Rhonda had waited for me on the other side of the window. “You were great. Looked fabulous too, even though your shoes didn’t show. Didn’t you see River and me waving at you through the glass? She’s gone downstairs. Time for her own show.” She paused for breath. “Is it true about the crows? Coming back, I mean?”
“Sorry, I didn’t see you in the window. Those lights are too bright. And yes, I think with everything I’ve been able to learn about them the crows will be back.”
“It sounds like you know a lot. Hey, can you believe that Chris Rich? Getting his face on the news again? For free? What a mooch.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, he’s such a publicity hound. Only he never wants to pay for airtime. He calls here every other week trying to get us to cover some event he’s having at his store.” She shook her head. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he shot those holes in his wall himself, just to get on TV. Well, gotta get downstairs. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around here a lot.”
Maybe it wouldn’t be surprising if he’d made an anonymous phone call to River, threatening his own life.
“Thanks, Rhonda,” I said. “I sure appreciate your being here for me tonight. By the way, is Therese around?”
“Nope. I’m screening. Therese has an early morning video shoot. Gotta run. See you.”
I wished her a good night and headed downstairs to the dressing room to pick up my jeans and sweatshirt, thinking about what she’d said about Christopher Rich. The idea that he might have fired those shots hadn’t occurred to me. But there were no witnesses, so it was possible. Making a sneaky phone call was possible too. I’d surely ask Pete what he thought about it. And I’d also like to know what he thought about Sean Madigan being at the Bagenstose house.
Yeah. I’ll ask him about those things right after I figure out how to explain those shell casings in a sandwich bag on my kitchen counter.
Pete’s car was already in the driveway when I got there. I pulled into the garage, parked the Vette, grabbed the garment bag, locked everything, and hurried past the garden toward the house. The sensor lights along the path glowed just enough to illuminate the smiling pink-faced scarecrow standing among the flowers and vegetables. Somehow the silly face on the thing, so friendly and happy in my aunt’s kitchen, had a sinister aspect in the silent after-midnight darkness. I didn’t linger to look around for cats or crows, but dashed up the back steps and into the welcome safety of home. Pete had left the hall and stairwell lights on for me and O’Ryan waited just inside the door. After dropping off the bag with shirt and jeans in the laundry room, and with the cat trotting ahead, I climbed the stairs.
Pete greeted me with a warm hug and a kiss that promised more, then held me at arm’s length with a long, appreciative up-and-down look. “You’re beautiful on TV, lady,” he said, pulling me close once more, his voice sexy husky, “but you’re a thousand times more gorgeous in person.”
I did a little twirl, something like the one I’d seen Claudine Bagenstose do. “Like the new look?” I asked, knowing for sure that he did.
“I like,” he said. Taking my hand, he led me down the hall to the kitchen. “Let’s celebrate.”
As soon as I stepped into the room, I felt a rush of tears. “Oh, Pete. It’s wonderful!” And it was. The room glowed with soft candlelight, and a vase filled with red roses shared space on the table with a bottle of champagne icing in a silver pail. Two champagne flutes and a bowl of my favorite treat, chocolate-dipped strawberries, completed the loving picture.
Thoughts of crows and casings almost disappeared, as Pete—with a courtly flourish—held my chair, then, sommelier-like, popped the cork on the champagne. He poured the lovely bubbly into our glasses, then raised his in a toast. “To Lee and a bright new career in television.”
“Do you really think so, Pete?” I asked as we tapped the flutes together. “I hope I’m good enough. I know I have a lot to learn about reporting, but . . .”
“Shh,” he said. “I recorded your program. You just watch it and you’ll see for yourself. You’re good enough. The way you spoke about the crows almost made me like the damned things. Here. Have a strawberry.”
I sipped my champagne and took his advice about the strawberry. Two strawberries, actually. Glancing across the room to the long granite counter, where a few more candles glimmered, I saw a corner of the plastic sandwich bag peeking out from behind the sugar bowl. I knew we’d have to talk about it soon, and I could tell that Pete wanted to put that moment off every bit as much as I did.
