“He wrote a play that the Chiqetaw Players are producing—Obsidian. He’s gorgeous, single, seems nice.” I took a deep breath. “Murray, did you read the paper yesterday? About that writer’s death?”
Murray gave me a long, studied look. “Writer? The insulin OD case? What’s that got to do with your new guy?”
I paused a beat. “Some weird things have been going on; both Andrew and Susan Mitchell—the woman who died—are involved.”
“Weird? How weird?”
“Weird as in I saw Susan’s ghost the other night. Recognized her the next day when I read the article in the paper about her death. Weird as in Andrew was one of her closest friends and, thanks to my snooping, he asked me out.”
Murray narrowed her eyes and stared at me over the top of her cup. “What does she want, and why did she show herself to you?” She leaned against the back of the sofa and crossed her legs yoga-style. Even though she was a big woman, Murray was incredibly limber and graceful. She could outrun the fastest man on the force. “I’ve got goose bumps. Speak of the dead and they listen.” She lifted her arm. The skin was raised and puckered with little bumps. Energy crackled off her hands.
“Susan told me that her husband murdered her.”
“Did she tell you how or why?”
I shook my head. “No, in fact she wants me to prove it. She says nobody knows about it. She’s upset, Murray.”
Murray pushed her hair back from her eyes. “Before you go any farther, I’m going to tell you something. The department looked into Susan’s death already. She was supposed to have given up alcohol, and yet they found wine in her system; half of a bottle was spilled on the floor next to her. Her maid picked up a new prescription of Valium for her because Susan said she was out, yet she had Valium in her system, so she had to have some stashed around the house.”
“What else did you find out?”
“Walter, her husband, was in a meeting during the time she slid into a coma. Twelve people can account for his whereabouts—we did a quiet background check, since the case was so unusual. She had filed divorce papers, and he knew about it. His friends say he was relieved because he had been wanting to file for divorce himself. We questioned everybody in her writing and theater groups. I think I may have even spoken to this Martinez guy—tall with dark hair, right? Nothing to indicate that her husband killed her. Nothing out of the ordinary was reported; the maid said no one was expected over that day. I’m afraid that you’re off base on this one.”
“What if she had been having an affair? Is there any chance that Walter could have hired somebody—”
She broke in. “Was she having an affair? Or is that speculation?”
“Speculation. I have no idea what was going on in her personal life. She told me that her husband murdered her, and I was trying to think up possible reasons.”
Murray tossed me her television remote. “You have a serious problem with the TV, Em. You’ve been watching too many episodes of Justice Files. Most ‘jealous rage’ murderers usually leave lots of blood and gore around. Consider these facts: One, Susan Mitchell was well known for screwing up with her diabetes. Two, she was alone all morning; nobody noticed anything out of the ordinary. Three, Walter’s time is accounted for. And four, Susan Mitchell was popping Valium and booze, and the two are a dangerous combo even for a nondiabetic.” She ticked off her points on her fingers.
“So the doctors think—”
“She gave herself a shot of insulin, swallowed a couple of Valium and a glass or two of wine, forgot to eat, and fell asleep. Bingo… coma. We know she went into convulsions; they found bite marks—her own—on her tongue. Accidental insulin overdose. Possible suicide, but don’t you let that slip out or we’d have the Mitchells breathing down our neck. There’s no way we’ll ever know whether she meant to kill herself. She was dead by the time the medics transported her to the hospital.”
“And nobody else was in the house?”
“Seems that way. Cars come and go all the time on that street. Nobody notices when neighbors have company unless there’s something fishy about them, and that ever-so-helpful nosy old lady of mystery stories must either have been out of town or she moved to a different neighborhood. The truth is that Susan was well known for screwing up her insulin dosages. She’d been in the hospital four times over the past year because she forgot to eat and went into seizure. This time nobody was there to help her.”
I made a series of mental notes, hoping I could remember everything. “She took Valium on a regular basis?”
“Yep. Walt said she’d been trying to cut down on the booze, but it looks like she had a relapse. Susan knew she couldn’t drink; diabetics really shouldn’t ever touch alcohol, but her discipline sucked.”
