The Innocent Dead: A Witch Cozy Mystery (The Maid, Mother, and Crone Paranormal Mystery Series Book 1)

by Jill Nojack

  Gillian was clapping her hands together, knocking chunks of mud from her heavy gardening gloves when Natalie joined her at the officer’s grave.

  Natalie surveyed Gillian’s work. She had pulled out or trimmed the grass and weeds at the grave site to a uniform level, leaving enough space to do the work they’d come here for. “Yes, this will do.”

  “Do you think it’s in your vocabulary to ever, just once, say thank you?” Gillian asked, shaking her head.

  A young voice carried to them from behind. “Fighting already?”

  The two women turned to see Cassie picking her way toward them through the rows of tilting gravestones.

  “Of course we are, sweetheart. It’s what we do,” said Gillian, smiling.

  “You’re late,” Natalie added. “Did you bring it?”

  Cassie looked down to the box she was carrying, then back up to Natalie. “Um . . . yeah. You see the pet carrier at the end of my arm, don’t you?”

  “I was merely verifying its contents. You needn’t be so testy,” Natalie said.

  Cassie’s eyes rolled. “Really Nat, I don’t know about you sometimes. Maybe Gillian’s right. Maybe you’ve finally lost it.”

  “Just put it down here,” Natalie said. Gillian bent down to the kitten, a finger extending through the bars to give it a scratch behind one of its small, midnight-black ears, but Natalie stopped her, saying, “And don’t play with it! It’s got a job to do here the same as the rest of us.”

  “Talk about testy,” Gillian said. “Someone’s on tenterhooks about this ritual, I’d say. Are you sure you want to go through with it? The last time someone in Giles messed with power beyond the veil . . .”

  “Yes. Yes, I do. I need to protect myself now that I’m a target, but more than that, I believe William is gone, dissolved, and it’s my fault. Mine and mine alone. He didn’t deserve to lose his chance for a peaceful afterlife because of me. I have to clear his name now. I owe it to him. I won’t have people talking about him that way again.”

  Cassie gave her a one-armed hug, at which Natalie stiffened. “I don’t need pity. I simply need your help to make sure that there’s enough magic to hold the spirit here until we have some answers. Calling one back from beyond the veil is more difficult and much more dangerous to pull off than calling one that never made it to the other side. Without the proper balance of the elements, the results can be explosive.”

  Cassie drew away with a sigh. “You got it, Nat, but when are you just going to let people care about you?”

  Natalie didn’t answer. She was already putting on the long black robe she’d retrieved from her purse. Cassie and Gillian looked at each other and shrugged before pulling on their matching robes as Natalie placed candles at five points around the grave. When she was appropriately attired, Gillian rubbed the tip of a taper in between her thumb and forefinger until it started to flame. She followed Natalie around the circle, lighting the candles.

  Gillian placed the long taper at the center after the other candles were lit, about a foot in front of the headstone. The bright flame emphasized the gathering dusk around them. Natalie sunk to the damp ground in front of it. The morning’s rain was gone, but it was not forgotten. She crossed her legs and cupped her hands on her knees. The others didn’t need to know that it was only to warm them because they ached in the chill spring air.

  She heard the soft groan behind her, and the whispered, “Oh no, the ground is far too wet for this.”

  “You don’t need to sit, Gillian. Just keep watch from outside the circle and pull me out if anything goes wrong. And keep up the chant until I’ve finished with the specter. Even if the elements are properly balanced, it can be risky, depending on the strength of the spirit. Of course, he may not answer the call if he’s been to the Summerlands or if he’s moved through to be reborn.” She looked over her shoulder and held out a hand. “I’ll need the cat.”

  Cassie bent down and undid the carrier door, reaching in for Cat, who batted playfully at her hand. “He’s safe, right? Nothing you do will hurt him?”

  “He’s safe. He’s just an amplifier. Cats, ones that aren’t carrying around a human on the inside,” she said, nodding to Cassie, “are like death witches. They often see the dead. With the two of us, it will be easier to ‘tune in’ a spirit, so to speak.”

