boy would hurt a friendly animal—it must have been some kind of weird accident.”
“Monster!” Heather said. “Already I’m sick.”
Ignoring this outburst, Deidre continued, “So later I just pretended I was Fiona and did a Google search on animal cruelty cases. I found something in the right time frame, two deer at Play Pals who were stabbed repeatedly with a palette knife. You know, like artists use? One deer survived, the other had more severe injuries, hamstrings cut, and had to be put down. Ugly! Two juveniles were charged, names withheld.”
“And there was more, I don’t doubt,” I said. “What else?”
“The next incident was hateful but not cruel,” Deidre said. “Several gravestones at the Gates of Zion Cemetery were overturned and black swastikas painted on many more. Lady of Lourdes Middle School students were accused and confessed, but they all swore their actions had been part of their initiation into an exclusive Hellfire Club created by Lee Deluca. The boys were expelled from Lourdes but allowed to attend a public school. Their accusations against Lee could not be proved, however, and his teachers were convinced that Lee would never have instigated such acts.”
“You’d think they’d begin to observe a pattern,” Heather said.
“Sealed records are a mixed blessing,” I said.
“The third incident happened at a school track meet. Several kids on the team playing against Assumption got sick and blamed the opposing team, which included Lee, for putting something in their water bucket.”
“Tip was there that day, and he told me what happened.” I related what Tip had said about Lee dumping the evidence.
“That wasn’t the only sudden, unexplained illness,” Deidre said. “Something similar happened at the intramural drama contest.”
“Goddess only knows how many other crimes occurred that never got connected to Lee,” I said. “And I think he’s come to enjoy the power over others that poison gives him. Although he’s obviously targeted his Grandaunt Lydia and Reverend Peacedale, I get the feeling he doesn’t care who else gets sick or dies. That poisoning at Phil’s show, for instance. Possibly just to try out privet berries, which turned out not to be as deadly as hemlock.”
“What a little bastard.” Heather made a little moue of disgust and refilled our glasses. The muscat was like a ray of liquid sunshine.
“Speaking of which, I’ve got another scoop,” Deidre said. “Not from Millie. But I happened to mention to M&Ms that I was interested in the Delucas—those blue-haired ladies are a silver mine of secrets, you know.”
“Yes, yes…give,” we said.
“I knew part of this story but not the details, the timing. Arthur Deluca was still in Boston College when Lee was born to Jean Craig at the Florence Crittenden Home for Unwed Mothers. When Jean came home to her parents in Plymouth, she never brought the baby with her. Possibly she meant to give him up for adoption. But then something happened—M&Ms didn’t know what exactly—and the next thing the town knew, Arthur and Jean were married and had a new baby son. Arthur Deluca gave up his dream of pursuing fine art in Paris and became a typical Cape Cod painter, apparently without regrets.”
“How the hell did your mother-in-law find out all that?” Heather asked.
“She and her friends simply put two and two together. When a teenage girl goes away for six months, then comes home to get married and, abracadabra! produces a mysterious baby boy…well. Also, I think one of M&Ms’ cronies was on the FC Home’s board of directors.”
“A most interesting part of this little saga,” I said, “are the number of weeks between Jean’s ditching the newborn and her becoming a devoted mother. If you go for the ‘nurture’ theory, sometimes it’s in the first few weeks of life when the die is cast for sociopathic personality. Anyway, my hat’s off to you, Dee! This is some stellar detective work.”
“So does that mean I’m getting an expense account?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
I’d rarely seen a lovelier little girl than Laura Belle at four. Her eyes were violet-blue, and her pale gold hair fell naturally into soft ringlets; her body was beautifully formed, with a slightly rounded “little girl” tummy and the kind of erect shoulder blades that look as if they might grow wings one day.
“Hello, Laura. I’m Becky’s mom. I’m so happy to see you again.”
She smiled shyly but did not speak. Omar sidled about her legs, on good behavior for once. With one hand, she reached down to touch his head, and he arched upward blissfully to meet her fingers.
Becky raised an eyebrow. “She hasn’t said a word all day,” she whispered when the child had followed her grandaunt into the now spotless kitchen. “Seemed to remember Fiona very well. All smiles. Never even cried when we left her grandparents at their front door, although they were shedding a few phony tears.”
