Pushing aside the unwelcome recollection, I focused instead on the colorful old van in front of me. It was painted in swirling paisley and bold splotches of red, purple, and yellow. Groovy. I followed the hippie-mobile the rest of the way, until we both turned into a narrow gravel driveway and through the open gates of the Spring Creek Nature Preserve. A young man in an orange vest directed us past the already-full paved lot and into the grassy overflow parking area. As I parked and walked toward the entrance, I realized a lot of people had probably camped here overnight. Small wooden trail markers pointed to campsites, picnic areas, and bathroom facilities.
After paying the suggested donation price for admission, I bypassed the clapboard bungalow that housed the preserve’s office and welcome center and headed straight for the festival grounds. Fragrant flower gardens and blooming trees bordered the meandering path, which occasionally branched off to other intriguing destinations: a koi pond to the left, a Zen labyrinth to the right, and, in the distance, a white-washed gazebo gleaming in the sunlight. This place just might be the best-kept secret in the whole county, I mused.
Strains of lively Irish music grew louder, and I found myself smiling at the motley assortment of festival-goers. While many, like me, were dressed in casual weekend wear (I’d opted for an embroidered white blouse over denim leggings and faux-leather ankle boots), a good number showed true Beltane spirit. I saw plenty of flower crowns and fairy wings, painted faces and gauzy dresses—and not just on the children. Women and men alike had decorated themselves in festive, flowy, flowery garb.
“Keli! Over here!” It was Arlen the necromancer, waving his arm and beaming from ear to ear. He grasped the hand of a short, muscular man in a kilt and bounded over. “Gregory, meet Keli Milanni, counsel to the Witches and lawyer extraordinaire.” He presented me with a flourish that made me blush. As usual, he was dressed in black, this time in renaissance breeches and a leather vest—with no shirt underneath. I tried not to stare at his thick mat of chest hair.
“Hello, Arlen. Nice to meet you, Gregory.”
“Miss Keli, I’m so glad I saw you. The bones gave me a message for you.”
“For me?”
“Well, for a wise woman who helped me in a time of need. I figured it must be you—especially since I’ve just run into you.”
“Okay.” I still wasn’t sure quite how to take Arlen. His enthusiasm was a bit overwhelming. As he proceeded to describe his divination rite in great detail, including his method of ritual purification—a complicated process that involved smudging deer bones in the smoke of handcrafted herb bundles—I found myself watching people glide by. They must have come from far and wide, I realized. At first, I didn’t recognize anyone. Then I caught a glimpse of one familiar face. Several yards away, Erik walked by carrying a large wooden hand drum. He was the picture of a modern-day Green Man, I thought, in brown cargo pants and a forest-green T-shirt. His dark blond hair, flecked with silver and gold, had become shaggy since we’d first met. Somehow it seemed to suit him.
I would have called out, but Arlen was still talking, and Erik was soon lost in the crowd. Oh, well, it shouldn’t be too hard to find him. I would just follow the sound of the drums.
“So, then he spoke to me,” Arlen said, drawing me back into his monologue. “I was deep into a trance state by this point, you understand. But I saw the spirit of the stag clear as the silver moon. He said, ‘The truth is within. You have all the answers you need inside you.’”
“Mm,” I murmured. Apparently the spirit of the stag spoke in platitudes.
“Then he said, ‘You won’t always remember this. Even the wise forget. Carry this message to the wise one. Tell her to listen to her heart. She knows the truth. Jealousy blackens the heart. The motive was personal.’”
I jerked up my head with a start. “What did you say?”
“He told me to tell ‘the wise one.’ That’s you. You must listen to your heart.”
“No, the last part. About a motive?”
“Yeah, I’m not sure what he meant by that, but that’s what he said. ‘The motive was personal.’”
“And ‘jealousy blackens the heart’?”
Arlen nodded, a pleased look on his face. “Profound, right?”
Gregory, who had been people-watching like me, touched Arlen’s shoulder. “The first maypole dance starts soon. Do you want to join this one or the later one?”