  Cassie gave the kitten a quick cuddle and handed it over. Natalie sat it in her lap and the kitten promptly curled up there, shoved its head up tight into the crook of Natalie’s left leg, and went to sleep.

  Once it was settled, she opened her red purse and took out an ornate metal plate, followed by the high priestess’s athame; several packets of herbs; and half a dozen small, colorful bottles of liquids. Natalie heard Cassie whisper to Gillian, “Looks like the new purse is bigger on the inside, too.”

  “Silence,” Natalie barked. She began to chant as she sprinkled herbs onto the plate, counting the drops as she added various potions, then lit the result with the taper. It burned with a blue flame, sparks leaping off into the twilight like living things, brightly at first and then dimming as they aged. Cassie and Gillian picked up the chant behind her, saying the syllables low and soft until they ran together in a stream of layered sound.

  When Natalie felt the ritual space shift toward the ethereal, she began, speaking loudly above the droning chant of the other two: “Bill Charcross, you know me. You came to me to cure your warts. And I did. The poultice I gave you made them all drop off before that dance you worried so much about, remember? And now, Bill, even though you have passed beyond the veil, I need you to come to me again.”

  Nothing happened. The flame still burned. There was no breeze to make it waver.

  “I call you, Bill. Bill Charcross! I helped you once. Will you help me? Will you do your job one more time, will you bring a criminal to justice? Will you catch a murderer you failed to catch in life?”

  The flame flickered suddenly, burning outward, showering sparks. Natalie woke the kitten and set it in front of the flame. It backed away and hissed.

  “I know you’re here, Bill. The warmth of the flame is yours if you want it.”

  Natalie had only seen the ritual once, when her mother had performed it, and she was as surprised this time as she’d been the last when the small flame burst outward into thousands of glowing embers. She startled backward, catching herself on the heels of her hands to prevent tipping over, then quickly regained control and lifted her head toward the coalescing spirit within the sparks that were now concentrating around him like electrons around the nucleus of an atom.

  “I remember you,” he said. His voice sounded distant. Only a small part of his spirit would have traveled here from the Summerlands; he wasn’t a proper ghost, not like William. But this piece of his spirit should have the answers she needed.

  Cat tired of spitting at the new arrival and backed into Natalie’s lap, snuggling into the hollow made by her crossed legs, but not coiling for sleep.

  “Thank you, Bill. I appreciate you coming. I won’t keep you long. Do you remember the case they called the Stanford murders?”

  “Of course I do. Who could forget it? It’s still hard to believe that William Stanford had it in him to do those terrible things.”

  “It is, and I don’t believe it. Never have. It seems the real murderer may have returned, but some of the information from the original investigation didn’t make it into the files. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

  “Dunno. It wasn’t my direct investigation, although it was me and Jeff who found the third victim, just by accident, back behind the Stanford place. We were out fishing.” The specter shook its head. “A reporter from Boston, they said. The chief figured he’d been poking around where he shouldn’t have. And him being found right out by the Stanford’s dock? Just made William Stanford look that much more guilty once they found the matching rope in the boathouse.”

  “It had all the same characteristics as the other bodies? All of them?”

  �
��Far as I remember. All killed with the same kind of rope, and it had always been wetted down beforehand. Might have made it easier to hang on to while he strangled them for all I know. And all of the bodies had some kind of toy left behind with them—plastic, you know. Not the good wood or metal ones. The cheap, new-fangled stuff.”

  Natalie realized that the sparks holding the man’s spirit to the world had begun to dim. Her time with him was growing short.

  “I know those things. But there was something else. What was it? What didn’t get into the newspapers?”

  Sparks danced in the spirit’s eyes. He was quiet for a moment. “Well, there was the word. The Italian one. Writ down on the piece of paper that was found on each of the corpses. I don’t know if it was the same every time, but the one that was on our victim—it was tucked under his shoelaces—meant slanderer or something. Like the murderer thought the guy was telling lies.”

  Natalie remembered the paper she’d found in her own pocket after a brush with the killer.

  “Was it ‘impicciona?’” she asked, stumbling over the unfamiliar language and holding her breath.