“So you think the ghost is lying to me?”
“I think that Susan is confused. Maybe it’s her way of holding on to this world. Not all spirits are ready to let go. She came to you because you’re good at hearing the dead. End of case. Now tell me about Andy. He is pretty cute.”
“It’s Andrew, thank you, and I dunno if we’re going to be doing much dating. He kind of freaked when I told him I saw her ghost. They were close friends.”
“And you told him all that? Jeez, woman, what are you, nuts? That sort of revelation you leave for the second date. Maybe the third.” She waited for a moment. “There’s something more. You’re upset. What’s wrong?”
I scrunched my nose and sighed. “Bad stuff, Murray. I think an astral nasty has tagged along on Susan’s heels. I call him Mr. Big & Ugly—Mr. B & U for short. There’s no other way to describe the thing. It took possession of Kip last night, and I didn’t think I was going to pull him out of it.”
“Not good. Do you think Susan and Mr. B & U are related? Or maybe the thing is piggybacking in on her wake?”
“I don’t know; it blew right through her, vaporized her manifestation, then charged right through me. I’m thinking these two aren’t exactly buddies.”
“Have you done a reading on this situation yet?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I’m too close to the subject. I was wondering if you would lay out a spread for me.”
She opened the top of her handcarved rolltop desk that rested against a wall covered with a tapestry. She had woven the canvas in her teen years; it described the life of her Quinault ancestors. I had encouraged her to show it in a gallery, but she said it was personal and that she didn’t need to show it off to be happy.
“Which deck?” Murray was one of my few friends who could read tarot and do a good job of it. I went to her for my readings when I needed advice.
“Oh, the forest one—you know the one I mean. Woodburn’s deck?”
She withdrew a small deck of cards from the desk. I cleared off the coffee table. As I piled the books onto the floor, there was a flicker of color, and Sid popped his head out from beneath the table. He slithered over to my leg and made his way onto the rocking chair, where he coiled into a ball behind my butt. I let him rest there—Sid was gentle; perhaps more gentle than any snake had a right to be. Nancy, on the other hand, would bite if she was feeling frisky, and though not venomous, those teeth had a sting to them.
Murray shuffled the cards a few times and handed the deck to me. “You know the drill.”
I focused on the situation and began to shuffle. The cards were a comforting weight in my hands, familiar and tingling. Nanna had taught me how to read when I was barely into my teens, and I, in turn, had taught Murray. She was good; not as good as I was, but good enough for me to trust.
She laid out a five-card spread. I glanced over them briefly. The Tower—I’d expected that, though the actual sight of it left me sweating. The five of swords, the High Priestess, the Devil. The ten of swords—confusion.
Murray straightened her shoulders as she contemplated the layout. “I don’t like this, Em. You have some serious big-time power cards here mixed with clear danger signals. Let’s see… watch out for half-truths and betrayal
s. Whether deliberate or not, they are woven into this matter like the threads in a spider’s web. Put your hand on a single strand and you send shock waves through the whole situation. A dark force behind the scenes is working to upset the balance. Masculine power unchecked… much is still hidden from view, and you may make wrong assumptions if you base them solely on what you see on the surface. Be cautious about misreading things. Listen to your intuition or you could topple your world.”
As she spoke, a knot formed in my stomach, and I knew her reading was right on target. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear. “Great. A well of trouble. Is there any way I can walk away from all this and not get involved?”
“I don’t think so.” She turned over two more, cards. Death and the Fool. “Em, you can’t avoid this. We’re talking fate here—destiny—and if you don’t take control of the situation, it will run over you. Grab the reins, and you might be able to use it to your advantage. Either way, a new cycle is opening up that you can’t avoid.” She tapped the Death card. “Transformation… but I also get a queasy feeling on this one. Be careful the next few weeks, okay? You don’t want to transform yourself out of this world.”
I had the same queasy feeling and thought quickly about my will and whether or not everything was in order. “Yeah, I’ll be careful. So, what’s the outcome?”
