“He should have notified the police that he was moving.”
“It was no secret. He notified me.”
“Liv,” Ted began.
She cut him off with a look. “So you went hightailing off to the Marlton-Crosbys to make sure he hadn’t bolted.”
Bill’s lips tightened. “Will you stop treating me like the enemy?”
“All right, but I still think you’re on the wrong track.”
“I hope I am, but the fact remains, it’s looking like his car was involved somehow.”
“So that’s that. You just have to find who stole it.”
Bill exchanged looks with Ted. “Not exactly.”
Liv lifted her chin, determined to listen but not be swayed by whatever came next.
“Rod Crosby said he heard Preston’s car drive away from the house late Friday night.”
Liv leaned forward, her anger threatening to erupt. “Jon picked up Amanda from the award ceremony. Rod was with them. He put Amanda in the car and said he was going out drinking with friends. We saw him.”
“Much later than that. After Mr. Crosby had returned home and gone to bed. He said, he figured Mr. Preston was still suffering from jet lag and went out for a drive.”
“Because someone is obviously trying to implicate Jon. Have you made an arrest?”
“No. Not yet. But Liv, you might want to prepare yourself.”
She sprang out of her desk chair. “For what? For when you make a false arrest?”
“Liv, calm down. I won’t make any move until we have enough evidence to hold him.”
“Well, you’ll have a long wait. I’m going out.” She grabbed Whiskey’s leash off the coat rack. “Come on boy.”
“Where are you going?”
“Out.” She didn’t wait for a response but walked quickly down the hall and out of the building. She didn’t know where she was going, she just knew she needed a place to think. About what? She didn’t have a clue, but there had to be something they were missing, some reason for Jon’s car being involved without it involving Jon.
She didn’t really want to talk to anyone, either. She steered away from the park, avoided the bakery and Coffee Exchange, and had just decided to walk down by the river, when someone called her name.
She turned around. Yolanda was standing in the door of the Mystic Eye, waving her over. Today she was dressed in yoga pants and a long tunic of soft material that glinted in the sun. A scarf was tied around her hair and trailed down the front of her shoulder.
Liv sighed. She really didn’t want to talk about Amanda Crosby right now. On the other hand . . . who better to borrow Jon’s car without him knowing about it than Amanda or Rod—or possibly even Yolanda?
So maybe she was grasping at straws. Shocked at the turn her mind had taken, Liv hesitated, and as she stood there Yolanda started running toward her, looking frantic.
“I was just going to call you,” Yolanda huffed out between breaths. The witch was seriously out of shape. “Liv, we need your help. It’s happened again.”
“What’s wrong? Who needs my help? Has there been more vandalism?”
“Carol Sue called just a few minutes ago. She’s one of our group doing the retreat up at Amanda’s fish camp. They were out for their sunrise meditation and incantations, and when they got back to the cabins, they had been ransacked and—” Her voice wobbled out of control and she let out a cry. “All our books and instruments were ruined. What is wrong with people? We’re not bothering anyone.”
“Maybe you should call the sheriff.”
“No! I called him like you suggested when the store was vandalized. And he didn’t seem very sympathetic then. Slow-witted, if you ask me.”
“It’s just that he’s slow and methodical, but he gets there.”
“Not fast enough to help us. I won’t be bothering him again. Witches have enough trouble without having to involve the police. It seems if you’re not selling candles and love potions in Salem, people don’t want you around.”
“That isn’t true,” Liv said, not really knowing if it was true or not. She knew her first response on hearing about Yolanda’s shop was that she hoped they didn’t cause trouble.
Yolanda must have read something in her face, because she said, “I’m sorry I bothered you. But Amanda, Miriam, everybody said you were the person to go to when there was a problem, and I thought— But never mind, sorry to have bothered you.”
Yolanda turned to go.
“Wait.”
Yolanda stopped, slowly turned.
“Some people in town may be like that. In fact I know they are, and it’s not just toward witches. It’s toward anyone who’s a little different, or just a stranger. Trust me. I’ve been on the receiving end of that myself. But most of us aren’t that way.” Well, a lot of us aren’t like that. “Okay, I’ll help. Tell Carol Sue not to touch anything until we get there. Rats. I don’t have my car.”
“Mine’s parked out back,” Yolanda said.
“What about Whiskey?”
“He’s welcome. We’re all animal lovers. How are his bloodhound skills?”
“If it involves food, he’s pretty good.”
Yolanda smiled halfheartedly.
Still Liv hesitated. She should call Bill. But she was still upset with him about Jon. It would better to take a look and then call in the police.
She followed Yolanda back to her store where Yolanda turned over the Closed sign, grabbed her purse from under the counter, and went through the store to the back door.
Her car, a late-model Honda, was parked in the alley.
Liv couldn’t repress a smile.
“What?” Yolanda asked. “You were expecting maybe a broomstick?”
“Maybe.” Liv opened the back door and lifted Whiskey in. “Stay.” Then she got in the front.