“The later one,” answered Arlen. “I’m hungry. Keli, would you like to join us at the food tent?”
“No, thanks. I’m supposed to meet a friend at the maypole.”
He pointed the way, assuring me I’d find it on the other side of the “big hill.” I thanked him and hurried off, his message still reeling in my head.
What an odd thing to say. For a moment I entertained the possibility that the message wasn’t even meant for me. I hardly considered myself a “wise woman.” After all, I’d barely reached the “mother” stage (figuratively speaking) of a woman’s journey from maiden to mother to crone. I still had much to learn and experience. But I was definitely searching for answers. And Arlen’s—or the stag’s—mention of jealousy and a personal motive gelled perfectly with the theory that had been crystallizing in the back of my mind.
A small crowd blocked my view of the maypole, but I knew I had reached the right spot. A Celtic banner waved near a trio of musicians who strummed an upbeat Irish folk song, as the lively gathering formed a large circle. I squeezed my way to the front. I didn’t want to miss the show.
I spotted Mila, dressed like a queen in a flowing white dress. Catrina was next to her, in white genie pants and a rainbow-striped T-shirt. I recognized a few others from Mila’s coven, as well as another familiar face: Carol Peters. She waved at me and gave me a big thumbs-up. I gathered that her husband had agreed to switch weekends with her after all. She and her daughter, Dorrie, also sported white dresses and wore matching butterfly barrettes in their golden brown hair. The little girl was petting a young gray and white cat. It tolerated her attention for a moment, then darted away to chase a butterfly. I smiled. Everyone looked so beautiful and radiant. I couldn’t help feeling swept up in the gaiety, as my eyes roved from person to person, to the pole itself, tall and bright, and topped with a green, flower-studded wreath.
Someone touched my arm, and I turned to see Catrina. She handed me the end of a violet ribbon and pulled me forward. “Come on, we’re about to start.”
“Oh, I’m just a spectator.”
“Yeah, right. Come on. It’s fun.”
“But I’ve never done this before. I don’t know what to do.”
Ignoring my protests, Catrina left me holding the ribbon. Mila stepped forward and held up her hands. The band stopped playing while she spoke.
“Welcome to the maypole dance! Take your places now. Let’s arrange ourselves with alternating masculine and feminine energies—whatever you’re feeling today. Feminine will go clockwise, masculine will go the opposite way.”
There was a small bit of shuffling, as a few people traded spots. I stayed put. Mila started moving in a clockwise direction as she continued, in a measured, singsongy voice:
“Over and under, the ribbons we braid,
Around the pole and in the glade.
Lasses and lads do dance in time,
Colors blend to life’s sweet rhyme.”
Over and under. I can do this. The man to my right nodded at me as he brushed past my shoulder. I had no choice but to follow the woman who had been next to him, lest I be bumped from behind. As Mila repeated her verse, a few other voices joined in. After the third time through, I saw her nod at the band. The instant they broke into their lively Irish melody, the dancers picked up the pace. Laughter bubbled forth as people tried not to bump into one another.
It was a large circle. Previously, I hadn’t seen all the participants on the other side. As we met up with one another, lowering and raising our ribbons, I was pleased to recognize a few more friendly faces, includin
g Steve, the new part-time clerk at Moonstone Treasures. And right behind Steve was Erik, going one direction, and Thorna going the other. Erik’s face lit up when he saw me.
The music seemed to grow louder and faster, and the laughter more raucous, as dancers became tangled and untangled. I tried to stay in the rhythm of the dance, raising and lowering my entire body with my ribbon. For a while, it worked pretty well. We seemed to move as individual parts of a larger whole—like painted animals rising and falling on a giant merry-go-round. But as the ribbons became shorter, and we drew ever closer to the pole, things got trickier. At one point, I found myself face-to-face with Erik. As I moved to raise my ribbon over his head, I failed to notice the lowered ribbon of the person in front of me. I tripped and fell on Erik. Startled, he opened his arms to catch me, dropping his ribbon in the process.
