by Jasmine Walt
And look how that turned out.
“Oh, thank goodness you’ve come!” Miss Bennett sniffled as she flung open the door. She was a heavyset woman in a pink dress, her glossy brown curls forming a halo around her puffy, tear-stained face. A tissue was clutched in her ham-sized fist, and she blew her nose as she stepped aside to let us in. “I’ve been worried sick all morning!”
The living room looked like someone had chugged half a bottle of pepto bismol and vomited it everywhere. Pink and white wall paper, pink couches, pink furry rugs, pink coasters on top of the coffee table. The sight was enough to make my stomach churn, and I had to make a conscious effort not to grimace.
“I completely understand, Miss Bennett,” Baxter said, his tone low and soothing as I shut the door behind us.
“Yes, I know you do.” Miss Bennett sniffled again. Her watery eyes turned toward me. “I don’t think I’ve met you before.”
“My name is Detective Brooke Chandler.” I took a look at her wobbling lower lip and added, “Do you want me to get you a glass of water?”
“I think that’s a great idea,” Baxter said, nodding to me. To Miss Bennett, he said, “Come have a seat over here, and you can take me through what happened with Sneezy this morning.”
As Miss Bennett began regaling the terrible tale of how Sneezy, her little Chihuahua, had once again managed to bolt from the confines of her beautiful home, I made my way to the kitchen. The pink explosion had managed to follow into this room, too, but it was somewhat relieved by all the stainless steel appliances. I grabbed a tall glass from one of the cupboards, then took it to the water dispenser that had been installed into the left refrigerator door.
I programmed the computer to fill the cup. As I waited, I studied the photos of Sneezy that had been plastered all over the fridge. They all featured him either wearing some variation of a pink dress or tutu, being squeezed or snuggled to death by Miss Bennett, or both. The misery in the poor thing’s eyes made me think Baxter was probably right. Letting this dog go would be a kindness.
Unfortunately, being a cop didn’t always mean that you got to do the kind thing. We had to follow the law, after all, and by law, Sneezy belonged to Miss Bennett. Of course, the law also forbade murder and theft, and after the life I’d had, it was becoming easier to see how those lines could sometimes be blurred. At least if a person was up against vampires and evil witch clans.
Toward the middle of the fridge, a photo caught my attention that was darker than the rest. Only the corner was visible, as it was buried by other photos, so I pulled it out. My heart nearly stopped as I got a good look at the photo. It was of a clearing in the forest…but not just any clearing. The full moon shone high in the night sky, its rays illuminating a mansion that stood in the center of the clearing. Specifically, the Onyx Order’s mansion, and Father James’s true resting place.
An out of place photograph. I recalled Baxter’s favorite crime-solving story and cringed. If he’d seen this instead of me…
A loud beep made me jump, but it was just the fridge signaling that the cup of water was full. The realization didn’t slow my heart rate any, though. Hastily, I shoved the photograph into my inside jacket pocket, then grabbed the glass of water and headed back into the living room. My hand trembled a little, but I willed myself to remain calm as I joined Baxter and Miss Bennett in the living room.
“Thank you so much,” Miss Bennett said as I handed her the glass of water. She drank deeply as I sat down on the mauve microfiber couch next to Baxter, then set the glass on one of her pink coasters. She looked a lot calmer than she did before, which was more than I could say for myself. “I do feel much better after talking to you, Detective Baxter.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Baxter said. I marveled at how good his bedside manner was. He was a little rough around the edges when he talked to me, but he always treated victims kindly. As he continued to get more information from Miss Bennett, I studied her. What did she have to do with all this? Did she know about the Onyx Order? How did she get hold of that photograph? I couldn’t sense any magic here…but maybe there was something in another part of the house that I needed to look for.
“Miss Bennett,” I said when there was a pause in the conversation. “Would you mind if I used your bathroom?”
Baxter gave me an annoyed look, but Miss Bennett nodded. “Of course. There’s one down the hall, right next to the guest room.”
“Thanks,” I said, slipping away from the conversation.
I made my way toward the direction she’d indicated, but instead of going into the hall bathroom, I ducked into the master. A quick sweep of the bedroom and bathroom told me that there was nothing magical here—my senses didn’t tingle, not even slightly. I went into the guest room as well, but found nothing but mauve curtains, floral wallpaper, and bronze lamps on the mahogany nightstands flanking a four poster canopy bed. All the drawers were empty; it was exactly the kind of bare bones set up you would expect from a guest room. Nothing about this woman’s house spoke of ominous witch coven involvement.
Knowing that it would be suspicious if I didn’t actually use the facilities, I went into the guest bathroom and shut the door, intending to flush the toilet. I reached for the handle, then froze at the sight of a blue rosary bracelet sitting atop the toilet tank. It looked exactly like one of the ones I’d seen Father James wear.
Panic shot into my throat, making it hard to breathe, and I snatched the bracelet without thinking. Instantly, a vision of Father James assailed me. In the vision, he was standing over Baxter, who was lying unconscious on a hospital bed, blood staining his bandaged up core. Had he been hurt on the job? He’d never mentioned that before. No one had. But as I watched the vision play out, I started to understand why. Father James had his hand pressed to Baxter’s forehead, some glowing light flowing from Baxter’s head and into Father James.
