Sekhet

  Veronica turned and quietly meandered away, leaving it to her to follow or choose not to go down the road of finding out the answers to the questions she may or may not have had. Things began to quiet, displaying stragglers who craved to draw that very final inhalation from the fire. Coming to a forgotten stone shelter, she wandered in, watching her step as she went. A whispered spell through chilled lips, and a small fire ball formed in her palm.

  “You’re lighting a fire here?”

  “No.” Her response was filled with childlike giggling as her hand came to her face. Frozen to the spot out of fear of being rejected, she waited for some inkling that she had not made a mistake, No longer were lips going to satisfy her. Stopping just long enough to allow her robe to fall in a mound at her feet, she began to realize just how much she craved this. “You smell of rose petals.”

  A loud crash, Natasha dragged from her dream! She went racing out of her room and down the hallway. She didn’t find Veronica, but a silver cat was perched in the window in the moonlight, and a large glass bowl, smashed to smithereens, was on the floor, seeds all over the place.

  “Nothing like preserving a stereotype,” Natasha laughed as Veronica emerged from her room. Natasha picked up the cat, which began purring deep in its chest.

  “He isn’t mine, exactly,” Veronica began to explain, turning on the main light to survey the damage. “He just turned up one day and comes and goes as he pleases. Besides, you know cats aren’t owned, they are the ones who choose, not the other way around.”

  “Well, I do believe he has decided to own you.” Holding the cat higher to have a better look at him in the light, Natasha had to admit he was handsome, no matter how grumpy he looked. “He looks positively miserable!” Natasha laughed louder, now drawing a smile from Veronica, who had to agree. “Felis domesticus, right?”

  “I think so.”

  As Natasha bent to put the cat down, Veronica cried, “No! He might cut his paws. Here, give him to me.”

  Veronica took the cat and put him outside and returned with a broom and a dustpan. She went about picking up the mess, while Natasha began to rummage in her purse for her vibrating cell phone. Checking the name, she excused herself and went into the kitchen for some privacy. Veronica couldn’t help but feel the sting of that.

  “Molly, what’s up?” Natasha asked in a hushed whisper.

  “I’m in Twisp,” replied Molly. “At my grandmother’s.”

  “What? Why? What’s happening?”

  “Natasha, I arrived and the whole Council was in my grandmother’s yard, Lucy is acting stranger than usual, and…”

  “And what?”

  “Natasha, when I got here, about noon, my grandmother left me outside and went into the kitchen, where I saw her casting. Tell me what the hell is going on, and why are you in Montana to get Veronica? What is so bad that you can’t handle it alone? Oh-oh, I can’t talk right now. I’ll call you at seven a.m. my time,” Molly said, “which will be eight for you.” And she hung up.

  Natasha went in search of Veronica, only to find she had already retreated to her room for the rest of the night.

  ***

  Awake early, Natasha had a plan. The smell of pancakes was enough to make anyone’s mouth water, and following the long restless night, Veronica needed something in her stomach, if only to put a halt to the nauseating feeling she had when thinking of who it was cooking in her kitchen.

  Seizing the dressing gown from the end of her bed, Veronica wrapped it tightly about her, tying the sash in a firm knot, ensuring no accidents transpired while in Natasha’s presence. Even now, Veronica slept completely naked, which was okay living alone with no fear of anyone seeing what was on display underneath the silky red satin material she just had to have. Natasha being here had her taking extra precautions.

  Trying her hardest to find the precise words that would win the argument, which was imminent, once she made the decision to leave the sanctuary of her bedroom, Veronica shook off the feeling of dread with a self-addressed pep talk, and went with determination to face Natasha and her demands.

  Entering the kitchen, Veronica found the island covered with fresh fruit, eggs, pancakes and the donuts Natasha had bought from the local bakery. But no Natasha. “What the heck time did she get up?” Veronica asked herself out loud, looking at the spread in front of her. The fact that Natasha had decided to pull out the big guns and produce Veronica’s biggest weakness, her favorite donuts, made her grasp just how far Natasha was willing to go to get what she wanted. What Dot Patterson wanted.

