by Jill Nojack
“It was a long time ago. Few people even remember the story about my grandfather anymore. But until everyone started scaring their kids with the story of William Stanford, the story they told to keep them in line was how Josiah Taylor killed his second wife and dug up his first.”
“And William is here right now?” Cassie’s eyes darted around the shop again.
“He’s outside as instructed. I got tired of his jabbering. He did always like to talk.” She looked out the big picture window where William was peering back in at her, smiling. He nodded expectantly. He would have looked dapper if he’d died in something other than that horrid sweater vest. “I thought you should meet him. We need your help.”
“What kind of help?” Cassie and Gillian spoke at the same time, darted their eyes to each other, then looked back at Nat.
“To solve these new murders. I’m sure they were committed by the same person who committed the original ones. It’s possible that once his name is cleared, William can finally find the peace he needs to go on to his afterlife. Of course, this depends on also solving the mystery of how he died. I’ve always assumed the two were linked.”
Cassie’s eyes widened. “He doesn’t know how he died?”
“They often don’t, dear. Particularly the ones who refuse to run along to the Summerlands when their time is up. Maybe it’s too final for them. Not that I have all the answers, mind you. There are still plenty of mysteries about death, even for a witch with knowledge of death magic. You never really know until you take that portal to the other side, do you?” She handed each of them a bottle full of thick, greenish liquid. “Prepare yourselves, please. We’ll need to up your supply of adrenaline for a moment to intensify the spell. You’ll only have a couple of minutes, so talk fast if you plan on having a conversation. Ignore the sweater. I never could get him to stop wearing it.”
She watched them drink their potions approvingly, then called, “William? They’re ready,” as both of them flushed bright pink. Gillian fanned at her face with both hands while Natalie blew a fine powder toward them from her open palm.
***
When Twink found Daria waiting at the house after school with instructions to pack, she didn’t roll her eyes even once. Daria knew that she would never hear the end of it from Mama, but maybe she could at least shelter Twink from Mama’s anger. For now, her mama wouldn’t know where they’d gone and she wasn’t the kind to ask around for them. Mama Barton didn’t want anyone up in her personal business.
When she parked behind Cat’s Magical Shoppe, Daria asked Twink to stay in the car for a minute while she reached under the mat for the key. The metal was cool between her fingers. At least something was going right. She got her first set of boxes out of the car and set them inside the door. She motioned for Twink to follow.
Nothing much had changed in the parlor since the last time she’d visited Cassie there during summer vacations. When Daria went back for her packages, Twink stood in the doorway, her lone bag in her hand, her hoodie pulled up around her curls, hiding her face.
“Come on. Don’t stand there looking like you’ve just lost your last friend. Things will get better. We’ll get the rest of my stuff from the car and then we’ll sort out who gets what room. I’ve never been upstairs because Cassie’s grandmother didn’t like kids much, but I bet it’s nice. The old lady had some serious cash.”
Daria hustled upstairs with Twink’s slower steps sounding behind her. Her shoulders clenched involuntarily when she pictured the fury that had glowed in Mama’s eyes when she’d said, “You got no idea what you’re gettin’ yourself into. She’s the spittin’ image of your grandmother in more ways than one. You’ll be back wishin’ you didn’t never take her in. You mark those words, girl.”
Daria knew that Mama hadn’t gotten along with her own mother, but the old woman had died by the time Daria was born, and no one talked about her much. It was worth more than you wanted to pay if Mama heard her mother’s name mentioned.
“Come on, Twink,” she said as she walked into the bedroom on the left, taking it all in. “This room is wild, isn’t it?” She ran her hand across the silky surface of the shiny, red, embroidered bedspread. “Wow, that’s satin, the old expensive stuff like in the vintage stores. This room is cool. Feminine, that’s for sure. A real lady’s ‘boudoir,’ like in some old movie.”
