by Raven Snow
“Again, a man just got murdered,” Rowen said, plainly.
“Attention!” Ben’s voice rang out loud from the front steps of Edward Waite’s house. “I’m going to need everyone to clear out! We’ve got traffic coming and going here, and I have to ask that you respect that! Let us do our jobs!” Ben lingered on the porch after he was finished speaking. Rowen couldn’t be sure, but she thought he was looking in their direction.
Julia got into her Channel 2 van. She likely had all she needed. Likewise, Benji took his camera back to his own car. Rose, Margo, and Rowen crossed the street back to Willow. “Well?” prompted Willow. “What did she say?”
“Not a whole heck of a lot.” Rowen shrugged. “She wants to meet up later.”
“Where?” asked Willow. “Can I come?”
Before anyone could respond, Ben got their attention. “Hey, guys. I need to ask you a favor really quick.” He had come down the front steps and was walking down the sidewalk toward them.
“What is it?” asked Rose.
“I’d like a couple of you to come in and take a look at the crime scene for me.” Ben’s expression was grim. He’d rather not be asking this of them. That much was obvious. “You’ll have to sign some papers first, of course. And you won’t be able to work on the story with the Lainswich Inquirer.”
“Oh.” Willow’s hand shot up. “I’ll go.” Either she didn’t want to work or she wanted to see what was going on. It was probably a little bit of both.
“I was thinking more Rowen and Margo,” said Ben. “No offense.”
Willow raised an eyebrow. “Some taken.”
“So, is this in a private investigator type capacity?” asked Rowen. “Should I give Eric a call?”
Ben opened his mouth as if to respond. After a moment, he merely sighed. “Just come and have a look. We’ll talk about what to do after that.”
“Is it that bad?” asked Rose. She didn’t look like she expected an answer. She knew her husband couldn’t invite her in without it looking shady, especially when she didn’t even sense the same sorts of things the rest of her family did.
“I guess you can ride back with Margo,” said Willow, no longer looking so envious that she didn’t get to go in with them. “I’ll see you back at the Inquirer.”
Rowen nodded. “See you there.” She exchanged a nervous look with Margo before following Ben up the stairs.
“It’s not going to be very violent, is it?” asked Margo, dragging her feet now that they were actually at the threshold. “It’s not going to, like, haunt my dreams forever, will it?”
Rowen didn’t want to be selfish, but she was right there with her cousin. She didn’t particularly want to see a crime scene that had Ben, of all people, shaken. Of course, she intended to go in anyway. The more violent the murder, the stronger the impression the deceased would leave behind— assuming the deceased himself wasn’t lingering. Being a Greensmith came with certain responsibilities as far as Rowen was concerned. If she could help, she would.
“It’s a gunshot wound to the head,” Ben told them, his hand on the doorknob. “The entry point is very small, very precise. You’ve both seen worse, I’m sure. It’s… more the crime scene itself that I want your opinion on.”
Rowen couldn’t be sure if that made her more or less nervous. Either way, she was curious. She stepped inside, Margo at her heels.
The house itself was nice. It looked like your generic, upper middle-class home. The walls were painted white and trimmed with flower wallpaper near the ceiling. There was a coat rack in the entryway on which hung a woman’s style coat and a ragged looking hoodie. “Was he a family man?”
Ben nodded. “A wife and a teen boy. They’re in Tarricsville visiting family. Well, they were. We gave them a call a while ago. They may already be down at the station.”
Rowen had more questions about that, but she supposed they could wait. Ben was already leading the way out of the entryway and into the den. Immediately, Rowen saw why she and Margo had been asked to come in here.
Margo swore, drawing a few offended looks from policemen. It probably wasn’t good form to swear around a body, but Rowen would have had Margo not beaten her to it. The body was the focal point of the room. Poor Edward Waite was slumped face first on the ground. His knees were beneath him and his hands were bound behind his back. A green silken ribbon had been tied around his eyes. It looked like some kind of ritualized execution—partly because of how he was situated and partly because of the fact that he was positioned within a strange, red sigil. Rowen cleared her throat before speaking. “That isn’t… That’s not…”
“It’s paint,” Ben assured her.
