by CC Dragon
“True. Can I ask about Bran? Honestly, what do you really think about him and his family?” I asked.
We began to eat, and Liz nodded but waved her hand.
“The family is powerful, so we need a privacy spell. I like Bran and his brother. Some of their family members are eccentric, to say the least. Highly magical family, all of them. They are leaders in the city for the magical community. They have money and power. They don’t mix with humans as much as you do or even I do,” Liz explained.
“Makes more sense why Esme kept me away,” I replied.
“True. You’d have been picked on by other kids with more magical lives. Bran is being a big of a rebel to date you. As magical as you are, you have a lot of human baggage. And your parents’ death. Why wouldn’t your mother use her magic?”
“Any ideas?” I asked.
“She did sympathize with the weres and vamps. It happens. The Killeans have a few wizards who’ve been turned. They were the wild ones.” She smiled.
“Vern was wild?” I asked.
“He romanced a vampire and let his guard down. Love makes people do dumb things. Your parents helping vamps and weres is fine, but I doubt your mother was having an affair with one. Mom said your parents were one of those always lovey-dovey couples.” She rolled her eyes.
“Thanks for trying. I’m still missing a piece of the puzzle. So, there aren’t humans in the Killean family? None?” I asked.
“Not that I know of. They are very international. Lots of European relatives. Lots of travel. I know your family is close. Theirs is a different sort of close,” she said.
“Weird. Sorry, your family might be like theirs.” I shrugged.
“No, mine is dull. Magic makes life a little easier, but life is life,” she said.
“Very true. Sorry I bugged you about Bran,” I said.
“No, please. I’ve known him longer. With his family, I’d be shocked if you didn’t have some reservations. They’re all in each other’s business. But I’m sure you could get him to yourself. He’s crazy about you,” she said.
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not sure. I feel like I know him, sometimes, and then, there are times when we seem so different. I don’t know if it’ll work. I’m not sure why he’s interested in me.”
“You’re powerful. You’re attractive. Your families aren’t already connected,” Liz said.
“Seriously, that matters?” I asked.
“Some magical families intermarry a lot. It gets messed up when you’re limited. My family has a lot of humans. Not a good candidate for a Killean,” she said.
“That’s dumb. You can be powerful, even if your family is part human. My dad was just a human,” I said.
“That’s why Bran is a rebel. But you also don’t have a lot of family to be different. No siblings to marry humans. You can be absorbed into the family,” she said.
I didn’t like that. “It does feel like stepping into another world. A nice rich one but...”
“Just be careful. Don’t rush into anything. Don’t be bullied. Too many red flags, and I’d walk. That’s just me. Bran isn’t really known for being a rebel. He’s the solid older son. If it was the younger brother, I’d say you could drag him away and turn him into a gypsy-loving hippie like your aunt.” She signaled the waitress for more iced tea.
“Thanks. I needed that,” I said.
“Esme is with Vern. They’re off again and on again because she won’t settle down or commit. She won’t let them have any power over her,” she said.
“Why is she letting me get so deep in it?” I asked.
“You needed the magical exposure. Your family can’t keep you isolated forever. And Esme is around the Killeans, so she can keep an eye on you. She should’ve done this when you were a teenager, but I’m sure your aunt wouldn’t have like it,” Liz said.
“Probably not. I like Bran a lot, but I need to be careful,” I said.
“Agreed. But you’re busy with your humans, weres, and vamps. Plus gypsies. Don’t let him drag you away from them,” she said.
We finished lunch talking about more normal things, but I was definitely going to be paying closer attention to the Killeans. But, first, I had to find out more about Trela’s death.
Chapter Sixteen
I woke the next morning with a plan I couldn’t ignore. Aunt Trezel and the other witches wanted me to solve the murder like it was a test. If I was supposed to use magic, I wasn’t sure how. First, I had to eliminate the list of suspects I had.