“Awfully red, isn’t it? Like the whole room is wearing some skank’s lipstick.” Twink walked to the bed and ran her hand along the satin spread while looking around at the matching wall hangings and curtains with the pink tassel pulls. She walked to the vanity and sat on the metal stool with the scrolled backrest while she looked at herself in the big mirror with the faceted insets around the outside. When she was done, she walked to the window and pulled the curtains aside to look out into the downtown street below. “It’s maybe cool, though.”
Twink didn’t turn back to face her cousin, but Daria could hear the hint of suppressed desire in her voice when Twink asked her, “You want this one?”
“No,” Daria replied. “Too fancy for me. You take it. I’ll see what else we’ve got.”
She waited while Twink took off her hoodie, folded it, and put it down gently on the velvet bedside chair, leaving her mark.
***
After Natalie had left for the day, Cassie poured boiling water from the kettle into Gillian’s cup and then moved to fill her own. “That was odd, wasn’t it? Seeing a ghost?” she said as she watched the steaming liquid fill the cup, scenting the kitchenette with mint and lavender.
“Can you imagine, though?” Gillian replied. “No wonder she’s such a misery guts. Spending years clinging on to that purse so that her dead lover—no, that’s not right, if she’s a ‘maid’ as she says she is—her secret boyfriend then, who everyone says killed three people, doesn’t keep showing up mooning around her, reminding her that he isn’t really gone. How could anyone move on from something like that?”
“I’m kinda glad that he stopped Nat from making another ward, aren’t you? He seemed nice.”
“That’s fortunate since he’s your tenant.” Gillian smiled.
Cassie tugged her lip absently and said, “Yeah, I’m not sure how I feel about having a ghost around the place. It’s a little creepy, isn’t it? Especially if it turns out Natalie’s got it all wrong. I mean, there’s no real proof that he didn’t do what he was suspected of. When Tom was telling me about it, it sounded like they’d found a lot of evidence that pointed right at him.”
“I don’t know about any of that. I didn’t move to the States until later. But how could anyone look as innocent as he did and be guilty of anything? No, I’m with Natalie. Let’s see what we can do about solving the mystery of this murder and putting things right.”
“Sure. And maybe Nat will let William move in with her while we work on that.” Cassie hoped she hadn’t sounded too pushy. It might not be a great idea having a ghost hanging around the house with a baby on the way, even if he did look like a refugee from reruns of Leave It to Beaver.” She smiled as she said, “It might even perk her up a little if she had a man around the house. Look how much happier you are now that Robert is in the picture.”
Gillian reached over and patted her hand. “Yes. But I’d like to keep Robert alive, thank you.”
“Oh yeah, sorry . . . I didn’t mean it like that.” She grabbed a set of dirty tea cups and washed them under a streamed of running water at the sink, setting them on the draining board when she was done. “If you don’t mind closing up, I think I heard Daria come in earlier, and I want to welcome her and her cousin to their new home.”
“No bother at all, dear.” Gillian winked. “I’ve been meaning to have a good clear-out and reorganize when Natalie wasn’t around to stick her nose in it. Now seems like the perfect time!”
***
“Look, I’m really sorry that I had to go to the police about the accident. I didn’t want to,” Cassie said, but Twink wasn’t interested. As far as she w
as concerned, her new landlord should have gone home after work instead of stopping by for a visit.
She crossed her arms, defiant. “I haven’t done anything wrong. Marcus didn’t do anything wrong. That wench was crazy. I shouldn’t have to talk to the cops. That’s why I didn’t go talk to them when you put your nose all up in it in the first place.”
She also didn’t want to hear about it from Daria again, but Daria jumped in anyway. “Look, Twink, nobody thinks you did anything wrong. You were just one of the last people to see that woman before they found her. So they have to ask you questions. They’ll want to know who the boy is and where he went afterward. Cassie was right about that.”
“They think Marcus did it? Marcus would never do anything to hurt anyone. He was protecting me. I’d be more likely to kill someone than he ever would.”