Fiona bustled about getting Laura Belle a cup of cocoa before tucking her into the newly freshened nursery, where once upon a time she’d been the reigning princess. The walls were stenciled with magical animals—deer, owl, fox, otter, and turtle. Fiona had wanted to add bats, spiders, and snakes. “The bat is a symbol of rebirth, the spider spins the web of fate,” she’d declared. “And as you know, snakes are a repressed emblem of female power.”
“Tell that to the thought police,” Phillipa had warned her. “I shudder to think what a social worker would say if your fitness as a foster parent were ever called into question. Being a Wiccan and all.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Deidre had screamed at Fiona. “Do you want to give the kid nightmares and neuroses?”
So, fortunately, Fiona had allowed herself to be talked out of adding pictures of these maligned creatures, and the nursery had retained a conventional look.
“How’d it go? Any problem with the papers?” I noticed Becky was wearing her serious navy-blue-from-head-to-toe court outfit.
“Of course. That’s to be expected. We had to sign an agreement that we’d take Laura to her therapy sessions every week and some other minor matters. In return, we have temporary guardianship, to be relinquished only to her natural mother, all medical rights and records, and, of course, the child’s birth certificate. Do you know who her father is?”
“No. Should I?” To tell the truth, this question had never crossed my mind, but now that it did, my sixth sense began to kick in. I “saw” a black-robed individual, perhaps a judge. A flash like this vanishes so fast as to make you wonder if it happened, which is why so many clairvoyant hits go unrecognized.
“Maybe not. But perhaps Fiona will want to share that with you some time,” Becky said. “Come on, you can help me unpack the car. That child has every toy known to F.A.O Schwarz. Have you seen her stuffed Lion King family?”
“That’s why I’m here, to help. And I’m so proud of you, Becky, for taking this on. It means a lot to all of us,” I said as she and I suited up and trudged out to the Volvo.
“I like Fiona. I was glad to do it. But, Mom, how’s Fiona going to get to those therapy sessions in town without her car?”
“Oh, the car will get fixed soon. Meanwhile, I’ll see to the transportation. Or one of us will. It’s a condition of the guardianship, and we don’t want anything to go wrong. By the way, what kind of therapy sessions are these?”
“Speech. Ask Fiona.”
When Fiona had tucked Laura into bed and all of the cartons of clothing and toys had been deposited at least inside the door, Fiona brewed a pot of reviving Lapsang Souchong. “I don’t know what happened to my little darling.” Fiona filled three thistle mugs with the steaming brew. “But she doesn’t seem to want to talk right now. When she was with me before, she had just begun to speak She called me ‘Fifi.’ I would dearly love to know what went wrong.”
“Fifi? That suits you, somehow. Not to worry, Fiona,” I said. “She’s yours until her mother returns to the States, and we’ll work on this together.”
“What are you going to do about a sit
ter?” practical Becky asked. “Aren’t you going to miss being able to come and go freely. And you do have a part-time job at the Black Hill Branch Library, if I remember correctly.”
“Deidre and I are working on a sitter swap,” Fiona said. “Laura Belle and Bobby are nearly the same age, you know. I suppose it’s too much to call for a Wiccan day-care center.”
“Perish the thought,” Becky said. “There would surely be complaints of Satanism.”
“Deidre wants to send out a call for an au pair,” I said. “Let’s see what that brings.”
“What’s a ‘call,’ Mom? You mean, like, work a magic spell of some kind?”
“Eh…it’s more like a prayer, dear.”
“Nonsense, Cass,” Fiona said. “Tell Becky yes, it’s spellworking, plain and simple. Is there something you’d like us to call for you, Becky dear? I owe you so much.”
Becky gazed thoughtfully through the frost-laced, small-paned windows of Fiona’s little cottage. “If only I knew myself what I wanted…” she said.
“We can handle that sort of query, too, dear.” Fiona patted Becky’s hand reassuringly. “You’ll want clarity to see the possibilities ahead. Wisdom to choose the right path for your personal karma. Strength to follow wherever it leads you.”
Becky looked at me. Another raised eyebrow. “Have I heard something like that before?”
“Excellent motto for a Wiccan thirteen-step program,” I said. “Good one, Fiona. I’m going to start following you around with a notebook.”
A surprise was waiting for us at home—a demented woman. The moment we got out of Becky’s car, petite Jean Deluca sprang out of her leafy green Volkswagen, which had been parked in the shadows. The pasted-on smile had become a cruel smirk as she hurled herself at me with hands held out in front of her like chipmunk claws. With great presence of mind, Becky jumped in front of me, using the briefcase she was holding as a shield to block whatever injury Jean was intending to inflict.
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