by Jill Nojack
Cassie got dressed, then pulled up the contact for Daria on her cell as she headed through the house toward the garage. All she got was her friend’s voicemail: “Leave a message. The usual drill.”
This would be the worst time for Daria to start swiping left on her. On her second try, she left a message. “Daria, call me. Twink needs to go to the police about the accident. It’s really important that I talk to you.”
Tom moved up behind her and rubbed her shoulders. “You want me to go with you?”
“No, I’ll be fine. But if Daria can’t convince Twink to go in and tell the police what happened or tells me she’ll hate me forever for talking to them myself, you can have a big batch of carbs ready for my dinner when I get home tonight. Baby will definitely need comfort food.” She’d looked down as she said it, knowing Tom wouldn’t think twice if she called herself baby because that’s what he always called her. There wouldn’t be a bump down there for ages yet, but she smiled a secret smile at it anyway. She could hardly wait until she was far enough along to do a pregnancy test that didn’t rely on magic, just to be sure, and let Tom in on the secret, too. But her stealthy internet research told her she still had at least two weeks to go before she’d be ready for that kind of confirmation.
When they parted ways after Tom parked Eunice’s old station wagon behind the Diner of Earthly Delights, she nearly forgot a goodbye kiss because of what she had to do. Kids needed to be protected; they should be allowed to make mistakes and not pay more for them than is due. If she let one of the local gossips report the accident, it would turn into robbery at gunpoint. Small-town people can have some really big-time imaginations.
Still, if what she was doing was right, why did it feel so wrong? She dialed the police station from in front of the gallery. The desk sergeant made an appointment for her to come in and report the incident the next morning. He told her the whole department was engaged today and unavailable for anything other than emergencies.
She didn’t tell him she already knew why. The news probably wouldn’t be around town yet. She made an appointment to go in to talk to the Chief early the next morning.
As soon as she hung up, her phone rang and Daria’s pretty face smiled up at her from the screen. She steeled herself, then swiped right.
4
The day after the murder, Cassie dragged herself into the gallery, feeling drained from her early morning interview with the police. But if Cassie looked drained, Natalie, who had been sitting in the lobby when Cassie was on her way out, looked like she’d been drained and wrung out, drained again, and then hung out on the line as an afterthought. Their greeting had been brief—a “hi” from Cassie followed by raised eyebrows from Natalie.
Dash had known she might be late, and he and Jon were hovering around the counter, perusing a takeout menu from the Diner of Earthly Delights. They were discussing what sounded good, holding hands as they said, “mmmmm,” or “no, too rich.”
“It’s all good, you know,” Cassie told them. “Tom could make an old sneaker taste great. He’s super excited about buying his grandfather’s old family business and wants everyone to love it as much as he does. Anyway, sorry I’m late. You can go out now instead of bringing something in.” Cassie had almost forgotten to put the part about Tom’s grandfather, who was Tom himself, into the mix. But Dash and Jon knew nothing about Tom’s past, and no matter how much she cared for them, that was how it had to stay. Tom had a birth certificate that said he was Tom Sanders III, and that’s who everyone but the coven thought he was.
Dash said, “Obviously, work has to come second in a situation like this. It’s terrible, just terrible. Do you think the police will want to talk to me too?”
“I don’t know. I told them we both went out to see what happened, so they might contact you. I feel rotten about the whole thing—I wish I hadn’t seen it. Those kids had nothing to do with the murder. I’m sure of it.”
Dash leaned in across the counter, conspiratorial, and Jon followed his lead. “Did you get any details? Do they have any suspects yet?”
Cassie shrugged and shook her head. “I was there for them to ask me questions, not the other way around.” She realized she felt uncomfortable now that her friends had adopted the gossip pose. They hadn’t seen the body. Or nearly eaten it. “But look, if you guys want to go to lunch . . .”
“Actually,” Dash, said, taking Jon’s hand, “Lou Frank is coming in today, and I want Jon to meet him . . .”