She flipped another card. The Moon. “I don’t know. Not enough has manifested to predict what’s going to happen. Whatever is going on in your life has some heavy ramifications. Keep your eyes open.”
As she folded the cards back into the deck, I excused myself and went to the kitchen for a drink of water. A psychic earthquake was rumbling, and I was right at the epicenter. She followed me. “C’mon. Help me get my Christmas tree into the living room. I could use an extra set of muscles.”
We pushed our way out onto the enclosed back porch, which was crowded with craft supplies. “How many projects do you have going?”
She pointed to a loom on which she was weaving what looked like a shawl. “That’s going to be a tribal shawl for my aunt. And that”—she pointed to a pile of stained wood pieces—“will be my mother’s new bird feeder. I should be able to finish them both by next weekend.”
“I don’t know how you can keep so many projects straight. It would drive me nuts.” I took a deep breath and looked at the sky. The clouds had vaporized, and the sun was actually making an appearance. The snow covering the yard glistened and scrunched under our feet as we traipsed down the back steps and over to the woodshed, where a huge conifer stood propped against the wall. Leaving a trail of branches and needles, we wrestled the eight-foot fir into the house. Murray loved celebrations, and even though she lived alone, she never failed to decorate. We got the tree set up in the corner and stood back to stare at the hulking evergreen.
She reached out and lightly ran her fingers over the needles. “Here’s to the holidays. So what else is new? How’s your business going? The kids?”
I picked up one of the stray branches and inhaled. The woodland scent was canning. “Business is good. I’m in your debt for convincing me to move here. I still can’t get over how well my china shop is doing out here in the boonies. I’m getting customers from Bellingham coming in, and from across the Canadian border, too.”
“In Chiqetaw you don’t have much competition. There are scores of china shops in Seattle. Here you have the entire town at your feet.”
“Well, whatever the reason, I’m starting to make a lot more money this year than last. I think I’ll ask Cinnamon to stay on full-time after the holidays. She could use the hours.”
“She’s a good girl.”
“Stupid about her choices, but yeah, a good girl. Those three kids of hers are better behaved than half of the wealthy brats around here. Speaking of kids, Kip’s been hanging out with that Sly kid. They’re best friends, and it’s starting to show. Miranda worries me, as usual. Too bookish. It’s not normal to be thirteen and be so bookish.”
“Don’t sweat it. She’s got a good head on her shoulders. Let her use it. Hear from Roy lately?”
I snorted. “The scumbag? Are you kidding? Oh, yeah, he’s bucking for Father of the Year. No word about Christmas presents. Remember how he forgot Miranda’s birthday in August? I went out and bought her a gift and told her it was from her dad, but she knew better. I can’t lie to those kids. Never have been any good at it.”
Murray considered the problem, then tilted her head to the left and shrugged. “Nothing you can do. They are going to figure out that he’s a dirtbag pretty soon. You have to be there to pick up the pieces. Help me put Sid and Nancy to bed?”
“What is this? ‘Work the guest’ day?” I winked at her and lifted Sid off the sofa, where he was curled in a tight ball, and let him coil around my waist. She went in search of Nancy as I carried the boa over to the cages lining the wall. He weighed a good seventy-five pounds. As he slid a curious head up to tongue the air near my face, I could swear he remembered me. I opened the door and let him slither back into his home. Murray did the same with Nancy.
“They’re looking gorgeous. Happy campers all?” Ever since we’d been roommates, Murray had talked about reptiles and amphibians and arachnids with all the passion of a biologist. I sometimes wondered why she’d taken up law enforcement instead, but whenever I asked, she shrugged off the question. I had a feeling it was something to do with her brother, an alcoholic, but never pried.
“I thought Nancy had mouth rot, but lucky for us, it was a false alarm. The vet gave them both a clean bill of health last visit.” She sounded just like a proud mama.
“That’s good to hear. I tell you, I’m so glad I gave in and picked up the cats. Kip and Miranda have calmed down a lot since we brought them home. They missed Fluto so much, and so did I.”