  Catching sight of Natasha on her cell phone, pacing back and forth outside, barefooted in the grass, wet with early morning dew, frowning at whoever it was on the other end of the line, Veronica took the opportunity to watch her, wondering who she was talking to. Natasha looked drained, with dark rings under her eyes, and Veronica wondered if it was because, like her, she hadn’t slept at all, knowing the other was just down the hall. Her hair was longer, and she had lost too much weight for Veronica’s liking, but she was just as beautiful.

  Finishing her call, Natasha made her way to the house. Her face held uncertainty, which made Veronica even more curious. Only who was she to demand to be told? They were no longer lovers, she had moved away to keep Natasha at a distance, and she wanted nothing to do with whatever it was Dot needed her skill set for.

  Natasha had only set one foot inside when she said, “Molly.” That was all she said, sauntering to the food, popping a grape into her mouth. She didn't say Molly was trying to get information from her – something about had a Hell Demon appeared in Twisp.

  “Hey, I didn’t ask. I don’t know why you think I want to know. I don’t care who you talk to.” Shrugging her shoulders, Veronica glanced at the donuts – fighting the urge to give in and take the chocolatey deliciousness which had been calling her name since she had lifted the lid of the box.

  “Okay.” That wide smile left Veronica reeling from her own powerlessness when it came to the woman standing in her kitchen. “She is in Twisp,” Natasha added, seemingly an afterthought, just to ensure she kept Veronica’s attention. When Veronica stomped from the room toward the stairs, Natasha knew she was going back to Washington with her.

  CHAPTER 10

  Collateral Damage

  Frankie had never been one to hide in the shadows, much less exhibit the patience needed to wait it out while the Seattle Police Department did their job. It had been months, and still that hotshot team – Wright and Savage – had nothing, nada, zilch.

  It was time for Lily’s murder to go into the cold case file. Even the news no longer spoke about Lily, or the circumstances surrounding her death. How long was he supposed to continue with the grieving husband bit?

  On top of the insurance companies, he had to deal with Mason, Lily’s father, who, to Frank’s utter surprise, she had named the executor of her estate, not him. He had never known that. In fact, he didn’t believe she had done that. It had to be some sleight of hand Mason had been able to pull off. He was sure he was, and had always been, the named executor. He had counted on that.

  Under the circumstances, he couldn’t fight too hard, couldn’t come across greedy. If that bastard father of hers was able to screw him out of Lily’s estate, he still had that million-dollar life insurance payout coming. Mason couldn’t get his hands on that. He deserved that. The constant late-night phone calls, the ‘work weekends,’ which he knew too well were just an alternative name for cheating on spouses.

  But that was a waste of time; he refused to mull it over. The only thing on his mind right now was how to get rid of his nemesis, his father-in-law. Mason was a well-known family law attorney. He had moved his family to Washington from Texas following the death of his parents in a house fire some twenty years ago. Frankie was relieved Mason specialized in civil law, not criminal law, or he was sure Mason would already have him lined up for the electric chair.

  Mason had never liked him, had thought his daughter was slumming when
she married him. Mason was in no hurry to go to probate. He was making Frankie twist in the wind, but he would never find any proof that Frankie had anything to do with his daughter’s murder – none existed. None of the security cameras had been working that day. That little coincidence, of course, had nothing to do with the fact that Frankie was a computer freak and could hack better than those working for the CIA.

  Things had not always been bad between them, Frankie and Lily. For the first four years, they couldn’t get enough of each other. Romantic dinners, fantastic, feverish sex, talks of children, and a few trips to Europe every year. The last one, this winter, a disaster, had been a trip to Ireland and the small medieval town of Wexford, to try to get their marriage back on track. After traveling down the coast from Dublin, they stayed in a 14th century castle, far away from the hustle and bustle of their everyday lives.

