by Jill Nojack
She closed the door to the room she dedicated to her magic work to make sure the sounds of Marcus’s evening ablutions didn’t distract her and her own activity didn’t disturb him. When the smoke generated by the burning mixture filled the room with a musky scent that nearly masked the stench of burning whiskers, she held the silver pendant out above the map at her feet. It pulled against its chain; it was ready. She dropped it, and it followed a sideways course downward, falling on the portion of the map that contained Corey Woods.
She knelt down for a closer look. She knew the place. How odd. What on earth would this Rangel fellow be doing there?
***
The city’s abandoned maintenance shack, more a bunker than a shack, with it’s thick, windowless, slump block walls, sat at the end of a long dirt track that had been little traveled since the city abandoned it in favor of a newer facility. Cassie’s grandmother had picked up the land it occupied on its carved-out patch of Corey Woods about five years ago for a song.
Since then, the building’s bolted, thick metal door that matched its heavy concrete body had prevented the local youth and passing itinerants from gaining access.
She braked the car to a halt and turned off the lights, stepping out and taking a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dim moonlight. When they did, the place looked deserted; maybe Junior had scampered away while she was in transit.
With no windows on the structure, it was impossible to tell if anyone was inside. She didn’t know what Eunice had used it for, but the locks definitely looked newer. Which made Junior’s business there all the more mysterious. As a city employee, he might have had a key when the city owned it, but if the locks had been changed, he shouldn’t have one now.
She walked a transit around the building, which was a short walk—it was only twenty or so feet long and fifteen or so wide—and as she walked, she spotted a pickup truck parked in a track hidden by the brush next to the building. You wouldn’t see it unless you stood at the side.
Her spell had been right on the money. He was inside. Having come this far, she might as well barrel right in on whatever he was doing. He’d been welcome in Maureen’s home based on what William had told her, she was sure that he needed to be looked at as a suspect, a suspect who trespassed in the middle of the night.
She rubbed her palms with a dab of potion she took from her purse, whispering an incantation. The vanilla smell of sweet woodruff filled her nostrils. It reminded her of pleasant things, but right now, what she needed was an understanding of what lay beyond the door in front of her. If there was a booby trap inside, she didn’t want to blunder into it.
She held her hands up at arm’s length about a foot away from the door, and it illuminated the scene behind it for her in grays, showing only highlights and shadows. One moving figure and so many other still forms, each with eyes that reflected the overhead lamp which announced itself as the sole bright spot in the room, arching over all.
What was he doing in there? Had he been rescuing the animals it was his job to dispose of and keeping them here away from prying eyes?
Certainly nothing to worry about if that’s the case. She wouldn’t blow the whistle on him. She had never kept a familiar—or even a pet—of her own, but she was certainly for the preservation of living things as long as they weren’t rampaging around town hunting the local residents.
It took a moment for her probing magic to work the tumblers on the lock, which was heavier and more complex than the one on Junior’s apartment had been. She snatched the door open as soon as she heard the latch click; no point in making a quiet entrance. In such a small space, he’d be aware of her soon enough.
Her eyes widened in surprise as she sucked in a deep breath.
What welcomed her wasn’t quite what she’d expected.
***
When Junior spun around, wearing protective goggles and thick rubber gloves, a large knife held in one hand, Natalie froze into a pose as wooden as the host of bodies staring at her with their dead eyes. She hoped he was only interested in skinning and posing the local pet population. If not, she’d made a grave miscalculation.
She tried to keep her eyes on him, but the yapping specter of a Yorkshire terrier nipped at her ankles. Just what she needed when she was facing a lunatic with a knife. It couldn’t harm her, but the noise was destroying her ability to focus. She gave a kick and her leg passed through the shade. She wouldn’t have treated a living dog this way, but a kick would do no harm to the dead. The dog was still a dog, despite being deceased. It responded as it would have in life, giving a little yelp of surprise as it backed away.
The yapping was replaced by Junior’s, “What’re you doin’ here?” as he set the knife down on the big worktable.
She started breathing again.
“I could ask you the same thing. You’re trespassing on Cassie Sander’s land. I have permission to be here any time I like, but I doubt she’d look kindly on whatever it is you’re doing.”
“I’m not hurtin’ nothin’.”
Natalie walked to a scarred wooden table where a large Labrador retriever, looking very lifelike, dominated its smaller peers, whose stuffed and posed bodies crowded in around him.
She reached up to hold its chin in her hand and stared into its high-quality glass eyes for a moment before she said, “It’s nice work. My father tried his hand at taxidermy back in the day. He had a real interest in the dead.”
Her hand moved on to the silky coat of the Yorkie beside it as she gave a big glare and another small kick in the direction of its doggie spirit, which had edged toward her again. It slunk away, trying to press its docked tail between its legs, and retreated to a corner, lying down with its head on its paws and giving her the sad eye. She turned back to face Junior.
Good. He hadn’t moved. She was probably going to hang on to her hide today.