  “Nah, nothin’ like that. It was cala something. Calamine, maybe? I didn’t know what it was exactly. Didn’t seem as important as the murder weapon—” The spirit’s mouth froze in place. There was a sudden flurry of sparks, and flecks of light blew upward and outward, roaring higher and wider, bursting out toward the witches like a swarm of angry blue bees. All three of the women jerked backward. When the sparks cleared, the specter was gone.

  “Bury me in burlap!” Natalie roared. “I wasn’t done.” She tried to stand and got a claw in the thigh for her efforts. She settled back down and unfastened the kitten from her robe before plopping it unceremoniously to the side. “And keep this cat off of me!”

  She thought back to the conversation during which Denton had asked about the languages the kids were studying in school, and she realized he’d already had the language link on his radar. The man was maddening. He could easily have let her know about whatever it was he’d found.

  Cassie put the kitten back in its carrier while Gillian gave her a hand up along with some advice. “You need to tell Denton about this.”

  “Do I? And what do I say to good Chief ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ Denton? By the way, Karl, while I was out at the graveyard conjuring up a spirit, I got some useful information that might assist your investigation?”

  “True, that might be a difficult conversation.” Gillian bit her lip and squinted, then said, “I could have Robert tell him! I can’t see Denton pressing him for a source. That would work.”

  “Fine. Robert can tell him. I still don’t understand how the chief has been loyal as a dog to the coven’s high priest for all these years and still has no clue what goes on in this town.”

  “As Robert has explained,” Gillian said, “some people don’t allow themselves to know things that don’t fit their world view. They’d rather cling to ‘alternative facts’ when faced with something that doesn’t fit. I still don’t know what Robert did to earn that kind of loyalty. All I know is that I’d rather face a hungry bear than Karl Denton if he ever got it through his head that I was a threat to my partner.”

  Natalie nodded agreement. “You tell Robert I need tit for tat though for that information. I think Denton has an Italian word he found on the Akers woman. I thought he was just asking that girl Twink questions to get her warmed up for the real interview when he asked about the languages she and her boyfriend take in school, but I underestimated him.” Natalie made a face. That wasn’t something she was happy to admit. “I want to know what that word was.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. But you know Robert won’t be likely to pass that information along unless there’s proof the murders were committed magically. And I know you don’t think they were.”

  Natalie dismissed her with a “phfft,” then set her purse on top of her car as she unlocked the door. “Cassie, do you have that fancy phone with you? Can you look up a word for me? It was on a scrap of paper in my pocket after the attack. I don’t know if the attacker put it there or if I saw it and stowed it away as I was coming to. Oh, and when we get back to the shop, we need to have a talk about that girl, Daria’s cousin. I made a promise to someone.”

  Cassie was unlocking her own door, and said, “There’s something about Twink? Yeah, we can talk about it. Just a minute and I’ll do the word thing.” After she stowed Cat’s carrier safely on the floor of the backseat, she pulled out her phone, her thumbs poised. “Okay, what am I looking up?”

  “It’s Italian, probably. Impicciona.” She spelled it out.

  Cassie swiped, typed, and smirked.

  “Well?” Natalie asked, tapping a foot, hands crossed over her chest.

  “It means ‘busybody.’”

  The other two were still giggling when Natalie stomped on the gas, spinning the tires so fast it threw up a spray of dirt and gravel as she headed back to town.

  ***

  Natalie sipped her tea to make sure it was cool enough, then took a big gulp. It slid down spicy and sweet.

  She turned to Cassie. “Do you remember when you told me that the Akers women’s purse caught fire after the accident?” she said, her voice low. She glanced at the new door beyond the kitchenette.

  “Yep, it was weird, but she had to be drunk or something. I figure she dropped a cigarette in there accidentally.”

  “No, it couldn’t have been that. I’m learning more about their relationship than I probably should when I stop by, but it helps him to talk, I’m sure,” Gillian said. “According to her husband, she didn’t smoke. He quit for her when they were dating.”

  “Oh,” Cassie said. She turned back to Natalie. “What do you think happened, then?”