“Like that makes this any better,” Margo said, quietly.
Ben got right to business. “Have either of you ever seen anything like this?”
It was difficult to make out the sigil beneath the body. She walked the perimeter of the thing, trying to get a better look. There were some strange alchemical symbols in the outer ring. Aside from that, it appeared fairly simple, a triangle within a circle. An uppercase ‘E’ bisected it all. “I haven’t, but that doesn’t mean much. People make their own sigils all the time. There’s not, like, a set number of them or anything.”
“I don’t recognize it,” Margo added, unable to take her eyes from the scene of the crime.
“Do you feel anything here?” Ben asked instead.
Rowen was glad for an excuse to move away from the body. She took a few steps back and closed her eyes. Not that she needed to close her eyes to concentrate. The energy here was heavy and oppressive. Something terrible had happened, but it didn’t take a psychic to figure that out. Rowen tried to sift through the negative energy for something more.
The house didn’t seem to be all that old. That was good. With older houses, you often had generations worth of energy to contend with. That made it more than a little difficult to differentiate the new from the old. Rowen could pick out some of the newer emotions in this younger house. There was happiness and distress, neither in terribly unusual amounts. It felt like your average home these days—a tense marriage, a teenage kid going through a difficult phase. There was love buried in there, but it was down deep. That could explain the trip to the parent’s house.
Beyond that there was distress, the sort you would expect with a murder. There was something more to it. “Distress, maybe?” Rowen ventured, looking at Margo who nodded.
“Not sure how much that helps me,” said Ben.
“I don’t sense any spirits hanging around,” said Rowen.
“I sense one,” said Margo.
Rowen shook her head. “No, that one is mine. I brought her in with me.” She was learning to ignore Natalie. Her cousins hadn’t gotten quite used to her always being around yet.
“Well, does this spirit of yours see anything unusual?” asked Ben.
“I’m not sure she would tell us if she did.” Rowen hadn’t known Natalie to be helpful if there wasn’t something in it for her.
I would, said Natalie, not that anyone aside from the Greensmiths could hear her. For a man that handsome, I would do just about anything.
“He’s married,” said Rowen. “And you’re dead.”
“What?” asked Ben.
“Don’t worry about it.” Rowen tried to concentrate again. She wasn’t getting a whole lot else. “I could always try to contact the spirit, but… I really don’t think he’s here.”
Ben nodded like he wasn’t particularly surprised. These things were seldom easy. “Can either of you tell me anything about that symbol then?” He pointed to the drawing the deceased was sprawled out on.
Margo frowned at Ben, looking mildly offended that he thought she knew what the symbol was. Rowen couldn’t much blame her. Some of the cops were throwing judgmental looks their way already. “It’s a sigil,” said Rowen. She wasn’t nervous about others judging her. She was used to it by now.
“And what’s a sigil?” asked Ben.
“It’s a symbol someone has imbued with power. You either draw power from it, or…” Rowen trailed off as she realized she didn’t particularly want to present the other option to him.
“Or what?” Ben prompted.
“Or you lend it power so that you can use it later. It’s like stockpiling energy.” Rowen tried to lower her voice as she explained that, but she could feel the room growing more tense by the moment.
“And do you know anyone else in Lainswich who would know about this sort of thing or use it?” asked Ben.
“Most witches like the Greensmiths or the Stonewalls would know how to use sigils,” Rowen said. There wasn’t any point in lying about that.
“But we wouldn’t use them,” Margo added. She motioned to the sigil itself. “It’s so obvious. The first people who would be under suspicion would be one of Lainswich’s witching families. This is clearly meant to cover up some other crime.”
Rowen wasn’t so sure about that. Whoever had drawn that sigil, it looked like they had known what they were doing. There was a certain energy emanating from it. Of that much, she was sure. “Can we talk to the family?” she asked.