Jon winked. “Dash has a crush on him. We may have to duke it out. He talks of nothing and no one else since the man offered his work to the gallery on consignment.” He squeezed his partner’s hand. “But I do enjoy his work.” He looked toward the wall where the artist’s paintings hung. “And we have to encourage our local celebrities if we want to put Giles on the map. Wasn’t that the reason we hired that unfortunate woman?”
“Wait a minute, Lou Frank is coming here?” She reached into her purse for the vintage compact she’d kept from her grandmother’s things. Lou Frank was such an amazing artist—there was no point in making a poor impression. The rhinestones on the lid sparkled as she opened the compact to check her makeup and decided she needed another layer of candy-pink lip gloss. The applicator was still sliding across her lips when the bell above the door sounded.
When she turned, she was surprised how handsome he was. She knew from his bio that Lou Frank was in his seventies, but a thick shock of white hair fell rakishly over his forehead in a mass of curls. She was pretty sure he’d had some work done too, because she knew he wasn’t a client for the shop’s Magical Masque, which kept Natalie looking at least ten years younger than she was. He would have been a lady killer when he was young.
Jon whispered to Dash behind her, “Put your tongue back in your mouth, dear.”
Dash giggled. Then he rushed past her with his hand outstretched, gushing. “It’s such a pleasure. This is Cassie, who’s training to take over the gallery when I retire, and this is my partner, Jon. They’re both huge fans.”
Lou smiled at him indulgently and shook Jon’s hand. After that, his gaze moved to Cassie. “Are you a fan, truly?”
“Oh, absolutely. Your work is so . . .”
“Then I have something for you. Because I won’t sell a painting that’s been returned. It has no value to me unless it goes to someone who will love it enough to make it worth something again. I’m withdrawing this despised painting from sale.” He walked to the wall of watercolors and took down the portrait that Cassie had admired so much only yesterday.
After removing the price tag on the back, he handed it to her. “I hope you’ll accept this as a gift from me. I have the perfect replacement for it, which I will return with soon. Perhaps we could meet for a glass of wine and discuss art, life, when I do? After all, aren’t they the same?”
The question hung in the air as Cassie looked down at the beautiful artwork in her hands, stunned. Then she remembered herself. “I can’t accept this, and . . .”
“I’m aware you’re married. You wear a ring that proclaims that loudly. And you’re too young for me even if you were available. But you know how this town is, don’t you? Everyone is busy telling everybody they know about anyone else’s business. The grapevine also tells me that you recently earned an art degree, so I can safely predict it won’t bore me senseless to converse with you. You’d be surprised how few people really enjoy talking art. Particularly in Giles.”
“Oh . . .” She blushed.
“Not that I wouldn’t chase you around that counter if I were a younger man . . .”
She blushed even darker. “I still can’t . . .”
“Of course you can. Otherwise I’ll just throw it away. Please take it.”
“I . . . well . . . you would really throw it away?”
“I would.”
“I guess I have to take it, don’t I?” She beamed at him. “You’ll have to come for dinner. My husband is an amazing cook, and he wouldn’t mind us talking art
at all. We recently moved in to the old Stanford place.”
There was a flicker of recognition mixed with something else, but it disappeared before she could latch onto it. He said, “I know it well, and I’ll look forward to it. Now, please, let me relieve you of this for a moment,” he said, taking the picture and placing it carefully on the counter, “so that I can bid you farewell.”
Cassie felt like royalty when he bent at the waist and kissed her hand.
“Until we meet again.” He turned and strode toward the door.
From behind her, Cassie heard Dash say, “Jon and I would also love to have you come for dinner if . . .”
The artist lifted his right hand, waving the suggestion off without even looking back.
***
Natalie had chosen a no-nonsense black pantsuit for her interview that day, and her steel-gray bobbed hair was sprayed carefully in place so that no strays could distract her. She knew she’d need all of her wits about her to make sure that she got through it without losing her composure again.