“I’m sorry!” I tried to find my footing without pushing Erik to the ground. He laughed good-naturedly and gave my shoulder a squeeze. Then he reached for his ribbon and moved along. Soon afterward, I noticed Mila at the base of the pole collecting the ends of everyone’s ribbons. As the dancers let go of their ribbons, they backed up to take their places in the circle once more. After I surrendered my ribbon, Carol touched my elbow.
“Would you mind holding Dorrie’s hand for a moment? Her brother’s in the kids’ tent with a friend, and I need to help Mila tie off the ribbons. Celtic knots are my specialty.”
“Of course! I’d be happy to.”
“Stay with Miss Keli,” Carol said to her daughter.
Dorrie dutifully walked with me back to the circle. But once we took our places, she began to wiggle. With her exuberant energy, I was afraid she would break away and run off. I took her other hand. “Let’s dance,” I suggested.
The band continued to play, so we twirled in place. “This is fun!” cried Dorrie.
“It sure is,” I agreed.
Mila said a few words about the symbolism of the maypole and declared the dance a success. We all applauded, and the group dispersed. When Carol came to retrieve her daughter, I thanked Dorrie for the dance. Then I turned to look for Erik. I hadn’t forgotten my original purpose for coming here. I wanted to talk to him about Denise.
Unfortunately, he was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Thorna.
I wandered down the hill, keeping a lookout for him. I came upon a line of vendors and decided to purchase a cold lemonade. All that dancing had made me thirsty.
As I sipped my beverage, I shot off a text to Wes and tried to explain how to find the festival. I told him it was near Red Gate Hollow, if that helped. He replied that he would be leaving work soon and was sure he could find the place.
“Why did you run off?” said a teasing voice. I looked up to see Catrina, with a smirk on her face. “Was it so you wouldn’t have to hear me say ‘I told you so’? Well, I told you so!”
I grinned and shook my head. “You were right. I had fun.”
“I’m heading over to the face painter. Want to come?”
“I would, but I’m trying to find somebody. Do you know what time the drum circle starts?”
Catrina checked her watch. “Right about now. Hurry if you want to join in.”
“I just want to watch. And this time I mean it!”
“Sure you do.” She laughed and gave me a backward wave as she headed across the lawn. I started off in the other direction. My ears had picked up the low, steady beat of the drums. Soon I could not only hear it, but also feel it, throbbing like a heartbeat in the earth.
The drummers, mostly men with a few women interspersed throughout, sat on logs and tree stumps arranged around a fire pit. Many wore costumes: I noticed a few feathered headdresses and lots of suede fringe. Billy and Viper sat next to one another, the former in a tunic and linen pants, the latter in brown leather. Billy also wore a hammered silver Viking helmet, with horns that were sharpened to a deadly point. Viper wore antlers attached to a brown bandanna.
I scanned the circle for Erik, but he wasn’t there. That’s odd. I had seen him carrying his drum earlier. Maybe he was letting someone borrow it. I searched the crowd. The spectators were as into the music as the drummers. Several danced around the edges, powwow style; others bobbed their heads as they stared into the fire or at the drummers’ hands, beating like birds’ wings against the drumheads.
Without realizing it, I had become transfixed. The thumping and pounding had become a vehicle, carrying the listeners to another state—an altered state, for some. I glanced at Viper. Sweat glistened on his brow, and his eyes gleamed with an intensity that was mesmerizing in itself. As I watched, I could almost feel his animal magnetism, and I understood what Farrah—and other women—had seen in him. He had a certain kind of appeal, at least when he wasn’t drunk.
Had Denise been caught under his spell, too? Did the V on her final card stand for Viper?
He must have felt me staring. His eyes locked on mine, and his lips curled in a slow, wicked leer. I willed myself not to look away, as if doing so would be a sign of weakness. Eventually, he grew bored of me and let his eyes slide away. Without missing a beat, he tilted his face toward Billy, who turned in response. Almost imperceptibly, Viper jerked his chin in my direction. Billy’s eyes narrowed when he caught sight of me. I took a step backward. So much for my assertion of dominance.
