Ghost Witching

by Ally Shields

  Josh drew a line through Florence’s name on his own copy of the list. “We’ll still have to follow up, but she’d be a fool to lie about something so easy to check. I’d say her alibi will prove out. That should be scratch number two, along with Mary C.”

  “But not Mary T,” Maggie grumbled. “She stays on. For attitude, if nothing else.” The gray-haired grandmother had marched in at one o’clock sharp, declared she had nothing she cared to tell them, and left. She remained an unknown, moving neither up nor down on the list.

  “And although she was pleasant, I didn’t get a good read on Olivia,” she continued, “so I guess we keep her.”

  “What about Wanda?”

  Following Mary T’s abrupt departure, Olivia, a forty-year-old Jamaican, and Wanda, a black woman in her mid-fifties, had been welcome changes. They both acknowledged the discord within the Society, although they didn’t know who was behind it. It wasn’t until Wanda was leaving the interview that she’d turned and locked eyes with Maggie, sending a brief tingle down Maggie’s spine. “I warned Isabella. The darkness, the secret hostility, has grown since the new members joined the board.”

  Wanda had firmly closed her lips and refused to elaborate. Perhaps she was worried she’d said too much. In any case, she shut down…and as she walked out, she turned off the awareness she’d been projecting those last few seconds. Maggie rubbed her shoulders. Wanda had wanted her to pick up that strange sensation. How’d she do that? And why? Wanting Maggie to feel the truth? Or part of a deception?

  “I’m not sure, Josh.” Maggie explained what had happened as Wanda was leaving. “She certainly knows more than she told us.”

  “Do you think she’s a member of the dark coven?”

  “No-o,” Maggie said slowly. “I’m more worried she’s proof that some or all of them have unusual skills they’ve kept hidden.”

  “Hard to believe that includes Sophia,” he said, arching a brow.

  Josh’s clear skepticism made Maggie smile, but she’d had the same reaction to their final interviewee. The thirty-something Latino’s glib, breezy manner had been off-putting, especially when she’d described the Society’s divisions as “tiny glitches in its universal harmony.” “Yeah, ditzy doesn’t square well with a killer. Unless she was putting on a show.”

  He dropped his pen on the desktop and stood. “I’ve had enough. It’s been a long day. I’m for getting out of here.”

  “Me too.” After stashing her files in her desk drawer, she stretched her neck from side to side, trying to shake off a persistent edginess. Was it frustration bugging her? Or something more specific? She looked at the drawer, retrieved her notes, and scanned them again.

  “Now what?” Josh asked. “I thought you were ready to go.”

  “I was, but that’s lack of sleep talking. I was so focused on what Wanda did, that I nearly missed what she said. It’s a way to narrow our list. The Society’s trouble started within the last two to three years. So those members new to the board during that time period are obvious suspects. Um, I suppose older members might have been recently converted,” she added reluctantly, “but it’s less likely. Ok, it might not be as clear-cut as I thought at first, but it’s a criteria to consider.”

  Twenty minutes later, after a call to Madame L, they’d divided the council into two groups, those whose membership exceeded three years and those with less. Four names fell under the cutoff date: Sophia and Amanda from today; Dawn and Charlotte, both scheduled for interviews in the morning. The rest of the board ranged from Fiona Gordon at five years to Madame L, who’d started the organization twenty-eight years ago.

  Could one of these four women be a killer in disguise? And somehow conspiring with Sutter or Brice? Whoa, Maggie. Now she was getting into a whole different issue. And one she was too tired to tackle.

  “I give up.” Maggie stretched and dropped her files back in the drawer. She glanced at Josh, suddenly uncertain what to say or what would happen next. Should she assume…? “Do you have plans for this evening?”

  “We both do.”

  She straightened, frowning. “We do? Oh. Annie’s ceremony. How could I forget? We’ll need to remind the lab and give them a pick-up time for the evidence box.”

  “Already done. Eleven o’clock.”

  “You’re a handy guy to have around.” She sank back into her chair again. “I’m not sure I can stay awake that long. So, uh, any plans before then?”

