The Empty Cradle

by Jill Nojack

  “Been there with that thought too. But they found her inside the house. In the living room with no blood trail. How would a bear get in, slash her, and then get back out without leaving a trace? And then close the door behind? Or even a big cat, come to think of it. But an animal claw would match perfectly with my having found particulate that might be soil in the wounds.”

  “A trained bear, maybe?” Natalie mused out loud.

  “You know anyone who’s got a trained bear?” Don asked.

  Natalie thought about it briefly, but it would be absurd to keep a bear as a familiar. Even the most secretive of lone practitioners couldn’t keep something like that from a local coven for long. She shook her head. “Go ahead and cover her up. She deserves better than having me standing here gawping at her when I can’t be of any use.”

  And she did feel useless; she had no more idea what the murder weapon had been now that she’d gotten up close and personal with Maureen’s body than she had by getting up close and personal with the woman’s ghost. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more going on than she’d been able to observe among either the living or the dead.

  ***

  Deborah wasn’t happy to see the Chief of Police in full uniform standing on her front porch when she opened the door to his mid-morning knock. She was even less happy that there was one of Giles’s police cruisers parked at the end of the driveway where all of the neighbors would see it.

  “Deborah James?” he asked.

  “Yeah. What do you want?”

  “To be invited in would be a good first step,” he said, his mouth twitching into something that was probably meant to be a smile.

  “Whatever. Step into the parlor.”

  She took a seat in an arm chair, but he continued standing after setting a black briefcase on the ground, looking around at her mother’s tatty living room that was furnished in what Zelda called “shabby chic” but Deborah referred to as “a lot of junk.”

  “Nice place.”

  “I’ll let my mother know you like it. Get to the point, please. I have things to do today.”

  Denton nodded. “Witnesses have reported that you were seen making your way along the sidewalk on Bishop’s Way in the early morning yesterday, very near the Oliver home.”

  “Yeah? So?”

  “You’re aware Mrs. Maureen Oliver was murdered, I assume? So what were you doing there?”

  Deborah’s mouth quirked into a half-grin thinking about what she’d been doing there. She wondered if he’d enjoy hearing all of the details. That might be fun. He wasn’t bad for an older guy even if he was too buttoned up to be her type.

  Nah, he can get his kicks somewhere else. She just said, “I spent the night with a friend.”

  “What friend?”

  “Why would the cops care who I spend the night with?”

  “Normally I don’t care what any consenting adult does with another. But I start to care when it makes them a suspect in a murder investigation.”

  A gasp sounded from the hall, and Deborah’s face reddened as she yelled, “Mother! This is none of your business.”

  She heard her mother scuttle away as Denton dipped down to pick up his briefcase. Good, he was leaving.

  But no. He nodded toward the other armchair. “Okay if I sit? I have something to show you.”

  She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  He sat and placed the case across his knees and opened it to access its contents. After setting the case aside, he lay a large baggie down on top of her mother’s pale-blue painted, then distressed, coffee table. It contained her lacy black thong.

  Oh.

  “I hope that’s not a gift, chief. I hardly know you.”

  “A joke, I assume. I think you’ll find I have little sense of humor when I’m trying to locate a missing child. You’ll forgive me if I don’t laugh.”

  “Then why are you bringing me lingerie?” she asked.

  He picked up the baggie and put it back into the briefcase, then shut the lid with a decisive snap. He stood. “There are two things that can happen here, Ms. James. The first is that you can cooperate and let me know the truth about who this item of clothing belongs to. The second is that I can go back to the office, call my friend the judge, get a warrant, and send an officer out to get a cheek swab so we can compare your DNA to the DNA we find on this piece of evidence. I know which one I’d pick if I recognized what’s in that bag.”

  When he explained it like that, she didn’t have a choice. And anyway, wouldn’t it be a hoot when it came out that nose-in-the-air Jenny Holgerson wasn’t woman enough to keep her husband from running around on her?

  “They’re mine. But I had nothing to do with Maureen’s murder. And you don’t have a shred of evidence that I did. I just had some fun with Butch that night.” She bit her lip languidly as her eyes rolled to the side, remembering. “A lot of fun.”

  “Did you have any contact with Maureen?” Denton was all business.

  “She came banging on the truck door in the morning and asked Butch to watch the kids while she went to the store or something, and I took off after she left. That’s it.”

  “Did he go in to watch the kids?”

  “Butch watch kids? You’re joking, right? He peeled out to go for gas.”

  “Do you know where Maureen went after that?”

  “How would I know? I’m not a freaking psychic,” she said, her speech loud and defensive.

  “And where did you go?” he continued, ignoring her outburst.

  “I came home. Went back to bed. I was tired.” She grinned, taunting him this time. “I didn’t get much sleep.”

  “Thank you for your cooperation. If you think of anything else to assist us in this issue, please let me know.” He headed toward the door, then he turned back, giving her his own grin. “Oh, and I’d appreciate it if you don’t leave town. As a critical witness in this case, I’d like for you to remain available for further questioning. If it’s not too much trouble, of course.”

  His eyes conveyed his threat.