  “I didn’t think about it at all until I saw Marcus’s face when I asked him about his girlfriend. He’s not a natural liar, but he would say anything to protect her, I expect, the same as she would say anything to protect him. But he suspects something that he’s afraid to say. Something the girl doesn’t even know.”

  Gillian leaned in. “I think I know where you’re going with this . . .”

  “I don’t,” Cassie said.

  “That’s because even though you didn’t know you were a witch when you were her age, Eunice was training you, channeling those energies at the shop.”

  Cassie’s eyebrows arched. “Twink’s a witch? But Daria never . . .”

  Natalie interrupted. “I’d bet Daria doesn’t know it runs in the family. Ella Barton and her sister don’t have magic. But Ella’s mother, she was a voodoo woman, just like her mother before her. If you think I’m a cranky, bitter old woman, then you don’t know bitter. After Henriette found out neither of her daughters would be able to work the family magic, she made their lives unbearable. When they were old enough, they left home without looking back. Ella, the oldest, married young. That didn’t work out so well, and she found herself scratching out a living as a cleaner to support her children after her husband left her. She had a good reputation with the families she worked for though. Too holier than thou to ever walk off with a single paper napkin. Daria is the youngest of Ella’s brood, a gift from the second husband, but he got tired of Ella’s moods before Daria was even born.”

  “I never knew any of this—I know her brother and sister are a lot older than she is, though. But being a witch skips generations like that?” Cassie asked.

  “It does, sweetheart. Think about your father. Has he ever shown any sign of magical talent?”

  “I never really thought about it. But no, he hasn’t, and he doesn’t like Giles or the shop much. Says that if the old biddies in town want to play at being witches, he doesn’t need to be around it. I haven’t been able to get him to come for a visit since the wedding. It seemed to open up some old, bad memories for him.”

  Gillian laid a hand on her shoulder, rubbing it gently. “Yes, it’s too bad about your father. With Anat standing in for his mothe
r, he can’t have had much fun growing up.” Her lips pressed together briefly. “Although he could refrain from the ‘old biddy’ comments.”

  Cassie shrugged. “What can I do? He’s my dad. But he’s so against the very idea of Giles that I’ve never been able to tell him the mother he knew wasn’t really his mother. That his mother loved him but couldn’t tell him.”

  Gillian gave her a sad smile. “Yes, I think if you want to keep that relationship, you don’t want to tell him things that make him think you’re being influenced by the crazy biddies of Giles. But it’s good you understand what he went through. Maybe that will help you understand Daria’s mother better, too.”

  Cassie raised her hand to her mouth. “I didn’t even think about that! But it makes sense, I guess, why she would try to keep her daughter away from all the magical stuff. But she has to suspect what’s happening with Twink, don’t you think?”

  Natalie hmphed loudly and put a weathered hand on her hip. “I have no doubt that she knows what’s happening with the girl, even if she denies it. Adolescence is a particularly difficult time for witches if they don’t know how to channel their developing magic. Unbalanced hormones and magic are not a good mix.”

  She flashed a knowing look at Gillian, who fiddled with her rings. “Oh dear, yes. Things just rage out of control at adolescence and then later on in life, too. It’s a miracle any of us survive menopause!”

  “Like how difficult?” Cassie’s brow drew down.

  “All kinds of damage I’m afraid,” Natalie said. “What non-magicals in the house often think of as poltergeist activity if they know where their children are when it’s happening, or bad behavior and lies on their children’s part if they don’t. Fires. Property damage. Objects flying across the room of their own accord.”

  “But not strangulation with wet ropes.”

  Natalie huffed. “Most certainly not. Neither of those young people had a hand in that business. But if the shop burns down overnight . . . well, that’s another matter.”

  Cassie took a deep breath and her mouth formed a tiny, perfectly round O. Before she could speak, Natalie said, “But don’t worry about it, dear. It’s easy to get under control once you know what it is. She doesn’t even have to be aware she’s being trained, if that’s what you think is best. Just hire her for the shop and we’ll teach her all the things Eunice taught you when you were a teenager.”