  Frankie had never felt cold like they experienced in Wexford. Washington is cold and wet, but Ireland was a different cold that cuts through all the way down to your bones, leaving not only your teeth chattering, but your joints aching. Hot shower after shower and he still couldn’t get warm. Then the weather changed. He found himself smiling at the memory of Lily dancing in the waves of Curracloe Beach, after the rains had at long last subsided and the sun had shone down with warming fingers.

  Two days after their return, the arguments had begun again. Worse than ever. Irrational, foolish, screaming arguments that lasted for hours, ending with them not speaking for days. It would never have gotten any better. Only worse. And people knew it. All the more reason Frankie needed to plead his heartbroken husband routine to everyone who would listen. But it was getting old. And Frankie was serious getting cabin fever, holed up in the house.

  That gave Frankie a brilliant idea – what did grieving spouses do? They begged for the killer to be found. They went on TV, they put up reward money. That’s what he would do, he would say he had been waiting patiently for the police and now, to help them along, he was offering a reward. How much? $10,000? No, too cheap. $25,000. That was decent. And he would never have to pay it, that was the beauty of it.

  Where would he make the announcement? He had his second brilliant idea of the day – he would march down to the Seattle police department and tell Victor Wright himself, to his face. While he was doing it, he could get a good read on this guy, see what he knew, see how close he was to giving up on the Lily Davis case.

  Having read that Wright’s partner was on suspension for use of excessive force, Frankie knew this was the best time to put his plan into action. Frankie could handle the young, well-dressed Victor Wright, but Joe Savage was another matter. From what he had learned over the past six months, it seemed if he could get Wright on his side, Savage wouldn’t matter.

  Walking into the police station, Frankie felt far more nervous than he had expected. Standing tall, he forced his emotions into check. After giving his name, which caused a stir, and asking to see Detective Wright, he asked where the nearest men’s room was. In the restroom, he pulled out a small bottle of Bausch & Lomb Soothe XP, which for some weird reason, made his eyes sting like nothing else for about five minutes. While the tears filled his eyes, he went back to the front desk.

  Detective Wright was waiting there for him, just as he’d planned it. A heartbroken husband, he sat in Victor Wright’s office, offered his reward, wiped his eyes, which he knew by now were nicely red, and answered Wright’s questions. Victor nodded in sympathy to this understandably distressed man, who, after all, was only looking for answers to the love of his life’s murder.

  “If you can think of anything else, no matter how insignificant, give me a call,” Victor said, handing Frankie his card.

  It had gone perfectly. Victor Wright had been totally taken in. Frankie was off the hook! He had to be careful, walking out of the police station, not to show his immense relief. Frankie had found Wright a little odd. He had come to the conclusion that Victor Wright was not quite all there. But there was that troubling statistic: there hadn’t yet been a case Wright hadn’t cracked wide open, even when the guilty party had covered his tracks like a pro.

  “So,” Joe said that night, over a beer with Victor, “do you think you got him?” Joe was slouching in the only comfortable chair in Victor’s apartment.

  “From what Lily told me, yeah,” Victor said, sprawled out on the couch, “but he’s on top of his game.”

  “The police were called to their home three times in the last year.”

  “By the wife?” asked Victor. “Lily?”

  “The neighbor,” Joe replied, watching the reaction on Victor’s face.

  “Okay, we need to talk to the neighbor. Who is it?”

  “The closet house. An elderly woman.”

  “You got that?”

  “Got it,” Joe said. “You think the father was involved? He’s the one person to benefit from his daughter’s estate.

  “Mason? Not a chance,” answered Victor. “I talked to him myself. Lily filed for divorce, and changed her will. She withdrew the divorce petition but let the will stand. Davis did it. We just need to prove it.”

  “Okay, I will mosey over to the neighbor’s. I’ll let you know what I find.”

  “Ah… your suspension…” Victor noted. “How is that going for you?”

  “Over at five o’clock tomorrow,” replied Joe.

