by Ally Shields
“Maybe they’re not from New Orleans. Or their deaths weren’t dramatic enough to be labeled ritualistic.” Josh set down his mug. “I should get to the office. If you can handle the local angle, I’ll start running statewide and national inquiries.” He dropped a five-dollar tip on the table.
“Josh…”
He paused in the act of standing, his flat gaze meeting hers.
“Can we declare a truce? Just till the case is over.”
He eased back into his chair, his eyes guarded. “If you recall, this situation wasn’t my choice. I don’t want to fight either. But we can’t go on like this for long.”
“Just until we catch the killer. Then we’ll have time to talk and make the right decisions.”
Something flickered in his eyes, and his jaw tightened. “Sure, Maggie. No sweat.” He made it to his feet this time. “Be sure to let me know when the time is right for you.”
Her throat clenched, but she made no effort to stop him again. She couldn’t seem to say anything right. Putting her own tip on the table, Maggie stopped at the cashier and discovered Josh had paid both bills. She left shaking her head.
On an impulse and a desire to avoid another clash with Josh so soon, she called dispatch, signed out for another hour, and detoured to Dalia’s house. Her third cousin twice removed was her source on family matters and all aspects of the witchcraft and spirit world. According to Dalia—and Selena, their psychic relative who lived in the swamp—links to the supernatural realm ran deep in Maggie’s maternal family, manifesting in various ways. Dalia considered Maggie’s affinity for ghosts a gift. But then she wasn’t the one who had to deal with them.
Maggie didn’t bother to call. Dalia always knew these things ahead of time. Indeed, her sixty-year-old cousin waited at the front door in the usual bright-colored shirt and skinny jeans that not only looked good on her slender figure but fit her personality. Dalia led the way to the kitchen, where coffee was already poured.
“How do you anticipate my visits?” Maggie asked, accepting the offered seat at the table. “Does something ding in your head like a text or e-mail arriving?”
Dalia’s smile lit up her hazel eyes. “Something like that. I just suddenly knew with conviction that you’d be here as soon as I got the coffee made.” She patted her silver locks rather smugly. “It’s a handy gift. I never get caught without my lipstick on.”
“Hmm, this is good.” Maggie sipped her coffee as Dalia took the chair across from her. “I just had a cup of cafe brew, but you make the best.”
“I’m flattered, although I doubt you’re visiting during the workday just for my coffee. Is this about the dreadful murder on the news?”
“Not only that. But it occurred to me you might know the victim, Valerie Preston.”
“I’d never spoken to her, but I know who she was. A dabbler, not a true practitioner.” Dalia’s face grew cloudy. “Did she truly die from a snake bite?”
“I’m afraid so. Rather gruesome. We have a neighbor with a strong motive. I thought we were on the verge of an arrest, and maybe we still are, but I had a strange visit this morning.” She described the three spirits in her hallway. “Josh suggested they might be other victims of the same killer. If so, we may have the wrong suspect. His motive is personal to Preston. I have to figure out who these ghosts are. Any ideas?”
“Oh, my dear, I’m not the authority on spirits. You’d have to consult Selena for that. But I’d say Josh is correct. Ghosts focus on their own needs, not those of others. They want this killer punished…for themselves.”
“There’s no possibility they’re relatives or friends supporting Preston’s demands?”
“Heavens no.” A hint of a smile flashed through Dalia’s eyes. “I’m not sure they’d understand the concept.”
Maggie bit her lip, contemplating the possibilities. “I haven’t heard of any unsolved, occult deaths around New Orleans. If these ghosts are from someplace else is there a way for them to tell me where?”
Dalia lifted a shoulder. “Only one person to ask.”
After a second call to dispatch to report a trip outside the city, Maggie and Dalia headed toward the swampland south of New Orleans. Two months ago, Maggie had traded cars for a used Lexus—Josh had helped make the choice—and she still had a new owner’s joy in driving it. But the trip took forty minutes, giving Maggie plenty of time to regret her impulsive visit.