Yolanda backed the Honda out, made a two-point turn, and soon they were driving east to the lake. At Lakeside Road, they drove south, past the inn, past the Cape Cods of downtown. Past the Gallantine House, where Henry lived, and where he allowed the town to conduct their Independence Day battle reenactment. Past the larger homes that followed the shoreline, and from where Ruth Benedict watched from her window.
As the road curved away from the lake, the land on the west side of the road turned to rolling hills. The land that hugged the lake became more wooded, only allowing glimpses of the lake through the final blaze of autumn.
Just before they got to the town limits, the road curved in again, running along the shoreline. They passed the old Marlton house that could just be seen through the trees. It stood at the top of a knoll and looked over a meadow and the lake . . . and farther along, the fish camp, though the trees probably hid it from view.
“Turn here,” Liv said. The sign was so faded that it would be easy to miss the fish camp if you didn’t know where you were going. Liv had been fishing there the summer before.
Once had been enough. Fishing and the fish camp did not hold very fond memories for her.
Yolanda pulled in to the parking lot. The camp had been closed for the season. The wooden office and bait and tackle shop was boarded over. There were only a handful of fishing boats moored at the pier. Most would be in dry dock by now. Or in driveways or at larger landings where they could fish all year.
Yolanda turned down a narrow path that led to a dozen small cabins interspersed in the woods. Not a place where Liv would choose to go on retreat. Martinique came to mind, or a five-star hotel, but to each his own.
The witches were all standing outside the first cabin. They waited quietly until Yolanda came to a stop and Liv retrieved Whiskey from the backseat. As soon as he hit the ground, he took off.
“Whiskey, come back!”
He gave her a look, but good dog that he could sometimes be, he came back and began snuffling at the group
of new friends and potential treat dispensers.
A woman came up to greet them, and Yolanda introduced her to Liv as Carol Sue. She was in her thirties, wearing jeans and a Greenpeace sweatshirt under her open down jacket.
“It’s . . . It’s just awful.”
“Maybe we should see,” Yolanda said.
Carol Sue nodded and went to the first cabin, opened the door, and stepped aside.
Liv and Yolanda peered in. Clothes had been tossed on the floor, bedding pulled from the bunk beds, the curtains slashed, lamps and books thrown to the floor. Food was tossed out of the coolers and ice was making puddles on the floor.
The vandal had taken the time to pull pages from the books and they littered the floor, some of them soaking up the melted ice.
“They’re all like this?”
Carol Sue nodded.
“Is anything missing?”
“Yes, whatever cash or jewlery we left in the cabins. Stephanie’s iPod. And that’s not the worst.”
Liv braced herself. She felt Yolanda do the same.
“The lock to the ark was broken and everything was pulled out and either broken, torn, or dirtied. It looked like they stepped on everything.”
They followed her on a short walk through the woods to the second cabin. It was just as bad as the first one. Same for the third and fourth cabins. But it was when they came to the fifth cabin that Yolanda let out an earthy moan.
A wooden cask lay splintered on the floor. Glass vials had been smashed and the smell of exotic oils clung in the air. It stung Liv’s eyes and clogged her nostrils.
The violence of it made Liv feel sick. She could only imagine what the others were feeling. Their possessions and living spaces had been defiled. Their religion literally stomped on. It was awful.
“Is this all of them?” Liv asked when they were back outside and breathing fresh air again.
“Yes,” Carol Sue said. “The others are empty this time of year, though . . .”
“Though what?” Liv encouraged.
“Several times one or the other of us has thought there was someone else staying here. In one of the other cabins.”
“Did you see anyone?”
“No.” Carol Sue turned to the women, who had followed them quietly from cabin to cabin. “Did any of you actually see anyone in any of the other cabins?”
None of them had.
“What about cars? Have any cars shown up while you’ve been here? I have to tell you that this place evidently has the reputation of being a trysting spot.”
“You mean like a cheap hotel?” asked one of the women.
Liv shrugged. “It’s just a rumor I’ve heard.”
“No, but we weren’t always here,” said Carol Sue. “We’ve been hiking and we go out to dinner at night. One night we even went to the movies,” she said guiltily. “Well, it’s the only time most of us can get away. Most of our families don’t know what the retreat is actually about.”
The other women nodded.
“My husband thinks it’s a ladies thing. But it is a ladies thing.”
“Mine thinks I’m at the spa being pampered. Well, a person needs to pamper their spiritual side.”
“I had to take all my vacation time to get off from work.”
“And now it’s ruined.”
“No, it isn’t,” Yolanda said. “We will carry on. And with Liv’s help maybe we can catch the culprit.”
“Who else knew you were staying out here?” Liv asked.
“Miriam and the women in the quilting group,” Yolanda sighed. “I guess that means just about everybody.”
“Possibly,” said Liv. “Let’s start with our immediate surroundings. See if we can find evidence of your mystery visitor.”
They followed her to the first of the other cabins. Liv tried the lock, tested the closed shutters to see if she could see inside. They didn’t budge. She walked around the entire cabin looking for any sign that someone had been there recently.
They did the same with the next cabin, and the next. Then at the cabin closest to the lake and deepest into the wood, they found a loose shutter. Liv tried the window. “Unlocked.”