Billy the Viking wasn’t always the sweet, kindhearted nerd he appeared to be. I’d learned that yesterday. Could his name be the one in Denise’s datebook? Wes had speculated it was a five-letter name ending in y.
I backed farther into the crowd, eager to distance myself from DredShaman and BalderBoy. Unfortunately, I backed right into another spectator.
“Ouch!” she yelped.
“Sorry!” I spun around and reached out to offer an apologetic pat on the arm of the person I’d stepped on. I froze as I recognized another suspect whose name ended in y.
“Poppy! Are you okay?”
“Oh. It’s you.”
With further apologies, I edged away. To my surprise, she followed me.
“Are you okay?” I repeated. I didn’t think I’d bumped her that hard, but she seemed annoyed.
“Can I talk to you?” she asked.
“Yeah. Sure.” I followed her away from the drum circle to a quiet spot near a grove of pine trees. In the distance, I spotted a cluster of standing stones and forested land beyond.
Poppy crossed her arms and scowled at me. “I want to apologize.”
I thought I must have misheard her. “Sorry?”
“You heard me. I’m sorry I was rude to you. Wes told me you’re trying to figure out who murdered Denise.” Her face softened and she bit her lip. “I don’t know why it’s taking the police so long. Do you have any ideas?”
“Yes, I have a couple ideas. Do you?”
“None! Denise could be so secretive. It was kind of her thing. Something was bugging her, but she never confided in me.”
“Did she talk about Erik much? Or their breakup?”
Poppy shook her head. “That’s another weird thing. I don’t think she really wanted to break up with him. She thought he was it, you know? She talked about being his soul mate. She even talked about having babies with him.”
“She did? What happened?”
“To be honest, Erik can be a little clueless. And kind of self-absorbed. I don’t know if he was as serious about the relationship as she was. I mean, he could’ve tried to work things out with her instead of just accepting the end of it.”
“I got the impression Denise was pretty angry at him.”
“Probably because she wanted him to try to win her back.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. It seemed so childish and sad. “I’d like to talk to Erik. Have you seen him around?”
“Yeah, I saw him a little while ago. He was with Vanny.”
“Who?”
“Vanny—Vanessa Attley. I guess she goes by Thorna now.”
“Why did you call her Vanny? Is that her nickname?
”
“That’s how she was introduced to me. I met her through Denise. They worked together for an insurance company a few years ago.”
“Huh. I didn’t know that. Was that the office job Denise had in high school?”
“Yeah. She didn’t work there for very long, just a few months. Evidently, she didn’t need the money.”
I could hear the bitterness in Poppy’s voice, but that wasn’t my concern. Poppy would find out about the source of Denise’s influx of money soon enough. I was sure the truth would come out, one way or another. Right now, I had a bigger concern.
“So, Denise knew Thorna as ‘Vanny.’”
“Uh-huh. It’s a cute name. I don’t know why she changed it to Thorna. I guess she wanted to be seen as tough instead of cute.” Poppy paused and cocked her head. “What’s wrong? You look funny.”
“Which way did Erik and Thorna go?”
She looked around, then pointed. “They were walking that way, toward those stones.”
Suddenly, I was seized with an overwhelming sense of urgency. “Poppy, will you do me a huge favor? Call Wes, then meet him at the entrance and bring him here.”
“You want me to call Wes? But I don’t have his number.”
“Where’s your phone?”
She handed me her cell phone, and I punched in Wes’s number. “He should be here soon. Please hurry.”
Poppy appeared confused. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I just have to find Erik. He might be in danger.”
With wide eyes, Poppy looked at me as if I might be crazy. But she nodded and ran off.
The drummers were still hitting their drums, harder than ever. The audience had doubled in size. For a split second, I was torn. I wanted to run over there and snatch Billy away to help me. But I also didn’t want to waste any more time. The sense of urgency won out. I spun on my heels and sprinted to the standing stones.
Maybe I’m wrong, I told myself. I hope I’m wrong. It was all too incredible. Did I really believe Thorna was a demented, cold-blooded killer? Maybe my theory was dead wrong.
May Day Murder Page 23