Selena lived in the swamp alone—away from society—because she was plagued by spirit voices twenty-four hours a day. Or she was just plain nuts. Either way she was a large, daunting woman—kind, overwhelmingly effusive—and prone to sudden fits of staring off into space. She also nagged Maggie about developing her alleged witchcraft skills, which Maggie wasn’t sure she had or even wanted to know about.
If that wasn’t bad enough, Selena constantly talked with Ophelia, another family member…only this one was dead. While living, Ophelia had been a seer, but apparently her dominant trait, both alive and dead, was delving into other people’s business. Maggie admitted it made her a great contact or confidential informant. Unless everything Selena and purportedly Ophelia said was all part of an ongoing delusion.
As the roads grew narrower with swamp water on both sides, Maggie gave up her internal debate and accepted the inevitable. Dalia had been pointing out birds and swamp foliage along the way and continued until the road ended behind what appeared to be an old fishing shack. It was Selena’s home, perched on the edge of the bayou waters. The moment they stepped out of the car, the door of the hut was thrown open.
Selena descended on them with a welcoming hug. She invariably wore a billowing muumuu, and today’s version was purple and yellow. After nearly smothering them with her large girth and substantial bosom, the old woman tossed her single white braid over her shoulder and led them into her home. In contrast to the rough exterior, her single-room residence was tidy, even feminine, with potted herbs, candles, crystals, and embroidered cloths.
“Tea?” she queried.
“Sorry, but I don’t have time. I’m way late in getting to the office, but I’m hoping you can help me.” Maggie quickly gave her a brief overview of the murder but concentrated on her spectral visit that morning. “Can you or Ophelia find out who these other spirits are?”
“They don’t speak human names in the Beyond.” Selena’s tone was reproving. “Don’t you remember? No earthly specifics because they are supposed to put that existence and identity behind them. Obviously, the ghosts who come to you haven’t done so yet. They remember everything, but they still aren’t allowed to break the rules. Understanding that restriction, what do you want me to ask?”
Maggie thought quickly. OK, that excluded their names, addresses, descriptions, DOBs. “Can Ophelia ask if they knew each other while they were alive? Were the others murdered? By the same person?”
Selena pursed her lips. “I think I can restate those into suitable questions.”
“What about where they died? Not the place name, but local or not.”
“I can ask her anything. If it’s too specific, the spirits won’t give us an answer. But I don’t think they’ll take offense at the question.” Selena closed her eyes.
Maggie leaped forward, grabbed her arm, and led her to the old rocker. “Please sit down before you do this. I don’t want you to fall.” She’d seen the woman go into these trances before. It wasn’t a quiet meditation.
“Good idea, dearie. Thank you for reminding me.” Selena sat, hummed to herself, and her head fell forward. She rocked back and forth and side to side for long minutes, the chair creaking and tilting, before she abruptly stopped and raised her head. Her lips moved but no sound came out, and her gaze seemed locked on something or someone beyond the room.
A chill raced across Maggie’s back, like spider legs over her skin. Seconds, then minutes passed. Just when she thought she couldn’t take it an instant longer, Selena snapped out of it with a jerk, and the eerie sensation vanished.
Selena swung her head to regard her. “Ophelia says the spirits were acquainted but not close friends. They are indeed bound together by their deaths.”
“Does that mean they have a common killer?”
“I believe that’s what I said. Now do you want to hear the rest?”
“Um, sorry. Yes.”
“Ophelia sensed a common thread links them.” Selena turned a stern eye on her. “Do not ask me what kind. Ophelia didn’t say.”
Maggie swallowed the question that had been in the tip of her tongue. “Anything else?”
Selena waved her hands dismissively, fluttering the sleeves of her colorful attire. “That’s all. Actually, the spirits were quite talkative to have said that much. They must have a strong motivation to reach you.” Her eyes filled with worry. “You should be careful with these three.”