  “Whatever. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Like he could pin anything on her. No way would she leave now that stuck up Jenny was finally getting what she deserved.

  8

  Natalie couldn’t risk being caught inside the police tape at Maureen’s house in broad daylight, so she walked into the yard next door like she belonged there. With luck, if the neighbors were home in the middle of the day, they would think she was part of the investigation. Stranger things than city-employed dowsers turned up in Giles all the time. In her father’s hunter plaid, who would recognize her?

  Of course, the trick was not to let anyone catch sight of the red purse on her arm; it was distinctive but necessary. She undid the latch, pulled out the dowsing rod and the packet of ash she’d prepared the night before, then dipped her finger into it and adhered the soot to the tip of the rod. She hadn’t found much material that contained the magical trace, only a small piece of fuzz inside the cradle. William had certainly been thorough with his evidence collection. She hoped the enhancer she’d created and burned with it would be enough to help the rod lock onto the magic’s trail.

  When she gripped the handles, the rod’s tip quivered before it shifted firmly to the left. She set off at a brisk pace with the dowsing rod leading the way.

  It wasn’t going to be a pleasant stroll on a direct path from point A to point B, that was clear. Whoever or whatever she was following had been attempting to stay hidden, ducking behind a bush here, then intentionally hugging up close to the side of a house as it passed through a yard there. The rod also walked her up to and then around a tree at the edge of the lane. Perhaps the originator of the magic trace had waited behind it for a car to pass.

  These were attempts not to be seen. But was the circuitous route an animal’s instinct or human intelligence? The rod couldn’t tell her anything about the path-maker’s motivations.

  She crossed Spruce Street, then
Indian Trail, passing through manicured yards to get there, but not on a straight shot. Once she was behind the houses on Indian, the tip of the rod shot right, and she turned to follow the quivering stick into the brush at the edge of the woods where the houses had more acreage and zoning laws relaxed. Some of the residents out this way kept small farm animals—rabbits, chickens….

  She smelled them before she saw them. No mistaking that odor. Pigs.

  She was passing around the back of the acre or so where Zelda and Deborah James lived; the daughter, Deborah, kept a sty. What was the old saw? That people grow to look like their pets over time? In this case, it was true. Or maybe Deborah had seen herself in the upturned nose and round face of the pot belly pigs and that was why she had been drawn to them. And as they do, the cute little pigs had grown up and now weighed over a hundred pounds each. They certainly had the family resemblance.

  The rod took her briefly toward the sty where two sets of piggy eyes looked out at her from piggy faces. Once there, it walked her in a muddled circle with ins, outs, and arounds next to the pen, then struck off abruptly toward the woods again.

  The nature of the trail she followed eluded her. If it was made by some kind of creature, the pigs might have been interesting because they were a potential food source. But in that case, why did the pigs survive when Maureen had not?

  ***

  Deborah made sure that Denton had gotten into his car and left the street before she grabbed her coveralls off the hook in the mudroom, pulled them on, and opened the back door as she slung her big duffle over her shoulder. But when she saw movement in the yard, she pulled the door shut again and pushed the door’s cafe curtains aside so he could get a good look at the person who had walked in from the woods.

  Without the red purse that dangled from her arm, it would have been more difficult to identify the figure dressed up in red plaid from the top of her black boots to the top of her head. With the red purse on display, it couldn’t be anyone but Natalie Taylor.

  Deborah resisted the urge to chase her out of the yard in favor of finding out what she was doing there. It made no sense for her to be water witching on the outskirts of town. It’s not like anyone was going to drill a well when the city supplied their water.

  But Natalie came right up in the yard, following her twitching stick straight to the sty, where she meandered around in lazy circles before she headed into the woods again.

  Deborah’s face tightened and flushed with anger. Natalie was up to something, and she was sure it wasn’t anything that would be to Deborah’s benefit. Her curiosity had been pricked. In that red outfit, it would be plenty easy to shadow her.

  She slung her duffle over her shoulder again, then slipped out the door and followed. It was easy to keep trees and thickets between her and the old witch who pushed through the brush, following where the rod led.

  ***

  Natalie was about a quarter mile into Corey Woods after leaving the settled edge of town when her dowsing rod failed her. Stopped dead. Not another quiver.

  She looked around. Down. Up.

  Nothing. Nothing but bird song and the rustle of leaves.

  Just like the morgue. Another dead end.

  She turned slowly in a circle for one last look and something moved in the brush.

  She dropped the rod and scuffled toward it, but the tawny body she glimpsed was swift and she had just taken a long walk with old legs. It disappeared and was gone before she got there.

  The only thing that marked the spot was a jeweled collar like fussy little dogs wore. It probably belonged to someone’s lost pet, but she picked it up just the same. You never knew what might be a clue.

  She turned it over to inspect it before she tucked it away, and she was surprised to see the blood on the plastic. Yes, indeed. You never know.

  At least it wasn’t a bloody baby booty.

  She needed to make sure she could find this place again. Whatever she’d glimpsed through the brush wasn’t going to be able to hide forever. She’d need to call on the extra magic afforded by the union of the Maid, Mother, and Crone to give a spell extra oomph. With a missing child in the mix, there was no more time to mess around with solo efforts.