“More champagne?” he asked as I licked one last bit of Belgian chocolate from my lips.
I put a hand over my glass. “No thanks. This was a wonderful celebration, Pete. The roses, the champagne, the strawberries, the candles. It’s all perfect and I love you for it, but we do need to talk about those shells, don’t we?”
He nodded. “We do. How about I put some coffee on and we go into the living room and you can tell me all about where they came from. Okay?”
“Okay,” I agreed, still not sure of what I was going to tell him—not sure of how I was going to tell him. So much of it didn’t make any sense even to me. Pete turned on the overhead lights and together we snuffed out the candles, put the few strawberries that were left into the refrigerator, and rinsed out our glasses. Then with a cup of decaf in one hand and the sandwich bag in the other I followed Pete down the hall to the living room and reality.
CHAPTER 31
O’Ryan snoozed in the zebra print chair, barely blinking as we entered the room. Pete and I sat side by side on the couch, our cups and the bagged shell casings on the coffee table in front of us. I was first to break the silence.
“You know that I see things in unexpected places,” I began.
“I know.” His tone was sympathetic. “Did seeing things have something to do with these?” He gestured toward the shell casings.
“Yes. At least I’m pretty sure it did.”
“Can you . . . do you want to tell me about it?”
I nodded. “Someone—something—left them on my windowsill.”
He frowned. “That would mean someone was on the fire escape. I don’t like this, Lee.” He began to reach for my hand, then paused. The frown grew deeper. “What do you mean something? Something left them on your windowsill?”
“Maybe.”
“Come on, Lee. This is serious. I’ve told you before—you can tell me anything. I’m not judging you. Not doubting you. You need to tell me exactly what happened.” His voice slid into cop mode. “These shells . . .” he pointed to the bag. “These shells may be evidence in an attempt on a man’s life. That’s serious business.”
“Rhonda thinks Chris Rich might have shot the bullets into his shop wall himself. For publicity. I’m even wondering if he made that phone call to River.”
“Rhonda may be right. Maybe not. We don’t know. We don’t have a weapon yet. And we’ve sent River’s phone tape to a police lab for voice analysis. If it was Chris we’ll find out. But I need to know what you know about these shells. I need to know now.” He took my hand and squeezed it. “Please trust me, babe.”
“I do trust you, Pete. I do. It’s just that the damned visions complicate everything. Sometimes I don’t know what’s real and what’s not.” I fought back tears. “Okay. Here goes.”
I blurted out the whole thing, barely pausing for breath. I told him about the crow-shadow woman I’d seen in the yard and about the crow on the fire escape dropping the shells onto the outside sill. I tried to describe how the crow’s face had turned into a woman’s face and how the same woman had looked at me from the hand mirror at the station. I reminded him that I’d seen visions in window glass before, and he’d been with me when I’d seen one on the TV screen, so he knew that the surfaces where the things appear had evolved over time. “Whatever I saw from the window,” I cautioned, “might not have been there. I mean, the shells were there. You have them in your hand. But how they got there I don’t know.
”
He looked worried. “Then it’s possible that someone—someone real—could have been out there on the fire escape sometime during the day. That would mean they’d have managed to pull down the escape ladder that goes from the second floor to the ground.”
“Yes. I’ve been thinking about that. It’s supposed to be foolproof. Guaranteed, Aunt Ibby said so, and you know how she is about security.”
He stroked my hair, looking into my eyes. “Jesus, Lee, I worry about you.”
I had no answer for that and the tears started again. O’Ryan left his chair, climbed onto my lap, and gave my cheek a friendly lick. That made me smile. “I’ll be okay,” I promised. “I’ll keep the window locked until we’re sure the escape ladder is secure.”
“Good idea. Now, what about the woman you keep seeing. Do you know who she is?”
“I think so. But you’re not going to like my answer.”
“Try me.”