Maggie stiffened, her attention caught by the concern in the old woman’s voice. “Why? Are they dangerous? I thought ghosts couldn’t do any real harm, as long as I avoided touching them.” Her gaze went from Selena to Dalia and back. The chill of the Veil, the soul taint from touching a ghost, was bad. Too much of it and your soul could be pulled into the Veil while you were alive…and might never return. She’d learned to keep her distance.
“Normally it’s not a problem,” Dalia said. “There are exceptions.”
“Why haven’t you mentioned this before?” Maggie demanded.
“We did. Months ago we told you about Kate Batts, the ghost they call the Bell Witch, and others like her. Very powerful individuals—and very evil ones—have been able to move objects or affect things in the real world. A few have smothered mortals in their taint.”
“Deliberately?” Maggie widened her eyes. “Were Preston and the others bad people in this life?”
Selena shook her head. “I don’t think so. I would have sensed it. But they are strong and determined. And there are three of them who could try to impose their will upon you. Perhaps they won’t attempt anything other than intimidation, but beware around them. Don’t let them forget you have the ultimate power.”
Whoa. In theory only. Maggie swallowed uneasily. The last thing she needed was a trio of angry ghosts who could do something about it. You bet she’d beware…and she wouldn’t let them bully her. But she’d just become highly motivated to solve this case quickly and send the ghosts on their way.
By the time she’d dropped Dalia at home and arrived at the precinct, it was midday. Maggie parked and waved at two of her squad members as they headed out to lunch. She drew in a quick breath before opening the door, wondering what kind of a mood Josh would be in. Was he still angry? Would he ignore her? Normally, she’d tell him every detail of her morning visit to her colorful relatives. He had a way of embracing their uniqueness that dispelled her own reservations. Maybe sharing this time could bridge the current awkwardness.
She entered the building, strode down the hall, and came to an abrupt halt in the squad room doorway. Her heart leaped into her throat.
Who was she?
Josh stood next to his desk with a tall, willowy blonde in his arms. The woman laughed, kissed him on the cheek and left a lipstick imprint, before drawing back. Obviously, they were old friends…and more. Maggie squelched a rush of jealousy before moving forward. When Josh caught sight of her over the woman’s shoulder, he smiled and gestured for her to join them.
“Maggie, I’d like you to meet a friend from Boston, Ellen Anderson. Ellie, this is my partner, Maggie York. Ellie and I go all the way back to high school,” he added.
“Nice to meet you,” Maggie said brightly.
“Likewise.” Ellen extended her hand in a perfunctory shake, enveloping Maggie in the scent of expensive perfume. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
And I’ve heard nothing about you.
“I hope some of it was good. Will you be in New Orleans long?”
Ellen looked at Josh and smiled. “Well, that depends on Josh. We have a lot of catching up to do.”
Yeah, I bet. Maggie fought off an urge to step between them. She resented Ellie’s polished smile, the carefully manicured nails, the Fifth Avenue clothes. High-end man bait. But Maggie no longer had a claim on Josh. That had been clear when he’d walked out on her this morning at breakfast. Had he known then that Ellen was coming?
“We were just leaving for lunch,” Josh said, a hand resting casually on the blonde’s upper back as they turned toward the door. “I’ll catch up with you in an hour or so.”
“Take your time. I have plenty to do. Nice to meet you, Ellen.” Maggie turned away, slid into her desk chair, and pretended not to watch as Josh and Ellen left the squad room. As soon as they were out of sight, she typed Ellen Anderson, Boston into her computer search bar.
Ha. Just as she’d thought, society pages. Geez, NJ Anderson Inc. Didn’t they do parts for NASA and other government agencies? So wealthy, as expected from her clothes. Why was she in New Orleans? And so overly chummy with Josh?
She scrolled through pages of articles, going back more than two years when Josh was still in Boston and before the scandal over the drug charges. A startling social page headline caught her eye: Anderson Heir to Wed Local Cop, and the accompanying photo of the happy couple made her gasp. Oh my God. Josh had been engaged to her. Why hadn’t he mentioned it? What happened to their marriage plans? Who broke it off?