  “Only with you, babe.” His eyes twinkled. Obviously he wasn’t experiencing the same uncertainty she felt. “Dinner, a glass of wine?”

  “Food sounds good, but I may forgo the wine. I’d hate to sleep though the ritual. I have to change out of yesterday’s clothes, and what about my car?” Rather than leave it on the street, they d dropped it at the police lot overnight to guard against tampering by local hoods—or anyone bearing gifts like spiders and snakes.

  “It’s safer where it is. And you look fine,” he said, running his eyes over her. “We don’t have to go anywhere fancy to eat. No one’s going to know you wore that outfit yesterday.”

  “You’re biased. And I would know.”

  He grinned then, relenting. “OK, we’ll drop by your place. You could pick up extra clothes while you’re there.” His voice held a question.

  Not so confident after all. Maggie relaxed, pleased he wasn’t as sure of her as he’d seemed, but she wasn’t letting the distance grow between them again.

  “You bet I will. A woman should be prepared for…opportunities.”

  He laughed, a warm, natural sound, and held the door as they exited the precinct.

  * * *

  The witching hour approached, deep in the Louisiana bayou. The hoot of a wild owl caused Annie to jump, and Maggie squeezed her hand. “You’re going to be fine. Really.”

  Annie produced a weak smile, but her eyes quickly returned to the silent gathering illuminated by a flickering, wood fire.

  Selena’s entire Wiccan coven had turned out for the ceremony to lift the curse. Maggie and Josh had brought the evidence box, while Harry followed in a separate vehicle with Annie. She wasn’t happy about being that close to the symbol of the Satanic curse, but she’d been assured the temporary cure was still active, and they arrived at the remote swamp location without mishap.

  At Selena’s signal, the four friends joined the witches circle, Josh on Maggie’s right, Annie on her left, and Harry on the far side of Annie. Each set an unlit, white candle on the ground before them.

  Maggie’s cousins stood in the center near the fire. At their feet, the cursed relics and the empty burlap bag lay on a white silk cloth. The bones had not been touched, but poured out, due as much to superstition as chain of custody concerns. Two other objects were nearby, the evidence box to receive the cleansed bones, and a multi-colored bag from which Dalia, as Selena’s apprentice, would produce the ritual items.

  Selena raised a lit, white candle and murmured the beginning invocation, summoning the Goddess’s attention. Then Selena knelt in front of the bones and dipped her free hand into a bowl of powdered crystals that Dalia held out to her. Holding the candle to one side, Selena sprinkled the powdery substance over the flame. When white smoke flared, she blew it gently across the cursed objects.

  “Hear us, oh, goddess, Set the stricken free,

  Return the curse from whence it came, So mote it be.”

  She repeated her words and actions three times with the coven joining her on so mote it be. With each recitation, the white smoke thickened and spread out, surrounding the circle in an ethereal haze. As the last words echoed over the swamp, Dalia collected a candle from the nearest person, lit it from Selena’s, returned it, and the flame passed from person to person, lighting each candle until the circle was complete.

  Selena raised her head. “So mote it be.”

  Dalia offered Selena a bowl of blessed water, and both women cleansed their hands. Then Dalia held the burlap bag open while Selena poured the bones inside, using t
he silk cloth as a funnel. The cloth was tossed into the fire.

  Maggie suppressed a gasp of surprise as the white haze abruptly dissipated.

  Taking the closed burlap bag in one hand, the burning candle in the other, Selena stood and raised both arms.

  “Mother goddess, sister moon,

  Witness the deed. It has been done.”

  She blew out the candle, and the coven followed her lead, extinguishing their own. “So mote it be” once again echoed around the circle.

  Mindful of their chain of evidence, Maggie watched Dalia take the bag and drop it in the evidence box. Even after the cleansing, her cousin treated the bones as if they were distasteful. Maggie slid a sideways glance at Annie hoping her friend hadn’t seen that. Dalia’s reaction didn’t instill confidence.

  Maggie squeezed Annie’s arm. “You OK?”

  “Much better. That was totally cool.” Annie’s eyes danced. “Do you do this kind of thing all the time?”

