“Is anyone going to tell me about this ‘rule of three’ thing?” He turned first to Father Sullivan and then to Cassie.
“Cassie, m’dear, will you explain it to Mr. McCormick? I’m sure you can do it better justice than this tired old priest.”
“Of course, Father Mike. The rule of three,” Cassie shifted her attention from the priest back to Mac, “is simply that whatever you send out will come back to you three fold. When we Wiccans cast a spell, we send out energy that gathers strength, returning to the sender by three.”
“So you see, no sensible witch in her right mind is going to perform such an evil deed, knowing that the evil will return to her three times as strong.”
“And this rule of three thing is enough to convince you of Myra’s innocence?” Mac found it a bit astonishing that the priest was so easily convinced, considering the damning evidence. Mac sat back in his seat, disappointment etched clearly on his face. He had allowed himself to believe for a moment that the priest might actually have something concrete to prove Myra’s innocence, but obviously all the old man had were his own beliefs.
“I see you’re still not convinced,” Father Sullivan observed. “And I’m not blaming you for it, you understand. But you see, there is one more thing I failed to mention.” He paused for dramatic effect, before he leaned forward to say, “I was there with her that night.
“But...”
“I was there, sitting there beside her bed nearly the whole night long.”
“But Alan ...?”
“She’d sent him away, just as he says. But after he left, she gave me a call. She said she just needed to hear my friendly voice before she dropped off to sleep. But I could tell from her voice she needed more than that. So, in spite of her protests, I went to her. She is my friend, you see. I couldn’t do otherwise. I insisted she get into bed. She dropped off to sleep almost immediately, a deep, deep sleep. I flatter myself that perhaps it was the knowing that I was there that allowed her to sleep so peacefully. I stayed there until nearly dawn. When I finally decided she wasn’t going to be needing me anymore that night, I left.”
“But I still don’t understand why you didn’t come forward when she was arrested. With you as an alibi, the Sheriff would never have charged her.”
Once again the priest shook his head sadly. “But I’d taken a vow, don’t you see? After she was questioned for the first murder, she made me promise to never tell the authorities of our relationship. She was that afraid of what it would do to my reputation. Myra and I formed a friendship back when she first came to town that we both felt it wise to keep, shall we say, under covers. Even then we both realized that a friendship between a Catholic priest and the high priestess of a Wiccan coven would not likely be accepted by the good citizens of Port Bellmont.”
“Well, I will admit, it is a bit unusual.”
“That it is, that it is. And if you were to tell me before I met Myra that a practicing witch would someday be one of my best friends, why, I’d have said you were as daft as they come. It was my curiosity that made me seek her out at first. I’d never known a Wiccan before and I couldn’t resist making the acquaintance of the woman soon after she arrived. You can imagine what I was expecting to see when I went to that shop of hers - Nature’s Way, she calls it. But what I discovered that day was an intelligent, gentle, funny woman. I liked her immediately. And I think I’m safe to say the feeling was mutual. We’ve been best of friends ever since.”
“But how do your parishioners feel about their priest hanging out with a witch?” Mac asked.
“Now that’s the irony of this whole thing, don’t you know. Myra was so sure they’d throw me out of the church if word got out, she always insisted we keep our friendship to ourselves. Against my better judgment, I agreed to honor her wishes, although I hated having to keep our friendship hidden.”
He reached for his cup and took a deep sip of the strong brew. Setting it carefully back in its saucer, he looked Mac squarely in the eyes. His own eyes had taken on a glow, as if an idea had suddenly occurred to him that was almost too good to share.
“Now I thank God for her wisdom. If she hadn’t insisted on keeping our friendship a secret, I would never be able to help her escape.”
Chapter 9
“Are you crazy?”
“Father Mike!”
Cassie and Mac spoke at once, both staring with undisguised shock at the kindly old gentleman. The priest, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying the effect his words had had on his two guests.
“I may be a bit doddering in my old age, but I’m not crazy yet,” he answered Mac’s question. There was no mistaking the twinkle in the priest’s eye. No one loved an audience more than he, and there was no doubt about it, he certainly had Mac’s and Cassie’s complete attention.
“I realize you want to help Myra, Father Sullivan, but helping her to escape would be the worst mistake you could possibly make.”
“No, my son, you’re wrong about that. If Myra stands trial those vultures will eat her alive. And whoever the real killer is will have one more victim to chalk up to his credit, don’t you know. Since I know for a fact that the woman is innocent, I see it as my Christian duty to do what I must to save her.”
“But Father Mike, don’t you realize that the authorities would be sure to capture mother and whatever chances she had of convincing a jury of her innocence would be totally ruined?”
“Ah, but I haven’t told you my plan yet, girl. Believe me, I’ve worked it all out. And there’s more to it than just the release of Myra Adams that I have in mind. Before we’re through, we’ll be after catching the real murderer.”
The glance that passed between Mac and Cassie was clear enough to read. Had the poor old man completely lost his senses? But their skepticism only added fuel to the old priest’s fervor.
“Don’t you see? The only way to clear Myra’s name is to discover who the real murderer is, and we can’t do that as long as she’s locked safely away behind bars.”