Cassie sat down next to her on the couch and tried to pat her shoulder, but Twink flinched away. Cassie’s voice was quiet, friendly, like she was on Twink’s side, but Twink knew better. And she certainly didn’t want anyone talking to her like she was a stupid kid. Cassie said, “I believe you. Except you might not want to put it exactly that way, know what I mean? All the police want is answers about what happened to that woman after the accident. No one is accusing you guys. They just need to talk to you so they can rule you out.”
Daria added, “And Cassie is really, really helping us out by renting this place to us, so you should thank her for that. You know I’m right. This is lots better than both of us trying to squeeze into my old place.”
Twink’s eyes narrowed, and she uncrossed her arms to point a finger at her cousin. “You don’t need to double-team me. You’re worse than my mother!” Thinking about her mother took all the fight out of her. “Just leave me alone. I’ll talk to them. It’s not like I have a choice anymore, is it?”
She stormed upstairs and slammed the door to the big, red room. The impact rattled all the windows in the house.
6
The next day, Cinnamon Brown glided in to Cat’s Magical Shoppe a few minutes before opening time, her long gypsy skirt kissing the floor, her gold-painted nails and eyelids glinting against her dark skin. She carried a large bag across her shoulder and a folded card table grasped in one hand.
“Thanks for letting me drop this off, Gilly-girl. I know the shop isn’t open yet, but Sean is taking my car away for repairs tomorrow and I can’t carry this table all the way from home without it. I don’t want to have to cancel.”
“Nor do we want you to,” Gillian said, moving aside a tall stand of pussy willow branches so that Cinnamon had easier access to the small storeroom where she gave her readings. “It’s nice when we can bring Salem people to Giles instead of the other way around. I know Cassie would be happy to make your readings a permanent offering so you could leave your things. The store does well on the days you’re here.”
Cinnamon acknowledged the compliment with a dip of her chin as she bent to open the table legs.
“Nothing serious with your car, I hope?”
“No, no . . . but Sean says it needs basic maintenance or it will end up serious. He’s a player, that one, but he’s a handy friend to have if a woman has enough sense not to get her heart tangled up with him.”
“Handyman Sean? He just put up a door here.” Gillian raised an eyebrow. “Oh, that’s right, he mentioned you.”
Cinnamon took a folded cloth out of her large shoulder bag and unfolded it. “Let me guess—he said I make a mean cinnamon roll?” Gillian nodded, so she continued. “The man sure thinks he’s clever, and he can’t resist trying to make people believe he’s planting seeds in everyone’s patch.”
She shook the cloth out into the air and it settled gently across the top of the table. She straightened it just so. “But a grown woman, she ought to know better, and I am well grown. You warn young Cassie, though. That one doesn’t care if a woman has commitments.”
Finally, she took a pack of tarot cards out of her purse and set it on the table.
Gillian grinned. “Oh, Cassie’s fine. But if I were thirty years younger and Robert wasn’t in the picture . . .”
Cinnamon laid out a row of runes on the table as she talked. They were from a nice set, carved from jadeite, and they looked good against the maroon tablecloth. “Girl, let me tell you, it doesn’t need to be thirty years. The man is seriously experimental. You know that woman who got herself killed out by the lake in Corey Woods a couple days ago?”
If Gillian had drifted off to an image of male pulchritude earlier, all of her attention was on the conversation now.
“Caroline Akers? What about her?”
“What do you think—early fifties, maybe? At least ten years older than me, so she had to be twenty years older than Sean. Well, they were meeting up together out in those woods in the parking lot by the cabins. He says she had a thing for getting busy in places where she might get caught. He seems pretty spooked about her turning up dead, though. Especially since he was with her the day before they found her.”
“Oh my. Do you think the police know about this?” Gillian asked.
“What? You think Sean had something to do with it? No, not that man . . .”
“Or if her husband knew about the affair, that would give him a motive, wouldn’t it?”
Cinnamon looked thoughtful. “There you go makin’ too much sense. You think I should give Sean a push to go in to the cops? ‘Cause he didn’t do it, that’s for sure. But it’s not like he’s discreet. The husband could have found out easy enough.”