After the usual shower routine and standard beautification, I put a notepad in my laptop bag and grabbed my purse. I went downstairs and found Esme and Ellen chatting.
“Morning,” Esme said.
“Morning. You’re going to be here today?” I asked.
“Yes,” she replied.
“All day?” I asked.
“Sure. Why?” she asked.
“I’m going to check on where Trela used to live. Rule out some people,” I said.
“I thought it was a suicide,” Ellen said.
“That’s what the police think,” Esme said.
“Well, I have to be sure. Salem is only a couple hours away, so I’ll be back tonight.” I checked that I had my phone. “See you later.”
“Have fun,” Ellen said.
“Taking Bran?” Esme asked.
“No. I’m going alone.” I frowned at her. “It’s not a vacation.”
“No. But it’s a good couple’s day,” Esme said.
I rolled my eyes.
“Coffee?” Ellen handed me my usual.
“Thanks. I’ve got my phone if you need me,” I said.
I got on the road early, before rush hour traffic, and made it in under two hours. Thanks to my GPS, I found the store that Trela used to own. It was still a new age shop that was just opening. That seemed early, but we were in Salem, where everything was about witches.
I parked and went into the shop.
The smell of incense and the soft music were welcoming. There were brooms, witch hats, and witch images everywhere.
“Can I help you?” asked a woman from behind a glass display counter.
“I hope so. I live in Hartford, and the woman who used to own this shop moved to my area. I invited her to my coven. Did you know her?” I asked.
The older woman looked around the store. “I knew the shop. Trela never joined our coven. She was very private. It put some people off her.”
“She never joined my coven either. We invited her is about it. Do you know why she moved? Salem seems like a better place for this business,” I said.
“It is. I don’t know Hartford, but Salem has a cracking tourist business. I sell a ton of those little signs and keychains.” She nodded to a display.
I met a witch in Salem. There were shirts and shot glasses. “Nice. Any idea why she moved?”
“Why don’t you ask her?” the woman replied.
I nodded. “I understand. I’m Claudia Crestwood.” I picked up a card from her display. “You’re Madeline Morgan?”
“Yes, I’m renting the space, now. She left it a mess,” Madeline said.
“She’s dead. It looks like a suicide, but why would she go to the trouble of moving if she were thinking that way? It doesn’t make sense. I was hoping to find out more,” I said.
“I knew her because I came here. I checked out the competition. She was quiet. Customers recommended the store. She didn’t mark up the way others did. Some of the other owners put pressure on her. Didn’t like her.” Madeline sighed.
“Did she have money trouble?” I asked.
“I heard her complain a few times that the rent went up. Insurance and all of those costs. She didn’t pass that on to the customers when she should’ve. She didn’t join a coven, so she got more tourists than true witches. Some of her merchandise upset real practicing witches. It wasn’t as pure or authentic as they expected. She made some enemies that way, but they got refunds and moved on.”
“Tourism
seems good business, though,” I said.
“If you network, yes. She kept to herself and never socialized. I know having a small business is a lot of work, but I got my shop on a tour where I do a little demonstration of mixing a love potion. Give them a ten percent discount and let them roam around. then they have dinner at the restaurant next door. The tour guide brings them through. I sell souvenirs and look busy to others. It’s not complicated,” Madeline said.
“I agree. Trela seemed to prefer her online business,” I said.
“Well, I didn’t know much about that. She did owe some people some money. They came by one night. I had to show them my lease to prove I wasn’t just working for Trela. I’ve never had a man threaten me in my own shop.” Madeline tidied the counter with trembling hands.
“Mob guys? Loan sharks?” I asked.
“I didn’t ask. I don’t want to know. No names. No clue. They said they were going to talk to her ex-boyfriend, and if they found out I lied, they’d be back. They didn’t come back. And I keep a bat behind the counter, now. My nephew works the evenings with me,” she said.
“I don’t blame you. It’d be easier for me to believe she was murdered and they staged it to look like a suicide than she actually killed herself,” I said.