Ben nodded and led both women back toward the front door. “I’ll see if that can be arranged.” He motioned them out. “Be careful and let me know if you find out anything. Anything at all. I’ll see about having you coming in privately, see if there is anything more you can sense without the police around.”
Rowen and Willow both said their goodbyes. When it was just the two of them heading down the stairs, Margo spoke up. “This is another one of those crimes where people are going to suspect us, isn’t it?”
“I like to think they all are on some level.” Rowen elbowed her cousin and offered her a smile. “Cheer up. We’ll make it out of this one fine. We always do.” To her own ears she sounded like she meant those words. Rowen really wished she meant them. With the tricentennial on the horizon, this was just about the worst thing that could have happened.
Chapter Three
“Are we sure she’s even still showing up?” asked Ben, tossing a clean dish rag over his shoulder as he waited for the tap water to heat up.
“I tried calling her,” said Margo. “I can try again.” She stepped from the kitchen and out onto the patio. This wasn’t the first time she had called Julia Martinez. It had to be getting into the double digits now. Rowen suspected she had gone out this time just so that she wouldn’t feel obligated to help with the dishes. Either that or she had developed a smoking habit. Rowen was beginning to suspect the latter as well.
“What time is it?” asked Rowen, placing the casserole dish half full of baked spaghetti on the counter.
“A little past ten,” Ben pointed to a cabinet. “Do you mind putting up the leftovers?”
“Not at all.” Rowen got some plastic containers from the cabinet just as Rose entered with more dishes.
“I can’t believe she didn’t show after I went to all the trouble to cook dinner,” grumbled Rose. “It’s not like I have a whole lot of free time now that we have the tricentennial and a murderer on the loose.”
Ben reached for the plates “Honey, the recipe came out of a box. It didn’t take that long to make.”
“Still,” Rose urged. She turned as she suddenly noticed Rowen putting up leftovers. “Oh, I can do that. You’re the guest.”
Rowen snorted. “Hardly. I’ve spent more of my life living with you than not.”
“You’re still a guest.”
“Actually, I was hoping to have a moment alone with Rowen here,” Ben said, saying a lot without actually verbalizing it.
Rose rolled her eyes. “Detective stuff I’m not supposed to know about yet. Fine. I guess I’ll go see if anything is on television. If she’s not here within the next hour, that’s it. Ben and I need to get to bed.”
Rowen couldn’t help but chuckle. “Neither of you are night owls, huh?” she asked Ben once Rose had gone.
“You know what they say, early to bed and early to rise… something.” Ben shrugged. “We both like to make sure we get enough rest especially at times like these. Speaking of which, I talked to the family.”
“The Waite family?”
Ben nodded. “I’m not really at liberty to say all we talked about, but I did mention you to them.”
Rowen cringed. She never envied Ben that job. It was one thing for her to offer to go into someone’s home and try to sniff out a spirit. It was another thing entirely to offer someone else’s services in that as the Chief of Police. “How did they take it?”
“Not well,” Ben admitted. “The wife didn’t seem to be particularly fond of you or your family.”
Rowen groaned. “I hate that. It doesn’t make sense. I don’t think I’ve ever even met her.”
“Well, either way, I don’t think she’ll be opening her doors to you any time soon.”
Rowen popped the top down on the plastic container. She hesitated then, considering everything Ben had just said to her. “So does that mean you want me to go check things out?”
Ben looked up from the sink. “What?”
“Do you… you know, want me to go check things out?” Rowen gave him what she hoped was a wink. She’d never been very good at winks. She might have just blinked slowly at him.
“I definitely don’t approve of any breaking and entering,” Ben said, firmly. No doubt he recalled the last time that had happened. It had put everyone in quite a bit of trouble. “If you do attempt a seance, let me know the results… but please don’t break in.”
“I assume the rest of the Waite family won’t be at their house after what happened there.”