“But, Father Mike, what if mother did escape and the murderer struck again? It would put her in even more jeopardy, not to mention the fact that someone else might be brutally murdered.”
“No, Cassie, I’m beginning to follow Father Sullivan’s reasoning.” Mac’s body suddenly tensed as he shifted his attention from Cassie to the priest. “You’re talking about a game of bait and switch, aren’t you?”
The gleam in the old man’s eye told Mac he was getting close to the answer.
Cassie stiffened with alarm. Surely they didn’t mean to put her mother in even greater danger with some hair-brained scheme? “Nobody is using my mother as bait!”
“Not your mother, m’dear. I’d rather thought of using myself.”
Cassie turned to Mac, hoping he hadn’t lost his mind too, but felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach when she saw a smile appear on his face, a smile which quickly turned into a full-fledged grin. Her alarm grew as the two men, neither saying a word, yet somehow communicating perfectly, nodded significantly to each other, satisfied smiles solidly in place.
“No! Whatever it is you two think you’re going to do, you can just forget it.”
“Ah, little Cassie, don’t you know, we don’t have a choice in the matter. We’ll only do what must be done.”
“Sweetheart, it’s not just for your mother. There’s a cold-blooded murderer out there, a brutal, dangerous creature. If there is any way, any way at al, that we can get that monster behind bars, we have to give it a try.”
“But why you? What in the name of heaven makes you two think you can capture this murderer? Neither one of you has any experience in law enforcement. Mac, you’re a reporter, for pity’s sake. And Father Mike, what does a Catholic priest know about catching criminals?”
“I know that if Myra Adams weren’t behind bars, I’d be the monster’s next victim, that’s what I know.”
“What?” Cassie sank down onto the sofa, too astonished by the priest’s
remark to think of a rejoinder.
“He’s right, Cassie. If the murderer held to his pattern, and there’s no reason to think he wouldn’t, his next victim would be one of the town’s clergy. And the only clergymen left in Port Bellmont are Father Sullivan here and that crazy evangelist, Samuel Hicks.”
“Oh yes, Reverend Hicks. We’re going to have to make sure to keep the man safe while we’re about catching our murderer.” The priest paused for a moment, his brow furrowed. Finally, after drawing a deep breath, he spoke reluctantly. “Though I hesitate to mention it, there is that one small chance that the man is the murderer himself. He came to Port Bellmont just before the ruffians took over the town, and the way he’s always shouting his message about having a direct line to God, and that only those who follow him will see eternal salvation, it’s just possible that he saw the murders as his way to accomplish his mission. It would not be the first time a person cloaked himself in the mantle of religion as a means to enslave others’ souls.”
A chill ran down Cassie’s spine. How could anyone murder another in the name of religion? And yet history proved how easily it had been done in the past.
“You’re right on both counts,” Mac’s voice broke the silence that followed Father Mike’s words. “It’s very possible that he could be either the next victim or the actual murderer. We’ll have to handle the guy as if either assumption could be correct. We’ll have to think of something to get him off the streets after Myra escapes.”
“Or, better yet, on the street, in the center of all of his lovely followers,” Father Mike said. “What safer place could there be?”
“So, all we’ll have to do is come up with a reason for him and his congregation to gather together.”
“How about an all night prayer vigil?” Cassie’s voice drew the eyes of the two conspirators. No one spoke for a moment as both Mac and Father Sullivan digested the fact that Cassie had let herself get caught up in their plans. “Oh, all right,” she finally broke the silence, “I still think you’re both crazy, but it’s obvious you’re going to go ahead with your nutty scheme with or without my help. If I can’t talk sense into either of you, I might as well join you. You two are going to need all the help you can get.”
In spite of her doubts, Cassie felt a swift surge of excitement race through her body. Did she dare allow herself to believe there might be salvation for her mother after all?
“Hold the light a little more to the left,” Mac whispered.
Cassie could hear the tension in his voice as he tried to fit the key into the lock. The alley they stood in, dark even on an ordinary night, was now also shrouded in a dense fog.
“Here, let me do it,” she offered. “I’ve done it a few times before, you know.”
Though she couldn’t see his face in the darkness, she could hear the annoyance in his voice as he muttered under his breath and handed her the key. This whole business was getting to him as badly as it was to her, she realized as she let her fingers roam over the door until she located the key hole. Skulking through empty, fog-shrouded streets in the middle of the night was hardly her cup of tea. But somehow she had expected Mac to take to the idea.
Boy, had she been wrong!
Ah, yes. She slipped the key into place and turned it. She was gratified to hear the sound of the bolt sliding back. The door squeaked on its hinges as she pushed it open.
The sound, though not a new one, took her by surprise, coming as it did out of the fog and darkness. A race of chills ran up her spine at its eerie sound. Magnified by the nearly total silence of the early morning hour, it grated on Cassie’s frazzled nerves.
As she stepped through the door, the all too familiar scents of her mother’s shop threatened to totally undo her. She hadn’t been here since the day Myra had been formally charged with the two murders. The guilt she felt at not taking proper care of her mother’s rather extensive herb garden had not been keen enough to overshadow the pain she knew she would experience upon entering the too quiet rooms.