  “No, of course not.” Maggie turned away, then stopped abruptly. Why had she cut Annie off? Embarrassed, ashamed of the truth? Or was she becoming protective, even secretive, of coven activities? She hadn’t mentioned the monthly ceremonies to anyone except Josh. Shouldn’t she be confiding in her best friend?

  She turned back to tell her, but Annie and Harry were talking to Dalia, and Josh had picked up the evidence box, prepared to leave. The opportunity had past. But she’d find another one. Soon.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “In a second.” She put a hand on Annie’s shoulder. “We have to get the evidence back to the lab. I hope you sleep like a baby tonight.”

  Annie grinned. “You bet. Thanks so much, Mags. If you hadn’t set this up…”

  “That’s what friends are for,” Maggie said. “We’ll talk tomorrow. We have a lot to talk about.” She hurried after Josh. She wasn’t sure she’d done Annie any favors tonight. How much, if any, of this was real? But then again, as long as it worked…did it matter?

  Maggie shook her head to clear it. Too much thinking, and she was already exhausted. She caught up with Josh. He tucked the evidence box under one arm, and she twined her fingers around his free hand. He smiled at that, and her heart turned over knowing it didn’t make the least bit of difference to him whether she was a witch or not.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  On the way to the station on Friday morning, Josh teased Maggie about last night’s sleeping attire, the mistakenly packed kitten pj’s—not the most romantic lingerie. She was still smiling as he pulled into the police lot and parked next to her Lexus. She got out, cast an admiring eye at the Lexus’s pearl gray finish, and choked, clapping a hand over her mouth.

  Valerie Preston sat on the hood.

  “What’s wrong?” Josh came around the front of his Ford, his hand on his Beretta.

  “It’s Preston.” Two swirling orbs materialized. “And company. Maybe they’ve decided to help.” Maggie sucked in a quiet breath. It had only been thirty-six hours since she’d made her appeal for help, but so much had happened it seemed longer.

  “We can’t just stand here without someone noticing.” Josh kept his voice down and surveyed the parking lot for other cops who might have observed her reaction. A detective waved at him; Josh waved back. “What now?”

  “I can’t read ghostly minds, but since they’re sitting on my car, I assume they want us to drive somewhere.”

  “Got your keys?” Josh asked.

  Maggie dug them out of her pocket and unlocked the Lexus’s doors. As soon as she turned on the engine, the ghostly trio floated toward the street, and Maggie hurried through the exit gate so she wouldn’t lose them. After two blocks, she pulled over and handed Josh the keys. “It’s hard to watch them without running into someone. You drive, I’ll navigate.”

  With Maggie’s eyes on the ghosts, Josh wound through traffic and into an upscale residential area. Puzzled, Maggie frowned at the familiar Garden District. “This is Preston’s street. Why are they going back to her house? OK, stop here. They’re crossing the yard into the back.”

  Josh pulled over. A discreet realtor’s sign on the front lawn declared it would be shown by appointment only. Since Preston’s daughter had returned to the East Coast until the publicity died down, Maggie was quite sure no one was inside to notice them, but she waved toward Mrs. Goodbody’s house in hopes the old lady wouldn’t call 911.

  They entered the front gate, circled to the back yard, and climbed over the decorative, wrought iron fence. Maggie reached the other side just in time to see the three witches vanish through the rear wooden fencing into Sutter’s yard.

  “Dammit! They were just cutting through,” Maggie said, describing what Josh couldn’t see. “They’re behind Sutter’s house now.”

  Josh and Maggie eyed the extra-high privacy fencing.

  “We can’t go barging into his property without a warrant.” Josh made a step with his hands. “But I’ll boost you up so you can see what they’re doing.”

  When he lifted her, Maggie gripped the top, then stood on Josh’s shoulders to lean over and look around. She finally spotted the trio. Two glowing orbs hovered near an open tool shed. Just inside the open door, Preston stood with one foot resting on a red, three-gallon gasoline can.

  “Oh. My. God,” she whispered, catching the significance immediately.