This must be when Father James altered Baxter’s memories.
Maybe Baxter didn’t remember what happened. What if he’d done some really heroic thing, and never remembered it to take credit for it? Fury shot through me as I realized just how much Father James must have stolen from him, but I contained it. I didn’t have all the facts, and this one object wasn’t going to give them to me.
The vision broke, and I clutched the bathroom counter, staring down at the rosary in my hand. There was no mistaking it. This was definitely one of Father James’s rosaries.
But what the hell was it doing here?
“Sorry, but we don’t have a Chihuahua here matching that description,” the veterinary nurse said, her voice softened with sympathy. “You might want to try Northeast Animal Shelter. They often get missing animals.”
“Thanks. Please let me know if a dog that looks like Sneezy does turn up.”
I disconnected the call, then sighed. I’d spent the past half hour calling up animal shelters and local vets, with no luck so far. Of course, it didn’t help that I wasn’t as focused as I should have been. The rosary and photograph burning a hole through my jacket pocket were foremost on my mind, and Miss Bennett as well. I’d wanted to ask her if she knew Father James at all, but there was no way to do that while Baxter was there. Was it worth paying another visit to her house?
But it seems like she knows Baxter, I thought, worry churning in my gut. What if she told Baxter about my visit? It would definitely make him suspicious if I was asking questions about his brother. He would know I had information about his death and would demand that I give it up.
Maybe this was another warning. After all, she hadn’t reported any missing items after I’d left. What if she’d never known they were there? What if somebody planted those things there, just like someone had been sending me those messages? It made sense. The planted photograph couldn’t be a coincidence. It was probably put there by someone who knew Baxter’s story. Which didn’t help much. Baxter told that story to everyone. Father James had surely known that. Could people from his coven have heard it, too?
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nbsp; I’d already considered it might be a survivor of the Onyx Order causing all these problems, though, but that just didn’t line up. They wouldn’t be wasting time trying to scare me off. Would they? And who had survived? But if it wasn’t the Onyx Order, then who was it? And what did they want? Were they trying to get me to leave Salem? If so, they were certainly on the right track. I’d already looked up a couple of apartment rentals in Chicago. I could easily hightail it out of here, and then I would be safe. Baxter would never know of my involvement.
On the other hand, they could be banking on my unwillingness to leave, hoping to turn Baxter against me by revealing the truth. Or simply waiting until I did leave to out me, to make me look guiltier for having fled.
What if it wasn’t a ploy to get me to leave, but one to manipulate me into staying? What was the end game in all of that, though? Why taunt me? Why not just out me if that’s what they wanted?
My head throbbed with the possibilities. I needed more evidence. Any detective worth their salt knew that cases weren’t solved on speculation. A lead was just a lead; I needed enough clues to tell me the story without guessing.
What clues I did have didn’t add up, though, and that was the part that made me uneasy. How was I supposed to react to the threat without knowing what the threat was, exactly?
If Baxter had stumbled across that rosary, he would have recognized it as belonging to his brother, and that would have been enough to make him inspect every last item in Miss Bennett’s home. Including that damned photograph. Baxter loved to brag about his ability to pick up on things that looked out of place, and that photograph had definitely been out of place on Miss Bennett’s fridge full of animal Christmas cards. Enough that it could have led Baxter to that clearing…to the location of Father James’s body.
I couldn’t allow that to happen.
“Hey, Chandler.” Ben, one of the other detectives, tapped the corner of my desk. “Captain says he wants to see you in his office.”
“Thanks.” A feeling of foreboding prickled along my spine as I got up and made my way to his office. What did the captain want? First he’d dragged me out of bed to put me and Baxter on a missing dog case that could have easily been handled by an officer, and now he wanted to see me?
What if he’s the one who planted those objects in Miss Bennett’s house?
I froze, only a few feet away from his office door now. Father James had said he had an inside man in the precinct. Could that inside man be Captain Randall? It would certainly explain the captain’s disdain for me, as well as his unwillingness to help me with Tom’s case when I’d first arrived. And the Captain had been the one to request that dispatch send me to that call with Baxter. That had seemed unusual enough at the time, but even more so now that I put all the pieces together. He would have heard Baxter’s story before…would have known that planting that evidence would be a direct threat.
Suspicious now, I approached the captain’s office with caution. His door was open, so I leaned in and knocked, announcing my arrival. He looked up from a report on his desk, a frown already creasing his blocky forehead.
“Come in, Chandler, and close the door behind you.”
I did as he asked, then sat down in one of the visitor’s chairs in front of his cherry wood, L-shaped desk. Captain Randall was an imposing man, his broad shoulders straining against his navy blue uniform shirt and a stern expression perpetually carved into his face. His brown hair, going gray, was shorn into a crew cut, and I wondered, not for the first time, if he had been in the military at some point.
“Well, have you found anything out?” he demanded.