Madeline nodded. “I’m not sure you should ask too many questions, though. You don’t want them coming after you—thinking you know too much.”
“I agree that’s a danger. Do you have the boyfriend’s name or address?” I asked.
She grabbed a notepad. “I wouldn’t take it any further than him. Salem isn’t a big city where you can hide.”
“Do you think that’s why she moved to Hartford? She was resisting setting up a shop, just doing online orders. Maybe she was hiding?” I asked.
“Wouldn’t surprise me. I don’t like accusing people of things, but she left in a rush. A couple other witches from my coven moved to Hartford later, but that was a stopover, I think. They wanted warmer weather in Arizona.” She handed me the sheet of paper.
“I’ll bug her boyfriend. Thanks,” I said.
“Good luck,” she said.
She seemed relieved when I left.
I hopped in my SUV and found the boyfriend’s building. It was still early, and I rang the bell, hoping to catch him before work. I was buzzed in and found the proper door.
He answered the door in a robe.
“Sorry to bother you. I’m a friend of Trela’s in Hartford. I wanted to talk to you, if I could.” I wasn’t sure if he’d slam the door or freak.
“The police have already been here,” he said.
“Oh, of course. I’m sorry for your loss. I just wondered. Do you really believe it was a suicide?” I asked.
He looked down the hall as a neighbor went to walk their little dog.
“Come in,” he said.
“Thank you. Are you expected somewhere?” I asked.
“No, I’m working from home. Trela and I broke up. I still can’t believe she’s dead.” He sat at his little kitchen table.
The apartment was a mess. “Did you break up with her?” I asked.
He shook his head. “She dumped me. Picked up and moved. I found out later about the money and the rent. She told me she needed a fresh start, and if we stayed together, I’d get in trouble.”
“They’d come after you for the money?” I asked.
“They did. I bailed her out. The building where she had her shop ate the loss and filled the space. I don’t know how she got away safe, but they wanted to know where she was. I couldn’t do that,” he said.
“And you’ve been left alone? Safe?” I asked.
“After I paid them off, yeah. I know it was dumb, but they knew where I lived. She wouldn’t even return my phone calls.” He stared into a cup of coffee. “Want coffee?”
“No, I’m okay. If you paid off what she owed, why would anyone hurt her?” I asked.
“She had some witches that really didn’t like her. But murder?” He frowned.
“You’re her ex-boyfriend. The police were here. I’m sure they checked out the witches,” I said.
“No. They were just acquaintances. I don’t know who would hate her enough to kill her. She had some online rivalries. They might try to ruin her business but kill her? I can’t believe it,” he said.
“What about her family? Her history? Did she grow up in Salem?” I asked.
“Florida, I think. She moved around a lot. Maybe it’s someone from her past. But I don’t know why.”
I sat back and started grabbing at any ideas. “Did she talk about a woman named Amelia?”
He shook his head.
“Brenda?” I asked.
He frowned. “I don’t remember any of them. She didn’t talk about her customers much at all. Or the witches she didn’t like. It was all online. I know some people thought she was a fraud because she didn’t belong to a coven and she lived in Salem. It’s one thing if you’re in the Bible Belt or the middle of nowhere. Then, solo practicing is normal. But in a big city or a town like Salem where witches pay the bills...they thought she was a fake.”
“That is weird. You’d think she’d join one just for the connections. Do you have any pictures of her? Sorry, I only met her a few times.”
He pulled out his cell phone and touched a few buttons. “There. I couldn’t bring myself to delete any of them.”
I swiped through the album. He was heartbroken, now, but in the pictures, they didn’t look very much in love. I kept swiping until I found them dressed for Halloween.
“Gypsies? You guys dressed up as gypsies for Halloween?” I asked.
“She insisted. Thought it was fun. It was unique here.” He trudged to the kitchen and poured himself more coffee.