“They’re staying at a hotel.” Ben gave Rowen a stern look. “I repeat, do not break in.”
“Fine, fine.” Rowen put the leftovers in the fridge. “So, what’s the consensus? Are folks going to suspect the Greensmiths for this?”
“Hard to say.” Ben sighed. “Obviously, it’s a conclusion that’s been jumped to in the past with this sort of killing— by which I mean something that looks ritualized. The public doesn’t know yet, but in this town, it’s only a matter of time. They may have learned from the past, but… What do you think? Did the crime scene look like someone trying to dress up a killing to mislead the police or something genuine?”
That was a difficult question to answer. “It did look like it might have been carried out by someone with, at least, a passing interest in the occult,” Rowen admitted. “Of course, my family would never be involved in something like that.”
“Like what?”
“Murdering someone to charge a sigil—Or murder in general for that matter.” Of course, that wasn’t entirely true. Rowen’s grandmother had certainly been capable of murder. She hoped Ben wouldn’t correct her. He didn’t get the chance. Rowen’s ears perked as she heard someone knock on the front door. Was that Julia? “It’s about time.” She walked from the kitchen and into the den, where Rose was already opening the door.
Julia Martinez stood on the stoop. She was still wearing the same outfit she had been wearing earlier today. Her hair was no longer quite as perfect. She looked tired, like she had been working nonstop since last they saw her.
“We were expecting you earlier than this,” said Rose, stepping to one side of the door so that Julia could enter. “I tried to call, but you don’t seem to have your phone turned on.”
Julia nodded. “Sorry about that.” She came into the house and cast a quick look around. “Nice place you have here.”
Rose closed the door, locking it as she did so. “Thanks. It took forever to unpack. I’m ashamed to say we only finally--”
“Where can we talk?” Julia interrupted, looking from Rose to Margo and Rowen.
“Wherever is fine,” Rose said with a frown. She clearly didn’t appreciate Julia making them wait only to rush them now. “Ben, Honey! Can you come in here?”
Ben came into the den, dish towel still in hand. He smiled at Julia, giving her a curt nod of acknowle
dgment.
Julia turned to Rose. “Actually, I would prefer it if he wasn’t here.”
That really got an annoyed look from Rose. “I thought you wanted to come to my house at this hour expressly because he would be here.”
“That’s just for appearances. I don’t actually want him to listen in.” Julia offered Ben a smile. “Sorry. Journalist talk. You understand.”
“Not really,” Ben muttered. “But whatever. I’ll be doing dishes.” With that he disappeared back into the kitchen.
Julia watched him go before turning back to Rose. “Do you have a back room or something we could sit in?”
***
With a fair amount of reluctance, Rose led everyone to the home office. It was a small, cluttered room. There were two desks, one for Ben and another for Rose. Margo and Julia immediately took the only two chairs in the room, leaving Rose and Rowen to sit on desks.
“So what’s all this about?” Margo asked, saying what they were all wondering. “Why all the trouble just to talk to us tonight?”
Julia took a deep breath. She folded her hands in her lap and looked at them. “I find myself at a bit of a crossroads here… A few weeks ago I was contacted by… the recently deceased.”
“Edward Waite?” Rowen asked for clarification.
Julia nodded. “Right. He called me up out of the blue one day, and the two of us had a few discrete meetings together.”
“So that’s what you were up to,” said Margo, sounding absolutely vindicated. “You were planning some sort of big interview. What was it about?”
Julia didn’t answer at first. She didn’t look like she wanted to. “It was going to be a special,” she said, still looking down at her own hands. “It would have gotten such good ratings.”
“And what was this special about?” urged Margo, her vindication fading a bit into mild annoyance.
“Cults,” Julia finally blurted.
“Cults?” repeated Rowen. She wasn’t sure what she had expected Julia to say, but it hadn’t been that. “What do you mean, cults?”
“I mean cults!” Julia looked up at them. “You all know what cults are, I’m sure. This Edward Waite fellow came to me claiming there was a cult in Lainswich.”