“You got new cats? Last time we talked, you were headed to Seattle to bring Fluto home. What happened?”
“Roy decided that his little rich bitch couldn’t live without her. Damned idiot, I was so mad I almost took a baseball bat to his head.”
“Oh, yeah, Emerald the slugger. I can see it now. Score one home run for Em, one strike for the Scuz! When was this?”
“When I went to shake him up about missing several child support payments. He makes enough money; there’s no way on earth I’ll let him out of supporting his children. Anyway, I picked up a mother and three babies from the animal shelter a few weeks ago. They’ve wormed their way right into our hearts.”
“I still think a snake would have taught them more about the cycles of life. You get the whole thing… life—death—the food chain. Feed a live mouse to a hungry snake and you understand the hunt.” She pulled out a roll of paper towels and a spray bottle from the cabinet next to the cages.
“Delightful. Cats hunt mice, too, you know. I’m hoping the kittens give the kids a stronger sense of stability. I don’t know why I didn’t agree last year when they asked.”
Murray sprayed her hands with a mixture of bleach and water, then wiped them on a paper towel. She handed me the bottle. “Wash. You don’t want to take any chances after you handle a snake or lizard.” She waited till I dried my hands. “I can tell you why you waited so long to go out and pick out a new pet. You can’t go back now. By cementing the bond with a new cat, you redefined your family. And this time, that definition of family doesn’t include Roy.”
I thought about it for a moment. She was right. “Those sociology classes you took really stayed with you, didn’t they? You make everything sound so clear.”
Murray gave me a big hug. “Actually, I get my insight from my aunt, White Deer. She reads situations like they were made of glass and has been teaching me how to look below the surface. I think you’re ready for change, and you’re scared. But you’ll pull through; you’ve got too much going for you to sit withering in that big old bed, all alone.”
She walked me out to the Cherokee. I glanced up at the clouds banking the sky. “Think we’ll get much more snow this year?”
/> “The onions from my garden say so—thick skin. And the caterpillars had unusually hairy coats this year. Oh!” She pressed my arm. “Wait a moment, I almost forgot.” She ran back inside, and a moment later reappeared with a shopping bag. I peeked inside. Presents. Three gifts wrapped in shiny silver paper with blue bows.
“For the kids? I still have to do my shopping.”
“Well, I am their godmother, aren’t I? There’s one in there for you, too. What are you doing for Christmas?”
“I don’t know. Truth is, I’ve ignored the holidays as much as possible the past couple of years. Haven’t even bought a real tree—just little tabletop ones that were pre-decorated.” Ashamed, I hung my head. “I’ve been really lax, Murray. Lazy and self-absorbed and selfish.”
She frowned. “No, you’ve been mourning the death of your marriage. Listen, I’m not going home this year—I have to work Christmas Eve, but I’ve got Christmas Day free. I don’t go on duty until 8:00 p.m. How about if I come over during the morning and we’ll cook up a big Christmas dinner and play games and sit around and gossip? I can be moral support. Call me motivation, if you like.”
It was the best offer I’d had in months. The kids would be thrilled, they adored Murray. “You know I’d love that. So will the kids.”
She tucked the shopping bag into the backseat. “Drive safe—we’re gearing up for a freeze tonight.”
“I hope that the spooks don’t ruin the holidays for us. Miranda was so freaked last night. It was bad, Murray. Real bad.”
She closed her eyes and leaned against the door, her head resting on the windowframe, a pensive look on her face. “Be careful, Em. There’s so much chaos swirling around your home, but… Susan stands separate from it. Unrelated energies caught up in a whirlwind together. Watch Kip—he’s at the center of the vortex.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “Any advice about how to keep my babies safe?”
She shook her head. “That’s it. That’s all I got.”
That was enough. I needed to get rid of Susan as fast as I could, whether it meant exorcising her or finding her murderer. And for either choice, I needed people who had been close to her, who might be able to help persuade her and her ghoulish retinue to leave us alone. It was time to tell Harlow the rest of the story.
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