“Bridget Bishop,” I said, speaking very calmly. “Well, the ghost of Bridget Bishop.”
He stopped stroking my hair and leaned back against the couch cushion. “You mean the old witch that’s supposed to haunt the Lyceum?”
“Yep. But now she’s haunting me.”
He couldn’t help smiling at that idea. “Wow. Listen. Maybe I can tell the chief that somebody figured out how to climb up on your fire escape and put these shells there without mentioning crows.”
“Well, a bird really could have dropped the shells there, you know. They’re shiny, and small enough for a bird to pick up and carry. Anyway, they might have nothing to do with whoever—whatever—shot at Christopher Rich.”
“True.” He took a couple of sips of coffee. “But didn’t you say that the experts don’t buy that story about crows? We don’t have a weapon yet anyway. I’ll just take these along and put them in the evidence locker for now.”
“Wait, Pete,” I said. “Another odd thing happened today.”
He raised one eyebrow. “Odd how?”
“I saw Sean Madigan again.”
Instant cop voice. “You did? Where?”
“He was at Claudine Bagenstose’s house. I ran into him just as I was leaving. He wasn’t very nice.”
“What did he say?”
“It was almost like a warning. He said, ‘This isn’t a good place for you to be.’”
“Hmm. You don’t have any reason to go back there, do you?”
I hadn’t given that any thought. “Now that you mention it, I guess I don’t.”
“Okay then, I wouldn’t worry about it.”
That’s Pete. He knows how to make the complicated into the manageable. An unknown somebody—or maybe a bird—left two unidentified shell casings, which may or may not be important, on my fire escape and an unpleasant encounter doesn’t have to be repeated. So lock the window and stay away from the Bagenstose house. Seemed simple enough. I felt better.
“Thanks, Pete,” I said. “I love you. I’m still worried about River, though. Will you tell me what you find out about that phone thing?”
That brought a hug. “We’re on it. Don’t worry. I love you too. Want to see yourself on TV now?”
We watched my fifteen-minute segment of the news together. I was happy with my performance, and pleased with the way I looked, even though nobody saw my new shoes.
It had been a very long day for both of us. We finished our coffees and shared a couple of white chocolate–covered strawberries with sprinkles. Pete locked the kitchen window and promised to check the fire escape in the morning. I didn’t glance at the glass panes and even took off my sensational new make-up without looking at the mirror. Not an easy thing to do but I didn’t want to risk seeing any more crows or witches, real or imagined.
Pete didn’t lose any time the next morning in carrying out his promise to check the fire escape. “Think your aunt will be awake by now?” he asked. “I’m planning to go out this window down to the one at her level and see if the drop-down ladder is secure. Don’t want her to think there’s a stranger outside.” He lifted the window sash all the way up. The cool morning breeze was pleasant. The sound of crows cawing in the distance was not.
I tried to ignore the noise and glanced at the Kit-Kat clock. “She’s probably in her kitchen, on her second cup of coffee, halfway through the Globe crossword. I’ll call her to be sure.”
She picked up right away. “Good morning, Maralee! You were wonderful last night and you looked so pretty.”
“Thank you. I think it went well. The reason I’m calling so early—Pete is going to check on the security of our fire escape. Just wanted to warn you that you might notice a man outside your window shortly.”
“That would certainly be a surprise.” A note of hesitation. “Why? Does he think there’s something wrong with it? Is it unsafe?”
“No, not that.” I signaled to Pete that it was all right to climb out the window. “I’ll explain it all later. You did tell me that the contractor guaranteed that no one could climb up from the ground, didn’t you?”
Her “absolutely” was indignant. “I wouldn’t have installed it if it wasn’t positively intruder-proof. Anyone would have to have wings to get to the second level!”
That’s exactly what I thought in the first place. Wings. Crows’ wings on a shape-shifting witch ghost.