“We haven’t recovered the missing dog yet, but we’re pretty sure—”
“Not about the dog.” Captain Randall cut me off with a wave of his hand. “I’m talking about Tom Garrison’s case. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To find out what really happened to him?” A hint of a sneer entered his voice, but it was so subtle that if I didn’t already think he was an asshole, I might have imagined it.
“Yes,” I said, forcing myself not to react. What bug had crawled up his ass this time? “That is what I came out here for.”
“So have you found anything, then?” he pressed. “Or have you given up?”
“Of course I haven’t given up,” I said, tempering my tone to prevent myself from sounding too snappy. My spine stiffened under the scrutiny in his eyes, and sweat broke out near my hairline. Dammit. “I’m still hunting down new leads.”
“Well, that surely must explain why you keep disappearing so often,” Randall said, leaning back in his chair. My hands curled into fists in my lap—it was almost as if the bastard was taunting me. “Because you’re searching for new leads.”
“Naturally.” I wanted to add that I was also “helping” Baxter investigate Father James’s death, but that would just draw even more attention to the things I was trying to hide. Besides, I doubted Baxter had actually told Randall he was still digging into his brother’s death, and if it turned out Randall had nothing to do with this, it would just create more problems for Baxter.
Then again, if Captain Randall hadn’t planted that evidence, maybe bringing it up would result in him forbidding Baxter from digging into the investigation more. That would rule him out as the one trying to set me up, and having Baxter lay off his investigation would certainly take a weight off my shoulders. But knowing Baxter, he’d probably just quit, or allow himself to get suspended, and continue chasing after this case on his own time. It’s what I would have done for Tom.
“So, did you call me in here just for an update?” I asked. “Or did you have some leads to pass on to me? After all, the Chief did say you were to help me in any way.” I smiled sweetly.
An ugly expression crossed Randall’s face. “No, unfortunately, I don’t. Guess that means you’d better work harder, because the Chief will send you back to Chicago when she comes back if she finds out that you’re just spinning wheels. You’re dismissed.”
“Yes, sir.” I left the room, agitation jangling in my nerves.
If the Chief did send me home, that would create problems. Salem was a small town, after all—people would notice if I had no work here but stuck around anyway. I didn’t need the Salem PD watching me like a hawk.
Of course, I could just move to Boston and continue my work from there. My training sessions with Maddock were closer to Boston anyway, and that was the primary reason I was still here. Maybe I’d start putting out feelers for an apartment in Boston itself and ditch this town and all the problems that came with it.
Either way, I was going to have to decide which path to take soon, before someone else decided for me. Especially when that decision could land me on the wrong side of some prison bars.
Chapter 9
I managed to arrive at Turner’s on time, which was a miracle. These days, it seemed like someone always needed me—either Maddock, or Baxter, or the precinct—so I was surprised when no one popped out of the woodwork to derail my evening plans.
Turner’s was a charming, New-England-style seafood restaurant and oyster bar, located a block north of Essex Street in Salem’s historic district. It wasn’t fine dining, so I didn’t feel bad about going straight there in my slacks and blazer instead of stopping off at home to change.
When I walked in, the high-backed, brown booths were packed, and the air buzzed with lively conversation. Large, arched windows let in the warm sunset colors from outside, and the polished hardwood floors glowed beneath my boots.
I spotted Thelia sitting in a corner booth all the way to the back. She was hard to miss in her red sweater dress, black leggings, and boots. She raised her glass of white wine to me, her red lips curving, and I hid my nerves behind a smile of my own.
“I’m glad you made it,” Thelia said as I slid into the seat across from her. She pushed her long hair over her shoulder, and I caught a glimpse of silver pentagrams dangling from her ears. “I’m starving.”
“Me too.”
We filled the time waiting for appetizers with light conversation. How was I liking Salem so far, have I visited this place or that yet, was I planning to stay, and that sort of thing. It occurred to me that Thelia’s line of conversation was very me-centric. She didn’t offer much about herself, and even though her questions were harmless, it didn’t go unnoticed. Still, she was friendly, and I couldn’t help but feel she was a breath of fresh air. At least as my encounters with the supernatural were concerned.
“I love the clam chowder here,” Thelia said as my piping hot bowl arrived with a side of oyster crackers. She’d ordered a small plate of coconut shrimp. “I order it almost every time I come here, but I already had it this afternoon somewhere else, so I thought I’d try something different.” She grasped a shrimp by its coconut-crusted tail and lifted it to her lips. It crunched as her teeth bit down sharply.
“Do you live in Salem, then?” I asked as I sprinkled my oyster crackers into my bowl. Time to learn something about her. “Or in one of the nearby towns?”
“Marblehead, actually,” she said, referring to the peninsula south of Salem. “That’s where my coven is, after all. But I come to Salem often enough. It’s such a pretty town, and I’m friends with some of the local witches here.”
“Are the witches who live here part of their own coven?” I asked. Initially, I’d just wanted to get more info on Thelia, but when the question left my mouth, I realized I was genuinely curious to know how witch society worked.