Maggie searched for later articles on the couple but didn’t find any. Still stunned by those headlines, she sat back in her chair. Did that mean they were still engaged? No. She shook her head vigorously. Josh wouldn’t have betrayed her—and Ellie—like that. He was too honest.
Yeah, but not as forthcoming as she’d believed.
She grabbed her phone, tempted to call Annie and analyze this over lunch, but set it down again. The middle of a case wasn’t the time to wallow in doubts and questions about her partner. This was threatening the very upheaval she’d tried to avoid with Josh this morning. Wasn’t she just borrowing trouble? What was the big deal about chatting with an old friend?
Yeah, right. But they had a job to do. That’s where her head needed to be, and that’s where she intended to keep it. She filled her coffee cup in the break room, bought a candy bar from the snack machine, and returned to her computer. Caffeine plus sugar. Not a bad combo when you needed to kick-start your system.
Restricting her focus to case-related criminal files this time, she ran a search for unsolved murders of women in the New Orleans area over the last two years. While she waited for the results to pop up on her screen, she considered what two new victims meant to their case. It certainly complicated the current theory, but it didn’t eliminate Sutter, at least as Valerie’s killer. Identifying the other ghosts was the first step toward unraveling the bigger mystery.
Maggie buried herself in her work, reviewing open police cases, reading files, and calling detectives in surrounding districts. She didn’t pay any attention to how long Josh was gone until he walked in precisely two hours and twenty-seven minutes later.
CHAPTER FIVE
Josh flinched at the chilly atmosphere around Maggie’s desk. She glanced at him for a brief second as he sat down, and her eyes were icy, indifferent. Even guarded.
Aw, hell. In retrospect, he should have told her about Ellie a long time ago, but he hadn’t expected to see his former fiancée again. Showed where false pride would get you. When he’d confessed to the heroin charges in Boston in order to save his brother Harry, the press had smeared him over the front pages and on the nightly news. Ellie’s swift desertion had been a sore point. Oh, yeah, he’d learned how shallow their romance had been, but it had hurt all the same.
Ellie’s sudden appearance in New Orleans had been a shock. And terrible timing. Coming on the heels of this morning’s tense words, he could only imagine what Maggie was thinking. The set of her chin warned him any explanation right now would be another case of bad timing. And how could he explain it anyway? He didn’t know why the hell Ellie was here.
Instead, he picked up a sheet of information he’d gathered before lunch and laid it in front of Maggie. He watched as she scanned the printout from a commercial website.
Her expression went from schooled indifference to surprise as she read his note at the bottom. “Sutter’s brother-in-law runs a swamp tour? I wonder if he raises or captures snakes.”
“I thought we should ask. He’s coming in at seven, if you don’t mind working this evening.”
“I don’t, but I thought you’d be busy with a guest in town.”
Well, right to it, he thought. But if she wanted to know about Ellie, why not ask? Subtle didn’t hack it. Her tone was irritating, and he didn’t owe her an explanation anyway. She’d wanted him out of her private life. That went two ways.
“I’ll schedule around it,” he said.
“Fine.” She laid down the printout and picked up two of her own. “I went to see my cousins this morning,” she said in a significant tone.
“Did they know Preston?”
“Dalia knew of her and described her as a dabbler in the Craft. But the important thing is Selena told me something about my other morning visitors. They’re both locals. I’ve spent the last two hours searching for unsolved cases.” She passed the papers to him. “I pared it down to three names, but these are the two most likely.”
He nodded absently. Consulting Dalia and Selena was a good idea considering the occult aspects of the case. He gestured to the reports. “Were these ritual killings?”
“No, that’s the strange part. One was an overdose—officially suspicious, but undetermined—the other a parking lot shooting. No witnesses, no suspects. As far as I can tell from the reports, there are no known connections to witchcraft. They weren’t prior members of Preston’s coven either, because Lizzie Porter said they’d only lost one member, a man who died from heart failure.”
“So what’s the link?” Josh asked. “Are your informants sure about this one?”