He shifted to rest a hand on the table top. “You really think it’s good? Good enough not to let on to your friend that I’ve been keeping my workshop here? Because I can’t afford to have to rent someplace.”
“It’s definitely fine work. No doubt about that. But keeping my mouth shut…well, that depends on you. I’ve a few questions that’ll help me decide on that score. Questions about a creature you saw in the company of Maureen Oliver. And I expect the absolute truth of it.”
He took a deep breath and looked around. “Ya promise to keep all this secret if tell you?”
She nodded after cutting a stare at the Yorkie that was playfully circling her ankles again. “Who am I to judge other people’s hobbies?”
14
It always smelled of sweat and urine in the cells; the perfume of the drunks who spent the night was pungent and long-lasting no matter how hard the city’s cleaners worked.
Trying to ignore the subtle stench, Karl Denton stayed far enough back from the bars that even Butch’s long arms couldn’t reach him. He’d taken a good head-knocking against that cold steel once when he was a young officer, and he knew better than to repeat the mistake.
He looked in at the occupant, who lay on his side with his face to the wall, his knees pulled up to fit his tall frame on the short cot. Denton sometimes caught a night or two of sleep there when he’d been too obsessed by a case to go home, and while it wasn’t a pillow-top queen size bed at the Passionflower Inn, it was comfortable enough for a smaller man than his prisoner.
He still thought Butch was the right suspect for the murder. And with this new, crazy talk about his mother-in-law being a witch, Denton had found the motive he needed.
He hoped that Butch being involved made it more likely the child was still alive. He could stretch to understanding why a man would kill his mother-in-law, having been less than fond of his wife’s mother’s meddling during his own brief marriage. But, although he knew it happened, a father killing his own defenseless child? He didn’t want to wrap his head around that. Maybe he’d thought he was saving her from witches. Maybe he’d hoped to spirit all of them away. In
that case, she’d be somewhere safe.
“Up and at ‘em, golden boy. You and I have business.”
Butch rolled over and set his feet on the ground, rubbing his eyes, then gave Denton a glare. Without a word, he walked to the corner and relieved himself in the metal toilet. He turned back to Denton with the same defiant look after he zipped himself up.
“Where’s the kid, Holgerson? Your daughter, a helpless infant. Where is she?”
“For all I know, Jenny and her mother sacrificed her. Has there been a full moon lately? Look into the witches. Town’s full of ‘em.”
“Seems strange to me that you never made a peep about witches until you were pulled in for assaulting your wife. Then suddenly, you’re accusing the victim of things you never mentioned before.”
“Denton, are you stupid? Do you really think witchcraft is just entertainment for the tourists? Get a clue! The devil’s work is all around you every day. I tried to save Jenny by marrying her and taking her away, but the pull of this town was too strong. Soon as I’m out of here, I’m in my truck and gone for good.”
“Then I suppose it’s a blessing you’ll be staying put for a while. This time we have witnesses. Good ones. Unless you want to accuse the mayor’s partner of aligning with the devil?”
Butch looked like he had more to say, then swore under his breath, sitting back down hard on the narrow cot to rest his elbows on his knees and drop his head into his hands.
“Nothing to say to that?” Denton questioned.
“I’m not talkin’ anymore. You can talk to my attorney.”
Denton’s head cocked to the side. He hadn’t expected rational behavior out of the man once the accusations of witchcraft started. “And who would that be?”
“Gregory Philips out of Boston. My dad had his firm on retainer when I was growing up, and I’ll bet he still does. I get a call, right?”
Denton didn’t have a choice. But he’d make sure that lawyer showed up fast. It had been three days now since the murder, and he knew the window of opportunity to find the child could soon slam shut, leaving behind two baby girls who might never know their sister.
Before he finished that thought, every cell of his body screamed at him to open the door and beat the answers out of the man he’d captured and who had to be responsible.
Instead, he turned to go get the man his phone. But he couldn’t help a final jab as he handed it to him. “Oh, and I hope your girlfriend Deborah doesn’t roll over on you when we present her with our latest evidence. I do so hate to see young romance go wrong.”
***
“Back again?” Deborah asked, thrusting out her chest to see if she could make him look. He didn’t. “Did you bring me lingerie again?”
“Not this time, Ms. James. But I’d like to get your take on another piece of evidence we’ve identified.” He nodded toward a chair. “May I?”
“Make yourself at home, chief. I still had nothing to do with it. But make it fast, okay? I’ve got places to be.”
He opened his black case and brought out a plastic bag like before, but this one contained something small and red. “Have you ever seen that before?”
She picked it up to get a better look. “Of the hundreds of fake nails I’ve seen in my life, you want me to recognize a specific one?”
“Sure looks like a match to the ones you’re wearing right now.” He smiled.
“Big deal. Let’s go in to the Salem Shopmart where I buy them, and I’ll show you at least ten other shoppers who are wearing the same ones.”
“I’m sure you could, but those shoppers weren’t at Maureen Oliver’s house the day she was murdered.”