“That jewelry and gown look really authentic. Not like a costume,” I said.
“She said it was an old one. Something about it belonging to an aunt. She dressed up like that every year. I bought mine online,” he said.
“I can tell the difference. Was she a gypsy?” I asked.
“No. I mean she never said anything. I thought those people traveled in packs,” he said.
“Normally, they do. A single woman alone. It’s odd. But that jewelry looks real, too. Mind if I send myself a few of these pictures?” I asked.
“No, go ahead. I should just delete the album. What does gypsies have to do with anything?” he asked.
“I don’t know exactly. But, if she’s pretending to be a Wiccan but she’s really a gypsy... I mean, there are gypsy witches with powers and all that. But the Wiccans would feel betrayed. Tricked,” I said.
“That’s not enough of a reason to kill,” he said.
“Only the killer can decide that. Do you have anything that belonged to her? A piece of merchandise, ring or scarf?” I asked.
“She always wore a ton of rings. Wait here.” He shuffled to his bedroom.
A few moments later, he returned and set a few rings on the table. “I want to keep the one I gave to her, if that’s okay.”
“I’m not the police. I’m just trying to prove she didn’t kill herself.” I picked up the other rings. If he’d given her one, I didn’t want it. I wanted the ones that came with her. “Did she wear the same rings every day?”
He nodded. “Every day. She left these behind when she dumped me. She had to go fast.”
“So, they’re not worth much, but they have meaning.” Some of the engravings felt familiar. I took a picture of the rings and sent it to Belle and Viv.
“Anything else? I should get on the computer,” he said.
“No, I think that’s all. You don’t know of any close friends or family she talked to, do you?” I asked.
“No. She said she had no one. All I wanted to do was take care of her,” he said.
I nodded. I suspected that was her plan.
I stopped by Belle and Viv’s on the way home. It was late, but their mom didn’t mind me.
“Those rings are gypsy design,” Belle s
aid.
Viv poured the tea as we sat around the kitchen table.
“A girl traveling around alone? No. It was a con,” their mom said.
“Ms. Andrews, I didn’t want to accuse anyone, but that’s how it felt. This ex-boyfriend paid her debts. Even though she was selling stuff cheap, she ended up getting away clean.”
“Selling to Gorgers is fine. Pretending to be one?” Ms. Andrews spit on the floor.
“Yeah, that would piss people off, too. Posing as a Wiccan? I don’t know. I’m trying to figure out if someone found out and killed her for it,” I said.
“It wasn’t the gypsies. If she was on her own with no husband or brother, she’d run off from her group. They wouldn’t take her back, but they wouldn’t kill her,” Ms. Andrews said.
“Okay. And she got away with debts covered. Dumping a good guy. Why?” I asked.
“She played the con too long. Someone found her out. Someone knew the truth and either exposed her or threatened to. She fled Salem. No wonder she didn’t want to join in on things.” I rubbed the back of my neck.
“Stressful day.” Belle offered me a cookie.
“Thanks. Driving, thinking, asking questions. I couldn’t be a detective,” I said.
“The police better leave it a suicide,” Ms. Andrews said.
“Why? If it was a murder, they deserve to be punished,” I said.
“They’ll blame the gypsies. Find a way to make it her fault.” Ms. Andrews sipped her tea.
“You didn’t even know she was a gypsy. They couldn’t blame your group,” I said.
Viv sighed. “If someone found out she’s one of us and she’s out there solo? Working a long con without a man or widowed mother with her, plus shaming the traveler ways...they’d do something. Not murder. Maybe they did scare her into taking her own life?”
I frowned and ate my cookie.
She kept to herself, except at the ball.
The ball. Why was she invited? Trezel hated gypsies. Maybe Trezel didn’t know, and then, she found out? Serena had been adamant about how Trezel felt.
And, if Trela was trying to lie low, why did she go?
“It was a setup,” I said.
“What?” Belle asked.