  “What is it? What do you see?” Josh twisted his head and looked up at her. “Say something, or I’m going to dump you on your cute little butt.”

  “I’m glad you like it, but wait just a second.” Maggie fished her smartphone out of her pocket and snapped a picture. “OK, you can put me down now.” Wordlessly she showed him the screen.

  “Yeah, a tool shed. So what?”

  Maggie pointed. “Preston is standing right here…with her foot on this.”

  Josh let out a low whistle, then gaped at her. “Sutter’s the arsonist?”

  “Apparently they think so.”

  He shook his head twice, his eyes troubled. “I was about to write him off. We must have missed a connection to one of the council members.”

  “I don’t see how,” Maggie said uncertainly. “Unless it’s Fiona. Her sister Liz probably knows Sutter from visits with Val Preston. Goodbody would know, and I’ll bet she’s dying to find out why we’re back.”

  “I hope you have a good cover story,” Josh said dryly.

  “I will have. Just give me a minute.” They exited through the front gate and turned left. Maggie chuckled to herself when Goodbody already had her door open. Over coffee, Maggie explained they were in the neighborhood on a call about a recent prowler. “Have you seen the reporter again?”

  “No, nobody’s been around who didn’t belong here. It’s been quiet, except for Scamp. He still barks every night.” Mrs. Goodbody looked perplexed. “You got a call just today? I haven’t seen anyone this morning except you.”

  “We didn’t find anything either. The prowler might have gone over the back fence. We’ll talk with Marvin Sutter.” Maggie sipped her coffee. “Do you know him well?”

  “Heavens, no. Even when his wife and child were alive, he wasn’t outside much.”

  “Does he have visitors? Any neighbors? Friends?” When Goodbody kept shaking her head, Maggie tried to slip in a casual question. “What about Liz Porter or her sister, Fiona Gordon?”

  “Lizzie might have met him, but her sister wasn’t around much. I doubt if Fiona’s even heard Sutter’s name.” The old woman’s eyes narrowed. “What’s this about?”

  Maggie backtracked. “Just wondering if anyone knew him well enough to help him. He’s still struggling with the loss, and the drinking…” She casually flipped her hand and let it drop. “He refused to talk with the social worker I sent.”

  “Oh, did he? What a shame, but I guess he’s not ready. Some never are.” Goodbody was successfully diverted and launched into a story of a young friend of a friend whose life had been ruined by drugs and alcohol.

  Maggie and Jos
h made their escape before Goodbody came up with more questions. Maggie drove on the return trip, and Josh was unusually quiet, staring out the window.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  “How we can legally get our hands on that gas can.”

  “It’s in plain sight, but climbing on the fence and peeking doesn’t count. And, if it wasn’t for the ghosts, would we even consider it suspicious that he has a gas can? I’d guess fifty percent of the houses in town have one somewhere.”

  Josh drummed his fingers on the armrest. “He’s already a suspect. Considering we’ve had two fires, any evidence of flammable materials could be considered suspicious. But can science link it to the warehouse or Madame L’s shop?”

  “That’s the lab’s problem. GS or MS. They can do wonders.” She didn’t pretend to understand how gas chromatography or mass spectrometry worked, but the techs had samples of the gas from the alley that they could compare with the contents of the can. “If they get a match, we’ll show Sutter’s photo around and find out if he was seen near Madame L’s.” She swung into the police lot and parked. “First, we have to get that can.”

  Josh closed the passenger door as they got out and eyed her over the roof of the car. “I’ve got an idea for that part. If you’re up to a stakeout.”

  * * *

  As often happens in an investigation, other demands took precedence, and Josh’s plans for the retrieval of the gas can had to wait. The last three interviews of the Witching Hour board members were scheduled that morning, and Maggie and Josh entered them with particular interest in the first two, both newer members to the board.

  Dawn, a thirty-something sophisticate in a tailored suit and spike heels, was nervous, but not unduly so. She gave all the appropriate answers: shock at the recent deaths, dismay over the thefts. She blamed everything on outsiders and denied hearing of either Brice or Sutter. By nine-thirty, she pleaded another, pressing appointment.