“If he was my friend, I’d encourage him. It’ll be a lot better for him than if the police find out about the affair on their own.”
“I’ll talk to him when he picks up the car later today,” Cinnamon said. “I like him. I don’t want to see him in trouble.” She headed for the door, but Gillian followed, stopping her with a hand on her arm.
Gillian asked, “Do you think he’d be willing to let Natalie ask him some questions? She has a special interest in this. I’d like to tell her about it with your permission.”
Cinnamon shrugged. “Don’t see why not. She’s female, isn’t she?” she said as she glided out, laughing. “I’d like to see Sean try to charm that one.”
7
Sean was surprised to find one of the women from Cat’s Magical Shoppe standing outside his door so early in the morning. Maybe the beefcake show he’d put on while working there had been a little over the top.
Based on his in-depth experience with women, he realized that his visitor was probably older than she looked. Not that it mattered much, since she looked like she was in her early sixties, putting her out of his range of interest. If she was looking for a booty call, she was out of luck. But no, that was not what she wanted. Her severe expression made it clear she expected something but had no plan to make it pleasant for him.
After she introduced herself as Natalie Taylor, he let her in at her request for a private conversation. Could be she had a job for him. Working on the old houses in Giles was turning out to be lucrative.
There was nothing particularly physically imposing about her; she was thin, with brown-verging-toward-black eyes and a chin-length, tidy, and still thick head of gray hair. That she looked like someone’s grandmother didn’t matter. It was the way she sat squarely on the couch in her black pantsuit with those dark eyes never leaving his face that told him what he needed to know about her; Sean thought she was the most commanding female he’d ever faced. Even tougher than Caroline, who he’d been careful to approach with kid gloves to avoid the outbursts. He decided quickly that he would need to handle Natalie with something softer than kid gloves—fluffy pillows wrapped in marshmallows maybe? Because if she decided to bite, those slightly graying teeth—her own, he was sure, despite her age—would sink in deep.
He was surprised when she said, “Cinnamon Brown says you knew Caroline Akers. Tell me about your relationship with the deceased.”
“Look, I already told the cops everything
I know about it when I stopped into the cop shop yesterday. I don’t mean to be rude to such a lovely lady as yourself, but why do I need to tell you about it too?”
Natalie sighed, and her expression softened a little, but he didn’t think it was in response to his flattery. Maybe not such a dragon lady after all, he thought.
She replied, “I have a personal interest in this investigation. What happened to Mrs. Akers mirrors a series of murders that happened a long time ago. Murders that were blamed on someone I knew.”
“You knew William Stanford? The strangler guy? I mean, you were close? That’s who you’re talking about, right?”
She pursed her lips, parting them a moment later with a dry, clucking sound. “You’ve put a foot in it if you thought you couldn’t be accused of being a copycat. You obviously know the stories.” She jotted down something in the notebook that had somehow appeared in her hand.
“Who doesn’t? It’s the first thing any of the townies ever gossip about with out-of-towners, although not the last, that’s for sure. Giles is pretty dull as far as I can tell from the rest of what they’ve got to gossip about. Not much to do. But I gotta say, the town did put on a mean show at the last Witching Faire. That was kick-butt. If you do that every year, you could really draw some crowds.”
Her back stiffened. Dig up the demon Anat, who currently resides inside Natalie’s much-loved original red purse within a block of concrete, so that she can tear a hole in the veil between life and death for the amusement of the masses? Over Natalie’s very dead body.
Between gritted teeth, she responded, “Hmmm . . . I don’t think the town has the resources or the energy to put on another show like the last one. You attended?”
“I was sanding Cinnamon Brown’s floors that week, heard about it, and thought it could be fun. Brought my nephews. They had a blast. Those costumed folks walking around, like the one with her head under her arm? Creepy.”
“Yes, but here we are in Salem, so why are you in Giles so often if you don’t live there? Not much to do around town, like you say.”