“I know you’re right. Pete just wants to be sure I’m safe up here. Love you. We’ll talk later. Bye.” Poking my head out of the window, I watched as Pete slowly descended the metal stairs. I sneaked a peek at the maple tree. A few crows, not a lot of them. I focused on Pete. He seemed to be inspecting every rung. When he reached the second-floor level he pulled a transparent bag from his pocket, a blue adhesive strip at its edge.
I’ve hung around Pete long enough to recognize an official evidence bag when I see one.
CHAPTER 32
Pete saw that I was watching and gave a little wave with the hand holding the bag. In the other, he held his evidence-gathering tool. He calls it a Swiss Army knife on steroids. It has pliers, both regular and needle nose, wire cutters, assorted screwdrivers, a lanyard, can and bottle openers, a file, and a wood saw. I’ve missed a few gadgets I’m sure, but you get the idea. Within the grip of those pliers, and about to be dropped into a plastic bag, was something Pete had found on my fire escape. All I could tell at such a distance was that it was small and red. He dropped the bag into his pocket and moved slowly, deliberately toward the end of the platform where the drop-down section of the escape ladder was secured. Kneeling, he took a photo of the assemblage, then stood, turned, and scrambled back up to where I waited.
I moved away from the window while he climbed inside. He brushed dust from his jeans and pulled the plastic bag from his pocket. “What do you think of this?” he asked, placing it on the table. “Looks like you had a visitor out there after all, but that ladder clearly hasn’t been moved since it was installed.”
The realization that there’d been no two-legged guests at my window brought a wave of relief. “Thank God,” I whispered and quickly sat down. I reached for the bag, recognizing the small red collar with its silver buckle right away. “The little black cat,” I said. “She’s not the first one of O’Ryan’s lady friends to come to the window. Impossible for a human; easy for a cat.” I inspected the bag, turning it over in my hands. “You don’t have to take this, do you? It doesn’t look as though the collar is broken. It must have just slipped off. I’ll put it back on her neck, if she’ll let me.”
“You can keep it,” he said. “It doesn’t seem to have anything to do with the shell casings.”
I removed the collar and handed the bag back to Pete. “Can you reuse this?”
“Nope. Contaminated. Might have fleas,” he joked. The mood in the room had become much lighter. I put the bag into the recycling bin, carried the collar into my room and placed it carefully into one of the secret compartments of my bureau, and returned to the kitchen.
“Haven’t any witnesses to Chris
Rich’s story turned up at all? You’d think somebody would have heard the shots or have seen someone behind the magic shop,” I said.
“Not much is new. We’ve identified the last two customers who were in the shop before he closed up that night, though. Caught them on surveillance video as they left the store.”
“Two people together?”
“No. One at a time. We’ve asked each of them to come and fill out some information for us. Maybe one of them saw something.”
“Anyone I know?” I asked, half kidding.
“Don’t think so. One of them is Viktor Protector. Last guy you’d expect to see in a witch shop.”
“He’s protesting a tax increase now,” I said. “Buck showed a clip on the news tonight. Who’s the other one?”
“Just an amateur magician. Rich says he’s a regular customer. Calls himself Fabio.”
“The Fabulous Fabio,” I said. “He’s doing Shannon’s wedding cake.”
Pete gave a questioning look but didn’t comment on the magician/baker. “Guess I’ll get ready for work, babe. You have any special plans for the day?”
“Not exactly. I need to decide what my next investigative report is going to be. I plan to ask River if it would be possible for me to do a report on the Wiccan funeral rites. Not the public one we just did at town hall. The real one.”
“I’m guessing they probably keep that stuff pretty secret,” he said. “Better think of a plan B.”
“I’ve also been thinking about what becomes of stolen masterpieces. Want some breakfast?”
“Nope. Not enough time. I’ll grab a sausage biscuit on the way to work. I hope you’re not thinking about interviewing Madigan, are you?”
“Not really,” I said. “Just a passing thought. Maybe I’ll do an in-depth investigation of the wedding-planning business. I’m right in the middle of that one and the wedding is on the twenty-first.”
“Got my invitation. What should I send for a gift?”
It Takes a Coven Page 18