She ignored Chief Denton’s posturing as he leaned back in his chair, his shirt sleeves unbuttoned and pushed up over his ropey forearms. His hands made a steeple in front of his mouth while they waited for his assistant to return with files that had been stored in the basement for fifty years. Natalie had at least convinced him to send someone to look for them. That was something.
They had mistrusted each other since an unfortunate incident in the nineties when Denton had been a young officer and Natalie had been pulled in for questioning after an impromptu healing spell had gone wrong. In a moment of haste, she had missed it when her patient’s spirit passed through to the Summerlands, going beyond anything healing could help. Her ritual, performed too enthusiastically and far too publicly, had blown the doors out at the emergency room and melted the wheels on the town’s only ambulance. In the end, Robert, the long-time mayor of Giles and now Gillian’s boyfriend, had smoothed the waters, convincing Denton that Natalie couldn’t possibly have been responsible for an act of sabotage at the hospital given her excellent reputation as a nurse, but the damage had been done. For twenty years, they’d circled warily around each other like alpha wolves protecting their packs.
Finally, Denton moved his hands to the desk. “So, what makes you think this murder is like the ones from the—what was it? The Sanford murders?”
“Stanford. And there was never a trial. William Stanford wasn’t convicted of any crime. He disappeared just before they named him as a suspect.”
“If every kid in Giles grew up on the legend this could be a copycat killer, that’s what you’re saying? Or are you saying this Sanford fellow is back to finish what he started?”
“Stanford! The man’s name was William Stanford. And he’s not back. There’s no doubt of that.”
The chief looked her in the eyes, trying too hard to read something there, she thought. He asked, “And how would you know?”
“I have my ways.”
“As in, you helped him escape the first time?”
She glared at him. “Are you going to take this seriously or not?”
A voice sounded from the door. “Karl, how’s things?”
Natalie turned to see Robert standing in the doorway, dressed in mayor casual, with his dress shirt open at the top button and his tie loosened. His black shoes reflected the shine from the overhead lights only slightly more brightly than the shine from the top of his very bald head.
He nodded at her when she turned. “Nat. Good to see you. Gilly told me the two of you had gotten yourself into a situation in the woods. She asked me to check in when you stopped by today. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Ms. Taylor was just telling me that this killing looks a lot like one that happened in Giles a long time ago. The Sanford murders. Do you remember them?” Denton said.
Robert’s eyes dropped to Natalie’s quickly, and he held her gaze for a second longer than necessary. He’d known about them, about her and William. She pulled her eyes away. She didn’t need his compassion.
Robert looked back up at the chief. “I never believed that William could do what he was accused of—and it’s Stanford, not Sanford, by the way. He was a good man. If he hadn’t disappeared during all of that mess, I’m sure he’d be sitting in the mayor’s chair now instead of me. Everyone thought a lot of him, and his family did good things for this town before they withdrew from the community when William disappeared. They never recovered from any of it: the accusations, William going missing. It was too much for them.”
Natalie glanced back at the chief as if to say, “See?”
She stood up to leave. She’d accomplished what she’d come here to do; the file would be plopped onto the chief’s desk sometime soon. He might be annoying, but he was a persistent little cur, and he’d see in that file exactly what he was meant to see. If there was evidence linking these murders to the old ones, it could finally clear William’s name.
But she wasn’t going to sit around waiting for Denton to make headway. No, she had her own resources. No reason to twiddle her thumbs until the official results were in. Her own investigation would begin today, right after her shift at the shop ended.
***
The last orange sliver of sunset still lit the sky when Gerald Akers opened the door, peeking around the door jamb at Natalie. She noted that his eyes were red-rimmed and his voice shaky, but she told herself he might simply be drunk and celebrating after a successful kill. You can never be sure about these things. Natalie had seen enough of both life and the afterlife to know that nothing was certain.