“Wow. Whatever. You’re really grasping at straws. If you found that at the Oliver’s, it’s probably Jenny’s. We both wore them in high school. So, basically, your big evidence isn’t so big. You already know I was there and why.”
“We found that just outside the back door. Probably knocked off when you opened it. You care to adjust your story about whether or not you were in the house?”
She looked at the clock on the wall over his head. “I have to go. If you really think a random fingernail you found means I killed someone, then prove it. But until you do, stop wasting my time.”
He packed the evidence bag away again, then got up to leave. “This is going straight to the lab. And I’d say you’d better hope the worst thing I do to you is waste your time.”
***
The delivery boy from the Decent Food Mart parked in front of the police station with his daily delivery of lunch for the officer on duty and any prisoners in the cells. This was her best chance for everything to turn out as it should. After all, it was Jenny who’d been responsible for everything that had happened to put Butch here, beginning with when she used her craft to bewitch him in high school.
When she walked briskly into the delivery boy’s path, she knocked the drinks in their cardboard holder out of his hand, and the bag of food went flying but landed safely, still sealed. He picked it up, then looked at the spilled soft drinks, anger flashing in his eyes. “You’re paying for those. There’s no way they’re coming out of my check. And now I’m going to have to go all the way back…”
“I’m really, really sorry,” she soothed. “Look, I’ve got a bunch of cold sodas in the truck.” She nodded her head toward Butch’s rig where she’d waited for lunch time. “Let me grab you a couple and nobody will ever know.” She gave him her sweetest smile.
He looked at the spilled drinks again and then back at her. “Those were colas. You got colas?”
Her bobbing head indicated she did. “Let me get them for you.”
She hurried back from the truck with two cold bottles, their fizz only slightly dissipated from having been opened and resealed, but beginning to glisten with condensation.
After giving over the drinks and watching the delivery boy go in and come back out without them, she relaxed into the truck’s driver seat to wait.
***
She checked her phone again. Half an hour. They must have had time to eat their meals—and more important, drink their drinks—by now. If she waited too long, the Chief might return from his wild goose chase in Boston, and there would be too many cops around for her to pull it off.
She put her phone away, swiveling her head to make sure there was no one watching. She chugged down the second potion, the one that would call to anyone who’d drunk the doctored soda and muddle their perceptions. Its effect would be temporary, but temporary was all she needed. Just so long as both of the men inside cooperated and didn’t question her too hard.
As she entered the station cautiously, she noted the three-fourths empty soda bottle on the reception desk where the young duty officer waited.
“Mrs. Holgerson,” he said. “The chief isn’t here, he’s up to Boston. Was he expecting you?”
She offered a smile. “I’d like to see Butch. Would that be okay?”
“Wow. I don’t know. Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean, I don’t have any instructions that he can’t have visitors, but with the two of you accusing each other of murder….”
“That’s why we need to talk. I mean, maybe we’re just too angry right now with mom gone and all. Maybe we just got our wires crossed.” She made a pleading face. “Butch and I always fight and then make up, coming out of things stronger than ever.”
“The road to true love is never smooth, that’s for sure.” She could tell he was about to agree. He had that look men get when giving in to a woman. “Look, I’ll let you go in. I should stay in there with you, but with everyone else looking for your little girl, I can’t leave the desk unattended. A call might come in that makes all the difference.”
He walked to the door leading to the city’s two-cell holding area and unlocked it with one of the keys on his belt. He held the door for her and cautioned, “Stay back from the bars—you want to sit there…” He made a gesture with his head to indicate a long bench against the wall across from the cells
, “…and not get any closer than that.”
“I’ll be okay, Officer Rogers. Thank you.” She gave him her sweetest smile.
He left the door into the cell block open and left to return to his desk. Now for the real test.
She turned toward the cell as the door closed, and Butch rolled on his cot to see who’d entered. She found herself looking straight into his ice-blue eyes.
“Jenny?” Butch sprung up from the cot and rushed to the bars, grabbing onto them as he looked down on her.
She stood closer to the bars than she was supposed to. “Shhh…I’ve come to get you out. I’m so sorry all of this happened. But I know you didn’t do it. Everything will be okay. We’ll go away, just the two of us, and no one will ever bother us again.”
“Just us? No kids?”
“If that’s what you want.”
He looked at her hard. “Why the change? You begged me for a baby.”
“I was wrong and you were right. We don’t need children. They just keep us apart. You’re the only one I want.”
“And no more witchcraft? You made me a promise about that when we married, but your mother tried to suck you back in. How do I know you won’t break it?” She hadn’t been prepared for that question, but the answer was obvious.
“The only magic I need is you,” she said as she moved to the bars and lay a hand flat against the lock as a small blue spark did its job.
The lock clicked, and she slid the door open.
His face turned threatening. “You promise me you won’t use magic, and then you do this? I can’t go. That’ll just make things worse.”
She lowered her head, deferring to him. “The magic was for a good cause, wasn’t it? And from here on, I promise. You’ll never see me use magic again. So come on, Butch.”
He stood in the cell, hesitating.
She moved to him and touched his hand. “I said come on.”