Her instincts had been right on base, she realized as her throat constricted with the need to break down and cry, but she refused to give in. She had a job to do, damn it, and falling apart was simply not acceptable.
She gave herself a mental shake. Shape up, girl, she upbraided herself. You’re here to do a job. Now get on with it!
Training the light from her pencil-sized flashlight to the floor, Cassie turned to her left and headed up the stairs that led to her mother’s apartment above the shop. Mac followed, but not being as accustomed to his surroundings as his companion, managed to bump into a couple of crates as he negotiated his way to the stairs. Ascending the steps carefully, he muttered under his breath over the frustration of having to navigate his way in near total darkness.
The unique aroma of Myra’s home greeted Cassie as she stepped into the small living room. The blend of her mother’s favorite cologne and the dozens of plants scattered about the room, and out on the sun deck, reminded her of her mother, bringing the sting of tears to her eyes.
“I should have come up here sooner,” she commented, forcing the words past the tightness in her throat. “It’s just ... it’s ... oh, this is just too awful.”
And then, without preamble, the damn broke. Tears that had been held in check throughout the entire ordeal would be refused no longer.
Mac stood by helplessly as Cassie finally let her grief, her fears and her frustrations express themselves in a river of tears. He wanted to go her, to take her in his arms and tell her everything was going to be all right. He would have done anything in his power to give her back the life she had known before all this ugliness had torn her world to shreds, but he realized nothing he could do would change what had happened.
Instead of reaching out to her, he stood by the door, aching to go to her but knowing she needed the release the tears would give. She’d been brave for so long. Too brave perhaps. No one should hold so much anguish inside.
A sliver of light from the streetlight outside was the only illumination except for the feeble glow from their two flashlights. The darkness shielded Cassie, lending her a modicum of privacy from Mac’s concerned gaze. She hated for anyone to see her cry, and yet she found his shadowy presence comforting.
Mac fought the urge to go to her, to wrap his arms around her and absorb her grief. But something about her told him she would resent the act. Cassie Adams was a strong woman in her own quiet way. If she were to let her guard down and share her grief with anyone, even him, the walls she had built around herself might come tumbling down. And right now she needed those walls, though he hated the idea. All he could do was to let her know he was there for her, and that he believed in her with all his heart.
A myriad of emotions passed through him as he stood guard beside her, emotions which had never before touched him. He had never loved so deeply. He had never felt so protective of another. And he had never felt so completely vulnerable. The vulnerability left him feeling weak and helpless.
“Damn! I didn’t want to do this,” she said as she headed to the bathroom to get a tissue. “We don’t have time for me to start acting like a weakling.”
Wiping her eyes, she took a couple of deep but shaky breaths. Before Mac could think of an appropriate reply, she had filled two watering cans with water from the tap and handed one to him.
“Come on,” she instructed him, “As long as we’re here we might as well see if we can’t save at least a few of her plants. If we don’t water them now, who knows when we’ll get another chance? As you and Father Mike so eloquently warned me, I don’t dare come back when someone might see me, not if we’re really going to go through with his crazy scheme.”
Mac obediently took the watering can she offered and began to tend to Myra’s neglected plants. He knew zip about plants but suspected that they were the source of many of the dried herbs she sold downstairs in her shop.
When they had finished the job to Cassie’s satisfaction, they retraced their steps down
the stairs, this time turning to enter the shop. Although it was unlikely that anyone in town would be out and about at this time of night, they both were careful to shield the light from their tiny flashlights. If anyone even suspected what they were up to, all of their plans would be destroyed, not to mention the fact that they might be brought up on charges themselves.
Mac’s natural curiosity took over as he glanced around the small shop. In some ways it was what he had expected; in others it was far different. One whole wall was covered with bookshelves filled with a wide assortment of books. Off to one side was an arrangement of comfortable chairs and a small table, inviting Myra’s customers to browse through the books at leisure.
Along the opposite wall, behind glass-enclosed shelves filled with an assortment of crystals, polished stones, crystal balls and variously colored candles, were shelves lined with glass jars filled with God only knew what. It was to these jars that Cassie went, taking down several and placing them on the counter.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Mac asked, eyeing the huge display of peculiar looking paraphernalia.
“Don’t worry. I’ve been around this stuff all my life. In fact, I used to help Mom out in the shop we had in Berkeley. I know exactly which herbs will do the trick. I’ll just take what I need now and mix them up later. It’s important to get the proportions and dosage correct to get the effect Father Mike is looking for.”
Mac could only stand back and let Cassie do her thing. He had never felt so out of his element in his life. Never in his wildest dreams could he have pictured himself breaking into a witch’s shop, waiting patiently while another witch gathered the ingredients to make a witch’s brew. And to top it all off, he was head over heels in love with the witch in question.
“Okay, I’m ready,” Cassie whispered from across the darkened room. “I just hope we’re doing the right thing.”
Mac wished with all his heart that he could reassure her that they were, but the words stuck in his throat. What they were planning was a crime that could blow up in all of their faces. But, as Father Sullivan had said, they had no choice. Try as he might, he couldn’t think of any other way to accomplish their purpose.
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