  She rummaged through her purse, looking for a suitable marker so she could find the spot again, preferably something heavy so that it would stay put. She decided on a silver dollar from the selection of coins she found in her wallet.

  After more rummaging, she brought out an incense burner and several small bags of herbs. She considered taking a seat on the forest floor but thought better of it. A nearby tree had a suitably low V in the trunk; she wedged the incense burner into it. Then she collected a small amount of the drier leaf mulch around her feet, added pinches from some of the bags of herbs, lay the dollar on top, and lit the pile up. The small fire burned down quickly, leaving only the soot-smudged coin. A hollow knot in the bark provided the perfect hiding place for her beacon. She kissed it, the still-hot metal not quite burning her lips, whispered the spell, and dropped it in.

  It didn’t take long for the incense burner to cool completely. She returned it to her purse and stepped off smartly, heading purposefully toward civilization. Now she only needed a Mother and Crone to help her with the ritual.

  ***

  Deborah lurked for a while between the trees. The high priestess turned in place, looking like she was expecting something more, but nothing happened. It was funny to see her looking like the useless old woman she was when she didn’t have anyone to boss around.

  Funny. But boring, too. Since Natalie had turned right instead of left, she wasn’t headed anywhere that Deborah didn’t want her to go. There was no point in continuing to keep an eye on her. Whatever she was looking for, she obviously didn’t find it, and unless she turned back to go the other direction, she wasn’t going to stumble on Deborah’s secret, either.

  Deborah snuck quietly back the way she’d come. Then, once she was out of earshot, she hustled. She had a quick stop to make before she headed home. Her darlings would be hungry, and no good mother would make her children wait for their dinner.

  ***

  Natalie saw no need to go back the way she came and started to walk through the James’s yard on the far side of the sty to cut through to the street. She kept close to the hedge along the side of the lot, her head turned away and her nose covered to keep the stench down.

  “Hey, what’re you doing? This is private land. Didn’t you see the sign? You’re trespassing!”

  Natalie turned to face Deborah, who was striding toward her fast on the long, thin legs that didn’t match her wide body. She swore under her breath. “Blasted barreling banshees!”

  Of course it would be the daughter who caught her. Zelda would be bad enough, but at least she had a redeeming quality or two; she could scare up a decent storm if you needed one, which helped when the local farmers needed a boost in a drought, and she’d never been afraid to pitch in when a little elbow grease was called for around the community.

  But the daughter…she was an entirely different kettle of rotting fish. Most of her fellow coveners believed Zelda’s devotion to the girl was what caused her to make poor decisions. And isn’t that just like some people? Gillian in particular was always looking for the good in others. But not even Gillian disagreed that Deborah was a bad ‘un whose only skill seemed to be holding up a barstool until she found a place to lie down for the night.

  Yes, Deborah was a real bad seed. And one that was moving in far too fast now for Natalie’s liking.

  The woman stopped only an arm’s length away, and Natalie could see into the bucket she assumed contained the slop for Deborah’s pigs. It was half full of chunks of meat, fruit peelings, and vegetables that were past their prime. And was that a tuft of fur? Disgusting.

  Deborah stepped in another inch or two, threateningly. “What’re you doing here?”

  “Taking a shortcut. I got turned around in the woods and this was the fastest way out. I’ll be g
oing now…”

  The younger woman’s mouth screwed up into a grimace. “Yeah, like I believe you. You’ve always got an ulterior motive, old woman. Stay off our land. Just because you lead the town’s little band of witches doesn’t mean you can do anything you want.”

  An older voice called from the back porch as the screen door slammed, “Deborah! Show some respect!” Zelda walked toward them, her tone apologetic. “Nat, I’m so sorry.”

  “Whatever, mother!” Deborah whined. “Suck up to her if you want. But she’s got no business sneaking around here spying on us.” She turned and walked to the sty, her wide, flat, backside swaying defiantly.

  Natalie’s eyes raised to the heavens then came back down to Zelda’s puffy face. The mother looked repentant.

  “I’m so sorry,” Zelda said. “You’ve been so gracious to welcome us back into the ‘choir’ after everything that happened last year, and now…well, I don’t know what gets into the girl sometimes.” She shook her head. “She’s had a difficult life, you know. Her father….”

  “Yes, yes, Zelda. I know about the infamous Mr. James. I’m sure it was difficult for the both of you,” Natalie said, dismissing that line of conversation which would otherwise wander off into wailing-and-garment-rending territory, and Natalie didn’t plan on being an attendee at Zelda’s pity party. She distracted her by saying, “While I’m here, let me ask…have either of you seen anything unusual in the woods lately? Any dangerous animals? A bobcat, a bear? Anything out of the ordinary?”

  Zelda brushed her salt and pepper bangs out of her eyes but looked at the ground as she did. When she raised them again, she said, “No. Nothing out of the ordinary. Is this about Maureen?” She turned to call to her daughter, who had set the bucket down outside the pen and was leaning over it to scratch one of the two pigs behind the ears. “Honey, you’ve been out walking in the woods now that the weather is nice. Have you seen anything unusual?”