  “So you’ll be at the neighbor’s door at 5:15?”

  “Nope, 5:01.”

  “Okay,” said Victor, happy to have Joe back on duty again soon.

  “Oh…” Joe started, standing up.

  “What’s up?”

  “Molly been around lately?”

  “She had to go out to Twisp,” Victor said. “To see her grandmother.”

  “What? Why?”

  “No idea. I am assuming it has something to do with that bat-ass crazy mother of hers. Well, let me know how it goes with the neighbor.”

  ***

  Lily Davis’s murder had left her neighbor, Miss Ada Long, shocked and heartbroken. As he sat and listened to her, a handsome woman in her day, in her big, empty house, Joe figured he would have to keep Miss. Long on subject.

  From experience, the more mature ladies tended to go off in all directions during a conversation, especially one who could find an opening for old stories of times past, or just a mention of the weather. It had amazed him how often the elements had ventured into a story which had begun with “Yes, Detective, I witnessed that man shot down in cold blood.”

  But Joe had no worries, Miss Ada Long was as sharp as a tack and he heard a tale he couldn’t wait to repeat to Victor.

  Miss Long had seen Lily with black eyes and a burst lip on more than one occasion. She mentioned that Frankie hadn’t ever made his way across her beautifully kept lawn to discuss such matters with her, the way Lily did.

  “Apparently, he had an adequate amount of sense to see when someone had an obvious dislike for him. Would you like some iced tea, dear? And a scone? Now, Lily had not worn her wedding band for over a year. And then there was that dreadful, dreadful trip to Ireland, not long before she… well, Lily told me how her husband’s temper had raged while on that trip, and, well, you know…but as much as Lily wanted to fix things, there was only so much she could do. Oh, he was jealous, that one.”

  “You saw him abuse her?”

  “Oh yes, very physical, he was… well, except for the odd occasion when it would just be dragging or grabbing her by the arm. But I guess you could still call that physical. I know that sounds strange to say just dragging or grabbing, but in comparison to some things I saw, it was. And that was only the tip of the iceberg, as they say. Oh my, that man could scream and shout and rant and rave! He didn’t care that I could hear, he had no shame. Oh dear, what kind of host am I getting to be? I have a tray, all ready, in the kitchen. Would you…”

  Joe jumped up, found the kitchen, and returned with the tray – a pitcher of iced tea, two glasses, scones, napkins.

 
; “These are blueberry scones,” Miss Ada said. “I made them myself this morning. Very easy to make, you know. I can give you the recipe, so your wife can make them for you.”

  “I can cook,” Joe said, “and I’ll take the recipe, definitely. This is delicious.”

  “Then you can make them for your wife,” Miss Ada said happily. “The modern generation, I don’t think I could get used to it. I suppose your wife works?”

  “If I had one, I would make her work,” Joe teased Miss Ada.

  “No wife? What a shame. Well, I guess you are younger than you look, so you have time.”

  “I hope so,” Joe said, trying not to laugh. “So where were we? Did she ever try to leave him, do you know?”

  “I do recall one instance. Lily had moved back to her father’s home. He was in a fierce temper, her husband, kicking and punching her car, which he has had repaired by now. By the look of it, you wouldn’t know anything ever happened to it.”

  “She left him, but she came back? How long was she gone?”

  “Not long. She rushed right back.”

  Joe knew that was not unusual.“What happened in Ireland? Did she talk to you about it?”

  “Well,” Miss Ada Long replied, “it seems they were in a big city, Dublin I think she said it was, and he accused her of flirting with a man who sang her a song. Of course, she denied it, telling him he was being ridiculous. He got arrested for disturbing the peace, but she stood by her man. From what I can recall, he got off with a warning and a smack on the wrist, with a caution that the next time he traveled to Ireland, he was to obey the rules and keep out of mischief. The next day, they moved down the coast. She wanted to stay in a real castle. A tortured soul was Lily, God rest her.”