“Mr. Akers? I’m Natalie Taylor. The ladies in the choir want to extend their condolences.” It wasn’t from the choir, obviously. Although the members of Giles’s “choir” would certainly agree that it had been if Akers thanked them for the casserole their high priestess had delivered. She held out the large casserole dish that held a repackaged store-bought lasagna. She was competent with herbal teas, but making edible dinners could not be considered one of her skills. It had been TV dinners all the way for Natalie since they’d first appeared on the market.
Gerald took a deep breath and opened the door wide. “You’re so kind. Will you come in? If you’ll write down the reheating instructions for me, I’d appreciate it. I can’t seem to remember anything for more than a few minutes today.”
“I’d be happy to,” Natalie said, following him to the kitchen. She noted that Caroline’s husband was quite a bit older than his wife’s reported age of fifty-five. He appeared to be in his mid-to-late sixties. But then, grief can age a person overnight. She’d seen it happen often enough among her peers. But even on a happier day, he wouldn’t be an attractive man. His red-rimmed eyes were small, his nose was large, and his cheeks were pitted and pockmarked. He was in good physical shape, though. His rolled-up sleeves revealed well-muscled forearms, and he moved like a younger man with none of the delicacy or stiffness of someone with aging joints.
As she wrote down instructions—she hoped they would result in a warmed meal rather than a burned one—she said, “You must miss her terribly.”
He sighed another sigh that narrowly escaped turning into a sob when he pulled it back at the last minute.
“I’m a terrible husband. I didn’t even report her missing. I assumed she’d spent the night in Boston with friends because she was unhappy with me. I didn’t think anything of it until the police arrived this morning.”
“Oh?” she prompted, extending a hand to pat his. It was an unnatural and uncomfortable gesture for her, and she pulled back almost immediately in disgust at her own duplicity. She needed to get out of here. It wasn’t right to be snooping, not now. Not even to find out the truth for William’s sake. But his next words made her stay.
“She’d gone shopping. Shopping! Shopping for a man who wasn’t me, I’d bet. If she had been merrily spending my money in Boston like she said she was going to, she would have been perfectly safe . . .” He broke down, his head falli
ng into a well made by his folded arms. His back rose and fell sharply, like he was sobbing silently.
The scent of ozone filled her nostrils, and a voice sounded in her ear. “Leave the poor man alone. I don’t want your help if it causes this kind of pain.”
William. The last thing she needed was him squatting on her shoulder like a good angel. But she couldn’t respond to him. Not now.
Fortunately, her own resolve was sitting on her other shoulder to urge her on.
“Why do you think she was in Giles instead of Boston?” she asked as gently as she was capable of.
Gerald’s breathing began to relax. He was clearly fighting to pull himself together. Good. Enough of his sloppy grief. She needed answers.
He raised his head and, despite his previous sobs, his eyes and cheeks were now dry. “I don’t know. She seldom told me her full plans. She was out a lot, saying she was meeting with the town council about the publicity campaign or going to one of the businesses to gather information for social media teasers. I thought things were going well with her campaign and she was enjoying it. She always came home in a mellower mood. I’d hoped she was starting to like Giles, but maybe she only liked someone she’d found here.”
William’s voice in her ear said, “Come on Nat. He’s had enough,” but empathy had never been her strong suit.
She asked, “Was there anyone in particular you suspect she might have gone to see?”
His eyes and mouth tightened. “There was a handyman she hired. Sam or Shane. Something manly like that. I never met him. He was always gone before I got home. She said they had become friends. I was still tying things up with the business before we sold the condo and moved here full-time. He did a nice job with the kitchen cabinets.” He looked away, although she couldn’t tell if it was due to anger or grief, before turning back with a face drained of all emotion. “If there was something more between them . . . well, who could resist her? She was fearless, beautiful, intelligent. That she’d ever looked at a man like me . . .”