She raised it and peered inside. It was too dark to see. She fished her cell phone out of her pocket, pressed the flashlight app, and climbed halfway inside to shine it around the small room.
“Eureka,” she whispered, and climbed all the way inside. Yolanda and several other faces appeared at the open window.
“Liv, be careful.”
Liv nodded. She didn’t think anyone was still living here, but someone clearly had been. There were no clothes, and the trash basket was filled with fast-food bags, but nothing that qualified as a clue.
She got down on her hands and knees and looked beneath the two bunk beds. Nothing. Liv stood up, brushed off her hands.
Liv went into the tiny bathroom, nothing but a dried shriveled bar of soap. Whoever was squatting wasn’t much into bathing. She looked for a trash can. There wasn’t one, but in the corner of the old wooden floor was a stack of trifold pamphlets, presumably doing double duty as toilet paper.
She knelt down and focused the flashlight on them, trying to make out the writing. She didn’t want to pick anything up in case it turned out to be useful to the police, but she managed to read the words, “End of the World.”
No wonder the police could never find the Doomsday Guy, aka Stanley Riggs. He wasn’t hitchhiking in and out of town; he was lying low right under their noses.
Well, she would clue Bill in, but not quite yet.
She backed into the single room, took a last look around, and climbed back out the window.
“Did you find anything?” Yolanda asked.
“Some hamburger bags, and a stack of pamphlets that I’m thinking might lead to Stanley Riggs.”
“Who?”
“The guy standing on the corner screaming about devil worshipping.”
“Eww,” Carol Sue said and stamped her foot. “We should have finished him off the first time we encountered him.”
Liv’s eyes bugged.
“She didn’t mean that in the literal sense,” Yolanda assured her. “She meant in the spell sense.”
“Good to know,” Liv said. She stood in the clearing. “Where’s Whiskey?”
Whiskey poked his head out of a bush.
“Come on, you. We don’t want to have any close encounters with skunks or other beasties.”
He came out, looked at her, and trotted off down a path.
“Whiskey. Come. Where are you going? Come back here.”
“He probably smells our lunch. We’ve been picnicking in the meadow.”
“It was where we were going to celebrate Samhain,” one of the ladies said. “Now, what will we do?”
“We’ll think of something,” Yolanda assured her.
But Liv wasn’t really listening. As she started up the path after Whiskey, she realized it not only led to the meadow, but also gave her a clear view of the Marlton house.
The witches had crowded in behind her. “What if we have to pay damages?”
“I don’t think Amanda will blame you,” Liv said.
“But that husband of hers wasn’t very nice.”
“Because he already had closed up for the winter when she sprang this on him. He thought he was going to Miami instead of spending the fall in Celebration Bay. None of this is your fault. I doubt if he can exact forfeiture from you.”
“Besides,” Yolanda added. “Amanda would never let him.”
Liv walked up the path, thankful she’d worn sensible shoes. The leaves were matted and slick from last week’s rain. And she had to be cautious to avoid slipping. She didn’t stop when she reached the meadow, but kept walking until she could see the cars parked at Amanda’s house.
T
he jeep and another four-door were parked slightly downhill from the house. Anyone—Stanley Riggs, for one—could have easily walked straight through the meadow to the cars and driven away.
Liv led the others back toward the camp. She knew she should call the sheriff. Even though she didn’t want to, and she knew Yolanda really didn’t want her to. She was afraid this would make things worse. But she couldn’t knowingly hide evidence, and this seemed like evidence.
Ahead of them, Whiskey scampered from bush to bush, having a field day with his freedom. Liv made a mental note to take him out in nature more often . . . after winter was over.
He darted past her feet and came back, darted away and ran toward the camp. Stopped, and cautiously began sniffing the ground.
“Do not eat anything nasty!” Liv yelled.
Carol Sue laughed. “I have a Maltese and he’s a real garbage mouth.”
Whiskey had stopped with his head down. Normally his play position, but today his hair was standing up along the ridge of his back, and a low growl rumbled from deep inside him.
“Whiskey come back here,” Liv said, imagining snakes and rabid raccoons.
He pounced forward, muzzled his way beneath the limbs of the shrub, and after a quick wrestle, dragged something out of the bushes.
“Drop it!” Liv yelled.
Whiskey obeyed, reacting to the shrill note in her voice.
He dropped it, but he stood guarding his prey. A brown pashmina shawl, with shots of gold thread.
Chapter Twenty-one
Liv’s world came crashing down. It had to be Lucille’s scarf, but it didn’t make sense. How did it get here? Had Lucille dropped it here? Or did someone hide it here?
Had she come to the camp to meet someone? Run into Riggs instead, and he killed her? Or someone killed her and Riggs found the scarf? Or he somehow lured her to the camp . . .
None of it was making sense. Anyone in town could have met her here and killed her.
Mechanically, she pulled the leash out of her jacket pocket and snapped it on Whiskey’s collar.
“What is it?” Carol Sue asked.
“I’m pretty sure it’s the shawl Lucille Foster was wearing when she was murdered last week.”
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